Please handle this volume with care. The University of Connecticut Libraries, Storrs » » »»^ » » » » » III 3 9153 00062632 7 I -cf A PRESENT .' TO 6^ YOUTHS & YOUNG MEN. BOOK I. Printed for Private Circulation, and Presentation. The Wicket Gate. ■' Is Life worth living ? " Yes ! " I expect to pass through this World but once ; if, therefore, there be any good I can do to any fellow human being, let me do it now ! Let me not defer, or neglect it; for I shall not pass tliis way again.'' — Anon. ^rom Ibe §irabic. In Nurse's arms, — a naked, new born Child, — Weeping thou sat'st, while all around thee Smiled : Live so, — that,— sinking, — to thy last, long, Slec]?, — Calm may'st t/ioti smile,— whilst all around thee Weep ! I 891. TO A FATHER, WHOSE CONSCIENTIOUS LIFE UNDEVIATING RECTITUDE, AND UNFAILING LOVE, HAVE, DURING A LENGTHENED PERIOD, PROVED THE BEST EXAMPLE TO HIS SONS, THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED. Note. — This was to ihe earlier editions. He died nth October, i88o. The First Edition appeared 1864; now Twenty Seven Years ago. PRESENTED TO WITH THE BEST WISHES OF THE AUTHOR. Note. — It is suggested to place the Stamp of the Library or Institution on this Page. PREFACE TO NEW EDITION, 1891. To Superintendents, Librarians, &c. It is desired to present copies of this little Work,— gratuitously, — to the Libraries of Working Men's Clubs, Institutes, Public Libraries, "Y.M.C.A's.," Sabbath Schools, Colleges, Large Works, &c., until a certain Sum, now nearly reached, has been expended. An application from any responsible person connected with such Institutions, — throughout the World, — will be attended to, the applicant guaranteeing that the book is used for the above (Library) purpose alone, and giving some account of the Insti- tution. Worn copies can also be replaced. To THE Reader. The English speaking Race, appears to the Writer, — after visiting most parts of the World,— to form one vast family ; — the term " English, " — therefore, — employed throughout this Work, must be taken in its widest sense, as applied to, and intended to include, every Reader whose Ancestors originally came from the United Kingdom. Toleration. Nor need the Religious Denomination, Sect, or Social Position of the Reader, cause any difficulty. What little Sectarian reserve the Writer might, — from early associations, — have once imbibed, has, long ago, disappeared. Having attended, with much respect, and interest, the various Churches, Chapels, and Meeting Houses, of, he thinks, almost every known Religious Denomination, he has found, in all, the same F.ssentials to true Religion, — Rever- ence, Faith, and Worship. He ventures, therefore, to claim that every true Believer, — whatever may be the name of the Church he unites with, — belongs, in addition, to one more vast family, who, throughout the world, claim God as their Father, — Jesus Christ as their Saviour, — and God, the precious Holy Spirit, as their Sanctifier. Once this is admitted, a common Brotherhood, amongst all true Believers, is established, which the varied lots they experience in the things of Sense and Time, —can never dissolve, — nor hinder PREFACE. Vll. from a great, and final, Meeting. It is claimed that our varied lots, as regards Sect, Nation, Wealth, Failure, or Success, are merely, — so to speak, — accidents of Birth, Circumstances, and Gifts of Nature. Possessors of the same Faith, — Followers of the same Lord, — Travellers alike to the same Home, — all true Believers, — quite irrespective of their present varied lots, — must — it is claimed, — one day meet. To all Christian Believers, therefore, — or would be Believers, — especially to those in the early, receptive, period of life, this little work is once more re-issued for presentation, quite irrespective of Religious Sect, or Denomination. As in the previous Editions, the object being a purely Philan- thropic, — not a Financial one, — no Copy of this Book can be sold. It must be accepted as Hterally " a Present " to the Young, " Freely ye have received, — freely give." — Matt, x., 8. Only Intended for Libraries. This little Work has been accepted for many Years, — by the various Sects, and Religious Denominations, — with a very remarkable unanimity, — only five copies declined in 27 years! But, — should the slightest objection, or scruple, ever occur, — the Possessor of a Copy is asked simply, at once, to return it. Every volume is now needed. Not being intended for Private Persons, such are expected, — after using it for a Year or two, themselves, — to present it to some Library. It is presented upon this condition, and upon this under- standing alone. It seems a selfish, — useless thing, — answering no purpose, or object, — to keep a Book of this description, — which cost the owner nothing, — sleeping, — slumbering, — uselessly, for Years upon his Bookshelf If freely lent to others, — especially to the Poor, — employed by a Sunday School, — or other Teacher, — the above remarks do not, of course, apply. 5, Charlotte Road, Edgbaston, Birminghafn, England. BOOK I. CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER I. The Indian's Revenge. 21 CHAPTER n. Charity. " Yah ! Old Skinflint ! " 27 CHAPTER HI. Anger. The Noble Hound. 29 CHAPTER IV. Discontent. 31 CHAPTER V. The Brave Sailor Boy, Volney Beckner, of Ireland. - - 35 CPIAPTER VI. The Great Robbery by a Junior Clerk. *' Thou shalt not steal." 40 CHAPTER VII. Edwin the Apprentice. 46 ^ CHAPTER VIII. Jack Willis the Sailor, or a Sailor's Gratitude. - - 53 CHAPTER IX. Murder. The First Private Executions in England. — The Boy Alexander Arthur Mackay, of London. " Thou shalt do no Murder." 57 CHAPTER X. "I will do it again." 63 CHAPTER XI. Truth. '* My Father lies dead at Sutton." 65 CHAPTER XII. Envy. *' You got it that time ! I am glad of it." - - - - 67 CHAPTER XIII. Gold; The Cave of Diamonds; and the Loss of the Steam- ship "London." A Fiction illustrated by a Fact. - - - 68 CHAPTER XIV. John Maynard, the Pilot, the Brave Young American. - 91 CHAPTER XV. *' Small Beginnings, and how to get on." Poor Boys, and how THEY BECAME Rich. No. I. — " Never Despair." William Hutton of Birmingham. 96 CONTENTS. ix. PAGE CHAPTER XVI. " Small Beginnings, and how to get on. " Poor Boys. AND HOW THEY BECAME Great. No. 2. — " Never Despair." AldeRxMan Kelly, of London. 102 CHAPTER XVn. Poor Boys, and how they became Famous. No. 3.— A Tragedy. Thomas Chatterton, of Bristol 109 CHAPTER XVni. Poor Boys, and how they became Famous. No. 4.— Another Tragedy, with a Contrast. The Boy Actors : Edmund Kean, AND William Henry Betty. 117 CHAPTER XIX. Modern Infidelity. "What have I been doing? What /zat-t' I done?" 137 CHAPTER XX. Honesty the Best Policy : The Young Galley Slave. - 143 CHAPTER XXI. The Mimic. 145 CHAPTER XXII. " Henry."— A Skating Party.— A Noble Youth of Holland. - 147 CHAPTER XXIII. The Boy King of England, Edward VI. .... 149 CHAPTER XXIV. A Flogging at Sea. — The Boy Martyr. .... i^^ CHAPTER XXV. Frederick the Great and his Page. 162 CHAPTER XXVI. William the Conqueror. Kite Flying with a kind Brother, Harold. The Murder in Blackwood, by Roger. - - 164 CHAPTER XXVII. War.— "Glory,"and"Duty."— Napoleon.— A Young Conscript. The Retreat from Moscow. — A Battle.— Bad ajoz, &c. - 179 CHAPTER XXVIII. "The Vine." 211 CHAPTER XXIX. War and Drink. What they cost us. 215 CHAPTER XXX. Who Murdered Willie ? 232 CHAPTER XXXI. The Bitter Melon. 234 X. CONTENTS. PAGE CHAPTER XXXII. ♦'Faith and Works." The Lazy Carter. The Ferryman. - • 235 CHAPTER XXXIII. A Wild Night off the ** Goodwins." 240 CHAPTER XXXIV. The Boy David. David's Fall. 245 CHAPTER XXXV. The Boy Joseph 258 CHAPTER XXXVI. The Boy Isaac. The Passover. The Wedding Garment. - ♦ 268 CHAPTER XXXVII. Destitute Street Children. What will Christ say? Dr. Barnardo's Homes. 277 CHAPTER XXXVIII. The Poor in our Large Towns. 295 CHAPTER XXXIX. Two Youths.— '♦ I Can," and I Can't." 305 CHAPTER XL. George the III. The Young Mason. The Sermon. - * 314 CHAPTER XLI. Modern Unbelief. "The Larger Hope" Delusion. Christ's Words. 317 CHAPTER XLII. "Horrors of War." Conquest and Spoliation. Moscow, 181 2 - 328 CHAPTER XLIII. Drink— The Curse of England. 354 CHAPTER XLIV. Showing how the House could not have been Taken by the Robbers, if there had not been a Traitor within - - 361 CHAPTER XLV. A Good Son. 379 CHAPTER XLVL A Singular Pair of Scales. 381 CHAPTER XLVII. The Jester. 3^3 CHAPTER XLVIII. The Young Officer and the Soldier. 385 CHAPTER XLIX. Pride.— The Young Tutor. 387 INTRODUCTION. J HE following work was written by a gentleman interested in Working Men's Clubs, — Youths' Insti- tutes, — Sunday-schools, &c. Before leaving England, for a time, he desired to •^ leave with a number of youths, from 14 to 25 years of age, a book which — if carefully read — might with God's blessing, induce a Youth to commence a manly, noble, and pious Life. Not being able to meet with precisely the kind of Book he required, he resolved to attempt the present little Work. Having spent very many pleasant hours — he might almost say years — in their company, in teaching in the Sabbath-school, Night Institute, &c., he has gained some experience, and the hints given to Youths in this Volume will, he thinks, be appreciated by many a Youth setting out in life. Amongst the thousands of works now weekly published on Travel, History, Fiction, Poetry, and even Theology, one but rarely meets with a book purposely designed to encourage good and religious feeling in those young in years, and yet one which a Youth might read without feeling that weariness and repugnance so often felt by him for works of a more pretentious and advanced character. Books designed to combine entertainment and piety are often not very successful in advancing either; — "semi- religious " tales are prone to become more and more uninteresting, and are sometimes so transparently unreal, and fictitious, as to become comparatively worthless. On the other hand, in the few books extant having no other object than that of presenting Religion to those in early life, the error is made of forgetting that the attention of a Youth cannot reasonably be expected to be held too long on one subject, without some break or change. In the earnest " Persuasions to Piety," by Mr. Pike, the practical part, as it bears upon the daily life and habits, has been almost entirely omitted, so as to leave the youthful, and inexperienced, in some degree at a loss as to what are the first steps to be taken, in their case, towards the Life recommended. On the other hand, the practical predomi- nates so much in that admirable book for young students, B 2 INTRODUCTION. " The Manual," by the Rev. John Todd, and in such works as Mr. Smiles's '* Self Help," &c., as to leave but little room for those earnest persuasives, so helpful and encourag- ing to the young Believer. The hard practical lessons suggested, fail, in their absence, to inspire him with that love and affection for his Lord without which it is to be feared a life of self-improvement, begun under the most excellent system, will, after a time, insensibly glide back into the habits, and train of thought, common to the worldly and thoughtless of his age. To attempt to combine the two seemed a useful and hopeful endeavour. The contents of this Volume are not to be considered as entirely original. Some of the stories are from a collection made for the Sabbath School for years past from books and magazines, many of which have long been out of print ; the names of the authors of many of them are not known. Religion the Work of a Lifetime. One view of Religion alone may appear opposed, in the following chapters, to the spirit felt so much in the present day by many ; it is the insisting more upon a natural^ quiet, and habitual course of intellectual and religious advancement, rather than relying upon the sudden and remarkable changes — little short of miracles — brought forward so prominently in the present day — a Religion dependent on the feelings, rather than on the conscientious life. *' Awakening " not necessarily, " Conversion." Let us be thankful for all "Revivals," — and "Revivalists,'* — for surely there never was a time when a Great Revival of true, practical. Religion was more needed. But let the Young Reader clearly understand what a " Revival " really means. ** Awakening " is by no means necessarily, "Conversion!" Surely if there ever lived a Man who might have been inclined to rest upon his ** Awakening " as a true, genuine, " Conversion," that man was the Great Apostle Paul I Does he rest content with that Damascus journey, as '* Conversion," and as his title to Salvation } Certainly not ! He is ever urging us all to follow his wise, and holy example, and leave the " things that are behind." " But this one thing I do, — forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before," Phil, iii., 13. "Not as though INTRODUCTION. 3 I had already attained, but 1 follow after." " Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended." *' Know ye not that they which run in a Race run all, — but one receiveth the Prize ? So run that ye may obtain," i Cor. ix., 24. Very different teaching this, dear Reader, to resting on a past scene, or scenes, of emotion, or excitement for Salvation! Instead of allusion to having been "Converted" on the Damascus road, the Apostle, on the contrary says, " I keep my body under, and bring it into subjection," I Cor. ix., 27. Why? "Lest, — after having preached to others, I myself should be a Castaway ! " The after Life of multitudes who once seemed deeply impressed with Religion, has proved by the irresistible logic oi facts, — that the Pious emotions they once experienced, certainly did not lead them on to that true, lasting, — real "Conversion" the Apostle urges upon us. "If ye know these things" says our Blessed Lord, — " happy are ye if ye do them, John xiii., i. "Not everyone that saith unto Me, ' Lord,' Lord,' — shall enter into the Kingdom of Heaven, but he that doeth the will of my Father, which is in Heaven," Matt, vii., I. The ivise Builder was he who heard our Lord's words and did them, whose house was found to be upon the rock. True, every Christian _places his only Jiope of Recon- ciliation, and of Salvation in the first place, upon the Atonement, and Sacrifice of our Lord Jesus Christ. It is the shedding of the precious Divine blood of Christ, which can alone redeem any, or can alone offer Mankind any hope, or standpoint. Nothing else gives the true Christian any hope, — any satisfaction, — any confidence ! We start with this. It is the first Principle, — and Standpoint of true Christianity ! But then follows the question of faithfulness in the Christian life and walk, the Path of Duty. Because the Believer ever desires to be "Found in Him, not having mine own righteousness " (to rest upon for Salvation) — "but that which is through the faith of Christ," — (Phil, iii., 9.) — that is surely no reason why he is not to be ■ever anxious to do his duty, with Christ's aid ! And, dear Reader, — no two words about it, — that duty must be done. Multitudes are impressed, — feel at some time or other of their lives " the Power of the World to come," — but it was not " Conversion." By no conceivable means could their after life be called a Christian one ! They fell away ! They shirked the Conflict at the beginning ! The Great Apostle never says, " I was 'converted ' on the Damascus 4 INTRODUCTION. road." On the contrary, — years after,— he says—" I have fought a good Fight ; I have kept the Faith ; henceforth there is laid up for me a Crown of Righteousness ! " Dear Reader ! Why not let us recognise with the great Apostle, — and every true Follower of our Lord, since his day, — the Fact, that, though Christ's Atonement has certainly opened to all the way to Heaven, there is yet a " Good Fight," for us also to " fight ; " — a " Faith " for tis, too, to be tried ; — (and tried it certainly will be) — and to be "kept" also, by us, before the "Well done! Good, and faithful Servant! enter thou into the joy of thy Lord," — can come, — (as God wishes it to come) — also to us ! Dear Young Reader ! Value Religious emotions and Pious feelings, — especially in early Life, — as the most precious of all God's gifts, — but value them, as He intends them to be valued, as a Means to an End. Do not rest on them, — grasping the Shadow for the Substance ; — they are intended to lead to, — but are not, in themselves, — "Conversion." A religion which costs you nothing, is just no Religion at all! Depend upon it, a religion of mere sentiment, — without the Cross, — will never win the Crown ! " Without Holiness no Man shall see the Lord/' Heb. xii., 14. The Young Believer Discouraged. Without this true View of "Conversion," being taught him, the Young Christian may become utterly discouraged. Why ! I quite thought that at such, and such a time I was "Converted," — and yet here are all the old sins still ! Why ! I quite thought from that day all would be Hap- piness, and Peace ! I thought that there would be no more doubts, no more very great, — or, at any rate, — very successful, — temptations, and that I should fall no more into any very serious sins." Did you ? Then dear young Reader, you were expecting a Life contrary to the experience of every child of God ! To be " Born again," — is not so easy a matter ! The change from a State of Nature, to a State of Grace, is not so easily efTected ! It is the Work of a Lifetime ! Else what are we here " three-score years, and ten " for .? You are expecting the Crown, — before the Cross, — the Victory before the Conflict! It cannot be! The Christian must be tried ! As a young Christian you are expected to prove a true, — not a sham — " fair weather only," Soldier of the Cross. Our Saviour's own path led Him to the Cross INTRODUCTION. 5 on Calvary! The Christian's Hfe would be unintelligible, — if there was no trial — no conflict — no foe to face, — no fighting a good fight of Faith, — no Satan to oppose, — no confidence in God to be tried ! Giving it all up. INIany youths, — looking to themselves alone, — and for- getting the power of the Almighty, — conclude that Christ's precepts are, — at least to the immense majority of Mankind, — infinitely too high for poor human nature to entertain the slightest hope of following them. Thus, the precepts of Jesus Christ, in regard — for instance, — to absolute purity in Life, and even in Thought, — the "giving up all, and following Him," the "loving our neighbour," — nay, even our enemy, *' as ourselves," &c. " Be ye therefore perfect, even as your Father which is in Heaven is perfect," — are Pre- cepts so transcendently high, as to be ineffectual, — because impossible to follow. It is to be feared that many, usefully engaged in Christian work, — having to come in constant contact with these precepts, — are so depressed with the immense contrast presented by their own practice, — and the lives of those around them, to the teaching of Christ, — that they say, " I cannot go on preaching to others what I do not, and cannot, follow myself, — it is a farce to do so," and give up in sheer despair ! We have Eternity to Work in. Being Himself Divine, how could our Saviour's Precepts and Standard, be anything else but " transcendent " and Godlike 1 But, dear Reader, we must remember that, to reach that Standard of being perfect, the Christian will have Eternity in which to approach, — without ever reaching — Divine goodness ! This is merely the Commencement of the Christian's life ! If God gives the desire^ He will, in time, give the ability. " I can do all things through Christ strengthening me." The fault surely lies in looking too much at the *' impossible " of man, and forgetting that " with God all things are possible." Because neither we, nor those around us, seem able, at present, to obey the Gospel precepts, — are we to madly give up all faith, — in the amazing changing power of God the Holy Spirit, — and that life of prayer which we are assured will lead ultimately to our becoming *' sons of God } " No one denies for a moment the immense corruption of the Christian church, if judged by Christ's standard. Where 6 INTRODUCTION. IS the consistent "Christian ?" may well be asked in 1891. True Conversion. It certainly requires Faith to believe that the wondrous change can take place. But before the mysterious and blessed influence of God the Holy Spirit, a marvellous change is experienced. That terrible hunger and greed after gain, and money, — for instance, — that terrible Sin of Covetousness, — the sin of our day, (and the Sin especially of the English speaking Race) — relaxes its fearful hold upon the Soul, as higher ambitions, and hopes, begin to dawn upon the Believer. So with the Besetting Sin, — Intemperance, — Immorality, • — Dishonesty, — Irreligion, — whatever it may be. God the Blessed Holy Spirit, the Sanctifier, — can, in time, — but it takes time, — if earnestly sought, — entirely change that deadly Selfish Heart, — change the entire Character, Ambitions, and Desires ! Do you doubt it t Well 1 look around you ! What ! never seen that wondrous change in any Companion, Relative, or Friend } It is incredible ! We see it, — thank God, — certainly! Nay! We experience it, — as Believers, — ourselves! And you, — dear Reader, — if you only persevere in a Prayerful, and Christian Life, — shall experience it too ! Things, — which once were everything to us, — upon which the then worldly, selfish, Christless, heart was set, — are nothing, — thank God, — to us now ! The taste for them has gone ! We have somethijig better now! This, dear Reader, is "CONVERSION,"— the true Change for Time, and for Eternity ! There never was a time when it was more needful to bear in mind that all things in Nature designed to be lasting and permanent, much more, all things connected with Religion, must, from the Constitution of things, be of extremely slow and gradual growth. In these days of increased intelligence and excited feel- ing, we demand preachers who can thunder and lighten, and urge their hearers forward by a succession of powerful impulses — almost without their knowing it — into the king- dom of Heaven. What an idea of unreal and fictitious growth do such means present to us, to which all things in Nature — and, above all, God's dealings with Mankind — offer a denial. With God all things are possible ; but except in occasional instances, upon which we have no authority to rely — they being the exception, not the rule — His dealings with man have been as remarkable for their INTRODUCTION. extreme deliberation as for their inevitable accuracy and certainty. Although hopelessly and fatally corrupt, a hundred and twenty years are given to a World, altogether corrupt, to repent, before it is destroyed. A hundred and twenty years did Noah warn the sinners before the Flood of the Wrath to come, while, though the World went on as usual, he was ever building the Ark. It is probable that they only laughed at the " foolish old man," who had been toiling for a hundred years on his mad scheme : for we learn how few righteous and repenting would have stayed God's hand when His judgment waited till righteous Lot was in a place of safety. Noah, we are told, — was " a Preacher of Righteousness," — but he preached in vain ! The " hundred and twenty years " of God's long suffering slowly passed ; and God warned Noah, at length, to go into the Ark. Louder than ever laughed the scoffers around him, at the silly old man and his family shut in on dry land, — they ate, they drank, but the rain came, — the very windows of heaven were opened, — the fountains of the great Deep were broken up, — and swept them all away ! The Deluge. " The Earth also was corrupt belore God, and the earth was filled with violence, for all flesh had corrupted his way upon the Earth ; and God saw S INTRODUCTION. that the wickedness of man was great upon the Earth, and the Lord said, My Spirit shall not always strive with man, yet his days shall be an hundred and twenty years. In the Second Month and the Seventeenth day of the Month, the same day were all the fountains of the great Deep broken up and the windows of Heaven were opened. And the waters prevailed exceedingly npon the earth ; and all the high hills were covered. Fifteen cubits upward did the waters prevail, and the mountains were covered." — Genesis vi., 7. Again, a city, with not ten unpolluted by frightful sin, is visited by God himself, to see " whether they have done altogether according to the report," before it is overwhelmed. The dealings of the Creator with his creatures undoubtedly exhibit amazing long suffering "not willing that any should perish." But such examples only serve to confirm the certainty of judgment, which overtakes the hardened and habitual sinner before he can persuade himself that there is any cause for alarm. Hence the caution with which the many extraordinary accounts of sudden changes in those old and confirmed in sin should be propagated, especially amongst the young and unthinking ; for they tend to en- courage fallacious hopes, and fail in every way to stimulate the young to earnest and real endeavours after a better life, while time and opportunity are theirs. The thief, we may conjecture, although we are not positively told so, may have never heard or known of Christ before. This man was undoubtedly converted and accepted while upon the Cross; but does this apply to one who has known from very Childhood all the truths of the Gospel, and yet known them in vain } How little do we know of the former life, the circumstances, the state of Society in which this man had lived ! If he for \.\\q first time had heard of good, how little can we understand that degree of faitJi, in a criminal of those dark times, which enabled him to discern in one convicted, crucified, and reviled, a Saviour who would shortly be the Lord over Heaven and Earth — a faith sur- passing that of His immediate followers, who had been with Him from the first; amidst the tumult and excitement of the scene, with the knowledge that in a few hours at the longest he must pass into eternity, and the consciousness that he was looking for the last time on the world around, which enabled him to address to Christ those touching words, " Lord remember me when Thou comest into Thy kingdoni.'' Was this intended as an ordinary case of one whom sin and Satan had been hurrying on from one stage of guilt and pollution to another.^ Is this a case, constantly as we hear it brought forward, which, — till w^e know more of its unusual features, — we dare to cite to others as an INTRODUCTION. 9 instance of the ordinary dealings of God — the ordinary- termination of a polluted, woeful, and misspent life ? Surely the parallel case of the parable of the workmen called to work in the vineyard at the eleventh hour, is not meant to encourage any madly to risk his all, upon the chance of a late, so called, " conversion." The object of the parable, designed as all were, for certain states of mind in those who heard them, aimed rather to reprove the jealousy, which, having all things, could not feel pleasure in their being also bestowed on others. Surely, when piety and its duties have been presented to the mind from very early days, there can be no application of this often misapplied parable, seeing that the call to a pure and useful life — a life of piety towards God — has already gone forth, long ago. The gracious words " Let the wicked forsake his way," &c., and again, " But if the wicked will turn from all his sins that he hath committed, and keep all my statutes, and do that which is lawful and right, he shall .surely live, he shall not die," offer no false hopes in respect to those sudden changes met with so frequently in tracts and modern publications of a religious character, though less frequently \\\ actual and real life. We must have time for all this. Such passages of scripture evidently impress us most strongly with the conviction that a complete change is ab- solutely necessary. A change, not of excited feeling — not wrought in an hour, nor a day, nor a year, but a real permanent change of heart and disposition, a leaving off of evil, a performance of that which is lawful and right ; and, surely, this necessitates the being in a position, having the time and pozver to do those things, and not the leaving off evil merely because it is no longer in onr pozver to follow it. *' But if the wicked will turn " — here seems to be the point. A death-bed repentance can never be proved to be real and lasting, unless the person could be restored, and put to the test, and if he has failed once to live a holy life, what ground have we for thinking that he would be successful if he had another opportunity } For does not what we ourselves have seen in him to whom the character may be applied, of being a thoroughly wicked and proud man, confirmed in sinfnl habits, tend much rather to the assertion, that " When the leopard can 10 INTRODUCTION. change his spots, then may they also do good who are accustomed to do evil ? " The change from virtue to vice is, Hke all others, slow — no one becomes altogether evil all at once. They could not do so if they tried! And shall then the change from sinfulness to holiness — the most wonderful of all others — be alone marked for its sudden, unexpected, and instant growth ? The natural world offers a type of the same gradual growth or decay which marks the spiritual condition of mankind. Passing over the periods of almost eternal duration needed to form the earth on which we live, let us take, amongst numberless examples, the simple illustration of 'iM^f^'^ It was ail Acorn once. the growth of an acorn. At first, from the swelling shell bursts forth, little by little, the first small shoot of green, j;i time the seedling is formed, which for years must struggle, with uncertain success, to rise above the long INTRODUCTION. 1 1 grass in which it is concealed ; then, as year after year rolls by in slow succession — the returning and returning seasons, the wintry days of snow and rain, the long warm days of Summer, leaving their gradual impression — the Seedling becomes a Sapling ; and, when generations of Mankind have been long ago gathered to the dust, the stately and far-spreading oak tree towers above all around, until, after weathering the storms of Centuries, in gradual and silent decay it slowly passes away ! And is not such a type of the slow and gradual steps by which a Character is formed — formed not for Time only, but for Eternity ? Is it not by such degrees the Great and Holy have, in all ages, been matured to what they were ? The early turning of love to heavenly things. The hymn said at a mother's knee ; the habit of thought and feeling ; the impressions gained insensibly from examples of piety, especially in those of the same age as ourselves — impressions which are felt in after-life, when the circum- stances, and the actors, have long since passed away ; the vague and childish idea of " Our Father Who art in Heaven" ripening into faith, year after year, in the growing consciousness of the actual presence of an Almighty Friend ; the quiet, habitual communion with Him in prayer, in Boyhood and Youth ; the book after book read in scenes of retirement, all leaving their deep and lasting impressions on the boy's mind — who can doubt that these are the principles on which to act, as the natural and hopeful means by which holiness and true piety have ever been attained .'' Again, in those cases when the awakening from a woeful, Christless, prayerless life comes in later life, is there no struggle between the good and evil.'* No warfare .-^ No self-denial .'' No frequent prayers, no earnest seeking, before the Soul, long accustomed to a Godless life, decides at length, once, and for ever, for the higher, rather than the lower, life 1 Then surely, we vnist have time for all this 1 Surely daily actions — daily thoughts, words, and deeds, produce Habits both in thought, and deed ! Equally surely do habits, — long continued, — form the Character whether for good or evil. And certainly the Character decides the fate, or destiny ; and what is fate, or destiny, but Heaven or Hell? " Depart from Me all ye that work iniquity." Let us then attempt, by slow^ but sure degrees, to present true and intelligent ideas of religion and God to our scholars of all classes and ranks — ever in dependence for the Divine blessing upon our efforts — without which we must 12 INTRODUCTION. all feel conscious nothing can result. Unless practical ideas of religion are thus obtained, the efforts at public education, however excellent they may be, must ever prove ineffectual in reaching the springs of action in toiicJiing the Jiem-t. Our country owes its supremacy far more to the Religious disposition of the English, than to our mere advantages of position and wealth ; and there surely never was a period when its teeming population needed more intelligent views of Christianity. Fully allowing that "God alone giveth the increase," that " unless He build the city, they labour in vain that build it," and knowing that all holy impressions must come from Him alone, surely this offers no more reason for omitting every means in our power, than the knowledge that its after-growth and success must be left to nature alone, need deter the husbandman from sozvuig the seeds of the future harvest. Let us then seek to use the means God points out to us, as the hopeful ones for success ; instead of placing dependence upon that subtle, self-deceiving thought, com- mon to old and young, that we are much the same as others, and that when needful, a certain time will yet come, — why we know not ; when, or how, we know not — when " Conversion " is to take place, ivhile we are allozving, at the same time, our short allotment of time, and opportunity, to pass by tuiimproved. Alas ! That " Conversion " which they fondly hope is, some distant day, to be effected in an instant, — with no attempts, no labour on our part,— unaccompanied by any conscious change in our daily habits, and daily thoughts, — to multitudes never comes at all ! How is it possible that it should, where no efforts are made, — no means employed .'' Those sudden, and unexpected changes of character which are to take place in the most depraved, most certainly to multitudes do not come ! Such delusive hopes of a change to take place, — but ahvays at some future time, — must surely be a hazardous *' Conversion " on which to rest an Eternity of Weal or Woe ! " ?>y going down the Street of * By and By,' — one comes, — at last, — to the Gate ' Never '! " The rareness of an earnest and yet practical book on religion, suited for the young, which should present piety and religion to their sympathy and regards, may be owing to the idea that addresses containing the deepest and most Note. — The previous Edition of this little Work having been accepted by the " Public Lending," and " Y. M. C. A." Libraries of England, a copy of the new Edition is presented to their Kindred Associations in America, and Australia, should their respective Committees, — on the whole, — approve of it. " Vol. II." — has, — unavoidably, — to treat on Subjects upon which great difference of opinion exists, — and in regard to which, it is unreasonable to expect that we should all see alike. Should, therefore, any scruple, as to "Vol. II." occur, — "Vol. I." may be circu- lated as an entirely distinct Work of itself. ine lauits oi t5oyi\ooa and Youth seem to be chiefly owing- to the need of a Manly change taking place in the Character ; many retain too often, to an almost indefinite period, the selfishness, ignorance, and thoughtlessness of the Child, while they have, at the same time, arrived at a degree of bodily and mental vigour and powers, little inferior to that of Manhood. The young people of the present day are confessedly far advanced in intelligence to their predecessors of former years, and, with the Divine blessing, these solemn Truths, earnestly and faithfully, presented to them, may not be altogether unintelligible or useless. made, — no means empiuyt-vj . r i 4. Those sudden, and unexpected changes of character which are to take place in the most depraved, most certamly to multitudes do not come ! i i u *. Such delusive hopes of a change to take place,— but always at some future time— must surely be a hazardous - Conversion " on which to rest an Eternity of Weal or Woe ' " By going down the Street of ' By AND BY,'— one comes,- at last,— to the Gate 'Never'!" The rareness of an earnest and yet practical book on religion, suited for the young, which should present piety and religion to their sympathy and regards, may be owing to the idea that addresses containing the deepest and most INTRODUCTION. 1 3 solemn views of religion are ill-judged for those in early life, and tend to cast a gloomy aspect over the cheerfulness so natural and so becoming in youth. To these, the address " The Golden Opportunity " — on the text " Seek the Lord while He may be found," — also the views advanced in this book on the " Eternal Hope Delusion," will probably be brought especially into question. It is, doubtless, a subject for consideration how far such solemn views of religion may be allowed to open to the youthful mind. Such objections are the more likely to be raised, because of the great siiasiveriess in the present day of religious teaching, both in the School and in the Pulpit. In our day, earnest, practical, belief in the Eternal loss of the Christless soul seems dying out. That we have all " A Heaven to gain, and a Hell to shun," is a Truth which commends itself, not only to the Believer in the Holy Scriptures, but also to the consciences of all meii. One honest thought of Eternity would put to flight many a temptation ! Let us then consider how far it is desirable to present these solemn truths to youths of from twelve to twenty years of age. It will, we believe, be found, that to thought- less and cheerful Youths of early years — who live for the present alone, intently conscious of all that passes in the oiLtward world, and which ministers to their pleasure, but conscious of little else — these Truths will seldom produce the evil some might apprehend ; while with regard to those who are approaching Manhood, is it not indeed time that these Truths — fraught with such infinite importance to each of us, — should be earnestly presented to their minds } The faults of Boyhood and Youth seem to be chiefly owing to the need of a Manly change taking place in the Character ; many retain too often, to an almost indefinite period, the selfishness, ignorance, and thoughtlessness of the Child, while they have, at the same time, arrived at a degree of bodily and mental vigour and powers, little inferior to that of Manhood. The young people of the present day are confessedly far advanced in intelligence to their predecessors of former years, and, with the Divine blessing, these solemn Truths, earnestly and faithfully, presented to them, may not be altogether unintelligible or useless. 14 INTRODUCTION. Childish Teaching. The fact is, there appears in the present day to be a general desire, on the part of Teachers, to bring down as much as possible to the comprehension of the dullest, the Truths of that Religion we wish to promote. Whether those Truths siijfer notJdng from such attempts, and whether our efforts should not rather be directed to raise the intelligence of our Scliolars Jipzvards to them, we cannot now pause to consider ; but there will often be found an acuteness of mind in the Youths we teach, which needs something more than the almost childish teaching not unfrequently given them. There can be nothing more calculated to strike us painfully, whether it be in the Pulpit or in the School, than to see the Teacher actually behind the intelligence of those he is presumed to be instructing, who, longing for teaching of a iJioi^e advmiced character, and being ready to receive it with benefit — learn insensibly to think lightly of those Truths, the solemn meaning, and requirements of which, are lost sight of in the poor and weak manner in which they are presented. It may be thought by some, that the description of the power and agency of Satan, in the address " The Young Christian's Difficulties," (Chapter LIII.,) — is fanciful and unreal, and that such ideas tend to create in the mind of an intelligent youth doubtful conjectures and speculations. But there will come a time, in the experience of every thoughtful Youth, when these subjects fniist be met and thought ont for himself ; and it will,- we think, be conceded, that to enlighten the mind, as far as Divine revelation permits, as to the cause of the evil we see around us on every hand — although, as far as we know, all has been done that will be done, and eighteen hundred years have passed since the Redeemer came — the reason for the struggle between good and evil, between the service of sin and Satan and the service of God — is of the utmost impor- tance to the young Believer, just awakened to a sense of these truths, before he can estimate rightly the supreme blessing of the offer of a Saviour, and be induced to fly to Him for refuge and salvation. Repetitions will be noticed, and the persuasions to accept the offers of Divine goodness and a Saviour's love, in early life, and to cherish with pious regard, those precious im- pressions of early religious feeling, will, perhaps, be thought INTRODUCTION. 1 5 to be repeated almost to tedioiisness ; but it must be remembered that these addresses were presented at various periods, and at long intervals, and as these portions bear upon a point of siich hifijiite importance to the young, for whom they were written, they have been left unaltered. When is Religious Life to begin t The importance of earnest teaching in this day must be felt, when we have constant examples to prove that the young of one sex may be (and often are) committing, and still more often wishing for the opportunity to commit, those sins of which the Scriptures say expressly, that they who do such things shall not inherit the kingdom of God ; and that the young of the other sex may be (and often are) principally intent on the gratification of vanity, and looking for their chief happiness in the resorts of gaiety and folly ; and yet, provided only that they are good-tempered and open, and not actually disobedient to their parents and other superiors, they are considered good-hearted young people —which it would be well if all young people were. It is considered uncharitable to doubt that, when age has given them a little more wisdom and self-command, they will be all that can be desired. But true charity is wakeful, full of solicitude, not so easily satisfied, and knowing what sin is, and the ruin it spreads over the fairest promise, is jealous of mischief, apt to suspect danger — especially to those w^hose age renders them unsuspicious of evil themselves. Are not those the symptoms by which genuine regard manifests itself when it is solicitous about the bodily health of the object of affection — the wife or the child .'' And is not affectionate concern for the eternal interests of others characterized by the same infallible marks t And if those who are charged with the office of watching over the young, who naturally and almost insensibly take their habits of thought and views of religion from them, suffer themselves to be lulled asleep — or, for fear of being deemed uncharitable and over-anxious, spare themselves all pains in the duty of their position — shall it be called uncharitable or unnecessary to endeavour to point out to the young the importance of that life upon which their eternal interests depend 1 The lesson not learnt in Youth. To the considerate mind is there nothing to create anxiety in seeing the engaging cheerfulness and gaiety l6 INTRODUCTION. incident to youth welcomed, as sufficient indications of goodness, and a hopeful sign for a future life of piety and usefulness, by their parents and friends ? The cheerful, lively disposition, the healthy, active body, the attractive exterior, and engaging manners ; surrounded by friends, with good prospects for future well-doing — hopeful signs these, you will say, for passing fifty or sixty years here ; but what signs do they give, not for sixty nor a thousand years, but for Time Everlasting ? Surely, the Poor in this World, without friends, without hope for the future, with a large share of the miseries of life. — born often in an atmos- phere of disease and wretchedness, — have a jar better chance of passing their fifty or sixty years here, tolerably, than those who have not begun to turn to God have of passing a tolerable eternity I I would not cast one cloud over that cheerful spirit — throw one shadow of sadness over that light-hearted disposition — more than is needful to lead such to seek that home where clouds, and tears, and sadness can never come ; but — knowing as we all do, how soon early innocence is tarnished, and that either good or evil must take up its abode in that joyous, thoughtless heart, — and with many an ebb and flow, one or the other will finally take up its abode there never more to depart — should we not avail ourselves of that period (which once wasted is not to be recalled) when the temper of the mind is soft and ductile, that period of docility and good-humoured acquiescence to lead a Youth to a Christian, pious, and happy life ? The teachableness of youth is in general much greater than we might at first imagine ; their inexperience renders it so, necessarily. In spite of much self-confidence, and a quick pride, which seeks to hide the need of it, many a lesson is, nevertheless, taken home by a Youth never to be again entirely forgotten. It is rare to find in a Youth a deliberate pride of mind which repels advice and instruction, on matters which nearly concern him, from the conscious strength he feels of having no need of them. The Lesson not learnt in Manhood. Let us then trace for a moment, in conclusion, the after career of those in whom this fair morning of life, this seed- time for a happy future, has been allowed to pass by without solicitude in regard to their eternal interests, or to their spiritual understanding and attainments. As these INTRODUCTION. 1 7 grow older, they marry and ordinarily settle into decent, respectable people, adopting the usual outward forms of religion, and a sufficiently regular performance of its duties and requirements. With a lax and very imperfect idea of true piety and holiness, with hearts rendered more unimpressionable by habit, and by the thousand duties, pleasures, and engagements of life, these listen with a cahn and almost listless attention to the earnest truths which once would have gone home with infinite good to their hearts. They may be no more set than ever upon the great work of their Salvation : they may be chiefly bent upon merely worldly pursuits — the care of their families — improving their fortunes — enjoying the recreations con- sidered needful and allowable in a life of business ; but who can noiv press home the truth upon such, it is of eternal consequence that they should feel } So long as they are kind in their conjugal and parental relations, decent and regular in their mode of life, who can be so uncharitable — so rude — as even to venture a doubt whether that condition can be a safe one which has passed youth without having ever been touched by a Saviour's love ; without having ever consciously becofne His; and with whom, loving and engaged with earthly things, the short remaining period of allotted life is rapidly hasteni7ig away ? Looking at the depth of misery and sin multitudes are plunged in, almost, alas! from childhood, causes us to consider their state as a hopeful one, in comparison. They seem "not far from the kingdom of heaven." Ikit if there be any in whom good and pious resolutions have long since ripened into good and pious actions, and continued good actions have now led to a Christian life, how miserable would such think it to be only " not far from the Kingdom of Heaven ; " how ill could they bear to go over again the struggles of earlier days which used to accompany almost every action, when done in defiance of habits of evil ; how thankful will they be to have escaped from that season when they were seeking, but had not yet found, when that feeling of coldness and unwillingness to pray, because they had prayed so often in vain, at last gave way before a faith which instead of giving up the attempt, had prayed the more earnestly and had been successful. Those who are thus within the Kingdom of Heaven cannot but look back with pity upon those who are only as yet without its gates, much more upon those who have not taken a step towards it, nor appear to be doing so. In their married life there is the same absence of any l8 INTRODUCTION. gross wickedness, and we see much that is amiable ; but the desire to turn to God, the sense of Sin and the need of a Saviour — the very first tending of the steps towards the Kingdom of God — these ive do not see ! Young people are not tempted to be hard, interested, covetous, or insincere. Those in middle life are not so strongly tempted to be thoughtless, or idle, or licentious ; they have the restraints of their family connections ; the know^ledge of what is expected from, and due to, their position ; the estimation of society, of which they now well know the value. They are not now so completely negligent in their attention to objects of real value ; far from it — family interests, the pursuit of wealth or ambition, and worldly cares, are now their objects of life and desire. And now, at length. Old Age advances. And now, at length, old age advances, with a step no longer to be mistaken; one after another the lights of Vanity Fair are disappearing in silence and in gloom ; the bustle of the gay and thoughtless world is soon to fall no more upon our ears, but to be the portion of those who are just commencing, as they once did, its wearisome search after happiness. Kloiv, if ever, we may expect that the lesson not taught \x\ youth, nor learnt in middle age, will at last Q.ovn^ home, and eternal concerns at length be the main object of earnest attention. Alas! nothing of the kind I There are still appropriate good qualities, the presence of much which calms disquietude and satisfies the requisitions of them- selves and those around them ; they must now be indulgent of the frailties and follies of youth, remembering that when young they shared the same. "Ye must be born AGAlN."-John iii., 3-8. IS THIS BEING BORN AGAIN? But, is this that dread of sin, that life of holiness and heavenly desires, that advancing from strength to strength, that life of dedication, which marks the true Christian.'* Is this all that is implied in the doctrine of our Lord, the " being born again,'' without which no man can see God, or enter into His Kingdom.^ Is this all that is implied in being " Created anew after God, in righteousness and true holiness } " " If any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of His!' Romans viii., 9. Is this all we have to us the hope that our names are written INTRODUCTION. I9 in the Book of Life? Youth, with its warmth and inex- perience, its follies and its temptations, being over, we may, indeed, live many years decent, sober, respectable, and ^ven useful members of Society : but unless we have known something of a conscious coming to Christ, at some time or other of our lives, a conscious acceptance of Him, and a resolve to be His and serve Him forever; — unless we have not been merely content to struggle successfully with one marked sin, but, undismayed with the prospect, and in dependence upon Divine assistance, have resolved to overcome an entire sinful nature, and become renewed after God's ow^n image ; — unless we have experienced the gradual death of sin, which, with many an ebb and flow, at last makes certain progress ; — unless, at some time or other in our lives, we have known what it was to fly to Ou'ist, as those in extreme peril from sin and misery, and have been accepted and forgiven by Him, shall we not find that we have been building upon the sand ? Building on the Sand. If all this seems to us strange, and extravagant, and unreal (unreal in the sense in which our houses, and land, and families, and friends are real), surely we should ponder the Truth as expressed in that Book whose Author cannot lie, that w^e may live thus for many years, respectably and creditably, possessing large powers of mind ; with deep knowledge of earthly, and even some of spiritual things ; enjoying the friendship and love of many, and possessing qualities worthy of their regard, and which even our enemies cannot fail to respect, and finally our names may be spoken of, in after times, as those who did worthily in their day and generation : — and yet we may find, when this Earth with all its concerns shall have closed for ever its mournful, and yet glorious history, and shall have passed away, as a thousand worlds may have already passed away in Infinite space, and in Infinite time, that in all these things in which we were so far superior to the sinful and miserable around us, we served ourselves alone, and not Him who died for us. We may find that we have had our good things in this life, and shall find that there remains now nothing more ; the talents He committed to us, by which we rose superior to multitudes sunk in ignorance and sin, kept us, indeed, from hurtful and disreputable vices, enabled us to live a happy, and "successful," life, but brought forth no fruit to 20 INTRODUCTION. Him — were never employed consciously in His service, in order that the words of loving welcome might be ours, " Thou hast been faithful over a few things, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord." We may find — having no interest in Christ, never having entered by the strait, and narrow, way into His fold — that to sinners such as w^e are the door of eternal life must be for ever closed. And the agony is neither to be conceived of, nor understood. When God and Christ Jiave passed away for ever, and we left to go out into Eternity, unchanged, unholy, unsanctified, and unsaved ; — to ponder upon that loss so vast, so awful, that it will take an Eternity to under- stand, and an Eternity to deplore I Be wise in time. To some older Reader — who may — perchance, take up a book intended for the Young, — the shades of evening are stretching o'er the landscape, — the Sun of your life's Summer is fast sinking in the VVest ! You have seen the Comrades of your early days go down, — one, after another, — to the silent tomb ! You have seen one loved Relative, after another— laid out — in the cold, white, mystery of Death ! And how many a so-called " Wealthy," and "Successful," man, — is going out into Eternity unsaved.? "In my early life /, too, had my calls to Piety and Religion, — but I slighted them ! The faithful God, — the precious Saviour, — came humbly knocking at 7ny door too, in days that long since are over, and are gone ! But I wished to be a wealthy man, — I slighted many Convic- tions ! I grasped — for many a year — the treasures of a dying World, but I missed the tide, it was God's will should have borne me to my Heavenly home ! I seized, — for many a year, — the riches and the pleasures of a Phantom World ! I grasped Earth's Dunghill, — but I missed the starry Croivn I " Reader ! be wise, — before Death comes to thee ! Reader ! be wise before ETERNITY ! (22) CHAPTER I, THE INDIAN'S REVENGE. ^HERE was a man, named Warrington, who lived on i| the confines of an American Forest. i) , His house was made of logs, and pleasantly situated 7 in a small valley, by the side of a little river. It was seven miles from the dwelling of any white person, and the road to the nearest settlement lay through the thick forest. But although Mr. Warrington dwelt in a place so lonely, he did not feel his solitude. He had a wife and two children ; these he loved very much, and they saved him from feeling that he was alone. Of the children the eldest was a girl, Laura, nine years old ; the other, John, a little boy of seven. They were very pretty children, and, what is better, were very good ; Laura, only, being rather too fond of wandering in the woods. Not far from Mr. Warrington's house there was an Indian, by name Shaumut. He lived in a small hut made of the branches of trees, covered with red turf. He was on "the whole, a good and friendly man ; though, like the other Indians, he dwelt in the forest, and lived in a wild and savage manner. Now it happened that two bad white men, who lived at the settlement, seven or eight miles from Mr. Warrington's, knowing that he lived alone, determined to rob him of what they could get. Accordingly, one night they came into his house, and carried off several articles of considerable value in the estimation of a settler. The whole family being asleep, and the log hut being but insecure, they escaped in safety. The thieves now went towards Shaumut's Hut, taking care to drop one or two of the things as they passed along ; for, being known as bad characters by the whole settle- ment, they had hit upon this expedient of getting the Indian to be suspected of the robbery. When the morning came the robbery was discovered. It was then the custom to lay every misfortune upon the Indians, and every crime that was committed was set down to the red man. It was natural, therefore, that Mr. Warrington should impute the robbery to them. After thinking of it a little time, he resolved to go to Shaumut, and see if he could discover the truth. THE INDIAN'S REVENGE. 23 While he was on his way he stumbled on one of the articles which the rogues had dropped ; and as it was in a path which led but to the red man's hut, he did not care to go there alone, being now convinced that Shaumut had been the thief. He repaired at once to the white settlement, and told the people what had happened. All agreed that the Indian was the robber, and none were more snre of it than the two white men who had themselves committed the crime. It was determined that Shaumut should be instantly punished ; and four men, armed with guns, returned with Mr. Warrington to his house, for the purpose of carrying this scheme into execution. They waited until it was dark, and then repaired to the scene of action. Shaumut's house as I said before, con- sisted of sticks covered with sods. It was a kind of hut called a " Wigwam." In a wigwam there is no door, but the Indians pass in and out through a small hole, by creeping on their hands and knees. It was about ten o'clock, on a summer's evening, that Warrington and his companions surrounded the red man's Wigwam, The Indian and his wife and three children were already asleep. Not thinking of danger, they were all reposing on their bear-skin beds, enjoying their rest, which the labours of hunting and fishing, in which their lives were passed, made doubly sweet. Suddenly the silence of the night was broken by the sound of a musket. Shaumut heard the noise, and creeping out of his wigwam, was met by Mr. Warrington, who charged him with the theft. Shaumut denied the charge, " Theft," said he, " is the white man's crime ; the red man's hand may wield the tomahawk, or pull the bowstring, but his fingers cannot steal." But, in spite of his declaration, Warrington and his friends believed the poor Indian was guilty; it was true they could find none of the stolen articles anywhere about his wigwam, but what so easy as to hide or bury them } They, therefore, drove him and his family from their home, and then set it on fire. At the same time they told the Indian to leave that place, and never to return to it. Thus the poor red man was forced to see his dwelling-place consumed, his wife and children without a shelter, and his own name branded with crime. But, like all Indians — silent — he said nothing. He gloomily plunged into the forest, and followed by his family, disappeared from the little Valley where he had so long dwelt. 24 THE INDIAN S REVENGE. Some time had passed away, and the events which I have related were almost forgotten. Shaumut had never re- appeared, and it was supposed he had gone away to the Far West. One day that Summer, it was necessary for Mr. Warring- ton and his wife to go to the Settlement which I have already mentioned. They set out early in the morning, with the intention of returning at night. Having given strict charge to their children to remain at home, they felt no anxiety, but went on their long w^alk with light hearts. They had not been long gone when the children, feeling dull in the house, proposed to each other to play in the Woods near ; for, though their parents had told them to stay at home, they would go but a very little way, and keep the hut in sight. But the day was very pleasant; the wild fruit and nuts were in abundance ; the large butterflies (not Hke those in England, but several inches across the wings) of lovely colours were flitting about ; the squirrels eating the nuts were leaping from bough to bough ; and the birds occasionally filled the forest with their voices. And thus it was that the two children wandered on, and spent two or three hours, insensibly going further from their home. They, now, however, determined to return. But though they walked for some time they saw no trace of their home, for they had missed their way ! They wandered about for some time, and neither dared to tell each other that they were lost ! But at length they looked into each other's faces, and began to cry. For some time they remained at the foot of a tree, lamenting their disobedience, and express- ing their anxiety to each other ; but by-and-by they arose, and, excited by their fears, they walked on as fast as the thick trees and bushes would permit. A recent writer, Mr. Bates, thus describes these immense forests of America: — " The few sounds of birds are of that pensive character which intensifies the feeling of solitude, rather than imparts a source of life and cheerfulness in these trackless wilds. Sometimes in the midst of the stillness a sudden yell or scream will startle one, as some defenceless fruit-eating animal is pounced upon by a tiger-cat or stealthy boa-con- strictor. Morning and evening the howling monkeys make a most harrowing noise, under which it is impossible to keep one's usual spirits. Often in the still hours of mid-day, a sudden crash will be heard resounding through the wilder- ness, as some great bough or entire tree falls to the ground. There are besides many sounds which it is impossible to THE INDIAN S REVENGE. 25 account for ; and I found the Indian natives generally as much at a loss in this respect as myself. Sometimes a sound is heard like the clang of an iron bar against a hollow tree, or a piercing cry rends the air; these are not repeated, and the succeeding silence tends to heighten the unpleasant impression they produce on the mind. With the natives it is always the ' Curupia,' or Spirit of the Forest, which produces all pounds they are unable to explain." It was into the depths of such a forest that poor Laura and John wandered for three days, living on nuts and wild fruit. One night, overcome with fatigue, they sat down, and both of them wept bitterly. Seated by the side of a rock, and folded in each other's arms, they fell asleep, So quiet were they, that a bird alighted on Laura's shoulder, early in the morning, and commenced his song, thus awaken- ing her and her brother. For a moment they could not recollect where they were ; on looking round they saw the thick woods, and remembered their dreary situation. While hesitating what course to pursue this day, they heard a crackling in the leaves, as if someone approached. Their first feeling was of joy, for the children believed it was their father coming to their relief; but what was their terror to perceive a huge black Bear approaching them, which, startled by their scream, made a pause at the unusual noise. The children fled through the forest, through the tangled branches of the trees ; and the Bear, recovering his surprise, snuffed the air for a few moments, and followed after them through the thick bushes. The children heard his gruff panting, snuffing, and growling ; but the branches tore their arms and legs, and they at last came to a stand. The Bear, rendered bold by hunger, opened his arms and settled him- self, for a leap and the death-hug. When, at the same moment, a bough or two were moved on one side — the barrel of a gun protruded from a tree close by — and a shot was fired. The Bear fell, and after a few struggles, died. At the same time, an Indian came rapidly up to them, and to their dismay proved to be no other than Shaumut. Knowing what had happened between her father and him, Laura, even at her age, felt alarmed at what the red man might do. But we shall see that the Indian's revenge was of a different nature to that expected. I must now tell you that the Parents of the children had returned at evening, and found their home vacant. In vain did they call, and search the nearest woods, and call from every little hill in the valley. The night was spent in fruit- less search ; but, though men from the settlement assisted D 26 THE INDIAN'S REVENGE. the disconsolate parents, days passed, and still the children were not to be found. The Parents were sitting, after another sleepless night, at the door of their hut, when sud- denly Shaumut came out of the woods with Laura and John. He stood apart, and witnessed the meeting of the parents with their children. When the first kisses and tears were over, the Indian came up to Mr. Warrington, and said : — " White man, listen ! You supposed I had done you wrong. You were mistaken. But still you set my wigwam on fire, and sent me and my family to seek a home beneath the cold shelter of the oak ! You drove me from the land of my fathers, by bestowing on me the name of robber and thief. A red man does not complain. Behold a red man's revenge ! I met your children in the wilderness. I could have carried them away, and made your heart desolate, as you have made mine, but I did not do it. I was leaving this place, to journey towards the sun; but I have returned to bring your children back. I have brought them far ! I restore them to you — and now I say farewell ! " The red man turned away ; and before Mr. W^arrington could make any reply, the Indian was lost amid the thick branches of the trees. Some time after, the two white men who had committed the theft, were discovered by one of the stolen articles, which they had not disposed of with the rest, at a distant settlement, and were given up to justice. Convicted for other offences, one of them confessed the theft. But, though Mr. Warrington made many efforts, he never learned any- thing of Shaumut again, for the good Indian had left those parts, never to return. *' If ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Heavenly Father forgive your trespasses." Indians Fishing. ^27) •' Yah ! there goes Old Skinflint ! " CHAPTER II. CHARITY. (jj/N the southern part of France is a large city called Mar- fll seilles : here there once lived a man named Guizon ; he ''11 was always busy, and seemed very anxious to amass J money, both by his industry and his frugality. He was poorly clad, and his food was of the simplest and cheapest kind ; he lived alone, and denied himself all the luxuries and many of the comforts of life. He was honest and faith- ful, never attempting to defraud others, and always exact in performing his promises ; yet the people of Marseilles thought he was a miser, and they held him in great con- tempt. As he passed along the streets, the rich looked on him with scorn, while the poor hissed and hooted at him. Even the boys would cry out, " There goes old Skinflint," But the old man bore all this insult with gentleness and patience. Day by day he went to his labour, and day by day as he passed through the streets he was saluted with sneers and taunts. Thus time passed on, and poor old Guizon was now more than eighty years of age. But he still continued the same persevering industry, still lived in the same saving simple manner as before. Though he was 28 CHARITY. now bent almost double, and his hair was thin and white as snow ; though his knees tottered as he went along the street, still the rude jokes of the crowd would follow him, "Yah! there goes the old Skinflint ! " But at length the old man died ; and it was found that he had heaped together, in gold and silver, a sum equal to forty thousand pounds. On looking over his papers, his will was found, in which were the following words: "I was once poor, and I observed that the poor people of Marseilles suffered extremely for the want of pure fresh water. Having no family, I have devoted my life to the saving of a sum of money sufficient to build an aqueduct to supply the poor of the city of Marseilles with pure water, so that the poorest may have a full supply." Let us be very careful how we judge from appearances, and act uncharitably in ridiculing or denouncing those who live differently from what we do, and who seem to us to be narrow-minded and selfish. For years this good old man had borne the scoffs and taunts of the senseless mob. Fixed upon one noble pur- pose, he led a life of penury and self-denial, and died at last friendless, despised, and alone. But his noble object was accomplished, and when he was gone, ma7iy a wreath of flowers, and many a tear were dropped upon the old man s grave We may find in judging, and condemning one who does )t live as we do, that we have beer better, and far nobler, than ourselves. not live as we do, that we have been condemning one far Saturday Night. (29) "Gelert." CHAPTER III. ANGER. N a Village at the foot of Snowdon, the well-known mountain in North Wales, there is a tradition that Llewellyn, son-in-law to King John, had a residence in that neighbourhood. The king, it is said, had presented him with one of the finest greyhounds in England, of the Highland or Scotch breed, named " Gelert." Llewellyn one day on going out to hunt, called all his dogs together ; but his favourite greyhound was missing, and nowhere to be found. He blew his horn as a signal for the chase, and still Gelert came not. Llewellyn was much discon- certed at the heedlessness of his favourite, but at length pursued the chase without him. For want of Gelert the sport was limited ; and tired and disappointed Llewellyn returned home at an early hour, when the first object that presented itself to him was Gelert, who bounded with his usual transport to meet his master, having his lips besmeared with blood. Llewellyn gazed with surprise at the unusual appearance of his dog. On going into the apartment where he had left his son and 30 ANGER. heir asleep, he found the bed-clothes and things surround- ing the cradle all in confusion, and stained with blood ; the cradle being overturned. In the sudden fit of rage he hastily concluded that the dog must have killed his boy ; and giving vent to it, without a moment's reflection, he plunged his sword to the hilt through Gelert's side. The noble animal fell at his feet, uttering dying moans, and endeavouring to lick his masters hand ; his cries at the same moment awakening the child, who was safely sleeping beneath a mingled heap of clothes, while close by lay a huge Wolf, covered with gore, which the faithful and gallant Hound had followed into the chamber and destroyed ! Llewellyn, smitten with sorrow and remorse for his rash and frantic deed, which had deprived him of an animal he could never expect to replace, did all that was left to com- memorate his fidelity, and unhappy fate. The place to this day is called " Beth-Gelert," or "the grave of the Hound." A Welsh "Coracle," (Basket Boat). 31) The truth is, I am tiitd of ticking." CHAPTER IV. DISCONTENT. c^HE following fable by Miss Jane Taylor was meant to Jj encourage those who are apt to look too much at the 4) I labours and difficulties in advance, instead of remem- ^ bering that the present day's work is easy to perform, and it is with the present alone that we have to do. An Old Clock that had stood fifty years in a Farmer's kitchen without giving its owner any cause of complaint, early one Summer's morning, before the family was stirring, suddenly stopped ! Upon this, the dial plate (if we may credit the fable) changed countenance wnth alarm ; the weights hung speechless ; the hands felt it impossible to indicate the right time. Each member felt very much dis- posed to lay the blame on the others. At length the dial plate instituted a formal inquiry throughout the works as to the cause of the stagnation; when Hands, Wheels, Chains, and Weights, protested their innocence, and the Clapper was especially loud in its denial ; but now a faint tick was heard from below from the Pendulum, who thus spoke : " I confess myself to be the sole cause of the present stoppage, and am willing, for the general satisfaction, to assign my reasons. The truth is, that I am tired of ticking." 32 DISCONTENT. Upon this the Old Clock became so enraged that it was upon the point of j-/;7/&/;/^/ " Lazy thing ! " exclaimed the dial-plate, holding up both its hands. "Very good ! " replied the Pendulum. " It is vastly easy for you, Mrs. Dial, who have always, as every one knows, set yourself up above me — it is easy for you, I say, to accuse other people of laziness ! You, who have had nothing to do but to stare people in the face, and to amuse yourself with all that goes on in the kitchen ! Think, I beg of you, how you would like to be shut up for life in this dark closet, and swing backwards and forwards, year after year, as I do." "As to that," said the Dial, "Is there not a window in your house on purpose for you to look through .<* " " For all that," resumed the Pendulum, *' It is very dark here ; and although there is a window, I dare not, as you all know, stop even for an instant to look out ; besides, I am really weary of my way of life ; and, if you please, I will tell you how I took this disgust at my employment. This morning I happened to be calculating how many times I should have to tick in the course of the next twenty-four hours. Perhaps some of you, above there, can give me the exact sum } " The minute hand, being QUICK AT FIGURES, instantly replied, " Eighty-six thousand, four hundred, times." " Exactly so," replied the Pendulum ; " well, I appeal to you all, if the thought of this was not enough to fatigue one t And when I began to multiply the stroke of one day by those of Months and Years, can any one wonder that I felt discouraged at the prospect ; so after a good deal of reasoning, and hesitation, thinks I to myself, ' I'll STOP.'" The Dial on this replied : — "Dear Mr. Pendulum, I am really astonished that such a useful, industrious, person as yourself, should have been overcome by this sudden sug- gestion. Holding the important position you do, you should remember that we are really dependent upon your ful- filling the duties of your post, as it rests with you whether we obtain, and merit, the attachment, and confidence, of Mankind, or are brought into disgrace. The consciousness of how much depends upon your exertions, how little we can do without you, deserves your deepest consideration. It is true you have done a great deal of work in your time. So have we all, and are likely to do ; but although this may fatigue us to think of, the question is whether it will fatigue DISCONTENT. 33 US to DO it. Would you, now, do me the favour to give about half-a-dozen strokes to illustrate my argument ? " " Certainly," said the Pendulum, (who to do him justice, was always susceptible to good and straigJitforward move- ments, and who had hitherto been remarkable for his uniform and well-regulated conduct.) And he ticked six times at his usual pace. " Now," resumed the Dial, " may I be allowed to enquire if that exertion was at all fatiguing or disagreeable to you t " "Not in the least," replied the Pendulum ; "it is not of six strokes that I complain, nor sixty, but of MILLIONS." " Very good," replied the Dial ; *' but let me ask you to remember, what I think you have forgotten, that although you may THINK of a million strokes in an instant, you are required to execute but ONE, and that however often you may hereafter have to swing, a moment will always be given you to swing in." "Well, this consideration staggers me, I confess," said the Pendulum. " Then may we not hope," resumed the dial-plate, " that we shall all return at once to our work } For though we may stand still, we must remember that time goes on the same." Upon this the Weights, who had never themselves, been accused of light conduct, used all their influence, — throwing their weight into the scale. The Pendulum gave way, and began to wag once more; when, with one accord, the wheels began to turn, the hands to move, and the pendulum, to do it justice, ticked as loudly as ever ; while a beam of the rising sun that streamed through the hole in the shutter of the kitchen window, shining brightly upon the dial-plate, it brightened up as if nothing had been the matter. When the farmer came down to breakfast that morning, upon looking at the Clock he declared, with surprise, that " His watch ^nnst have gained nearly half-an-hour in the night ! " A too successful Archer. (34) t I "1805." " Here I am, my lads ! A Jack Tar of the right sort, who is as much at home in a cap-full of wind, as one of Mother Gary's Chickens. Got ashore at last, after having been twelve months in the good ship ' Spitfire.' vSpit fire ! Yes ! she did, and red-hot balls sometimes ; or else, I suppose, old England, might, by this lime, have belonged to Mon'seer the Frenchman ! " The old Type of Seaman, with the ' Pigtail,'— the days of Wooden ' Three Deckers,' — ' the Pressgang,' — Flogging, — Nelson, — Grog,— and Glory ! What a contrast, do the scientific Ironclads, of our day, — resembling in their interiois the Workshops of Woolwich Arsenal, rather than Ships, — present to the old Navy ! Fortunately,— what with Naval Schools, Training Ships, Temperance, Sailors' Homes, and infinitely improved surroundings, — the lot of the 'Jack Tar ' in our Navy of 1891, presents even a greater contrast, to that of the neglect- ed Sailor, in these old, daik, heathen, times ! The "Spitfire^ luffing up against the Breeze. (35) CHAPTER V. THE BRAVE SAILOR BOY.— VOLNEY BECKNER, OF IRELAND. " Honour thy Father and thy Mother." ^n EROISM in a humble state of life has seldom been more remarkably exemplified than in the case of Volney Beckner, an Irish Sailor Boy. Volney was born in Londonderry, his father being a fisherman of that place, and so poor, that he did not possess the means of giving the boy a regular school education. What young Volney lost in this respect, however, was in some degree compensated for by his father's instructions. These how- ever, of course related principally to a seafaring life, in which courage in encountering dangers, generosity of dis- position, and promptness in all cases of emergency are so needful. While yet a child his father taught him to swim, and, as the boy grew older, used to throw him into the sea from the stern of his boat, and encourage him to sustain himself by swimming as long as possible. It was only when the boy appeared exhausted and in danger of sinking, that his father (a noted swimmer himself) would reply to his remark — "I don't think I can go any further. Father" — by helping the panting boy into the fishing smack. It was a rough life, but it was everything to young Volney, for he was thus, from the cradle, taught to brave the dangers of the sea, and become an adept as a sailor. It is said that at six years old the boy could swim three to four miles out from his father's smack while out deep sea fishing, and would not return until completely fatigued, when he would catch a rope thrown out to him, and mount safely on to the deck, to hear his father say, approvingly, "That was a good swim, Vol ! " The father and the son had the greatest affection for each other ; but the former, knowing how precarious was the trade he had been brought up to, thought it better that the boy should be placed as an apprentice in a Merchant Vessel, that he might have a better chance of getting on. The young sailor boy soon rendered himself exceedingly useful ; in a gale — when the wind tore the sails, and made the timbers creak — the squirrel could not climb with more agility, over the loftiest trees, than did Volney along the yards : and, in the fiercest storm, he appeared as little agitated on the highest mast, as if he was lying in his 36 THE BRAVE SAILOR BOY. snug little hammock. Once, a passenger relates, in a hurri- cane which overtook them, something had gone wrong aloft ; there was danger of the ship being '* taken aback," and immediately foundering ; certain ropes had become en- tangled at the top of the lofty mainmast. Who, in such an awful Storm was to go aloft ? Not a Sailor volunteered ; they knew the danger amongst these loose flapping sails and swinging booms ! The Mate, a rough powerful-looking man, called for the sailor boy Volney, who was below, and ordered the boy to go aloft ! The Boy glanced upward — then at the resolute, determined, face of the mate — pressed his little Scotch cap firmly on his head, and, with a kind of sigh, took hold of the rattlins, and (although he knew the danger as well as the mate did) without another word, went up with a will. The passenger expostulated with the mate for ordering the gallant boy aloft in such a storm. " He could never come down alive !" " I did it to save our lives" growled out the rough sailor ; " if we were * taken aback ' at this moment, we should all be in ' Davy Jones' locker ' in ten minutes ! We have lost men overboard, but never a Boy; they are lighter. See how he clings on like a squirrel I" ** I do hope he will come down safe " — continued the mate — • his eyes anxiously fixed aloft together with the other Sailors, *' He's a good one he is ! We should'nt like to lose him ! " After a time of sickening suspense the Boy succeeded with the ropes — the men hauled away with a will — and the Ship was soon "snugged," (as the saying is at sea), and in comparative safety. The Boy was received with cheers from his shipmates, and the rough Mate growled out a few words of honest approval, which made the Boy's fine face glow with pleasure. A sailor boy in those days had to lead a hard life ; to be fed with biscuits so hard that they had to be either soaked, or broken with a hatchet ; to be suddenly awakened — from the soundest sleep, to go aloft in darkness and rain — such was the life of Volney. But the boy soon came to regard little ordinary toils and privations ; indeed, with it all, he enjoyed perfect health, and was thus free from the diseases springing from idle and pampered appetites. Although deprived of the advantages of a good educa- tion, his own experience had rendered him intelligent, and such was his cleverness and trustworthiness that he was judged by the owners to be worthy of promotion in the vessel, and received double the usual pay. A light-hearted, merry boy, he was always ready and willing to assist his THE BRAVE SAILOR BOY. 3/ comrades, and soon won the esteem and affection of all around him. An occasion at length arrived when the young sailor boy performed one of the most gallant actions on record. It happened that during one of the voyages the ship made, that Volney's father was also on board. Among the passengers was a little girl, the daughter of a rich American merchant. She had slipped away from her nurse, who was ill and lying down in the cabin, and had run upon deck. The boy Volney was sitting by his Father, and others of the Crew, on the forecastle, when the little girl, in looking over the side of the vessel, lost her footing and fell overboard, the vessel giving a sudden roll to starboard. The quick eye of Volney's father, who was at the moment relating a story to the seamen (who, with his son Volney, now a fine boy of fifteen, were listening eagerly to him), saw in a moment what had happened, and without a moment's hesitation sprang to his feet, shouted to them to " shorten sail," and throwing off his coat, dropped over the side into the sea, in a few powerful strokes had reached the little girl, as she was sinking ; held her up by her frock, and, with the greatest coolness, supported both her and himself in the water till assistance should reach them. All would have been well, for he was a powerful and noted swimmer, and the action was nothing to some of his performances, when, whilst he was swimming with one hand and support- ing the child with the other, he perceived that horror of a seaman's, 2^ pointed black fin, at a short distance advancing towards them. One glance was sufficient ; it was a Shark, None but a sailor knows the danger of being exposed to these monsters. The deep sea Shark grows to an immense size ! They will follow a vessel for days, the superstition amongst sailors being, that it knows when a death will take place on board, and waits till the body is thrown over- board. Much more probably the large fish is attracted by the odds and ends thrown overboard in the wake of a vessel, especially when a number of emigrants or soldiers are on board, and the cooks are kept constantly employed. The shark has several frightful rows of teeth, set backwards like a saw, and pointed. When about to tear its prey, it is, however, compelled to roll half over to seize it in its mouth. When one of these monsters has been caught and hauled upon deck it will, with one blow of its tail, make the ship tremble again. The seamen cut the tail off with a hatchet, when, after a length of time, the monster may at length be E 38 THE BRAVE SAILOR BOY. killed by repeated blows and stabs. The most powerful swimmer is of course entirely helpless in the water before one of these creatures, which grow to the length of a ship's boat. Volney's father knew too well their extreme peril ; he shouted loud ! His voice reached one faithful ear, that of his son Volney ! The boy knew from that voice of terror that something had indeed now happened ! He knew his Father well ! In many a sudden danger had the boy seen him. He had sat and slept by his Father at the helm — their smack caught in a Gale far from the land — and, through the dark night, his Father's skilful arm had guided their plunging boat ; saying to the boy when he woke — " All right, Vol., we shall weather it ; go to sleep again ; " and the little fellow would kiss his Father, and drop off to sleep again, feeling perfectly secure. It was \}i\Q^ first cry he had ever heard from his Father in danger. The Ship had been turned, a boat was being manned, when the look- out man raised the cry of a '' shark." The mate at once ordered up two ship's muskets, and fired one over the spot where the fin could be seen occasionally out of the water, hoping thus to scare the Monster from his prey ; but it was too late. The fish had seen them ! Every one was now on deck ! The men straining every nerve to lower the boat, which (as too often happens in an emergency) had got its tackle in some way entangled. The powerful mate, musket in hand, watched for an opportunity for another shot. He knew he should only have time for one. At this moment a boy plunged into the sea, holding something in one hand. It was the boy Volney Beckner ! Resolved, after his father's cry of agony, iiever to desert hint, and either to save his father or die with him, the gallant boy had seized the long, keen, knife of the ship's Butcher, and diving like a fish until he saw the white body of the Monster above him, ran the long keen blade far into its body ! Thus severely wounded the fish quitted its first prey, and endea- voured to roll over to seize his assailant. But Volney, long accustomed to play tricks in the water, dived here and there, and even succeeded in getting home another desperate thrust with his knife. Meanwhile his father reached the ropes thrown out to them, and mounted the deck in safety, with the little girl, still living, in his arms. It was a heart- rending scene ! On the one side the American gentleman trembling for his little girl, and blessing the generous sea- man who had risked his life, and saved his child. On the other hand, the Captain, Mate, and the whole Crew breathless THE BRAVE SAILOR BOY. 39 in anxiety for their young shipmate. The Mate, pale, but determined, seized another opportunity, and (at the risk of hitting the boy he longed to save) again fired. This shot seemed successful ; the fish, for a moment, disappeared ; a glad roar rose from the crew ! Volney, the next moment, had reached one of the dozen ropes thrown to him — a dozen hands were trembling with excitement to help him in — when the brutal fish following him, with its usual dogged tenacity, enraged, apparently at seeing his prey about to escape him, made (as they are sometimes known to do) a sudden rush and half leap out of the water, and succeeded with its sharp teeth in tearing the body of the gallant and intrepid boy almost asunder, above the hips. A part only of poor Volney's palpitating and lifeless body was drawn up into the ship ; while his father and the little girl were both saved. Thus perished this noble sailor boy ! When we reflect on the action he performed in saving his father — whom he loved so well — at the almost certain expense of his own life, we are entitled to place his name in the first rank of heroes. He was born in Londonderry in 1748, and from the account from which this history has been, in part, taken, it would appear that he at this time was about fifteen years old. From what is known of his admirable and generous character we may hope that the boy w^as not unprepared to die. And as he was at the moment of his death obeying his Creator's commandment, " Honour thy Father and thy Mother," by giving his life to save his parent's, he could hardly have chosen a nobler end, than in trying thus to do his duty to the last ! Dear young reader, do you emulate the noble example of this youth } Then remember that by not always caring for yourself alone, you will find numberless opportunities of caring for others, of being of service both to God and man, and of gaining their love in return. And once gain the love of God, and it little matters where and when you die ! For we may be certain in the case of a good and noble Youth, however sudden and painful may be his death, that Almighty God will not suffer, " either height, nor depth, nor any other creature^' to separate him from His love, " which is in Christ Jesus our Lord ! " (40) CHAPTER VI. THE GREAT ROBBERY, AT WALSALL, BY A JUNIOR CLERK. " Thou shalt not steal."— The 8th Commandment. HROUGHOUT all our large commercial town.s, Youths of 14 to 18 years of age may be met at every turn, whose countenances have lost the apathy and carelessness of expression of schoolboys, whose quick step and manner indicate business, and whose air of self- reliance and intelligence speak hopefully of future success. We cannot but feel proud of them, for few (if any other) Nations can show a class to be compared with them, in the same sphere of life. Considering the amount of property necessarily entrusted to these youths, as Clerks — youths in Warehouses, Offices, Shops, &c. — it is of importance that each of them should reflect that a base action, a breach of trust towards their Employers — who confide in their sense of honour very often with perfect and implicit confidence — not only attaches lasting disgrace to themselves and their relations, but throws discredit upon the whole of their brethren. If the Youth who reads this book should ever occupy such a post, I would remind you that you are individually bound to support, by your faithfulness, the trust placed in you by the firm, and the credit and respectability of a class well worthy of regard and consideration from all, as containing the elements of our future commercial, and therefore National prosperity. It is now some years since the above robbery by an office youth took place, and by omitting the true names and locality, it may perhaps form an illustration of the above commandment, without giving pain to any one who can still remember this now almost forgotten affair. On Monday morning the 15th of October, 18—, all was going on well in the office of Messrs. . A parcel of money, value £^^0, draft for £6^0, £\l^ in gold, and ;^ 140 in bank notes had been paid in from Birmingham too late to place in the bank. It had been locked up by the cashier in the safe during Sunday, and was perfectly safe when that young man came on the Monday morning. Called into the next office, he placed the parcel in a drawer of his desk, locked it, and left the office with two THE GREAT ROBBERY AT WALSALL. 4I Other clerks in it — a youth of sixteen or seventeen named Louis, and an elder clerk. The elder clerk left also to post some letters, leaving the boy Louis alone. Louis was an intelligent, quick, clever youth, a favourite with all. For once let a youth show an interest in the business, willing to help when business presses, without grumbling, and he is sure to be liked. No eye is quicker than an employer's in observing this, and the impression once made, is not soon forgotten. But treated kindly, and trusted by all, this youth proved himself to be without the slightest principle, as adept a thief as if he had studied the profession for years. On the poor Cashier returning, we may imagine his dis- may, on opening his drawer, to find that the parcel was not there! It had disappeared! Young Louis was seated at his desk, and had only left the office, he said for a moment. The doors were immediately locked ; the police sent for ; the rooms searched, but the money was gone. Louis' replies were apparently so ingenuous and innocent, his concern at his employers' loss so artfully expressed, and his voluntary proof that he had nothing of the kind on his person (the boy turning his pockets, &c., out at once, even before being asked), that no one ever, it seems, suspected him. His parents were respectable people : his father a shop- keeper. He had been well educated at the Grammar School, and attended a Sunday School. The youth even contrived to throw suspicion on an innocent person on the premises. The fact being that the youth had watched the cashier, picked the lock or turned it by a key of his own, taken the money, ran out into the back yard, hid it in the ground, and then returned at once to the office. A reward of ;^50 was offered for the detection of the perpetrators of this mysterious robbery. The brunt of the affair, however, feU upon the poor cashier ; it looked very bad, very suspicious. He could offer no explanation, and had no means of making good the money to the Firm. His distress and anxiety made the young man ill. Louis attended all that week as usual ; but, telling a falsehood to his parents, he left home on the Saturday afternoon, "on business," he said, "for the Firm." It was not till the following Monday that any one suspected anything wrong ; it was then found that a friend of his, a youth of 17, named Johnson, had met him at Junction on the Saturday afternoon, and that the youths had gone up to London. The London detectives were applied 42 THE GREAT ROBBERY AT WALSALL. to, and with their usual quickness traced them to their lodgings, and found out that they had paid £^o for their passage by the ship about leaving for Melbourne, Australia ; and would have taken both of them had it not been for the father of Louis. He, poor man, instead of leaving the matter to the police, went up to London and called at their lodgings. The youths hearing of his calling, took the alarm, and giving up their passage money, decamped, and all trace of them was lost by the police for a week, to the great chagrin of the detectives. The firm telegraphed to Louis' father — ** For goodness sake leave the matter to the detectives. We should have had the lads last night but for you. No harm shall come to your boy." Waiting for the Scotch Express leaving at three o'clock in the morning for Glasgow, the two youths were next heard of at Liverpool. A gentleman in the parlour of a public house (where the youths were having some sherry at about twelve o'clock at night) read aloud the Liverpool paper describing the youths. He thought they corres- ponded with the description given, followed them to the Landing Stage at Liverpool, and told the policeman on duty there his suspicions. At first Louis' artless, innocent manner again threw them off the scent ; but another constable coming up, it was suggested that they should be taken into a room on the landing stage and searched. As they were being taken there Johnson dropped something into the sea. It was the bag containing the money. " If they got him," the wicked fellow said afterwards, " he was resolved that they should not have the money." The divers never succeeded in recovering it. Louis was prevented from doing the same with a pocket book. In this book were found the numbers of every note stolen. The cunning youth had, during the week which followed the robbery, obtained a list of what numbers had been known to his employers, and of which payment had been stopped. These he marked with a K, for ** known." These were not to be used in England. Against the others he had placed U K, for " unknown." These might be changed safely. The young thief had planned out the following to spend at Melbourne. He was going to purchase seeds, £ii ', boxes, £2 ; horse and cart, ;^2i ; sheep, i^20 ; cattle, ^^40 ; land, £40, and so on. Louis wore an Inverness cape, and while being taken to the lock-up slipped it off and escaped, leaving his friend in custody. He walked all that night along the coast road, was twenty miles from Chester at six THE GREAT ROBBERY AT WALSALL. 43 o'clock next morning, and reached Chester at four o'clock that afternoon, and asked a poUceman to shew him a respectable lodging-house ! It was but natural that so very respectable a character as he was should require such accommodation, and he was actually taken by a police sergeant to one. But now the money being lost, and being in want, he for the first time wrote to his poor distressed parents. He never sent them a word till he had no money left — the officer having searched them. He would have left his kind parents, who had always done their duty to him, without a word of farewell, and gone off to Australia ; but now that he wants to get some money from them he calls them his "dear parents," tells them that "he prays for them every night," &c. I ask your attention to the following letter of this heartless scamp (for no other word is appro- priate to such a character), because it illustrates too well the false idea of true religion taught to youths in this day of a suasive, emotional, religious teaching, which relies upon feelings, rather than upon a good and cofiscientious life. He begins by asking them for some money, and for the register of his birth, " but do not say that it is for me. I want also your written consent for me to join the Royal Navy. I am just at the right age." The boy had found out that the parents' consent and register of birth is always required by the Naval Authorities ; but he seems not to be aware that our sailors are not generally composed of thieves, and are by no means partial to their company. If any character is abhorred by the British Tar it is that of a thief. He then throws in a few religious words, which he had probably heard his parents — apparently worthy, pious people — use. ** Do not fret for me," he says ; " God will work all things for the best," &c. After describing how cleverly he had "dodged the police," he continues, the next moment, the stock religious phrases, the mere expression of which, seems to pass, in our day, for true religion. " God will work all this for the best ; God feeds the sparrows, and will feed me if I cry to Him. I pray for you every night," &c. The utter heartlessness of these remarks is well shown by the concluding sentence — " Still I am pretty happy, thinking of the song, ' Cheer up, Sam, and don't let your spirits go down.' Address, George , Post Office, Chester, to be left till called for." What English youth, worthy of the name, and of his country, does not prize his honesty above all else .-^ What 44 THE GREAT ROBBERY AT WALSALL. nonsense it is, dear reader, for such a youth as this talking about reHgion before he has even the elements of common honesty and good principle ! It is due to the suasive, sentimental ideas of religion now too often taught, a religion dependent on the feelings rather than on the conscientious life, that such a youth did not perceive the absurdity of pretending to be religious, when he was not even Jionest ! How can we be pious, when we are not even honest .'' How can we be religious when we are not even moral ? In a postcript the youth adds — *' If I mind what I am about I shall get on as well in the navy, and perhaps get a little more than a lawyer's clerk." Selfishness, cunning deception, heartlessness, and " getting more," seem to sum up his character. The detectives were, of course, behind the counter when he called, as call he did, after a time, for " letters for George ," and secured him. He treated the distress of the poor Cashier, kept so long under suspicion, and the loss of i^QOO of his employer's money — who had done nothing but treat him with kind- ness — as a matter of quiet amusement. But with great cunning he swore that the desk had been left by the Cashier unlocked ; the cunning boy knowing that this would help him at the trial. The Cashier swore, on his oath, that it was locked. The trial came off at the Borough Sessions the next month. Numbers of ladies were present, so " interesting " was the thief. If he had been a ragged, neglected boy they would have felt no interest in him whatever ! The Judge, in passing sentence was "affected." A similar scene took place in that atrocious affair, the Roade murder. It seems hardly fair for spectators and judges to reserve their sentimental feelings for well-dressed Scamps, and good looking Murderesses alone. Why a Judge should be ** affected " in sentencing one of the latter to a few years' imprisonment, when dozens less favoured, but quite as worthy persons, have bee7t hung without a tear, seems strange! "Judges should be made of sterner stuff ! " We want justice, rather than sentiment, in a court of justice. Surely intelligent and educated Criminals deserve far less sympathy than the ignorant, the poor, and neglected, who have never enjoyed their advantages. However, instead of ^' getting a little more'' in Her Majesty's Navy, Louis got a little more than nine months in Her Majesty's Gaol. THE GREAT ROBBERY AT WALSALL. 45 Let me urge, dear young reader, the pleasure, the free- dom of being able to say — " I am a poor boy it is true, but I never in my life took one single penny which was not my own — or, if I have, I will now return it, and ever after resolve to be free ! " To each of us the opportunity of defrauding our Employers comes. To every youth, sooner or later, the temptation comes, — stray silver, stamps, materials, I care not what. Once commence pilfering — in however small a way — you have commenced a fatal habit. It is not for the sake of the Goods, or even the Employer, I urge this, — it is for your ozvn ! You are inflicting upon yourself a fatal injury! Have done with it at once! Resolve to be free ! In the way the Commerce of our country is carried on, youths are now necessarily trusted to perhaps too great an extent ; but, in a well conditioned English boy, one ought always to be able to confide. It seems that the two youths had at first planned to rob a rich old gentleman in the town, but were prevented. They acknowledged that it was suggested to their minds through reading that abominable, vile, weekly rubbish, written, pur- posely, one would think, to ruin 13oys. You know the horrible stuff I allude to ! Those tales, without a word of truth, in which highwaymen and bold pirates, dressed in blue coats and top boots, go blustering and swaggering about the world, held up as Heroes for our boys to follow ! If you knew the miserable lives those wretched men, Shepherd, and Turpin, really lived, hunted, and followed like dogs through a short life of misery and crime, ending with a shameful death ; you would see the falseness of these tales ! God looks with favour and approbation upon an honest youth, and has made many an act of honesty on a boy's part pave the way to fortune. However poor a youth you may be, you possess two priceless treasures, which 110 one can take from you hM\. yourself , namely, your purity, and your honesty. No youth has any right to rob himself of these possessions. When a Youth injures his character by losing his honesty he deprives himself of a reputation which is priceless, " My reputation ! my reputation ! my reputation ! He that steals \tiy purse steals trash, But he that robs me of my good name Robs me of that, which not betters hitn^ And leaves me foor indeed I " Who would not be able to say — " It was God's provi- dence that I should have been born a poor youth, but, thank God, I am an honest one ! " "Thou Shalt not steal." (46) CHAPTER VII. EDWIN, THE APPRENTICE. i STORY somewhat similar to the following was pub- lished many years ago, believed to have been written either by Miss Jane Taylor or her father. In those ^ days the Apprentices lived with the Employer ; generally on the Business premises. In one corner of a dark Warehouse at the back of a dark house, in the midst of a dark street in London, an Apprentice youth one afternoon seated himself upon a dirty bale of goods, and presently fell asleep. Poor Edwin — for that was the boy's name — was not at this time very happy in his mind, though had he known a little more of life, he would have seen much more reason to be contented with his circumstances than he now did. He had been brought up in the Country, perhaps too tenderly, by a fond mother, a widow. She died, and the boy was bound apprentice, by the aid of a Relation, to a London Merchant. Edwin fancied that he was treated with little kindness in his Master's Family. Perhaps this partly arose from his ignorance of the world, and mistaken idea of what may reasonably be expected from those with whom we have to do. Perhaps, too, he did not reflect that in the view of most pushing Men of Business, sentiment or feeling of any kind, is the most useless kind of stock that can lie upon their hands. Being quite unaccustomed to the prompt, brisk despatch of London business, he felt at first quite bewildered, and discouraged, by the smart orders he received, and the strict attention to them that was required, and he saw no one around him whose counsel he could ask, much less whose sympathy he could invite. For he was the youngest of the staff of Clerks in the establishment, and the tall lads, and smart young men, who brushed by him fifty times a day up and down the offices, took no other notice of Edwin than scolding him when they were cross, and laughing at, and teasing the boy, when they were merry. His mistress was, he thought, a very fine lady, but he never saw her more than once a day from the remote perspective of a long dining table (in those days, very different to the present system, the apprentices of a merchant in the large towns, were boarded on the premises) — and then the tone of voice in which she used to ask, *' Do you wish for any more .?" did not much encourage him EDWIN, THE APPRENTICE. 47 to open his heart to her. As for his master, he was so many removes from him in dignity and office, that very little, if any, intercourse passed between them. It was one hot afternoon, after having been employed all the preceding part of the day in the Warehouses, that Edwin, fatigued and melancholy, fell asleep as before related, and dreamed the following dream. He thought that he rose to leave the warehouse, but upon entering the passage that led to the front premises, it appeared so unusually dark, that he shrunk back, and would have returned, but something compelled him to proceed. At every step the darkness increased, and the passage became so exceedingly narrow that he could, with difficulty, creep along upon his hands and knees. It was also exceed- ingly cold, and poor Edwin experienced a kind of horror, altogether indescribable. The passage, too, seemed to lengthen, as he proceeded, and he began to despair of reaching the end, when a distant light proceeded from the end of the passage. Indeed it appeared as if the apart- ment within must be illumined by something brighter than sunbeams ! When, however, he at length reached the door, he perceived that it was fastened with bars of massive iron, and exhausted as the poor boy was, he despaired of being able to open it, when to his great and joyful surprise, it gently unfolded itself, and he entered ; and now, instead of the dull apartment he was accustomed to see, he found himself at the extremity of a widely-extended lawn, from which arose, at some distance, a magnificent palace. Noble avenues of flowering trees, spicy groves, beds of delicious flowers of every colour, bowers of roses, sparkling rivulets, and cascades falling over moss-covered rocks, were all shining beneath a cloudless sky ; whilst birds of lovely plumage, rare butterflies of immense size and gorgeous tints, and the happy buzz of bees, and insects flitting over the flowers and amongst the trees, all added to the charming scene. Whilst Edwin was gazing upon this delightful prospect, several persons — amongst whom he observed not a few youths of his own age, but of extraordinary grace and beauty — respectfully approaching him, courteously informed the boy that he was the sole proprietor of this fine estate. Thereupon they conducted him to the interior of the palace, which was furnished with everything to gratify his utmost wishes ; and where he found himself surrounded by intelligent and affectionate friends, who evidently felt 48 EDWIN, THE APPRENTICE. the greatest love for him, and vied with each other in promoting his happiness. But there was something besides all this which it is impossible for language to express ; for over the scenery of a pleasing dream there is spread a rich glow of colouring — an air of enchantment unlike the tints and aspects of anything in this world. Such Edwin now beheld. It was enchanted ground, surpassing even the brightest dreams of youthful fancy. The radiant sunshine ; — the richness of the extended prospect ; the hills of gold and pearl which glowed in the distance ; the magnificence of the palace ; and, above all, the delightful intercourse he enjoyed with his beautiful companions — who positively assured him that what he saw was only the beginning of the joys prepared for him for ages to come by the great and good King, who had given him the estate) — all excited in Edwin's mind an indescribable happiness. A beautiful milk- white steed — richly harnessed, was now led up, on which his companions proposed that he should survey the more dis- tant parts of his domains; but, in the usual tantalizing spirit of a dream — although Edwin made repeated efforts, he could not succeed in mounting the horse. With one foot in the stirrup, and no visible impediment in the boy's way, something constantly retarded him, as often as he endeavour- ed to rise. At length he had made a resolve to make one effectual spring into the saddle, when just at that moment the rattling of a Mail Coach driving rapidly down the London street, together with the piercing notes of the guard's horn, suddenly awakened Edwin ; and as it was now getting dark, the coach lamps flashing upon the ceiling and lumber of the warehouse as they passed, perfectly restored him to his recollection. Note. — At the time this story was written — before any Railways were laid down — some 200 Coaches entered, and left, London alone, each day, proceeding to and from every part of England. On the first of May each year the Guards were equipped in new red coats, the horses with new harness, the Coaches newly painted, and a grand procession took place at the Post Office, St Martin's -le- Grand, before starting that evening to run the Mails, as usual, along the splendid roads constructed by Telford, at ten miles an hour. It is described as having been a splendid sight ! Who has not experienced the blankness of awakening from a pleasant dream to the dull reality of our present circumstances ? No wonder that poor Edwin returned to his employments with a deeper feeling of the joylessness of his situation, and present prospects. EDWIN, THE APPRENTICE. 49 For several days the impression of his dream remained so much on his mind and imagination, that the boy began to think that it must be interpreted in favour of his future good fortune. There was a young man in the warehouse (much esteemed by the Firm, Edwin had been told, for his sobriety and fidelity,) who had been in the business for some years, and had, in the case of attempted robbery, rendered great service to his employers by his courage and foresight. He was entrusted with a responsible post, receiving and delivering goods from the Store Rooms and Cellars. This youth's good-natured look, and kind manner, had, from the first, attracted Edwin's liking, and happening to be sent down to him on some business in the store cellars, where John was generally employed, the boy ventured into conversation with him. Having finished the work for the day, and knowing that Edwin was not, at times, treated well by the others, the young man good-naturedly inquired how he was getting on, and gave him a few hints, in a friendly way, as to his work. Happy in having found some one to be friendly with, Edwin soon confided to him his dream, to which the young man listened attentively. " Well, Edwin," said John, when the boy had finished, "there is no cause for your being so downhearted — for you may one day come into far more than even what you saw in your dream, if you are only willing to go the right way about it ! " " Are you in earnest ? " exclaimed the boy, " I would willingly work all my life to come into such a possession as I dreamt of. But what hope have I ? for you must know, John, (I don't mind telling you, for I know you are good- natured, and never make game of any one) — that I am a very poor boy ; I have no father to help me, nor mother either now, nor any one to be friendly with excepting yourself; how can I hope to get on and obtain such an estate as I saw in my dream ? " On hearing that the boy had lost both his parents, John took his hand, saying- good-naturedly that he should be quite willing to be his friend, at the same time inviting him to join the Society of several good young men, who met together for mutual improvement, with John for their secretary. "As for the dream, Edwin," he continued, "we are neither of us very likely to come into such a property as you saw, — although boys, as poor as we are, have sometimes raised themselves to vast wealth, — yet do you know, Edwin, I have had for some years now a good expectation, — indeed a certainty, — 50 EDWIN, THE APPRENTICE. of as great things, ah! and far greater, too, than you saw in your dream; and you may have the same expectation too !" A Christian Youth. Edwin here expressing his surprise, John, with his good- natured smile — said that if the boy did not believe him he would show him the Title Deeds of their Estates — and taking a book out of his desk he found two places in it, and handed it to Edwin. The book Edwin found was a New Testament, and the two places John pointed out to him were, " In my Father's house are many mansions ; I go to prepare a place for you." " Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive, the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him." Oh ! dear," said Edwin, and the boy's countenance fell considerably — " Why those are only two texts in the bible I Do you think I have never read them before.?" "Well, but Edwin," — said the young man, "they are God's own promises to us, though they are, as you say, 'only texts in the Bible' — we have God's word as security for our promised possessions. The fact is, I was but a lad very little older than you are, when it pleased God to convince me that if I was to become very rich — indeed, if it were possible that I could gain the whole of this world, and all the wealth that is in it — and yet possess no love to God, and lose my soul through the Eternity to come which lies before us all, it would do me no good. I had, before this, longed to get on in life and to become rich, but I now saw that it was the most imprudent, desperate, conduct to enjoy ourselves in this world, until I had a good hope of being happy to all eternity. I wondered very much, — and do so still, — that all reasonable people do not think the same. I had very little comfort in religion at first, for I had never felt any love for God, but, at last, I became convinced that God cared for, and loved me, a poor, unworthy, lad as I was, — that He had sent His Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, into this world to save sinners, and that I had as much right to avail myself of His mercy, I resolved to give my love, and heart, and the best of my thoughts and life to the Saviour, and He has certainly not cast me out. I have, it is true, had to work pretty hard, and fare hard at times, too ; I may never be rich in the things of this world, for, like you Edwin, I have had no one to give me a start in life ; but then, I often think, when I hear the grand carriages rolling away in the street EDWIN, THE APPRENTICE. 5 I above, while I am at work in the Cellars, and see the grand folks, at times, in Hyde Park— ' what, after all, will it signify to us all in a few years to come?' No one ever yet managed to take a single thing away with him from this earth — let him be as rich as he may — and if you and I, Edwin, do but persevere in the good ways of God, we know that he will love us, and then what great things will be ours ! Our Creator, who made this world, knows, of course, what are the g-ood thingrs to be obtained in it, and He assures us that they are as nothing — less than nothing — compared with 'the things which He has prepared for those that love Him!'" " I thought, as you told me of the dark passage in your dream, that there is but one dark, cold passage before both of us, before we enter into our Heavenly Inheritance. So don't be fretting yourself because you may not get on as well as some you see around you, and may never come into so fine an estate as you saw in your dream, in this world. God, if you pray to Him, will be your Heavenly Father in place of your Parents, and will, one day, give you something far beyond all that you saw in your Dream." Now as young Edwin had never been in the habit of hearing much on the subject of religion, he was the more struck with this discourse, especially as he saw that it was certainly not mere talk on the part of this good youth. Anyone could see in his constant cheerfulness that he was leading a happy life, and felt evident jcrhe rain was"(lht of God's love to him, and at the prosp«-iolent gusts. I'^d John was most sincere in saying that ipped at the principal world were offered him in exchange fdon, The cold and eternal, happiness, he would most ceminutes to enjoy the and would remain as he was. No woll_spread table. " VVillr- conversation as this Edwin felt an^r in your hay loft," — the young man ; the latter introducof the ostlers, — " It's society of good, pious, worthy comparfurther, having been to consider Edwin as under his chargoi." " We can't have that the elder youths and young mer.r hay lofts," answered; workshops, training ships, and bnake your way off, and, knew the influence for good, or for e replied the sun-burnt, their younger comrades ! In quiet \)s you may one day be at various times, P2dwin and his n°p your head above conversations after this. Well would earned, too, — if the was more popular, and more often hearc honesty, I hope I drawing-room, as that which passed i.- own, even though cellar between the good, and Christian y^ young apprentice boy ! could see you," 52 EDWIN, THE APPRENTICE. The result proved unspeakably to Edwin's advantage. It saved him from evil companions, caused him to think much about religion, join in good Christian work, the Sunday School, &c., and it relieved him from great anxiety about getting on in this world, as he began to feel that his real and ultimate success, and happiness, did not, in the least depend upon his condition in this world ; whether he was rich or poor. Edwin soon learnt to reflect with delight that God offered for his acceptance, real happiness upon earth, and boundless — endless — happiness in the world to come — poor lad though he was — if he had only a mind to obtain it by a life of Piety, and persevering in the good ways of God — ''Whose ways are ways of pleasantness, and all His paths are peace." Thus — a poor apprentice boy, without any of those things which are sought after with such avidity by the men of this world, without the wealth of which thou- sands are willing to sacrifice their health, life, and eternal happiness — Edwin resolved like the young man who first told him of these things — that he also would be a Christian ; accepted joyfully the offer of a Saviour's love, and found himself happy in the love of God, and heir, one day, to possessions infinitely beyond anything that he saw in his dream, seeing that he will one day possess all things, throughout a happv Eternity, in the "unsearchable Riches of Ch a'nd lose my s^Touth, who reads this story, what is it tfcs before us all, it - following Edwin's example } this, longed to get I now saw that it ^^ • Knock ! and it shall be opened unto you ! " conduct to enjoy ouri _ hope of being happ^l^x^ r "" ^ much, — and do so sti^^ ^ ) ^, _ ^ think the same. I ^^^^^ ^!^-^ r" "~*^^ first, for I had neve^^^. L V^, .-^ became convinced tly V/^ - ^ poor, unworthy, lad at _J^^~^^^\^ (^ ,^ ^^ ^ ^/ our Lord Jesus Chrisi that I had as much r;, resolved to give myj my thoughts and life not cast me out. hard, and fare har^ the things of this one to give me when I hear th< jesus in Peter's Boat. (53) Jack Willis. CHAPTER VIII JACK WILLIS, THE SAILOR BOY ; OR, A SAILOR'S GRATITUDE. qj/T was a raw, bleak, Winter's night, the rain was falHng Jll fast, — while the wind blew in violent gusts. The j\ Portsmouth Night Mail Coach stopped at the principal ^ Inn of a town on its way to London, The cold and weary passengers alighted for a few minutes to enjoy the comforts of the blazing fire and the well-spread table. " Will you give a poor fellow a night's shelter in your hay loft," — asked a young sailor, addressing one of the ostlers, — " It's a rough night, and I can't go on further, having been robbed of my money at Portsmouth." " We can't have young fellows like you sleeping in our hay lofts," answered; the man surlily — "you had better make your way off, and, not prowl about here ! " " Well," replied the sun-burnt, honest-looking Sailor Boy, — " perhaps you may one day be sent adrift without a penny to keep your head above water ; I had money enough, — hard earned, too, — if the rogue had not robbed me of it; as to honesty, I hope I know better than to take what is not my own, even though I hadn't a shoe to my foot ! " " I wouldn't trust you further than I could see you," 54 JACK WILLIS, THE SAILOR. growled the surly ostler, and the others laughed in chorus. Poor Jack Willis was turning away, cold and hungry, when he was tapped on the shoulder by one of the stable lads. *' If you were to go down the road," — said the boy, — " to the first little shop you come to, Widow Smith, would, I dare say, let you sleep in her wood-house. She's a good old body, and is always ready to help any one in distress ; you should have my bed," added the good-natured lad, — " only they might not like it. I have a brother at sea no older than you are." " Thank you ! thank you ! " said the young sailor, shaking the boy's hand, — " I'll go and try ! " These few words caused a cheering feeling in the breast of the young sailor, — for they told him that there were still hearts in which kindness dwelt John Willis, on coming ashore, after a long cruise, had been robbed of all his wages and prize money ; not an uncommon occurrence in those days, when every seaport swarmed with " crimps," — " land sharks," — and all sorts of naughty people, who pounced upon poor Jack the moment he set foot ashore. There were no " Sailors' Homes " in those days. Jack Willis had only enough left to pay his coach-fare to this town, and would be compelled to beg his way for the rest of the journey to London. He knew, however, that the prevalence of imposture renders it difficult for those really in temporary need, to get help, as their truthfulness is apt to be questioned. Jack followed the direction given, but he found the little shop closed. He felt that it was an unreasonable hour, but the storm raged without, — " blowing great guns," — as the sailor terms it, with the prospect of a wild night, — and the favourable account he had received of the owner encouraged him to tap gently at the door. His summons was answered by the worthy dame, who was sitting by her fire with her big Bible, before having her supper and going to rest, with her favourite, fine, cat asleep on the hearth- rug. She listened compassionately to the youth's tale; the lad's honest countenance told her that he was no impostor, and she bade him enter, and share her frugal meal. The young tar — his troubles soon forgotten — was quickly seated by the fire, drying his wet clothes. During the meal he entertained his benevolent hostess with a recital of various scenes in foreign parts, and the more than one narrow escape he had had ; and the good dame piously directed his mind to the good Providence who had preserved him to the present hour, and to the Saviour who had died JACK WILLIS, THE SAILOR. 55 to redeem him ; for widow Smith was a good, Christian woman, and soon learned that her young visitor had lost his Mother years before. The repast over, after reading together a chapter from the Bible, while the cat purred drowsily the while, the widow with the sailor's assistance, placed some clean straw in one corner of her shed joining her cottage, and well covered with a warm blanket or two, the wearied traveller, with a thankful heart, stretched himself upon it, while the storm raged outside, and slept as soundly as if on a bed of down. Before continuing his journey in the morning, he looked in to thank the good woman for the shelter she had given him. He found, however, a warm breakfast awaiting him. Having partaken of it, and having, with difficulty, been persuaded to accept a trifle from the widow's slender store — "to help him on his way " — the lad gave her a hearty kiss, called her his " Mother," and with a heartfelt benediction he departed. Ten years passed, and the little incident recorded had long escaped the memory of all save one of the parties concerned. Ten years had wrought many changes in the town and its inhabitants, but they had glided gently over the head of Widow Smith, although it is true her hair had become more silvery, and her form was slightly bent. She still continued her labours of love, and though her means were very limited, she was looked upon with respect and love, as a friend and neighbour, to those who w^ere sick or in want. But one morning a large letter was put into the widow's hands by the postman. It was from a solicitor, begging her attendance at his office on the following Wednesday — when she would hear "Something to her advantage — which his client wished to communicate to her personally." Much consultation and gossiping ensued amongst her neighbours. One thought that it must be a hoax to play the good old dame a trick, but the solicitor proved on inquiry to be highly respectable, and of long standing. The only objection urged was that it was highly imprudent for a woman of her years to trust herself alone in such a place as London. It did appear a formidable undertaking to one who had never strayed ten miles from her home. The widow's credulity had often been imposed upon — as whose has not ? — but she could not think that anyone would intentionally desire to injure her. She had great confidence, too, in the protecting power of God. He had been with her through a life of no little sorrow and care, and she could trust Him now. 56 JACK WILLIS, THE SAILOR Therefore, in spite of the doubts of many of her friendly- neighbours, she started by a coach which passed through for London, and reached the office at the time appointed. On her arrival she was ushered into a private apartment, where two respectable looking men rose to receive her. The Widow's surprise was increased when one of them, — a fine looking man with a black beard, — accosted her with the familiar words — " How are you, Mother? It's long since we met ! Don't you remember me," he continued, in answer to her half-frightened, inquiring look. " I am Jack Willis, the sailor boy, you housed one rough night many years ago, when he had neither money nor friends. I've been many a voyage since then, but I said I'd never forget it, and I never will ! I have prospered — thank God — and am now Captain of a Merchantman. We leave this week for a two years' cruise to China. I mayn't see you again, but I learnt that you were still alive, and will be, I hope, for many long years to come! This gentleman — turning to the Solicitor — has sufficient in my name to settle this annuity upon you for the rest of your life (handing her a parchment), as a proof of my gratitude for your kindness to me when a poor boy, and especially for your good advice — which I often thought of, — and which first led me to think of religion, and, I hope in God's mercy, has led me to trust in Christ for my salvation." The Widow — overcome at this un- expected proof of God's good providence, thus caring for her in her old age — burst into tears ! Widow Smith returned to her home thankful to God for His blessing on her humble efforts to benefit another in body and soul, and delighted that she had now the means, for the rest of her life, of increased usefulness amongst the poor. And she never after listened to a tale of suffering without thinking of Jack Willis, the Sailor. (57) CHAPTER IX. MURDER. THE FIRST PRIVATE EXECUTIONS IN ENGLAND.— THE BOY ALEXANDER MACKAY. "Thou shalt do no murder." ^HE second execution under the new act for executions t taking place in private was that of the youth Alexander Arthur Mackay, aged i8 ; the first, singularly enough, ^ being that of a youth 19, who shot the Station Master at Dover, in a fit of vindictiveness and passion. The 8th commandment, like the 6th, consists only of four short words : '* Thou shalt not kill;" or, as the Church of England has it. " Thou shalt do no murder." Only four words, yet to many an undiscovered murderer, four words of awful meaning ! Not that the saying, " Murder will out ! " is by any means carried out by experience, or that the murderer always sufi"ers death in this world. The Police could give a long list of murders, even of recent date, to which no clue has been, or ever will now be given. The Waterloo Bridge murder, and several other cases of mutilated remains of persons found in the Thames : — the murder in " Love Lane ; " the Great Coram Street murder, and the horrible Murders of Women in London Streets, of comparatively recent date, might be added to numbers now only remem- bered by a few aged persons ; the very memory of which is now passing away. If, in the centre of a city like London, in a network of telegraph communication, police, and exposure to immediate publicity in the papers. Murders can be perpetrated, and the Murderer leaves no clue, how many have been committed in Ireland, in Paris, New York, the Lower town (in the old times) at Quebec, in New Orleans, and the lawless far west States of America, of which no record, and very little notice, has been taken ? God knows that there are at this moment hundreds of Murderers at large in His world far more guilty in His sight than was Alexander Mackay ! Untaught, neglected, without Father and Mother, and very young, this boy committed a murder in a few minutes of ungovernable passion, confessed his crime, and suffered the penalty. But God knows many a hardened, cunning, murderer has evaded all punishments. The deliberate, carefully thought over, slept upon, and suc- cessfully executed. Murder has never been "found out." 58 THE FIRST PRIVATE EXECUTIONS IN ENGLAND. The means he had planned to evade detection were successful ; the police were entirely baffled. The secret is locked tip for ever in that guilty bosom ! He will carry it with him to the grave ! The murderer is said to have " escaped." Oh ! wJiat a. tale could such a one tell of the mockery of that word " escaped ! " He could tell what it is to have God's eye upon him, go where he would, for years, when the crime almost forgotten by his fellow men, never forgotten for a single day, by the murderer, or by God — comes up as fresh as ever on lonely nights, zvith all its Jiorrid details ! Escaped } Where has he escaped } " Can any hide himself in secret places, places that I shall not see him } Do not I fill Heaven and Earth } " saith the Lord. Escaped .'' Where is unrepented sin to escape to } *' If I ascend up into Heaven, behold Thou art there I If I make my bed in Hell, behold Thou art there !'' " He that made the eye, shall He not see .? " "The darkness and the light are both alike to Thee ! " " All things are open and naked in the eyes of Him with Whom we have to do ! " The guilty sinner chooses darkness for his deed, it conceals it from his fellow man ; he forgets that God is looking on the whole time ! Like the silly ostrich, which, when pursued, buries its head in the sand, and because it cannot see the hunters, thinks itself secure, while its whole body is exposed to view — so the escaped murderer, because no one saw the deed, thinks that he will forget it, and enjoy the proceeds of his crime! E7ijoy7nent? Say rather a few years of untold misery, during which the awful secret is ever rankling in his heart, and then the going out alone to appear before Him from Whom there is no more " escape ! " A case — exhibiting this remorse — took place in 187 1. A shocking murder committed years ago (in the summer of 1849) 3.t Norwich, was confessed to by the murderer to the police in London : he being unable any longer to bear the misery of his conscience. The actors in the scene — who remembered the mutilated remains being discovered about the fields near Norwich — had ahnost all j^diss^d away! For 23 long years the wretched man had "enjoyed" the fruits of his crime ; till, after long years of agony — walking one day in London, he could bear it no longer — gave himself up to the police — and was executed, " Without hope as to the future, but certain that no future Hell could surpass what lie had gone through the past 23 years ! " But it was not deliberate, secret murder, planned for the sake of gain, by a grown-up man, that Alexander Mackay THE FIRST PRIVATE EXECUTIONS IN ENGLAND. 59 suffered for, but one committed openly, in a fit of passion, by a boy of 18 ; and surely far better to confess, and suffer for the crime as this youth did, calling upon God and Jesus to forgive and save him, rather than let it go on for years undiscovered — unpunished, and unforgiven, until he had to appear before his God ! The following account appeared in the daily papers : — " Within the walls of Newgate Prison yesterday morning, the youth Alexander Arthur Mackay, was privately executed, according to the sentence passed on him by Mr. Justice , for the murder of his mistress in Spitalfields." Alexander was only 18 years old. He was recommended to mercy by the jury, and sent a petition for mercy to the Home Secretary. Many will recall the case which took place soon after, of the young man Scott — much older than Mackay — 22 or 23 years old, who merely being unable to account for ^^15 he had received as collector to a gun and pistol firm in Birmingham — went deliberately into the store room, asked for a revolver, loaded it, and returning to the office, deliberately shot dead the brother of the head of the firm — a gentleman who had been kind to him, and was respected and loved by all who knew him, leaving a wife and family. When we consider that, to the astonishment of all Bir- mingham, this man was respited, it may seem strange that no attention was paid to Alexander's petition. The slightest expression of opinion on the part of the Judge, has how- ever, a great effect, and Mr. Justice , had remarked — " that the crime had exceeded in atrocity most he met with," and the Home Secretary allowed, therefore, the law to take its course. " The wretched boy " — (for such in fact he was) — continues the daily paper — '* appeared to entertain no hope of a reprieve — but from the first had evidently made up his mind to die. He was, it seems, an orphan — having lost his parents in childhood. He never, from the first, attempted to deny that it was his hand alone which had caused the death of his mistress, but states that he had no idea at the time that he had killed her." She appears to have been a powerful and determined woman, and Alexander states that she had always been against him ; constantly scolding and " hagging " at him before strangers — a thing felt deeply by a boy of any pride. On the morning in question she had ordered him to clean the windows, and while he was doing his best, she kept making remarks about him to the bystanders. We hear, in this day, much complaint of the increase of wife 6o THE FIRST PRIVATE EXECUTIONS IN ENGLAND. beating, the apparently increasing brutality to their wives on the part of working men, but we hear little of the drunken, worthless woman, — the provoking words — aggra- vating temper, irritating words, cheerless, comfortless, miserably managed homes, many a well-meaning man has been ruined by! There are two sides to the question; a cross, "bagging" woman, inefficient, slovenly and useless, as a wife, and ill-tempered and injudicious, as a mother, with little self-control — not too much sense — and yet with a " will of her own," and ever ready to show it, and " have the last word," ought never to have married. Few young men can stand, for years, the misfortune of having such a one for a (so-called) " helpmeet." What followed is not known, whether, on entering the kitchen his mistress struck him first, he seemed not to know, but in his excitement, the boy seized the rolling pin from the dresser, and having once struck her, he says he lost all control over himself, and continued to beat her. He did not, however, think for a moment that her death would be the consequence. At his age — a thoughtless, ignorant youth — giving way to his passion — he would probably have little experience in the effect such a blow would produce. The clemency of the Crown has certainly been extended in cases of far more deliberate murder. He repeatedly expressed his sorrow for having deprived the husband and little ones of the mother ; saying that he felt the act to be worse in him, having, himself, known what it was to be deprived of his own mother when he was very young. The clergyman of the gaol seems confident that his sorrow was heartfelt. He repeatedly alluded to it. He adds that the boy, though untaught, and greatly neglected, was greatly impressed with some words he pointed out to him. Although unable to read clearly himself, he was struck with one text read to him — " Him that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out ; " and at his earnest request, the sacrament was administered to the boy on his last Sunday afternoon. He wished to take it, he said, for it helped him to feel the love, and death of the Saviour, and his willingness to forgive the greatest offender, if truly penitent. His conduct in the prison was altogether irreproachable ; he appeared to be a quiet, inoffensive boy, very susceptible of any kindness shown him. Although an uneducated youth, Alexander soon learnt one text, upon which he appeared indeed to dwell as his hope of salvation, and was I THE FIRST PRIVATE EXECUTIONS IN ENGLAND. 6l never tired of repeating it. " God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth on Him should not perish, but have everlasting life." "This was the second execution under the New Act for private executions," says the Times, " and nothing could be more striking than the contrast Newgate presented to former execution days. Instead of the yelling mob, all was silence and gloom ! A very few of the reporters of the press were present." The only other visitor present was, singularly enough (and certainly not in the best taste), the son of Mr. Justice , by whose father Alexander had been condemned. Alexander walked quietly and firmly up the scaffold, and patiently allowed Calcraft to alter the pinions, and place him in the most favourable position. The boy looked earnestly at the clergyman, who stood beside him. " The preparations," continues the Times, "seemed to us unusually, and unnecessarily, long, but the unhappy youth did not exhibit any signs of fear. The boy, indeed, seemed absorbed in prayer." At last the drop fell with a great boom, the boy's last prayer — uttered very fervently, being : — " Oh ! Lord God ! have mercy upon me! Oh! Jesus! save me!" The Times continues, " It is no wish of ours to hint at any neglect on the part of the officials, but the sufferings of the youth appeared to us to be dreadful ! On this we will not dwell, except to say that in the opinion of several present, the amount of fall given was not sufficient, with his light weight, to insure his immediate death. How Mackay appeared to suffer yesterday, only those who were present can tell ! An hour after, however, we were shown the youth's body, and it had a very calm expression of countenance. A warder present, whispered to us — ' That is not usual, gentle- men, in one who has been hanged ! ' " Thus both the first executions in private, in this country, had for their victims boys of i8 and 19 years of age. There are dispositions which find it extremely difficult to forgive the least actual or fancied slight or insult, even from a friend. They brood, and brood over it ; instead of attempting to throw off with God's aid the demon of revenge, they nurse and cherish their savage feelings. When once the tiger spirit which exists in every heart by nature, is thus roused and encouraged, it must have blood! Pride, injured self-love, is at the bottom of it, but, with God's aid, such a disposition may be mastered completely. G 62 THE FIRST PRIVATE EXECUTIONS IN ENGLAND. Many a boy of a naturally vindictive passionate temper has obtained perfect control over his infirmity. If, dear Reader, this may be your character — your trial in life — take it up bravely — determined to conquer ! Instead of a youth thinking it mean and cowardly not to resent an insult— it is the mark of a noble youth to be able to forgive. A tiger can tear an enemy to pieces, but the Creator expects rather nobler and higher qualities from an intelligent youth, than He does from a wild animal I When taunted by others to revenge an insult — give to those who say, with a sneer, that " You do not dare " — the noble reply : — " I dare do all that may become a man ; who dares do more, is none!'' — SHAKESPEARE. A Tiger, — misjudging his spring from the Jungle on to a Young Sailor, falls into the very jaws of a huge Alligator. (6i) -'-' "---'"^K-^^ CHAPTER X. I WILL DO IT AGAIM ! " " Do as you would be done by." -^HIS sentence contains a golden rule for our life. How tdo we wish our fellows to treat us ? We wish them to treat us kindly, justly, charitably : we wish them to be affectionate, cheerful, and pleasant. Then you must be kind, just, charitable, cheerful, and pleasant to others. If you observe this beautiful rule, which Christ Himself has given us, how happy you would make all around you. To show how this rule would work, let me tell you a story, — a true one. The horse of a good man happening to stray on to his neighbour's land, his neighbour put him into the " pound " and a fine, in consequence, would have to be paid. Meeting the owner soon after, in a surly mood he men- tioned what he had done ; " And if I catch him on my land again," he said, " / will do it again ! " "Very well, friend ! " said the other, "only I would have you know that not long since I looked out of my window, at night, and saw your cattle getting out into the road ; so I ran out, drove them all into your yard, and shut the gate ; and if ever I see them going astray / zvill do it again I " 64 " I WILL DO IT AGAIN." His neighbour looked at him, shook him by the hand, and calHng himself an " unneighbourly, churlish fellow," he went off, and paid the charges himself! And let me tell you, young reader, if you wish to increase in favour, both with God and Man, if you wish your play- mates to be blithe and kind to you, be so to your com- panions. Kindness begets kindness, as selfishness begets selfishness ; doing good to others is the best way of doing good to ourselves ! " He that loveth not, knoweth not God, for God is love." — i John iv., 8. AN AUTUMN SATURDAY RAMBLE. The Boys asking for a drink, the good-natured woman gave them some milk, and told them if they would help her Tom in the orchard to gather apples, that afternoon, they should have a Tea worth remembering. Off went their jackets, and to work ! What fun it was. What baskets of rosy-cheeked apples did they carry in, and lay out in the apple room ! * Five o'clock came, and with it the jolly Farmer ; his wife came out to praise the Boys, her apples, and her Tom, and to announce Tea. What a meal it was ! New laid eggs, and such ham ! Such butter, and sweet bread ! Then the Preserves and the Pastry ! Apple turnovers fresh from the oven ! Then roasted apples and the good woman's special Cowslip wine to finish, which all must taste ! The Boys could sing sweetly, being in the Choir, so off went Harry with his pathetic Ballad, and sang so well that the soft-hearted woman had to use the corner of her apron. Then they all three sang a comic song, with a chorus, and the jolly Farmer laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. At last fearing dusk would come on, the good woman filled their pockets with apples, and then all went across the two fields, and some way down the lane, before they could part with them. (65) CHAPTER XI. TRUTH. - /^ OME years ago, when certain rules in respect to travel- v^ ling on Sunday were in force, in America, a man was JJj riding on horseback near Worcester, in Massachussetts. J It was on a Sunday, and the traveller was soon stopped by a town officer, whose business it was to see to the carrying out of certain laws relating to the observance of the Sabbath ; and he was asked his reason for riding on the Lord's day. " My father lies dead at Sutton," said the other, ** and I hope you will not detain me." " Certainly not," said the officer, " under these circum- stances," and accordingly he allowed the man to proceed. About two days after, as the traveller was returning the same way, he happened to meet the same officer on the road. They recognised each other, and the following conversation ensued. " You passed here last Sunday morning, I think, sir," " Yes," replied the traveller, " I did,^' " And I think you mentioned that you were hastening to attend your father's funeral, — were you in time ? " " No," said the traveller, " I did not say I was going to my father's funeral — I said he lay dead in Sutton, and so he did ; but he has been dead for fifteen years." 66 TRUTH. Thus you perceive that the actual truth may be spoken, but in words designed to deceive another : — they conveyed an intentional falsehood to the town ofificer. It is not so much whether an actual lie be told, which is the guilty part in the eye of God, as the intention thus to deceive, to make another believe something which is not true ; it is in vain to attempt to steer between prevarication and falsehood ! It is not only the ill-disguised contempt of our fellows, which will ever follow discovery in a falsehood we need fear, so much as the injury inflicted on the mind ; an injury not visible to the eye of man, but as plain to the eye of God as a stain or disease would be to us. But although invisible, we can discover the effects in a feeling of shame (however we may attempt to hide it by pride) which comes over the mind : we feel we are not as we once were, and begin to find it easier to tell a falsehood again, instead of speaking the truth boldly out at once. By repeated false- hoods all moral dignity and noble feeling in the soul are finally lost. It is said that lying, once thoroiLgJily confirmed^ can never be overcome. An action, even without a word being spoken, may constitute a falsehood ; as when a groom holding out an empty measure deceives his horse in thinking he has some oats in it, and the horse allows himself to be caught in consequence. ' ' And all liars shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death." — Rev. xxi., 8-27. Also, Rev. xxii, (the last in the Bible) 15. The Ethiopian in the Chariot, and Philip. Ancient Chariot. (67) CHAPTER XII, •' ENVY." r NE day as I was passing through a principal street in Jl\ town, a car was passing by, the horse going pretty iN fast. Two boys were running behind, trying to jump J up unperceived by the driver, that they might have a ride. One of them succeeded in doing so ; the other boy, whose name I do not know, but will call him " Envy " (for he showed a cruel and envious temper), was about to do the same, when the driver happened to whip on the horse. The horse sprang forward, and left him behind. " Envy " was angry because the other boy had succeeded in getting up, and he had not ; so he called out to the driver, " Whip behind ! whip behind ! " as loudly as he could. The driver heard him, sw^ung his heavy whip round, and happened to strike the poor boy across the face. The blow made a great cut on his face. He fell from his seat, upon the road, and was much hurt. The other lad only laughed at his suffering, and stood on the pavement till I came up, saying, " You got it that time, — and I am glad of it ! " What pleasure had " Envy " obtained from it ? Why was he glad of it .? Why did he cry out " Whip behind .? " It was not because he wanted to do the driver a service, — for he would have got on himself if he could have done so ; but because of his mean eiivioits disposition Had he got up too, he would not have called to the driver, " Whip behind ! " he would have been glad to have enjoyed the ride quietly ; but he could not bear to see the other boy enjoying a pleasure he could not share. Try to conquer this disposition ; let every one of your acquaintances feel and know that you have no wish to deprive him of any blessing because you cannot get it ; that you can feel pleasure in his enjoying it, and would do your part to add to it ; that you have no desire to get, or to keep, any good thing by depriving him of it ; and that if he succeed better in his studies or his enterprises than you do, you have no inclination to cry, "Whip behind !" and you will find, in the affection and goodwill of others, a rich reward. ( 68 "What is it thou wouldst have to be happy?" CHAPTER XIII. GOLD.— THE CAVE OF DIAMONDS; AND THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP "LONDON." A Fiction Illustrated by a Fact. "Thou shalt have none other Gods before Me." YOUTH, named Alexis, a young nobleman of Russia, was comparatively poor compared with many of the other Nobles with whom he associated, and was continually considering how he might become rich. Although he had enough to live upon in comfort he was ever longing for great wealth. He often dreamed of getting rich, — of finding treasures and gems, and how he would enjoy, and spend an immense fortune, were it his. You could not speak to this youth of riches but his cheek paled with envy. He could not bear to hear of the success and wealth of others he longed so much for himself, although already possessed of sufficient to satisfy all his actual wants. As usual, unhappy, and discontented, he was one day passing the silver mines possessed by the Government, in which occasionally, valuable gems are also at times found. The youth left the workpeople, and ascended to the summit of the hill beneath which the Mines are worked. Reaching the summit he lay down to rest, thinking what he would do if all the Mines below him could be his. While ponder- ing upon these subjects, he was startled by the sudden appearance of a person in singular attire, having a long rod of peculiar kind in his hand, who, after making him several low bows in the Eastern fashion, said, " What is it thou wouldst have to make thee happy ? " GOLD. — THE CAVE OF DIAMONDS. 69 To this the youth, having recovered from the surprise at the sudden appearance of the stranger, repHed — " I have long desired for wealth — riches — give me only wealth and I should be happy. I am poor compared with many whom I see around me, and I see no means of bettering my position. I ask only for riches ; w^th them I can obtain all that my heart desires." Whilst the youth spoke the figure before him seemed to smile on one side of the face, and to frown on the other ; but he answered blandly, " Your wish shall be gratified, what you have longed for so earnestly shall be yours. I am compelled, however to remind you that you have already more than sufficient for your actual wants, far more than is possessed by thousands, who live, nevertheless, happily and contented. There is, I am also required to inform you, danger where we are about to proceed. Whether you choose to accept my guidance or not must be for you to decide freely for yourself I promise to lead you to riches, immense, vast, incalculable, but I engage to do no more ; for whatever follows I will not be responsible ; if your wealth utterly disappoints you when obtained, and leads to your ruin, do not blame me. Of the riches I can lead you to, there can, however, be no doubt ; these are a handful of gems from the place I speak of" The figure here exhibited to the delighted youth a number of precious stones, of various colours, and immense size and value. Alexis did not hesitate for a moment, he instantly, and eagerly arose, and followed the figure, wdio, upon seeing he had decided, commenced at once to descend the mountain, and entered a cave apparently formed by nature in the rock. It seemed at first to be a dark and gloomy place, and a fearful roar, as of a mighty waterfall falling amid ravines far down in the recesses of the mountain, was heard. The Cave of Diamonds. As they advanced, however, the scene gradually changed. The darkness disappeared, and they entered at length, after threading many intricate and winding passages, a chamber which seemed glittering with thousands of lamps. Nothing could exceed the splendour of the scene, for not only was the floor of the cavern strewn with precious stones of immense value, and every colour, but diamonds of priceless w^orth glittered from the roof and walls ! As the youth strode among the stones he disturbed heaps of emeralds, rubies, and sapphires, and every now and then a diamond of a size and lustre which alone would realize a fortune ! 70 GOLD. — THE CAVE OF DIAMONDS. The youth was entranced ! At length his fondest dreams were realized I Wealth incalculable — immense — lay at his feet, and the farther he advanced the larger the stones appeared to grow ! A sound as of music caught his ear, proceeding from the end of the cave, and on looking round for the cause, he saw a rivulet stealing gently with a soft murmur through the apartment, and on approaching the edges, he discovered that it rippled over a bed of precious stones; every kind of jewel of exquisite purity and colour flashed at the bottom in glittering heaps ! " This is indeed enchanting " — said the youth aloud — " well and truly has my guide fulfilled his promise ! " While thus speaking he looked around for his guide, but discovered, for the first time that he was alone. The guide had dis- appeared ! The youth waited for a time, but the mysterious stranger who had led him into the cavern did not return. At length he began to feel even weary of gazing upon his treasures, and looked around for a spot to lie upon, but no place appeared, for the floor was covered with precious stones so pointed and sharp, like crystals, that they cut his flesh when he attempted to lie down upon them. Soon, too, he became hungry. There were emeralds, and sapphires, and diamonds, but neither rest nor food to be obtained in the cavern ; he therefore began to search for his way out of the cave, first filling all his pockets with the very largest and rarest gems he could find. But to his alarm and terror the more he sought for the passage by which he had entered the cavern, the more distant it appeared. "And van frantically from place to place." Lost ! One passage followed another, and seemed to be leading him to an immense labyrinth. He now understood ^vhat GOLD. — THE CAVE OF DIAMONDS. 7 1 the guide had told him about the danger of seeking this immense wealth ! He had, it is true, obtained it, but found that after obtaining it there was no 7'etu7'n ! Oh ! how he longed to return to his former condition ! Then he had at least food and all ordinary comforts. In a short time his alarm increased to frenzy ; he became frantic. Rethrew up his arms, tore his hair, and ran frantically from place to place, making the cavern ring with his frightful screams. " Take back your jewels," he cried, " only give me back rest and bread ! " " Give me back rest and bread ! " repeated a fearful echo, repeating the words several times, until at last it died far away in distant caverns, far in the recesses of the mountain. It seemed to be mocking him ! Repeating his cries, he continued to run from place to place. It is said by the workmen in the Government mines in Russia, who tell this Tale, that while at work they hear strange noises and cries, and their Superstition is that the mines are still haunted by the spirit of the covetous adventurer, still continuing his cries day and night, unable to obtain rest. The most splendid Fortune is not, in reality, equal to the common, ordinary, comforts we all receive from our Creator, We never value them fully until they are all lost. What is the possession of thousands of pounds, for instance, without health, or vigour, and all those great, but common, blessings God bestows upon us } The young man would have given all the priceless gems in the cave to escape to the fresh green fields, to the sun and bright happy day- light — to the ordinary comforts, food, and sleep, he had so often despised and repined against. How many, desperate in their resolve after wealth, have, like Alexis, sacrificed all innocent simple pleasures and enjoyments, until money has become the tyrant of their lives. They live for the pursuit of it alone. God's creatures minister to their sup- port year after year, but they never wait to enjoy them or to thank the Giver I God's creation is around them ; they hardly care to regard the wonders of Creation ; they esteem all time lost which is not bringing in the money upon which their hearts are fixed ! The years of life (not too many) given us to prepare for another life — for an Eternity — in which wealth is unknown, and before whose endless existence twenty or forty years' affluence in this life is less than nothing — are spent by thousands as if they were preparing apparently to pass an Eternity on earth. Years pass by — God is neglected — priceless opportunities of 72 GOLD. — THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP "LONDON." conversion to God — of making peace with Him — go by, one after another. Youth goes by untouched by Jesus' love ; how can it be otherwise when a youth's heart is already fixed upon this world, and upon money, and has decided that they shall have his time, labour, talents, and life ? Manhood comes, the tyrant wealtJi and covetousness, has become more importunate and exacting than ever ! And now at length old age approaches — the lights of Vanity fair grow dim — yet j//// the tyrant gold is insatiable, — and the aged person, — who, in half a dozen years, is to go out into Eternity to meet his God, whom he has spent a lifetime in neglecting — is still to be seen at work in the Cave of Diamonds — still collecting his deeds and securities, his shares and property around him, and not one atom of which will, — in a few short years, — be his. THE LAST SIGHT OF WIGRAM'S STEAMSHIP, THE " LONDON." Bay of Biscay, iith January, 1866. I saw the brave young Midshipman (Mr. Angel) still at his post, at the pumps." An illustration of this love of gold was seen on board the ill-fated "London." steamship " London One of the few survivors of the (owned by Messrs. Wigram, and on GOLD. — THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP "LONDON." 73 her way to Melbourne) which foundered in the Bay of Biscay in 1866, says, — "On Saturday morning-, 30th December, 1865, I left Fenchurch Street Station, for Tilbury, to join, as passenger, the auxiliary Screw S.S. * London,' to sail, that day, for Melbourne." She was a new Ship, this being only her third voyage — having been twice to Melbourne and back ; — 1,428 tons, 26^ feet long, 200-H.P., very heavily sparred, the old " well shape " deck, not a flush deck like the grand old " Great Britain," and modern steamers. " I had selected the * London,' saying, I can spend a month longer in England, and still be in Melbourne as soon as if I had started a month earlier by sailing ship." — [Here follows the account of the stormy run down channel to Plymouth.] It was Tuesday, 2nd January, 1866, at lo.o a.m. before they got near the Isle of Wight. " The weather still boisterous, and glass threatening. Captain Martin and Pilot decided to anchor at 4.0 p.m. opposite Ryde ; and thankful we were, for it blew fearfully that night. All Wednesday in channel. Thursday, 4th, the heaviest weather we had experienced as yet. By this time we could see that we were on a heavily laden vessel, very low in the water, not at all buoyant." About 9.0 a.m. of this Thursday, — waiting for a Pilot off Plymouth, — two or three fishermen attempted to board them to pilot them in. One was drowned in the attempt. The boat of the *' London " they tried to lower got stuck, — would not lower just when needed! "The affair cast quite a gloom over the ship. Many said it was a bad omen for us. * If I could afford it I would leave her at Plymouth,' said one ; ' I'll take odds she never gets to Melbourne,' said another, — when we were discussing the length of our coming voyage, after one had bet a dinner that we had one at the 'Albion,' Bourke Street, by iith March, — * Do you remember what I said at Gravesend that she looked like a coffin ! ' I recall these remarks distinctly ; two did leave at Plymouth, one a gentleman who expressed to me his great dislike to being shut up in the small state room for two months, — this being his first voyage : — when he left he did not tell us of his intention. Another, — one of my state room companions — was think- ing seriously of leaving the ship, — was quite undecided all day, — all he needed was a little encouragement, to have done so. I know of three more who would willingly have left at Plymouth, but were ashamed to do so for fear of being considered cowards. . H 74 GOLD. — THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP "LONDON." I can recall many forebodings of evil to come. Friday, 5th January, was fine, boats came alongside, with stock, meat, coal, &c. Fifty tons of coal in sacks were piled on deck," — Fancy, dear Reader, the modern splendid Austral- ian P. & O., and Orient Line, Steamers, 7,000 tons, and 7,000 H.P. (against the "London's" 200 H.P.), carrying coal on their decks ! — " Many passengers joined us this afternoon, — almost every class of society was represented on board. We had Clergymen. Actors, Magistrates, Bankers, Lawyers, Merchants, Tradesmen, Labourers ; and all ages, mothers with children and nurses, — accom- plished young ladies ; newly married couples ; wealthy families returning after a visit to England ; many saying it was for the last time, longing to get back to their beautiful climate and sunshine, ' had not seen the sun, in London, for a Month ! ' Also many going out, for the first time, to seek their fortunes, full of hope. My attention this afternoon was drawn to a lady and gentleman walking on the poop ; they were Mr. and Mrs. G. V. Brooke. G. V. Brooke, the Actor. The latter was to have joined him in Australia a few months later. We had 59 saloon, 52 second, 52 third class passengers, 89 (captain, officers, and crew), and I have no GOLD.— THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP " LONDON. 75 doubt a few 'stowaways,' I knew of 3 at least, whose names were not on the Hst. Say there were 6, giving a total of 258. Our first day, Saturday 6th, was fine. Ship even now rolling considerably ; the coal on deck rolled down, and came very nigh killing a little boy ; a good many passen- gers, on deck, making acquaintances ; but this was the last day we saw much of each other. Next day the weather was too rough for the deck, I did not see a lady there again until the last day ! " Then came heavy weather in the Bay of terrible repute,—* the Bay of Biscay ; '—the over-laden, — crank, — wet, — steamer, — scooped the seas into her well-deck, the scuppers were too small and got choked with the coal. " Large lumps would also roll about the decks to the great danger of the men ; for two nights I could hear them rolling about over my head (he was in the second class, midships). The hatchways were not prop- erly made, the water came down. We were carrying up water in buckets all the night out of our state- rooms to save our clothes, &c., being spoilt ; no sooner did we get clear than down came another supply. Then came heavier weather. On Tuesday, the 9th, the jib-boom and topmasts broke off, and hung down by the iron rigging, a wreck. " Towards the latter part of the day the wind in- creased ; — the ship labouring very much, every prospect of a wild night. Many now began to express fears at the captain continuing to force the heavily laden ship against a head sea. One, I remember, — John Hickman, — from Ballarat, had his wife and. four children on board. He had formerly been fourteen years at sea. On the afternoon of this day (Tuesday) I saw him coming down from deck. " Well ! Hickman," I said, — " how do matters look on deck 1 " " I have been a good deal at sea," he said, — " have been in a good many ships, and know something about them ; but I never yet saw one behave as this does ! She frightens me, — I don't know what to make of her ! " Then came a Gale. " At 7.0 p.m. one of the boats was carried away, — lifted out of the davits by a sea. Our hatches were closed, but, the covering not fitting the combings, the seas floated up the lids, and by 9.0 p.m., all was terror in our cabin, ladies clinging to you, many reading, and praying. Mr. Munroe, — who had also formerly been at sea, — came down about midnight. ** I have been on the poop," — he said, " for hours ;— the sight up there is terrible, she won't rise a bit, seas mounting right over her ! " Wednesday loth, — ^6 GOLD. — THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP " LONDON." Before daylight, — the ** London " was put round to return to Plymouth ; the worst thing that could have been done, — with a "poop" or "following" sea and a coming storm, — with a deeply laden steamer ; keeping her gently screwing against it was the only safe plan. " Most of this day, — up to 3.0 p.m., the crew were getting in the wreck of the boom, — for what purpose, I never understood ; on deck it was a source of great danger, instead of towing it astern, — so as not to foul the screw, — and letting it go adrift, as it was ; it was at length lashed alongside the engifte skylight,'' — an amazing indiscretion ! The writer went on to the "London" at Sandridge Pier, in 1865, — seeing some acquaintances off, on her previous run to England, — he particularly noticed the well-deck amidships, and the feeble, slight, skylight over the engine room. A box sent out to him by friends in England went down with her. Fancy slinging a boom the size of a man's body, alongside a feeble engine skylight, in a ship rolling like the "London " did ! " It was no gentle, undulating motion, she would roll till you were in doubt if she was coming up ag^in, then up she would come with a jerk ! I often stood, that night, watching the port hole of our state room, when she made those awful lurches ! The water would remain dark and still against the glass for half-a-minute or so. I would say, " Will she come up again } " That Wednesday was dull and gloomy, heavy cross seas, the ship labouring, darkness came on early, — the wind increased, the sky looked wild, — everything bespoke a terrible night; I thought of our hatchway, and said to Munroe, — " Here is another bad night coming on, and nothing done." He said, " I know it — I have told Mr. Harris the first officer about it, and all the satisfaction I got was * Let it go down.'" Note. — This Mr. Harris had gone out in a boat with a view of speaking another ship, or some other purpose, during the voyage out. Fog, or night coming on, — the " London " missed him, and proceeded on to Melbourne, arriving lOth August, 1865. Two or three weeks after, — Mr. Harris appeared in Melbourne, picked up by an out-coming vessel ! It sounds like a romance ; but the writer was in Melbourne at the time, and well remembers the severe remarks, and newspaper comments, upon the affair. Munroe got some canvas and tacks, — " Can you do it .-* " I asked, as he was hammering. " Only partially, I could only get half enough pump tacks ; all is alike on board, — all confusion, nothing can be found that is required." GOLD. — THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP '"LONDON." JJ Then came the storm ! " By 9.0 p.m., two feet of water in the cabin was carrying every moveable article with it " Distracted women, — men with pale faces, — one girl nearly^ frantic ! " The steam, from the water getting on the hot machinery, found' its way into their cabin till they could not see each other five feet apart. It was suffocating ! " The sensation in our cabin was then really awful ! The darkness, — the dismal sound of the water coming in ; — I, never shall be able to convey an idea of it ! About lO.o p.m. I spoke to the Purser, in our cabin, he said, "They are as bad aft, we have been carrying water out of the sal®©n all evening! " I said it was very wrong when they had had previous warning, and it might easily have been prevented by securing the hatches properly by the ship's carpenter. He said, " Oh ! there is no danger in it, — the water runs aft to the engine pumps, and is pumped up." " But it all tends to keep her down in the water," I said. A few minutes after, their fires were out, the pumps stopped, and the water still there I While we were talking, some sailors rushed by towards the sail room. The boom on deck had broken loose, — carried away the engine skylight, — the fires were out, — and the " London " was scooping the sea down an opening — several feet square — at every roll ! Mattresses, &c., were piled over it, and sails placed on top; but the water lifted them up. Eighty of us then passed buckets of water up ; but two came in to one taken out ! About 2.0 a.m., Captain Martin came to us saying, "Men, put down those buckets, and come and try to secure the engine hatchway; it is the only chance to save the ship ! " The starboard passage way was so blocked by luggage and freight, that the sails had to be taken forward, and down the port side, where the stores were also piled up within three feet of the deck, and the sails had to be got over them, — a dark passage 60 feet in length, — it was here that the truly painful delay took place; — I think some of the cases had to be first removed. I mention this, to show how every space was choked with goods, preventing the proper working of the ship. First came the second officer singing out, — " Hurry that sail along, — what's stopping you ! " Then the Captain — "What is detaining that sail } " Then a voice from deck, — " More sails, for God's sake, — else she'll go down ! " A very large sail was placed, at length, over all, — fifty men at work at it, and with great difficulty, nailed down ; I saw Mr. Harris, the carpenter, and men, driving nails, in a foot of water. The ship — a jS GOLD. — THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP "LONDON." helpless log — lay over on her side, — the shreds of the split sails were blown out at right angles by the storm. The wind through the iron rigging produced a dreadful sound, seas every now and then broke over us. I noticed the stern ports to the starboard were knocked in, and the water rushing in ; later on, the others also gave way. I went into the saloon fully convinced that the ship must sink — I never expected her to float till daylight — to this day I am amazed that she floated so long as she did ! I found the passengers from all parts of the ship in the Saloon — no distinction now — the poorest, with their families were there, of four or five in groups. I saw the Rev. Draper, with many round him, reading the Bible and praying incessantly. The faithful Minister. Rev. Draper. Note.— It is believed that this good Minister was the Rev. B. H. Draper, who wrote a small Book, about 1840, on the Parables, and was then at this time (1866) Pastor of a Melbourne Chapel. Now and then, one would ask, " Oh ! Mr. Draper, pray GOLD. — THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP "LONDON." 79 for me ! " Others were sitting apart reading their Bibles. So the hours passed, till daylight came in. As I left the Saloon, I took the last look I ever had of it — the sight is indelibly stamped on my memory ! On deck, as the morning passed, things got worse and worse — she felt at times as if going right under I Going aft, I passed the Engines ; there was no one there at that time but the Captain ; he was having a look at the engine-room. We looked down together, and a frightful place it was ! The water black with coal washing about and breaking up the iron floorings, platforms, and machinery, and producing an unearthly sound. A vast pool of water it seemed to be. We went up the cuddy steps. I saw a sailor feeling about for a sovereigji he had dropped in about one foot of water. He was as eager for it as a street Arab would be, if the boy had dropped a sixpence in the street ! I was alarmed to see that a great deal more water was coming down. The water in the engine-room had increased considerably ; it was now within two or three feet of the deck on which I was standing. I got on to the poop as quick as possible, knowing now that the end was near ! The others knew it too. The staircase of the poop was crowded with people, apparently bewildered. I noticed a sailor keeping guard over the only boat which was being prepared. On my way from Fenchurch Street to Tilbury, the week before, this sailor had got in at Stepney, and sat by me, from which circumstance we had spoken once or twice on board. He advised me to have a try with them in this boat, ' But take your chance and jump when she is in the water.' No one could help seeing that there was a great change the last quarter of an hour. More people were on the deck — walking about like persons waiting at a railway station : scarcely a word was said ! I saw G. V. Brooke, the actor, who had been work- ing with us in his shirt sleeves, leaning against the saloon door, in deep thought. All hopes of the boats, after the swamping of the iron pinnace, had apparently gone. It was only a few of the sailors, who knew what could be done with a boat at sea, who were going to have a trial in her for their lives. It has always been an unaccountable thing to me why Captain Martin did not have the other boats got ready — properly manned and officered — and then told the ladies, ' There is your only chance, accept it if you choose ! ' The port iron pinnace was still hanging in its place, also a smaller wooden one forward. I felt loath to 80 GOLD. — THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP " LONDON." give up life ; — I enjoy life. There was also the uppermost tJiought of all, the uncertain hereafter! Another thing I never could understand was, why Captain Martin never had signals up ; as a vessel — if she did happen to sight us — and we not her — of course would take no notice and pass on. All seemed prepared for death. I saw an elderly person — a saloon passenger — strapping up a railway rug into a bundle. I have since been told this gentleman had a thousand sovereigns with him, no doubt in the rug. Shortly after, he appeared on deck, and Captain Martin — with a faint smile — asked him ' If he intended to take it with him f\ I said to the sailor, * If you do not lower in five minutes it will be too late ! ' The vessel was settling by the stern. I am amazed that she floated as long as she did ! He said, * We can't lower till King comes.' Presently King came up would go with them t King, The Boatswain. Captain Martin was asked was asKea by King * If he He declined, saying he ' would go GOLD. — THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP "LONDON." 8 1 down with the Ship,' but said 'God speed you safe to land ! ' adding that the course was * E.N.E. ninety miles to Brest.' It was now about two o'clock in the afternoon of Thursday, the nth of January, 1866. Note. — Captain Martin's former vessel was the Sailing Ship " Suffolk ; " — many a voyage had he made in her ;— a Sailing Ship he understood well ! He died like a true British Officer ! It is as if he had said, — " Y074 go, — in your position it is right, and proper, — God speed you to land, — but I, — the Captain ? W/iat ! I, — their Captain, — leave all these women, and children ? No ! No ! Faults there may have been, — circumstances I could not well control, — but I hope they will say in England that at least I did my duty, and stood by them to the last ! " All honour to our noble English Officers I It reminds one of the Burning Training Ship, — so nearly a terrible fatality, — and the good Captain urging the Boys on, as they passed by him, — regardless of himself; his one thought being to save their lives ! One fine lad entreated him to save himself, and leave with them. " No ! No ! My lad," exclaimed the true Captain, — *' that's not the way at Sea ! I must see them all safe I Pass on Boys ! Pass on ! The Captain's last at Sea ! " ♦' No ! No !— My lad ! "—the Captain cried, " Pass on I Nor care for me ! When duty calls, — the Captain' s last ! Yes !— That's the way,— at Sea ! " King must have misunderstood him, as we must then have been 120 miles off. We were 140 miles off when picked up the next morning. King then jumped into the boat — about a dozen being in her — and they lowered im- mediately. As soon as I saw that she was safe in the water I stepped on to the mizen chains, and when the boat rose on the sea, I made a cautious leap right into her stern. I had only five feet to jump by waiting for a sea to lift the boat. There was no attempt to prevent anyone jumping, all on board might have jumped ; they evidently considered our chance in such a sea to be hopeless. The boat was nearly sucked under the stern. I, and two others, got out oars, and kept her off. Now that the sailors saw that the boat was safe they wanted to take in a few of the women, and sung out to bring a lady or two. Only one, a girl of sixteen — very pretty — offered to go, but when she saw the fearful sea below, and the boat likely to be smashed at every heave against the huge iron wall of the ship, she said, * Oh ! I can't do that' There was no time for delay, and Munroe, — seeing the boat shoving off, — leaped in himself. All this took place in a minute or two. Even after we had shoved off we drew in again from the suction of the vessel settling at the stern. The second time we got her off, and were pulling away at the port side, running 82 GOLD.— THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP " LONDON." before the wind, nineteen of us in a fine boat, but con- structed only to carry twelve, I was told. The sun just then shone out for a time, which made the scene the worse for me. I saw the brave young midship- man — Mr. Angel — still at his post, at the pumps, which he never left till they went down. Just as we left the ship a lady, in a frantic voice, was heard to cry, ' A thousand guineas if you will take me in ! ' It was too late ; if our lives had depended on it, we could never have made the ship again ; we had to run before the gale just where the wind chose to drive us ! As we mounted up a great wave we could see the ' London,' her bows well out of the water, so that we could see the red paint on her bottom, her stern very low, and by the pitch or rake of her masts she seemed to be at an angle of 45°. Just then a heavy sea was seen to break over her deck and to wash the people about ! They had just before been waving handkerchiefs, &c., to us. We ran down another wave, and when we mounted up the next, nothing was to be seen of the ' London ! ' Of the 258 on board, only the 19 in our boat were saved ! " (See the admirable account by Mr. Wilson, one of the survivors, in the CornJiill, for June, 1866.) " When we were lifted on the wave a second time and found that the ship was gone, it cast a gloom over all. We continued looking in the direction where we last saw the ship to see if any could be seen clinging to a spar, or anything, but nothing whatever was to be seen. King now sang out, ' Boys, the London is gone. If we don't mind we'll soon follow her ; say no more aboat her, but attend to the boat,' which was certainly a wise remark. We were thrown together mostly by chance — almost unknown to each other ; — our party consisting of three engineers, a fireman, a car- penter, one young midshipman, eight seamen, a steward, a boy, and three passengers (not from the saloon). We had no officers, or captain, but we had the only thing to save us at that time ; we had cool, skilful, excellent boatmen ; had we not we would not have lived half-an-hour. We were twenty hours in that boat : I had no idea of what one could go through. No one could ever have made me believe that a boat could have stood what ours did ! I think some of the men must have been born and reared in a boat ! Our arrangements were soon made ; those who understood rowing were to work in spells, those who did not were to bale. I was one of the latter; two or three were to keep a constant look-out, one to be constantly GOLD. — THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP " LONDON." 83 watching behind us to see when a wave was coming that had a crest on it, and warn the helmsman. Those were the waves we dreaded, and here was where the skill and judgment was displayed. The chief study was to let the seas meet us square on to the stern, otherwise she would have filled at once. As one sea would pass, — invariably giving us a dash as it passed, — another would be seen coming in another direction, perhaps on our quarter. These were the cross seas, and the ones most likely to sink us. Then would be heard ' Look out King, here's one,' when, if the rudder would not bring her round in time, or was at the moment out of the water, the helmsman would be heard singing out, ' Pull on the starboard, and back on the port, quick ! ' a minute after, ' Pull, pull all ! ' that was to get out of the way of a sea about to break, — then, ' Back, back all ! ' Night was coming on : I dreaded to think of it. The sky looked wild, — wind still strong and cold, — sea still very heavy. It was what you might call a troubled sea. All of us wet, cold and hungry, nearly worn-out by the constant anxiety, exertion, and fatigue of the two previous days. I considered it about one chance in a hundred that ever we saw the morning ! How were we to see at night those crested seas that we feared so much ? I was puzzled that the sailors did not speak of this great difficulty to my mind. Presently night closed in, and the mystery was solved by the phosphorescent tops of the waves, which, shining in the dark, showed pretty well the way they were coming. At first the stars occasionally appeared, by them we guessed up to about nine, we were going south. I said to King, ' We shall not fetch the Spanish — much less the French coast — at this course ; we shall go wide of Cape Finisterre.' He said, * I can't help it, we must go where we are compelled, the wind may change,' and so it did. I had certain stars for guides, and by them I could see that we were coming gradually round, and, by midnight were going nearly east. We knew that any course that had east in it would bring us to land. Smith, a seaman, who had been steering, was relieved by King, who continued till 3.0 in the morning, when Daniels relieved him for three hours. It was most trying work, the tt//er being missing, — like everything else, that was wanted, — so they had to work the rudder by hand, almost always with one hand in the water. Great watchfulness was needed, and all through the night King was continually singing out directions to the oarsmen; then ' Bale her out, keep her dry, who is bailing now } ' 84 GOLD. — THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP In this way he was constantly talking and encouraging us to keep awake, for we were drowsy from fatigue; I had only had four hours' sleep since Sunday night, and others no doubt had had no more, and this was Thursday. At times, while bailing, I would be half-asleep, but still dipping out the water. King asked, " Who had the time,' my watch was going, but it was too dark to see the hands. We thought it must be getting towards daylight, I ielt the hands and found it was only eleven o'clock. It was only the Moon rising. So the long dreary night wore slowly on. We thought the daylight would never come. About mid- night the weather became more squally, heavy black clouds came down upon us, and at times we seemed to be running into a black wall. It was difficult to discern the figure of the man sitting close to you. It was the night remembered in London for the heaviest snow storm of the season, — when the telegraph wires were broken down in many parts of England, and vessels were being wrecked by scores in Torbay, About this time, — and a time that will never be forgotten by any in the boat, — we experienced the most narrow escape of any during the whole of our voyage : a large sea was seen close behind us, and on the very point of breaking, and it was impossible to get out of its way in time. On it came, eight or ten feet higher than our stern, and, the next moment it appeared that we should all be engulphed. Someone quietly remarked, * It's all over with us now.' I myself thought the end had come at last ; over came the great wave, burying the afterpart of the boat completely. She trembled, and up she came ! The sea had passed on leaving us in all but a sinking state. The water in the boat was about a foot-and-a-half deep ; a bucket would dip m it ! Immediately King sang out, * Don't move ! Bale out quick ! We are safe yet ! ' At once the bucket and bailers were at work — in a few minutes she was lightened, and on we went again. It was a providential thing that we had not another person in the boat, for I do believe that the zveight of one more would have taken us down ! " A small vessel with two masts passed close to them that night, — they saw her lights, and they "All bellowed together as loud as we could. They evidently heard us, and putting about, ran about, looking for us, we trying to guide them by our shouts. Then came a squall, and they lost the run of us. We could only see her occasionally through the gloom, when we rose on a wave ; at last she was out of sight. GOLD. — THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP "LONDON." 8$ It affected the spirits of us all, when all hope of this vessel was gone ! At last daylight came in, — in hail, and rain. Then the sun would come out for a few minutes, we scanned the horizon, but could see nothing. Some time after again the cry was raised 'Ship in sight!' We could just see her off the port quarter. Presently we sighted another, more in our track, on the starboard bow, but at a great distance. Hope revived ; we were in the track of vessels and rejoiced to find some still floating. On we went for half-an-hour, with occasional sunshine, then a squall, and rain, the sea still rough, the same constant attention required. Those on the look-out reported the vessel first seen was not getting any nearer to us. Some proposed to King, who was now steering, to put about to run for her. King strongly objected ; saying that the boat would certainly swamp in going round, and then we had a long way to row almost dead to windward before reaching her ; we would never reach her. It was now say 9.0 a.m., Friday, the 12th January. The men were getting irritable; there was not that friendly feeling which existed at first, — would answer each other sharply ; of course this was owing to twenty hours' exposure and thirst, which we were all feeling terribly. Words ran high as to the advisability of putting round to run for the vessel. One who was holding the signal of distress (a shirt on an oar) said to King at the helm, ' If you don't put her about, I'll put this oar through her bottom ! ' I was beginning to feel frightened. Of course every allowance must be made for the man under the trying circumstances. I do not entertain any ill-feeling towards him whatever for his threat. He might not see the danger, as an experienced boatman did, of going about, — thought, no doubt, that we were missing our last chance. Immediately someone proposed that we should run for the distant sail on the starboard bow, not so much with the hope of reaching her, as to prevent the boat being put about. I seconded the proposition, urging that even if we missed her, we would be nearing land ; that it was not more than forty miles off (so we then thought), and by keeping on that course we would sight land before night ; that it was early day and most likely we would sight other vessels, that we were in their track was proved. The proposition was put, and carried amidst some grumbling. The oars were double manned, the course of the boat slightly altered. Soon everything was going pleasantly, and all now seemed well - satisfied with the new I S6 GOLD. — THE Loss OF THE STEAMSHIP " LONDON." arrangement ; all they wanted was to be going towards some vessel. The sun at that time was shining, and our little craft sped along bravely, she quite astonished the most sanguine, — everybody expressed the greatest afifection for her. Still great caution was required ; the vessel not being directly in our track, we had to make good a few points to the wind ; and that is where the difficulty was. Whenever an opportunity offered we would steer to windward of the vessel ; we knew we could make leeway at any time. Whenever a crested wave came, round would have to come the boat, and we would turn tail and run with it till it had passed, then try again. The only man allowed to stand up, the look-out, reported that we were nearing her, soon we could see her hull ; and when within half-a-mile we were rejoiced to see that they had sighted us, and were bearing away to run for us. Just at this moment was seen a terrific squall coming down as if to annihilate us at the very moment succour was at hand. We had, of course, to turn and run, and were being carried past the ship. Fear- ing losing her, many sung out to King to put about, — others not to, he said ' She will fill the moment we do so ; and don't you see they are running with us ? ' So they were, shouting in Italian, probably telling us, — in the wildest excitement, — to run on, — and they would follow. After the gale had a little passed, we put partly about, but in doing so had a narrow miss of swamping, as she shipped a heavy sea. A few minutes more and we ran up to her stern ; — a line was thrown to us with remarkable accuracy, — it was caught, a rope followed. She had come round to the wind, a barque of some 400 tons, rolling very much, and we thumping against her side by the mainchains. All order was now broken, each caught hold of anything he could, and scrambled up, lugged in by the friendly men on board. I caught hold of two tempting bolts ; down went our boat leaving me hanging on with others near me ; up came the boat again, and we were soon all over the rail, except one who had been hurt, a rope was got over, and he was safely drawn up. We were kindly received. The Captain, a fine, jolly, burly old fellow, with a most benevolent countenance, and his crew, were getting out dry clothes, and serving out Geneva, when I got aft. It was now about lO.o a.m., and we were soon having warm tea, &c., in the Captain's cabin ; fowls were killed to make us a good stew. She was laden with wheat in bulk, from the Mediterranean for Cork, — had experienced heavy weather, — had thrown some of her GOLD.— THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP " LONDON." 8/ cargo overboard, — but was at this time safe, dry, and snug. We could not understand each other, but the Captain, by a map, explained that he would try to run into, and land us at Falmouth. In the afternoon, we lay down and had a troubled sleep. I went through the horrors of shipwreck ; and for many nights, and I may say for weeks after, I would see the ' London,' — with her stern under water, — her foretops gone. At night w^e most of us lay on the wheat covered with warm sails, and felt very comfortable, though our limbs were so stiff many could hardly crawl about. The weather continued rough ; it blew fiercely that night ; so passed that day, also the next. Then came Monday, we were in the Channel, and that morning we sighted the Scillys, or Land's End. That night we had a gale, dead ashore ; the Captain and crew on deck all night, apparently very anxious, and constantly singing out, and directing. But the barque held her own, and about three or four (daybreak), on the Tuesday, i6th January, was put about to run slowly to land ; the fog rose, Falmouth Harbour fair before us ! Three cheers for our good Captain ! " A gold chronometer, with a suitable inscription, was afterwards presented to good Captain Gion Batta Cavassa, by the Board of Trade. Note. The Reader will note the providential falling in with the " Marianopolis," just as they were getting worn out with thirst, cold, and hunger. It took a well-found barque four days and nights to land them. Instead of 40, they were 140 miles off. It blew a gale two nights while on the barque. The wind, — changed, — was against the barqne all the Saturday, — so that, if they had got through another night, they would have been merely carried back again into the Bay of Biscay. They would never have survived another night in the boat ; and had they missed that barque the fate of the ** London " would never have been known. The three passengers, — alone saved, — not one from the first-class saloon, — were Mr. Wilson, of Ballarat (the narrator) — Mr. Munroe, — and Mr. Mead, — the other sur- vivors belonged to the vessel. Mr. Wilson returned home, — the following April, — in the " Great Britain," — Mr. Mead attempted to accompany him, — but, on entering the ship, — fainted, — the past scenes coming up too vividly, — and he gave up his intention. On her voyage out, in April, the •' Great Britain " had to " lay to," — off the Cape, — in the worst storm, and heaviest sea, — Captain Gray, said, — he S8 GOLD.— THE LOSS OF THE STEAMSHIP "LONDON." had ever been in during his many voyages. Mr. Bevan, — of Hereford, — whose brother was lost in the " London," — going out to settle the latter's affairs, — being allowed, — on the third day of this gale to go on deck with a rope round him, — says, " That it was the grandest sight he could have imagined." Striking the ground in Dundrum Bay, — as soon as she was launched, — the " Great Britain," for some twenty years after, weathered the storms on her fine runs to Australia. Her captain, — Gray, — respected by all, — eventually com- mitted suicide, — through home troubles, it was said. The " Great Britain " has, probably now disappeared, together with her contemporaries the " Red Jacket," — "Marco Polo," '* White Star,"—" Swiftsure,"— " Suffolk," (Captain Martin's former ship) — " Lightning," &c., &c., familiar names in old days of " the Diggings," and for fifteen years after, till the Suez Canal, — and modern steamers, — rendered the long sea route, via the Cape, almost obsolete. No one, — however, — who has ever made the Voyage out by the Cape, and the Return round Cape Horn, through Icebergs, and Fogs, in all weathers, — will fail to do justice to the following great performances of our old Sailing Ships. For the "Great Britain" merely had an "auxiliary" steam power of 400 H.P., useful for screwing out of the "Doldrums" or calms, about the Equator. She of course, — like the ill-fated "Royal Charter," — depended upon her sailing; for her Passages. Indeed it was the fata/ dependence upon the miserably inadequate steam power these early steamers possessed which caused the "Royal Charter" to be embayed at Moelfra, on the night of "the Royal Charter gale," Tuesday, 26th Oct., 1859, — and dashed to pieces at 5.0 a.m., the next morning, on the Welsh rocks, within four hours of Liverpool ! What Captain of a sailing Ship would ever have allowed her to hug the coast, when it was blowing a hurricane as they passed Holy- head, a North gale, dead ashore, with danger all the way to Liverpool ? The feeble engine was relied upon ! Captain Taylor had made the run, — then "a Record," — in 59 days. This time he had run her to Cork in 58. £soo was offered him if he ever did the out, and home, Voyage, in 150 days. Everything was to give way to speed ! They had narrowly missed an Iceberg this very voyage off the Horn ! He ' ' carried on " thus, with 500 persons on board, in a vessel which had been lengthened in her middle to 30 feet longer than the "Great Britain," — thought he could just reach Liverpool, and "chanced it !" What was 400 H. P. to screw such a ship out of a Bay in a Hurricane dead ashore? The modern "Teutonic," ss., has 16,000 H.P. ! Had she not broken in two in the middle, all might have been saved ! Out of 61 saloon, 300 second and third class, and 112 crew (say 480), only 3 saloon, 10 second and third, and 19 of the crew were saved ! An immense treasure of Gold in her strong room (never recovered), and great wealth on many successful " Diggers" on board, was lost. Seven Passengers landed zX. Queenstown, and 9 "Riggers" got in there, 3 of whom were saved. The gigantic, but almost useless, "Great Eastern" was nearly lost at Holyhead Harbour that night. The Captain's mackintosh was blown to shreds ! They had seen her from the " Royal Charter" as they passed. Copy of a Way Bill 24 years ago. "The celebrated Auxiliary Steam Clipper, 'Great Britain,' 3,209 tons. 500 H.P. with water-tight compart- ments (?) — Lieut. John Gray, R.N.R., Commander, — is appointed to leave THE LAST WORDS OF THE GOOD MINISTER. 89 the River Mersey, for Melbourne, on Thursday, the 9th of May, 1867. This far-famed Ship has again made another run out, to Melbourne in 58 days. The nine previous passages to Melbourne were made in 62, 63, 59, 60, 58, 61, 57 and 57 days. On one occasion, 55 days, 17 hours out, — back to Queenstown in 59 ; performing the whole voyage of 28,000 miles, in 4 months, 24 days, — including a detention of 31 in Melbourne, — a feat never before accomplished ! " To conclude our Tragedy, — the writer regrets to add, that, — while on a " Jubilee Year " tour to Au.stralia, in 1887, — he was informed that King, — the Boatswain of the •'London," — eventually kept a public house, out in Australia, — and had also committed suicide some two years before. Let us hope that the information was incorrect ; for it does seem a sad end after having been so marvellously saved, twenty years before. CONCLUSION. It is in such scenes, when in presence of death, that the real character is shown. The humble, pious believers, with all hope lost, quietly praying with the good minister, Mr. Draper, in the saloon ; some, utterly reckless, breaking up cases of wine, to die, as they had lived, without thought or hope. The sailor groping for the sovereign, knowing well, as a seaman, that the ship was already settling down at the time, and that, in a few minutes they would be in eternity ! The elderly person strappijig up his thousand pounds in the railway rug, and coming on to the deck with it, when in a quarter of an hour he would have to appear before his God ! It proves how, when the mind has been set, for a lifetime, on wealth, and money — has trusted to gold — loved it — chosen it, in the place of God — that the approach of death itself cannot release its hold upon the soul ! Dear Youth, who may read this book, with all life before you, choose a life of piety, the approval of God — the love, and the service of the Saviour, — in place of a life devoted to gain ! That solemn hour — the hour before your death — will as surely come to you and me, as it came to those who perished that winter's afternoon on the " London." Instead of the frantic cry, " A thousand guineas if you will take me in ! " Instead of grasping, like the elderly person, your gold, to the last moment of allotted life, you will then — long accustomed to trust to God, and to believe in a Saviour's love — be able cheerfully to resign your soul to His faithful and long-tried goodness, well knowing that having long tried to serve Him in health and youth, He will never forsake you in your hour of need ! You could 90 GRASPED THE DUNGHILL, MISSED THE STARRY CROWN. then unite with the good Mr. Draper in the saloon of the sinking " London " in his cry, ** Those who have not been converted, be so now, for, in a few minutes, we shall be in Eternity ! Captain Martin says that there is now no hope for lis, but the Great Captain says that we may all get safely to Heaven ! " Words which would strike cold and unmeaning to the irreligious ear, but which would be felt, and understood by you. God is not a hard master, requiring us to relinquish this world, its pleasures and its gains, and offering nothing to us in return. God knows what are the good things to be obtained in this life, for he created them all, and He assures us that all the riches, pleasures, and happiness to be obtained upon earth are less than nothing to what He has prepared for His faithful followers. For He tells us that, '* Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive, the things that God hath prepared for them that love Him ! " How many a young business man — his whole heart, soul, and life devoted to money — has indeed, as the years of priceless opportunity have rolled by, succeeded, like Alexis, in obtaining before he died, great wealth and position — but in God's sight is ruined for His service, and for ever unfitted for Heaven, and for Eternity — the Last Day only will disclose ! How many when life and opportunity have passed, — may have to say, " I grasped for many a long year the riches of a dying World, but I missed the tide — it was God's will should have borne me to my heavenly home ! " " I've grasped for many a year the riches of a phantom, passing World, — I gi^asped the dimghill, — but I missed the starry crozvn ! " Like Alexis, they found that the Cave of Diamonds once entered — the tyrant gold submitted to — loved and followed — an escape is seldom possible. The experience of Mankind does but re-echo the Saviour's words — " For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also ! " "Thou shalt not make unto thyself any graven image, neither shall ye make unto you Gods of Gold ; thou shalt not bow down thyself to them nor serve them, for I the Lord thy God am a jealous God. Thou shalt have none other Gods before Me." "But coveiousness, which is idolatry, let it not be once mentioned among you as becometh saints, for this ye know, that no covetous man, — who is an idolater, — hath any inheritance in the kingdom of Christ, and of God." — Ephesians v., verses 3 and 5. (91) "Can you hold on five minutes longer? Land close ahead!" "Aye I flye ! Sir ! By God's help I will ! " CHAPTER XIV. JOHN MAYNARD, THE PILOT. THE BRAVE YOUNG AMERICAN. N this World in which we see very little else than selfishness, constant (and very often unscrupulous) grasping after wealth, everyone caring for himself • alone, and generally thoughtless of all else besides — there are yet ocasionally to be met with instances of heroic forgetfulness, and pure, unselfish, benevolence, and thoughts for the safety of others — which shine forth, in a fallen world, like stars amid the prevailing gloom around. Such deeds serve us as beacons, pointing us to a nobler life. An instance of true heroism of this kind may be found in the following account of John Maynard, the pilot. 92 JOHN MAYNARD, THE PILOT. The American steamers which ply upon the great lakes of America are very different to any we see in this country; — they are two or three stories high — hugh floating hotels, in fact — propelled by massive Engines worked by beams, similar to the "Beam Engines" or "Cornish Engines" em- ployed in England for pumping mines and waterworks. Densely crowded as these steamers are during the summer months — often carry four or five hundred passengers — the chief danger is from fire, for the great lakes of America are so extensive that the land is constantly lost to view, and as these steamers carry few boats, the only hope when a fire occurs is to try to make the nearest land, and to run the ship aground. • John Maynard was an honest, hardy young pilot, who plied his occupation on the lake steamers. He was an upright, brave young man — a good husband, and already a fond father of two bright little ones. His wife loved him best, for she best knew how he possessed a heart as loving and tender as it was brave and manly. Hundreds who had stood by when one of the sudden storms came on to which the lakes are subject — had re- marked John Maynard's steady hand and wary eye, and felt that let the danger be what it might, all that man could do for the safety of the vessel that John Maynard would do ! Hundreds when the storm was at its height could tell how the Pilot bore himself in those hours of fear and danger. But one summer day there was harder work for John Maynard to perform ! The time came when it was shown what he could really do ! When, having been faithful to his duty during his life, John Maynard had to show that, — when Duty called, — with God's aid he could remain faithful to death ! For one hot summer's day one of these huge steamers, densely crowded, was ploughing its way down Lake Erie ; the passengers were lying asleep under the awnings, or sitting under the shade of the balconies. No one dreamt of danger, for the sea was perfectly calm ; the faint breeze was not sufficient to relieve the heat, and the well-known Pilot — John Maynard — was at the wheel. About noon, however, a slight smoke was observed by the Pilot rising from the aft hold ; — it was but the slightest film, but the Pilot's quick and experienced eye detected it in a moment ! '' Simpson," he said quietly, to one of the deck hands, " Go down aft and see what that smoke is ! " at the same time sending another man to call the Captain. The Pilot was not the man to alarm the bystanders, JOHN MAYNARD, THE PILOT. 93 knowing well the panic the least suspicion of fire would create amongst the passengers. The man shortly returned ; he had been with the Captain below, and hurriedly whis- pered — " Good Heavens, Pilot ; the Captain fears that the ship's on fire ! " A few minutes more, and disguise was no longer possible, for a burst of smoke came up from below, and in a minute more the alarm of " Fire ! " spread from deck to deck and from cabin to cabin, and some five hundred frantic passengers in a paroxysm of terror, at the awful death before them, hastened upon the fore decks. But loud dihovQ all the con- fusion the stentorian voice of the Captain was heard, through his speaking trumpet, shouting to the man at the wheel — " John Maynard ! " (The Captain knew that everything now depended upon the Pilot ; no one else knew the bearing of the coast as he did). " Aye ! aye ! sir ! " came John's steady voice from the wheel house. " Head her to land ; how far away .? " " Five miles, sir ; east by south east." "■ What is the shortest time we can do it in } " " Half-an- hour, sir, at this rate." Then came the Captain's word to the Engineer — '* Put on every ounce of steam she will bear ! " In the meantime every man, woman, and even child, who could lift a pail, worked for dear life to keep down the flames, which soon began to appear from below. But the woodwork, always slight and dry in these vessels, was now like tinder from the heat of an American midsum- mer ; and worse than all, amongst the cargo between decks were some casks of resin and tar, shipped from the back woods. No sooner did the fire reach the tar than the whole ship aft of the fore deck was enveloped in a thick smoke, lit up with long flapping flames of red fire. Driven on to the bows, the whole multitude of passengers crowded in utter despair. But the huge engine beams are going up and down quicker now — the huge steamer is flying through the water : and, firm at his post, enveloped in the smoke, and grasping the spokes with both hands, there still stands John Maynard, — the Pilot, — at the wheel ! The flames during some twenty minutes have spread on — the tiller chains were black with the heat — the wheel- house even was on fire. At this awful moment, however the wind veered slightly, blowing aside the dense smoke, and disclosing the land close ahead. But the Captain knew well, and John Maynard, the Pilot, knew it, too, that the least change in the rudder, and the Steamer, instead of making the land, would swing round with the current, and 94 JOHN MAYNARD, THE PILOT. drive the flames over the women and children crowded on the bows. So seizing his trumpet, the Captain's voice was heard once more above the noise and smoke, shouting, for the last time, to the man at the wheel, " John Maynard ! " and thick, and choked, came from the smoke and fire, the Pilot's voice, " Aye ! aye ! sir ! " " Can you hold on five miimtes longer ? Land close ahead ! " And for the last time in this world came, from the burning wheel, the answer, *' Aye ! aye ! sir ! By God's help I will ! " " God bless you John ! " roared back the Captain. He knew that the man had given up his life to save theirs, and the rough, hardy Captain turned aside. He did not care that any should see the tears that ran down his cheeks. He had braved many a danger in his time unmoved ; but he gave way now ! And many a woman, as she held her little ones to her breast, repeated the words, "May God bless John Maynard!" And from the hundreds of beings crowding the deck rose the murmur, " God bless that brave fellow at the wheel ! " The young Pilot had a home, too, and wife, and children, whom he loved with as pure a love as the richest merchant now trembling on the bow. To spring from the deck into the sea and leave the vessel to her fate, would have been easy ; the work of a moment : mere child's play to him, a noted and powerful swimmer ; but five hundred Men, Women, and little Children, were entirely dependent upon him now. He had never yet shrunk from his duty ; with God's aid he would hold on and save them all ! And with a prayer from his own wife, and little ones, whom he knew he should never see any more ; firm at his post — his hair scorched from his face — with one hand scorched black by the fire, steading the wheel with his foot, and grasping the burning spokes, there still stood, — in his last death agony, — the heroic Pilot, — John Maynard, — at the wheel ! A minute after, the huge steamer struck with a crash upon the beach in shallow water, and the whole multitude were swarming down the ropes they had prepared, and handing down the Women and Children, praising God, and trembling with joy, at having escaped so dreadful a death. But as they touched the shore with their feet, the Wheel- house, and the burning deck, fell with a great crash into the red fire below, carrying with them the blackened corpse of young John Maynard, the Pilot! The Captain's Call. There comes a time in the life of every youth when JOHN MAYNARD, THE PILOT. 95 God's call to duty comes to him as clearly as did the Captain's voice when he called upon "John Maynard ! " It is a gentle voice, it is true, disregarded by thousands of Youths, but, stifle it as you may by the follies and sinful pleasures around us on every hand, it is a voice, nevertheless, that will be heard. Strange if it were not so, for it is the voice of Almighty God ! " Forsake that sinful and careless life ! It can never lead to happiness or to Me ! Commence now in youth a life of piety — seek My favour and a Saviour's love, while time and opportunity and youth are thine, and I will be with thee in thy hour of need ! " In the life of every youth there comes a time when he does hear God's call, does sometimes think of commencing a Christian course, — does sometimes think that he will commence that Journey to the Better Land, — take some steps towards his Heavenly Home ! Such feelings are God's " call " to you, for such desires never come into the heart of any youth of themselves ! By nature we are opposed to God, and care little for His favour, or for the bright Home above ! But such feelings do come to every youth, because the Saviour comes and stands knocking at his door ! Long years does Christ stand at the door of some hearts ! He stands there in the language of the Scriptures till " His head is wet with the dew, and His locks with the drops of the night ! " His voice of entreaty — the Saviour's call to forsake sin — to lead a life of piety and prayer is heard by every youth ! There 7mist be something solemn in Eternity, if God Himself, (in the person of the Saviour), must needs come thus, and plead with every youth at the commencement of his life ! It is because God knows that your affections are strongest in youth — that you are more likely to turn to Him now, than at any other period of your life ! The hour will come when there will come another, and a terrible one knocking at your door ! — One whose dread summons was never yet disobeyed ! He brooks no delay ! When death knocks, the hardest door must open, and open at once to him ! Now, in youth, and health, with Death far distant is the time to listen to God's call, and to secure a Saviour's love! And when God's "call" comes to you, asking you to commence a life of duty and love to Him, let your reply be that of John Maynard — " By God's help I will ! " " Be wise to day ! — Procrastination is the thief of time ! Year after year it steals till all are fled ! And to the mercies of a moment leaves The vast concerns of an Eternal scene ! " (96) CHAPTER XV. " SMALL BEGINNINGS, AND HOW TO GET ON." Poor Boys, and how they became Rich. No. I. — ''Never Despair.'' WILLIAM HUTTON, of Birmingham. ILLIAM HUTTON was a remarkable instance of a very poor boy attaining to wealth, — not from any happy chance of fortune, but from his own persevering" industry, — his brave struggles with the difficulties he met with, as a boy, — and his lifetime of self-denial and strict economy. At the age of seven the little boy was put to work at a Silk Mill, — the youngest of 300 hands employed there. Not being indeed tall enough to reach the loom, a pair of high pattens were made for him to stand on, to enable the little fellow to perform his allotted tasks. Urged on by public opinion our Governments have, from time to time, passed Laws in reference to the labour of young children in factories. The first Act was, however, only passed some forty years ago, up to which time the life led by young children, in the large Mills of Lancashire, Dundee, and other localities, was something frightful : a slavery worse, in some respects, considering our climate, and the terrible confinement, and bad air in the Mills, — than that of slave children on the Cotton Plantations of America, Up, in the depth of winter, to be at the Mill at Six o'clock, — with no regulations of any kind then as to the hours- worked, — amidst the everlasting whirl of machinery, — children of six and seven were worked as long as the grown- up men and women, while the heavy strap of the overseer was ever at hand to quicken the tired hand. " Christmas " — says Hutton,— speaking of his recollection as a child of the Silk Mill, — was attended by a heavy fall of snow, and a severe frost, — I did not wake the next morning till it appeared to be daylight. I rose in tears, for fear of punishment, and asked a man whom I met what hour it was ; he ** believed it was about six." I hastened on in agony, for fear of being late at the Mill, and from the WILLIAM HUTTON, OF BIRMINGHAM. 97 bottom of Full Street — not two hundred yards — I fell down nine times ! Observing no light in the Mill, I knew it was an early hour, and that the reflection on the white snow had deceived me. Returning, the clock struck two ! " His hard servitude at the Silk Mill terminated after seven years, when he was 14 years old. He was then placed at Nottingham, under his uncle, a Stockinger, and here he continued until an unhappy quarrel with his uncle — its origin being a mere trifle — caused the boy to run away from Nottingham, whither bound he knew not. He had only two shillings in his pocket. At ten at night he reached Derby, carrying what little stock of clothes he had, and a few provisions, in a bag. The next day in the precincts of Lichfield, he says — " I saw at nightfall a barn a little off the road, in which I hoped to get a night's rest. I hid my bag in a hedge whilst I went to look at the barn. I could not have been gone a quarter of an hour, when returning from the barn (which I found closed fast) to my amazement my bag was gone ! To this day I cannot imagine who took it ! Terror seized me ! I went about the fields lamenting, and told all I met of my loss. I was too much distressed to find relief in tears, they would not flow. I found seeming pity from all, but relief from none, and at eleven o'clock found myself alone in the streets of Lichfield. It is not easy to fancy a more distressed position. I had nothing left ; — a stranger to the place ; no employment, nor hope of getting any ; no food to eat, or place of rest. All the little property I had in the world had been taken from me : even hope died within me ! I was but a boy of 14 at the time. I slept that night on a rude bench outside a butcher's shop." He walked with blistered feet and a heavy heart to Walsall, and from thence to Birmingham, where he asked for employment at three difierent stocking makers', but was refused at all. Yet see what a difference a few years of industry and perseverance efl"ected for this poor boy. In 14 years from this date, William Hutton had married the daughter of Francis Grace (from whose premises he had been turned away), and a few years after the entire property was left him, and his excellent wife, by the old man's will ! " It was about seven o'clock " — he says — " in the evening when I first reached Birmingham. I remember that I sat down to rest upon the old cross which used to be in Philip Street, Bull Ring — probably the poorest boy in Birming- ham, in that great Parish of which 27 years after I was J 98 WILLIAM HUTTON, OF BIRMINGHAM. appointed Overseer. I sat down, silent, and oppressed with grief, under the very roof where years after I sat as Commissioner of the Court ! " For the first few days in Birmingham he says he lived chiefly on cherries (which were plentiful that year, selling at a penny a pound) and a little bread. Unable to subsist by the two trades he had learned, Hutton by a curious circumstance, was led to become a bookbinder. He occasionally purchased shabby old books for a trifle from a man who kept his bookbinding apparatus in his shop ; and by repeated visits to this shop, and by close and constant watching the man at work, Hutton mastered the secrets of the trade. "The first book I bound " — he says — " was a very small one. I showed it to the bookseller. He seemed surprised. I could see jealousy in his eye. But he recovered in a moment, for he had no doubt that I should break down, and lose what little I had saved. He offered me an old press for two shillings, which no man could use, and which was laid by for the fire. I looked attentively at the press, bought it, paid the two shillings, and got a receipt. I then asked for a hammer and pin, which he handed me with a smile, and more than half a sneer. I drove out the * garter pin,' which, being worn and galled, prevented the press from working, and turned another square, which perfectly cured the press. He now said in anger — ' If I had known, you should not have had it.' However I could see that he consoled himself with the thought that I should make nothing of my beginning in business, and that the press would come back to him. That press proved the best I had for five-and-twenty years after." As an instance of Hutton's frugality and perseverance, when commencing business as a young man, he found that a journey to London was needful, and always a wonderful pedestrian, he resolved to walk there and back (224 miles), and gives us the total of his expenses. "" I was out nearly nine days ; that is, three in going, three in London, and three in returning. I spent 3s. 8d. on the road each way, and a little over 3s. in London. Out of eleven shillings journey money I brought back 4d." This gives an idea of the prices of provisions in those days. From this point he rose rapidly in the world. In 1 790 he purchased a carriage and pair of horses, and built a coach-house, which, with his usual exactness in money matters (for Hutton's whole life and soul was now evidently bent upon money), cost 635 guineas. WILLIAM HUTTON, OF BIRMINGHAM. 99 A long list of how he purchased and sold land— how he married rather to save expense, than from love — follows. Having felt what a dread thing poverty was, his life was now precisely what might be expected from one who evidently neither possessed nor professed to possess, any practical Religion. The poor boy had raised himself to prosperity, but he had done it /mnself— God appears never to have been in his thoughts from boyhood to old age! He neither appears to have sought Him in adversity, nor cared for Him in Prosperity. He seems to have decided that as everything had been against him in youth, his success was due to his own industry and frugality alone, and that he had no one therefore to thank for it but himself There is a loneliness, coldness, and hardness about such a life, which no intelligent reader of his memoirs can fail to mark. William Hutton was one of the sufferers in the Birming- ham Riots, which took place against the Unitarians. Hutton was one of this body, and attended the dinner at Dee's Hotel (then just built) in commemoration of the French Revolution. It was a great mistake of Dr. Priestley and the Unitarians. The people became excited, and collected outside Dee's Hotel ; from hissing and howling, they proceeded to throw stones, and the windows of the hotel were broken in. Then began the terrible Birmingham riots, which, owing to the miserable inefficiency of the old watchmen (the only police of that day), lasted three whole days. Two chapels. Dr. Priestley's house, and other houses known to belong to Unitarians, were destroyed by the mob, and amongst them, William Hutton's place of business in High Street. Fifty wagons, he states, would not have sufficed to carry off his stock of goods, which was burnt in his warehouses. Indeed his wealth may be estimated from the fact that he placed his loss at ;^8,ooo. Although he afterwards received ;^5,ooo by way of compensation, he had to show his private books, and the large profits thus exhibited caused others to set up in the same trade. At the same time the rioters destroyed Baskerville House, the residence of Mr. Samuel Ryland — a lovely place in those days — quite in the country — now converted into Winfield's Bedstead Manufactory, Cambridge Street, Birmingham ; the front still retaining a portion of the original edifice. For 25 years Mr. Ryland left it in ruins to serve as an example to the Birmingham people. The grandfather of the present writer knew Hutton well, they being much together, living close to each other at one time in High Street, and used to lOO WILLIAM HUTTON, OF BIRMINGHAM. describe the crashing of the things on the night of the riot, as the rioters, who were sacking Hutton's premises, threw them out of the window into the street below. Hutton describes the first night of the riots : — "The 14th of July," he says, "has always been a memorable one for me. It was on the 14th of July I first entered Birmingham as a poor runaway apprentice boy, without home or friends, and it was on that very night, the 14th of July, — fifty years after, — that I stood leaning against a milestone on the Sutton Coldfield Road, after the rioters had sacked my premises, once more (for a time at least) without food or home." This, of course, was, however, but a temporary gloom, for he soon retired from business, evidently a wealthy man. His vigour and health were such that at ^'j years of age, Hutton — always a wonderful pedestrian — undertook a walking tour of 600 miles to visit the Old Roman Wall which crosses the North of England. During this tour he crossed England twice in one week, completing the 601 miles from leaving Birmingham, having walked 17, and often 26, miles a day, Sundays excepted, for six weeks. A pretty good performance for an old gentleman 'jj years old ! Hutton was only twice in London ; the first time he walked there and back as a poor youth, at a cost of lis., to buy £^ worth of materials to begin trade with ! The last time, 57 years after, he went up to close a purchase of property which he had purchased for ^^ 1 2,000. William Hutton was a remarkable instance of a very poor boy succeeding in life, so far, at least, as wealth and this world is concerned, and as it was entirely the result of his own persevering industry — savings — and brave struggles with the difficulties he met with in boyhood — his life seems a likely one to interest, and encourage the youth who may read this book, to see if he, too, cannot meet with success in life, but no one can read his life without perceiving that having gone thus far, we must stop. It is impossible to disguise the conviction which must come over the reader of Hutton's biography that his life's object — as it is with many a one — was to make and to save, money — and he succeeded. But when we consider that not one farthing's worth of property has ever been taken out of this world — that the deeds, securities, shares, and bank notes of a wealthy man cannot be crammed into his coffin — and moreover that each of us has life given to us to prepare for — not forty, or perhaps fifty years of affluence on earth — but to attain to that life of piety, love, and holiness, which can alone prepare YE CANNOT SERVE BOTH GOD AND MAMMON. lOI US for existence in the Eternity to come — it does seem a de- plorable failure in life to lay up, during a long life, infinitely more than we shall ever need, or be able to enjoy, and in doing so to neglect God's service, and our own salvation. While therefore, urging the example of William Hutton, to encourage the poorest boy not to despond, and " never to despair," every intelligent youth who reads this book is entreated to consider what can avail the greatest industry, economy, and success in life, if at the close we find we have lost Heaven, the love of God, and our interest in Christ } Every youth should strive to rise in the world, but it should be with God's blessing, approval, and aid, sought by daily prayer. Wealth, success, and worldly prosperity — without God, leads to the hardest, coldest, and most lonely of lives ; and, whatever the amount of riches we leave behind us (for others to enjoy) we shall find, when we go out alone to meet our God, that such a life leads in the end to a failure — so fatal, so irrevocable — that no human language can describe it ! "For what shall a man be advantaged though he gain the whole World and lose his own soul." *' No man can serve two Masters ! Ye cannot serve both God and Mammon.'^ (102) CHAPTER XVI. •' SMALL BEGINNINGS, AND HOW TO GET ON." Poor Boys and how they became Great. No. 2. — " Never Despair!' ALDERMAN KELLY, of London, farmer's boy, afterwards lord mayor of LONDON. a[1 OOR Boys, and how they became rich and great, is of f J all subjects perhaps the most interesting ; it is a secret ^ T well worth inquiring into. Some of our greatest men ^ began life in so humble a way, in positions so appa- rently hopeless as regards fortune and position — that their lives should prove an incentive to every youth who reads this book to make a determined effort to rise, as they did, above adverse circumstances, and with God's aid, and in submission to His will, to become the architect of his own fortune. In reading the lives of successful men, a youth in poor circumstances compares despondingly his own prospects with those around him, and sadly concludes that the success of others depended upon fortunate circumstances and chances, which he can never hope will occur to him. Such a youth should, however, remember that if he possesses a spark of determination and perseverance in his breast, and God gives him health for many years to come, there is nothing whatever in his case to prevent his doing what many a poorer boy has done before him. The secret is in not looking for immediate results, but to be willing to live for a few years a life of resolute, steady application, in whatever position one may be placed, not looking too far ahead, but letting the duty of each day be well performed, and not letting a day go past without some- thing gained, some efforts at self-government. One other secret may be named. Without for a moment hinting at the life of a miser — hoarding every penny you can obtain — denying yourself every pleasure — refusing to bestow charity upon those in greater need than yourself — still whatever your income may be, j'd?;;^^//^/;/^ should be laid by. In spite of the wonderful tide of prosperity England has ALDERMAN KELLY, OF LONDON. IO3 enjoyed the past twenty years, how many of the working classes appear to save little or nothing ? They have not the habit of saving, a habit only to be acquired by effort and self-detiial. The working classes in France and other countries, with half the wages of our English workpeople, are nevertheless wealthier. They save what our English workmen squander. Few nations work more constantly, with fewer holidays, than the English, yet our working classes seem little the better for it ; the millions they obtain in wages pass away from them almost as soon as obtained to satisfy the pleasures of the moment. If a youth, therefore, desires to find himself, — in a few years' time, — on the way to prosperity, let him commence at once the habit of saving. Remember that the habit need not interfere with innocent pleasures ; the cheapest plea- sures are not unfrequently after all the best. A few hints to youths at the end of this book on their daily habits, amusements, &c., will, if followed, soon prove the truth of the above statement. Alderman Kelly, of London, began life as a very poor boy, on a very poor farm — engaged in the commonest drudgery of rough farm labour. Notwithstanding this depressing, and apparently hopeless position, the boy felt within him the ambition every thoughtful youth possesses, for something better. Whilst engaged in tending cattle, or at work in the fields, the thought would often come to the boy — " Surely I must have been born for something higher and better than a life like this !" He met, however, with many disappointments. One of his school-fellows had obtained a situation in an ofifice in London, and the boy had hopes that a similar one might be found for him. The influence he hoped would have been used in his behalf, however, failed, and the opportunity for a change of life passed by, and nothing more was heard of it. These repeated disappointments began to tell upon his health, and poor Kelly sank into despondency ; especially upon hearing that his parents had decided to apprentice him to a small shopkeeper — a chandler — at an obscure, neighbouring village. The engagement had been entered into, and his father was to accompany him. The day arrived, but they had hardly started, when the poor boy overcome by his feelings, burst into tears. His father, guessing the cause, after some thought, said kindly — " Well Tom ! If having to go to Oxtead makes you so unhappy, you shall not go there ! " I04 ALDERMAN KELLY, OF LONDON. To the boy's delight, the engagement was abandoned, and they returned home, greatly to the surprise of his mother. Upon what little things do our future lives turn t Had Kelly gone to this situation, he would probably have lived a life of obscurity in a country village, ending probably in an old age of penury. At length a situation was found him as office boy in a brewery at Lambeth. A few shirts and necessary articles of apparel in a small bag, with 3s. or 4s., was the whole property with which its future Lord Mayor, and Commissioner of the Central Court of Justice in England, entered London. In after life he used to describe the loneliness and wretchedness of his first few days, after leaving his home and parents, and entering London on a gloomy, foggy, Autumn day. In two years the brewery proved a failure, but through the influence of the proprietors, a situation was obtained for the boy in the office of the well-known publisher, Mr. Hogg. The arrangement was, that he was to board and lodge on the premises, and to receive ten pounds a year for wages. The business premises of Mr. Hogg, in Paternoster Row, were even then very extensive. Kelly's duty was to make up parcels for retail purchasers, write out invoices,, and to attend to the wants of casual visitors. When the duties of the day were over the boy applied himself diligently to improve himself by studying history, geography, &c. Those were the old days of rigid business habits — of long hours — and hard work. For fifteen years the boy never had a holiday ! It was thought necessary for the security of the premises that someone should sleep on the spot, and this duty fell to the youth Kelly. He slept on a small bed made up under one of the counters in the shop. One can hardly conceive a life more depressing to mind or body ; but the inflexible resolve never to give up, and to persevere, which served him so well through life, never deserted him ! He found one friend in the person of the old house- keeper — Mrs. Best. She proved from the first, a faithful friend. It was in the company of this humble, but worthy woman, that most of his leisure time was spent, she being never tired of listening while the boy read aloud from various books. In return, as an instance of her consider- ation, she never allowed the boy to perform any menial work. ALDERMAN KELLY, OF LONDON. I05 Unfortunately, Kelly's consistent conduct excited the jealousy of one of the young men employed by the firm in the delivery department. For reasons of his own, which were afterwards explained, he endeavoured to obtain the boy's dismissal from the establishment by every means in his power. It is the jealousy, and unreasonable dislike of a worthless fellow workman, which often discourages, and injures many a well-meaning, worthy youth. Kelly's worthy friend, the housekeeper, spoke on every occasion in the boy's favour, but one day overheard the following conversation between this man — under whom the boy was placed — and Mr. Hogg. " Well 1 " asked Mr. Hogg, " and how is the new lad getting on ? " " Oh ! " replied the man, " I wished to speak to you about him ; I can't make anything of him. I don't think he is at all the boy for us ! " " Why > " asked Mr. Hogg. " Oh ! he is so very slow, replied the man, adding something which the housekeeper could not hear. " Oh ! well ! give him time'' — replied Mr. Hogg — "let him have 2. fair trials "/ like ///w," added Mr. Hogg— '* he's 3.' biddable boy!" It was evident that the youth's attentive, docile, conduct had already caught the eye of his employer. One day, as Kelly was passing a cheesemonger's shop, the boy's quick eye detected in the window some sheets of printed paper, which he instantly recognised as part of a work then in process of being printed by his employer. Quietly entering the shop, and making a trifling purchase, he saw in a corner a large stock of similar sheets. Kelly immediately obtained a private interview with Mr. Hogg, who accompanied him to the shop. The shopkeeper willingly placed the matter in the hands of the police, who soon discovered that the dishonest young man above alluded to, who was so anxious to obtain Kelly's removal, had been in the habit of selling considerable quantities of paper belonging to the firm, representing it to be the damaged paper of a printer which he had purchased. "This was my first appearance in a court of justice," says Kelly — " I felt very sad at having to be witness against the young man I had worked with, and I remember the extreme fear I had le.st I should state when on my oath, anything — even a single word — incorrectly, remembering the necessity of having a conscience void of oft"ence before God, before whom I had taken the solemn obligation of an oath. Little did I then think, when trembling, as a boy, in the witness box, that at a future day I should be raised to the I06 ALDERMAN KELLY, OF LONDON. dignity of First Commissioner of the Central Criminal Court, with sword of Justice over my head, and the Mace at my feet, and should occupy the very judgment seat at which, as a boy, I had looked with such awe ! " The theft being clearly proved, the man was convicted, and sentenced to seven months imprisonment Although having lived so hard a life — while his wages were but ten pounds a year, the boy gave nearly half of it to aid his parents, who were in poor circumstances. As his salary slowly increased — with that unselfish afifection for his parents — which many of the most successful men have shown — he constantly helped his father to stock his farm and improve his land — and (what the boy cared for more than all) to lighten his poor mother's toil. There were griefs which he could not ward off. One after another he lost four of his younger brothers and sisters, the expenses of their funerals being defrayed by him. It was not until he was thirty-nine years of age that Thomas Kelly began business for himself He had only a very small capital to start with, but trained for long years to a life of self-denial and patient resolution, he by degrees entered into more extensive undertakings, printing and publishing some important standard books — circulating them in numbers — a new idea at that time, and employing agents to sell them. The reward of patient toil and industry was obtained ; for, from this time Thomas Kelly's course was one of brilliant success ; his trade transactions came to be esti- mated by hundreds of thousands of pounds, and as it has been in thousands of instances — an early life and youth of toil, and steady, quiet, application, was crowned by an old age of honour and fortune. Thomas Kelly — or Alderman Kelly, as he was usually called — became Lord Mayor of London. Full of days and of honour — his prospects brightening to the last — he closed a useful valuable life, at the advanced age of eighty-four. One incident will close our record of this good man — dutiful in his boyhood, patient and industrious in his youth — prosperous and useful in his manhood. Throughout his life he made an annual visit to the grave of his parents ; and it was during these visits that a warm friendship was formed between Alderman Kelly and the clergyman of the parish, who from the first had been struck with the filial piety displayed in these yearly visits. It was to this ALDERMAN KELLY, OF LONDON. 10/ friendship thus formed that we owe the admirable life of Alderman Kelly. In this account of one of the many instances of a poor boy of our time and country becoming rich and great, every youth who reads it must acknowledge that Thomas Kelly's start in life was certainly not more hopeful than his can be. Here, at least, we have no happy chance, no sudden turn of fortune which the youth who reads this can compare despondingly with his own prospects, and sadly conclude that nothing of the kind can occur to him. In the life of this boy we have nothing of the kind ; he began life under the most hopeless aspects as regards fame or fortune. A poor working boy on a small farm, then a shop boy, sleeping for years under a counter, with ^lO a year (half of which went to his parents), fifteen years without a holiday — not setting up in business till thirty- nine years of age, then only in a small way. Surely such a life may encourage every boy who reads it to try to accomplish what, in spite of all that was against him, Thomas Kelly succeeded in doing. The secret of this boy's success, as it is with thousands of successful men, was his conscientious, steady, application, his faithful performance of duty towards his employers, his parents — and all who had a claim upon him ; — and his great desire, as he himself says, " to live a life, not of great ambition, but one void of offence both to God and man." It was this, far rather than the mere pursuit of wealth, which influenced him through life. Without God's blessing, riches, when they come, can impart no true, really, lasting, happiness. A docile, in- dustrious, obedient boyhood, blossoms naturally into an industrious youth, and a useful, honourable, and successful manhood. Let every youth who reads this book, instead of despond- ing, follow the steps of this good youth (as follow them you can), by setting before you God's favour as the great object above all else to be gained, and in doing so, you will one day find, as Thomas Kelly did, that you have gained honour, influence, success, and all else with it. "They that honour Me, / will honour ; but they that despise Me shall be lightly esteemed." ( 109) CHAPTER XVII. " POOR BOYS AND HOW THEY BECAME FAMOUS.'' No. J.— A TRAGEDY, THOMAS CHATTERTON. of Bristol. Jl E have," says a recent writer — ** biographies of successful — self-made, men, * ad nauseam' till we are sick of them ; Smiles, Tupper, and the religious magazines are crammed with them. Men who seem to have combined 'getting on' and 'making money,' with perfect piety, in a manner perfectly startling, until we are compelled to doubt whether, in these modern times, they have not discovered a golden path, in which it is possible ' to serve both God and Mammon.' Will no one give us a few beacons and warnings } Surely they cannot all succeed, else where are our eyes } How about the great army of the unsiiccessftU — the vicious — th.^ fallen ? To one who rises above his original station in life how many fall below it "^ Might not the histories of wasted,, misspent lives be instructive .? How is it that we never hear of them .? Success may teach us some lessons, but it is ivom failure that we learn wisdom." " We are much bound to them that do succeed, But, in a more pathetic sense are bound To those who fail ! " Having given two instances of successful boys, let us take the histories of two who were nnsiiccessful — not only in this life, but in the deepest and saddest sense of all ! In the great British Museum in London may be seen several letters written in a boyish hand, together with a number of poems written in the old "Black Letter" Saxon English, of 500 years ago, on old parchment, or rather parchment supposed to have been blackened over a candle so as closely to resemble it. These papers thus carefully preserved by our nation, in the British Museum, were the work of a boy of sixteen — that wonderful boy, Thomas Chatterton, who died by his own hand when not quite 18 years old, being at the time reduced to starvation in London, where he had gone to seek his fortune. K no THOMAS CHATTERTON, OF BRISTOL. Let US imagine ourselves at Bristol (Chatterton's birth place) — at about eight o'clock in the evening of the 24th of April, 1 77 1. The old-fashioned coach of that day is just starting for London. Chatterton is in high spirits at leaving Bristol, and going to London — he is wrapped up for his journey — a noble-looking youth, possessing a coun- tenance described as very intelligent, and remarkably brilliant eyes. His widowed mother, and a few young men — Thomas' companions — have come to see Tom off. The guard blows his horn, the coachman cracks his whip, and the old-fashioned coach of that day sets off to London through the dark, carrying with it one of the most wonderful boys England has ever produced, who has thus taken leave — as it proved, for ever — of his widowed mother and his birthplace, to seek his fortune in London. Thomas Chatterton was a very poor boy ; he had been brought up at the Blue Coat Charity School at Bristol. He had lost his father very early in life. At the school he was noted for his cleverness. He wrote poetry when only 12 years old. He was kind and good-natured to his com- rades, but was easily provoked. He was a very proud boy, with much ambition, evidently feeling the poverty of his lot very keenly. He would, when quite a boy, give way to sudden bursts of weeping at very slight apparent grounds. One of those highly-gifted, sensitive minds, no doubt, so little suited to a life of penury ; unsuited to submission, if not incapable of it ; and therefore always exposed to the endeavours of those who consider it their duty to keep a " charity boy " in his place. Chatterton soon became, however, noted and admired, not only in Bristol, but even in London — (where some of his writings had been published) — for his wonderful acquaintance with the literature of 500 years ago. Having access to the Old Church at Bristol (St. Mary's), the boy had discovered in an old chest a number of old Black-letter Title Deeds, of no value, but which the boy spent hours in deciphering, and pondering over, till he had become master of the old words, &c., of the period, which require a glossary, or dictionary, to become intelligible to us. It appears that having thus prepared himself, the boy, when only fifteen years of age, gave way to the temptation of composing some exquisite poetry of his own — which, for fire, grace, and imagination, has rarely, if ever, been equalled — and writing them in the old Black-letter style THOMAS CHATTERTON, OF BRISTOL. Ill and words on parchment, which he blackened over a candle to appear ancient. He then gave out that he had discovered several old poems, written by a Monk named Rowley, who lived 500 years ago. The Savans were greatly astonished, they had never even heard of such a writer (nor was it likely that they should have, seeing that he only existed in the imagination of the boy Chatterton), yet here were produced the most beautiful poems, to all appear- ance genuine ! So ably indeed did Chatterton employ the old expressions, and the words of that period, that many refused to consider him as the author, and what was called the "Rowley Controversy" continued for years after the boy was dead and gone. The great Statesman and Literary man of that day — Horace Walpole — was com- pletely deceived by the poems Chatterton forwarded for his inspection. He at first received them as from a brother Savan, taking Chatterton for a gentleman of profound erudition and learning, (in which he was not far wrong) — but when the poor boy made the mistake of confiding to Walpole his age and condition, the latter seems to have refused any further correspondence. 'T am but sixteen," — writes Chatterton to the great Statesman — " and the son of a poor Widow. I am very unhappy because I am appren- ticed to a Lawyer, when I feel that I am capable of, and should succeed in, literary pursuits." Walpole has been blamed, even after this confession of the boy's, for not giving some assistance to so wonderful a genius (of whom the nation might, in time, have become proud) — although he might have now guessed the state of the case, and felt annoyed at having been imposed upon. The lawyer mentioned in Chatterton's letter to whom the boy was bound apprentice, was named Lambert. He seems to have been a coarse, unfeeling character, the last person in the world to appreciate genius, and to whom Chatterton was but a poor boy, bound legally to him as apprentice. He never understood the boy — probably never cared to — he only intended to show the proud boy that he intended to be his master. No wonder, from the way they treated him, that the boy was, as they said, " sullen." There was no question that the boy was proud, and above his station. Lambert endeavoured to humble him ; made him sleep with the servants' boy — told the servants to v/atch that he did not leave the office ; forbade the boy from going out of an evening — in fact, though he entirely failed to humble him, he succeeded in making the boy so 112 THOMAS CHATTERTON, OF BRISTOL. wretched that he resolved to put an end to his life ! Before, doing so, however, he wrote a letter (intended to be delivered after his death) to a Bristol gentleman — a Mr. Clayfield, a good, worthy, man, who seems to have been kind to the fatherless boy, and the only person whom Chatterton seems to have regarded as his friend. The letter was delivered accidently too soon ; the worthy gentleman hastened to see Chatterton, and a long interview took place. He took the boy to task for his want of submission to his lot — for keeping bad company — for his bad principles — (for Chatterton, always, from a boy, seems to have despised and disliked religion, and the company of religious folk — but the worthy gentleman, while he blamed, showed nevertheless, such real concern and attachment to the boy, that Chatterton was greatly affected by; his kindness, and shed tears. The letter he wrote to Mr. Clayfield, the following day, may be seen in the British Museum : — " Dear Mr. Clayfield, — I do not know how that letter came to be given to you, but as to my reasons for wishing to die, I beg to assure you that I keep no worse company than myself. I never drink, and — without vanity — I may say that I have too much sense to care about gross iniquities. No ! it is my pride — my unconquerable, native, pride, which drives me to distraction ! I cannot bear a life of servitude — to have no will of my own. I will try to learn humility, but it must not be under Mr. Lambert. " I am, your much obliged, unhappy, "Servant, T.C." The result was Thomas' removal from the lawyer's office, and, to his delight, his wish to gain his way by writing, was consented to. We have seen him start on his journey. Several of the London periodicals had already published some of Chatterton's writings, which the boy had sent them from Bristol ; and, at first, he found work enough to support himself His industry was wonderful, and un- ceasing; he wrote almost through the night in his small garret, and called in turn on all the London publishers. Many things, however, fell out against him; his best friend, — a gentleman of influence, died suddenly ; the London season was over ; — everybody left town. Still with his usual indomitable pride, the boy all the time sent over to Bristol grand letters as to his prospects — disguising the truth, poor fellow, that the proud heart was almost broken ; THOMAS CHATTERTON, OF BRISTOL. . II3 boasting of his little successes, and even sending home presents to his mother, to prove how well he was getting on ; when the fact was he was living on stale loaves of bread, which he obtained cheaper, and which lasted longer than new ones. Let us pass over the remainder of the scene quickly ! Surely there can be no sight in God's world more painful than that of a brave, industrious, youth, {proud it is true, but proud with the consciousness of undoubted talents and genius) breaking his heart in that wilderness — London — without a father or friend to assist him ! Things got worse and worse, the boy's clothes began to be shabby and worn out ; — a terrible thing to a proud youth like himself, who had to go about amongst respect- able shops, and leading publishers, to seek a sale for his writings. The publishers became tired at his constantly calling upon them. There were then in London, as now, thou- sands living in luxury — whose worst misfortune would be to wake an hour before their usual time, or to be prevented by a shower, from some favourite amusement, who would give as much for a bouquet, to take with them to their guinea seat at the opera, as would have supported this poor boy for a week ! At length, after — it is believed — he had had nothing to eat for two whole days — he was refused any further credit at the baker's shop until he had paid what he owed. Too proud to beg — all hope extinguished, his mind was now made up ; he was but a boy — not yet 18 years old — alone, with no one to advise him, and alas ; worse than all, no belief in God, or religion to support him. He lay in bed longer than usual on the morning of the 23rd of August, and, when up, sat for some time brooding by the kitchen fire. His landlady — (Mrs. Angell) — who has been greatly blamed for not having, before this, guessed the true state the boy was in, and letting others know of it till it was too late for any, however willing, to aid him — seems now to have become alarmed. She asked him '* What is the matter ^ " " Nothing ! " he replied, pettishly, " why do you ask ? " and then went out with a bundle of papers, no doubt to try the publishers once more, on a last weary round, on that long Summer's day. At eight the poor boy returned, looking very tired and dejected. He had been refused at all the publishers', and, it afterwards proved, had purchased at a chemist's a bottle 114 • THOMAS CHATTERTON, OF BRISTOL. of poison. Arsenic ; of all things in the world to choose ! The poison of all others — (though probably he was unaware of it) — causing intense pain before it kills. He complained to Mrs. Angell that "Mr. , the publisher, was treating him very badly — keeping his papers — and refusing to pay him for them." Mrs. Angell seems now to have guessed the state of things — to some extent at least — and asked the boy whether he had not better go back to his friends and Mother, at Bristol } He asked her, she said, with tears in his eyes, not to mention that subject again, as he never should go back to that *' hateful Bristol." He then, she says, kissed her — a thing he had never done before — and went up to his lonely garret, treading heavily, she says, or rather giving a kind of stamp on each step as he went up. Little things — not noticed at the time — and remembered afterwards, when a tragedy has taken place ! Why did the tears come into his eyes when the landlady spoke of returning to his friends ? No doubt he was thinking of his widowed Mother, whom he should see no more ; but rather than go back to Bristol, rather than have to confess his sad failure, after all his grand letters, and endure the scoffs of the Bristol folk, and the life of servitude which would have to be begun again, the rash, despairing boy, resolved rather to die. It is said that the last insult that the sinner offers to Christ, after a life of opposition, is his determined resolve not to believe in His generosity, and willingness after all to forgive, and save to the uttermost, even his enemies. Chatterton was not a Christian youth — indeed he had prided himself in not being one. In a letter to a young companion he writes, '* I am no Christian," and his writing and principles make it only too probable that what he said was true. Still the Saviour tells us that not a sparrow falls to the ground without our Creator's notice ; He marks the minutest occurrences ; and we are told not to fear, for we "are of more value than many sparrows!" If then, dear reader, you and I cannot but feel compassion (cold and selfish as we all are) at this history, can we imagine that Almighty God — infinite in goodness and mercy, was entirely indifferent to the sufferings and death of a boy — and he the most wonderful boy too, in some respects, our country has ever produced ? We cannot think so, and it has always been to me the most important lesson to be learnt from the life of this unfortunate boy, that, in God's providence, a friend was at the very time THOMAS CHATTERTON, OF BRISTOL. II5 close at hand. The head of St. John's College, Oxford — Dr. Fry — had been struck with some of Chatterton's ancient " Rowley's " poems, and having conceived an earnest desire to see, and learn something of the writer, was just setting out at the very time the boy destroyed himself Had Chatterton but consented to live a little longer all would have been well. Chatterton's life shows that no genius or talents can supply the place of faith and belief in God. A Christian youth would have had sufficient belief in Almighty God to ask Him — who has all things to bestow, out of His endless resources, at least to give him his necessities. God would certainly have opened for him a way — (as it is certain that He does in countless instances, when asked) — so naturally, so quietly, that one seldom notices the fact that we have actually got what we desired of Him. But Chatterton believed nothing in religion, and in despair of God, and of all things, that sad night destroyed himself! Hours passed — the dawn came: — you may be sure, not too soon to that dark garret, surrounded by close courts, amidst the London smoke, The sun rises in the clear blue summer's sky ; — the noise and bustle of London begin once more, unconscious that one more unfortunate had closed his career in agony and despair ! The familiar sights and sounds of London come on with the returning day, and the boy seems not to have been missed till the following afternoon, when the door was broken open, and the boy — beautiful, even in death, — was found lying, half- dressed, on his bed — various papers strewed on the floor — and the bottle of arsenic fallen from his hand! His face was distorted with pain, and pieces of the arsenic were found between his teeth ! On a paper was written : — " I leave my soul to my Maker — my body to my Mother and Sister, and my curse to Bristol ; if Mr. C ," — the rest of the paper is torn off, apparently upon second thoughts. Was there going to be a last message of love to the good Mr. Clayfield, who had befriended the poor youth on a previous occasion, and who, alas ! was not present this ti7ne, to soothe the distracted, rash boy, once more, with kind words — from his resolve } Who can tell } He was seventeen years and nine months old. ^ However poor and depressing may be your present prospects, remember that the Creator has all things to bestow ("The World is Mine, and the fulness thereof, ii6 THOMAS CHATTERTON, OF BRISTOL. and the cattle upon a thousand hills!")— and that He urges you to put Him to the test, and to ask Him, your Heavenly Father, for all that you need. " The darkest day — live //// to-morroiu, — will have passed away ! " Try this, , and when you visit Bristol, go to the room still shown in St. Mary's Church, where the boy first discovered the old deeds ; and do not forget the lesson of pride, rashness, and despair, taught us by the life of that wonderful boy, Thomas Chatterton. A Youth of Seventy years ago. (1820 Period.) Youths of our day, 1891, must not think that there were not gifted, and studious Boys in former days. In spite of Frill Collar, and Quill Pens, the Pile of Books, for reference, on the floor, proves that this young gentleman evidently " means business ! " A lonely Pull. (117) CHAPTER XVIII. '' POOR BOYS, AND HOW THEY BECAME FAMOUS." No. ^. — Another Tragedy and a Contrast. The Boy Actors:— Edmund Kean & Master Betty. THE TRAGEDY. N selecting anecdotes of the early life of youths who afterwards became great and famous, it would be foolish only to choose those whose after-life proved ■ truly successful, and whose characters became all that could be desired. There is another side to life's pictures — a deeper lesson — God knows — to be learnt from the career of many a poor boy who began life with high hopes, great talents, and perseverance, only to make shipwreck of them all. And that lesson is this, that the greatest success, the most splendid talents, the most princely wealth, cannot supply the place of God's approval and blessing ; — that a youth may succeed in all else, but without love to his God, all will prove, in the end, to be a mockery and a delusion ! Such an instance has been given in the life of that wonderful boy, Thomas Chatterton, and another is to be found in the life of the greatest tragedian this country, probably, has ever produced— Edmund Kean. The whole life of Edmund Kean, the Tragedian, was one great tragedy itself, and it ill becomes you who have been cared for by kind parents during the years of childhood — kept from great temptations (unless you wilfully sought after them) — with fair hopes in prospect before you of a respectable life — it ill becomes you, I say, to condemn too strongly the life of an unfortunate boy — a boy of desperate persever- ance, of wonderful genius, but a tendency to dissipation, which rendered all his splendid success and greatness a sham and a delusion. It ill becomes us to condemn too strongly one who never knew a Mother's love or a Father's care. In short, the story of Edmund's boyhood is too terrible, too full of poverty and desperate struggles, with everything to depress him, and worst of all, in too close contact with all that is bad, base, and unfeeling, in human nature, to permit us to sit in judgment upon him. The illegitimate son of a gentleman, Edmund never knew his Il8 EDMUND KEAN. father, whilst the wretched woman who, when it suited her interest, claimed to be his mother, was as worthless a specimen of her sex as ever lived to bring disgrace upon a son. To Edmund she was ever an unnatural parent ; taking care to appropriate the boy's hard-earned savings for herself. Indeed the conduct of this wretched person — her treatment of Edmund — was so unnatural, that it is to be doubted whether the boy was really her son at all. She deserted him one November night ; and he was found by a poor man and his wife — a little child lying in a doorway in London, cold, starving, and forsaken, and taken home by them. He was a beautiful child, with graceful limbs and splendid black eyes ; so much so, that he was chosen in a performance at Drury Lane Theatre, to lie as Cupid, at the feet of Sylvia, in a great performance before the King. His mother hearing of it soon came forward — now that there was anything to be gained by him, and demanded her property. She placed the boy in the hands of a posture master, to be tortured into acrobatic impos- sibilities for the Pantomimes ; but the child was too young, and too delicate for the work ; his limbs were distorted, so that thej^ had to be placed in iron supports. Their symmetry was, by this means, restored ; but his shortness of stature was caused by his wretched, avaricious, mother (.?) persisting that the boy should continue his work at the theatre, while the iron supports were attached to his body. In those days of darkness there were few means of education for any but the upper classes. Sunday Schools and Schools for the Children of the Poor, were then almost unknown ! Thus the boy Kean would have been totally ignorant, had not some good, worthy people, attracted by his beauty and intelligence, subscribed together to send him to a little school in Chapel-street, Soho. But the treatment of his so-called mother was such, that the little boy, now only eight years old, ran away from London, and, with a small bundle and a stick, set out to walk to Portsmouth, and — tiny little fellow though he was, — succeeded in shipping himself as cabin boy for Madeira. Even thus early were shown indications of his character. Who can think, without pity, of a lonely child, unused to pity, resolving to assume, with wonderful power of deception, deafness and lameness, during a voyage of two months, so perfectly as to deceive the captain and crew ; and possessing the strength of will which enabled a child, nine years old, EDMUND KEAN. II9 SO to control his fear, as to remain, to all appearance, deaf to the tremendous noise of a tempest in which their vessel was nearly lost ? On returning to Portsmouth, the astonish- ment of the men who carried the little fellow from the ship may be imagined, on the boy suddenly executing with extraordinary vigour, a " College hornpipe," before he disappeared in the back streets of Portsmouth ; leaving the sailors perfectly stupefied at the sudden transformation of the deaf and lame boy ! The boy's varied powers acquired during the next few years are thus described by Charles Young — (then a boy two years older than Kean) — whom Edmund Kean's acting first inspired with a taste for the stage. Charles' father lived in London in rather high style, and Master Charles coming down stairs, fully dressed for dinner, saw one day, a slatternly woman sitting in their hall, with a boy (Edmund Kean) standing by her side fantastically dressed, with the most penetrating, and blackest eyes, he had ever seen. To Charles' surprise the butler was desired to show the boy in, and, instead of displeasure, he was received with smiles. The host took the boy's hand, and requested him to favour the company with a specimen of his powers. With wonderful self-possession, the young boy at once complied — stepped forward, knitted his brows, hunched up one shoulder, and, with inimitable voice, spouted forth Gloucester's opening soliloquy in RicJiard the Third. The wonderful boy then recited selec- tions from our leading poets, sang several songs, amusing and pathetic, and, for fully an hour, displayed such versatility and talent, as to elicit vociferous applause, and a substantial evidence of the pleasure he had given the audience, by a shower of crown pieces, &c., which had to be collected in a napkin. After he had retired, the host replied to the eager questions put to him, by assuring the guests that '* he knew nothing more of the boy, than that his name was Edmund Kean, and that the woman who had charge of him was said to be his mother, but was understood to treat him very badly. It was not the first time the boy had entertained them." " She took all from me," — was Edmund's cry, when speaking of his hard, youthful, times. But now came a brief vision of brighter days, for a worthy, good- natured old lady, of comfortable means (a Mrs. Clarke), became interested in the boy Kean. These were the boy's happy days — the only ones in boyhood he enjoyed — for this good lady treated him as her son. In her house for 120 EDMUND KEAN. the first time he enjoyed decent society ; the neglected boy was cared for. Good Mrs. Clarke caused him to be instructed in various branches of literature ; he taught him- self to play on the piano, and to compose music and little plays. His manners became gentle — his better nature developed. At parties the boy gave recitations, and diligently studied the works of Shakespeare, and it was now that the boy began to conceive some notion of his own wonderful powers, together with the ambition to restore true nature and purity to the stage, which, at this time had sunk to a very low ebb. D'Egville — the celebrated dancer of that day taught the boy his art. Angelo, the fencer — (noted for having introduced the " down guard " in broad sword and single-stick play — whose successors are still in London, and instruct the boys at more than one of our great schools — taught the boy to fence, and Kean became noted for his skill and grace as a swordsman. Incledon, the exquisite singer, found an able pupil in the boy, nature having gifted him with ear, taste, and voice. Had this care and comfort but lasted, Edmund Kean's life might have proved as happy and successful as that of his contem- porary ; Master Betty — but Edmund's pride and temper were his enemies through life. The following, however, warns us as to the effect one unkind speech may have upon a sensitive and proud boy. A few visitors at Mrs, Clarke's had planned to be present at a certain performance, when, on Edmund's name being, as usual, included, a gentleman of a proud overbearing disposition present, whom the boy had, in some way, offended, said — " What ! does he sit in the box with us .'' " without, however, it must in justice to him be said — being aware that the boy heard the remark. ** Certainly ! " replied the wealthy, good-natured hostess, Mrs. Clarke — '* Edmund goes with us, of course," at the same time kindly adding a few words as to the poor boy's early life and good qualities. Unfortunately, the boy overheard the gentleman's remark, and with his unhappy temper waited to hear no more. The sneer implied was too much for the proud, sensitive boy. Only fourteen years old, he could not be expected to have perfect control over his naturally irritable disposition ; but this cannot excuse his conduct. He abruptly left the house of his kind benefactress ; and it was not till three weeks after that the boy was discovered asleep on a dust heap near Mrs. Clarke's house, ragged and footsore. He had, it appeared, tramped all the way to Bristol to ship himself as cabin boy to America. EDMUND KEAN 121 Failing to obtain a ship, he had, after enduring every kind of wretchedness on the way, reached London again exhausted. It is evident from this that Edmund Kean was a proud and unreasonable boy, as the good lady, Mrs. Clarke, had had nothing whatever to do with the affront he had received. We cannot— although the result was ruinous to the boy— blame her for losing interest in the boy actor, after such conduct. It now ceased, and he was reduced to his former condition— felt now all the more keenly from the glimpse of wealth and comfort he had seen. The boy who was to become the greatest tragedian of our days — became a boy tumbler at Bartholomew Fair ;— climbing a ladder balanced on a man's chin, and performing startling acrobatic feats in the ring of a circus. Hearing that his reputed mother had been seen at Ports- mouth—in spite of her cruelty, the boy seems to have loved the unworthy woman— he set off on foot to find her. His mother was not at Portsmouth. He had no money left for his subsistence; he would not beg, he was always too proud for that, so at fourteen years of age, with nothing but his handsome face to recommend him, the boy hired, on credit, a large room in one of the Portsmouth Inns, and gave an entertainment. The performance consisted of selections from Hamlet, Richard, III., &c., interspersed with some remarkable acrobatic feats, and some exquisite singing, and the boy achieved such a success that he had to repeat the entertainment the following night, and after pay- ing all expenses, found himself in possession of ^3. From the first the boy set at nought the traditions of the great actors, Kemble and Cooke, by his entirely new and subtle conception of the character of *' Shylock," the Jew, in the Merchant of Venice, and especially that oi King Richard I IL Joining Richardson's company— who soon saw that he had secured an extraordinary genius — Edmund, by especial command, gave recitations before the King. Then follows a mysterious lapse in Edmund's life (which has^ never been explained) up to his eighteenth year. It is said that the boy was sent to Eton School, whether at His Majesty's expense, or some other patron's, is not known. At eighteen years old, however, the youth was found playing in Scotland, in Moss's company, and thus early married a Miss Chambers— a young lady of respectable family. Then for four or five years, followed a life of terrible privation and suffering; with constant disappointment. But Edmund Kean was resolved to iviii. His resolution, 122 EDMUND KEAN. courage, intense study and application never relaxed. It is said that he "mastered every subtlety of human expression — every intonation, and gesture, of human feeling." He never lost faith in the coming time when he should be looked upon as master of his art. An instance of his sound judgment may be given. When playing in Birmingham, at a guinea a week, he refused an engagement in London, offered by the great Kemble, on the ground that his powers were not yet come to full maturity, and therefore not yet prepared for the critical eye of a London audience. The privations of the young couple were now terrible ; unable to leave his wife in Birmingham, they had to walk 200 miles to Swansea, to keep an engagement Kean had closed with. This journey took a fortnight ; occasional recitations being given at gentlemen's houses on their way. It was at this time that their first child — Howard — was born. But everything seemed to go against them. Kean had acquired, even in his boyhood, the habit of drinking, at that time so general even amongst the upper classes. A series of terrible failures, and cruel attacks in the papers, followed ; but worst of all, the death of his beloved little Howard took place. Nothing engages one's sympathies for Edmund Kean more than the love and grief, shewn by the young father of one and twenty, for his child. Like his father, he was a beautiful and intelligent boy. Even at three years old he had showed a passionate fondness for his father, and, with the boy's little hand in his, while he was with them, Kean could forget the present misery and disappointment of his life, in planning a bright future for his boy, when his success came. And Kean's success, so wearily waited, and so nobly striven for, did come. Just as things were at their worst, on the 22nd January, 1 81 2, when the young man, driven wild by the loss of his boy, and continued disappointment, had gone out from their lodgings in Cecil Street with utter despair in his heart, and, as he afterwards confessed, with thoughts of ending his sorrows by suicide — a friend met him, with congratulations on the announcement he had just seen on the walls. Kean to his great surprise, found that he was announced to appear at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, on the Wednesday following, as " Shylock," in the Merchant of Venice. Unknown to Kean, his friend. Dr. Drury, of the Drury Lane Committee, had, after a long contest, at length persuaded his coadjutors, who were greatly opposed to Kean, to give the young actor this trial. EDMUND KEAN. 12$ To the last everything went against Edmund Kean. He had no one to herald his advent, no expectation awakened, (as in the case of William Henry Betty), the poor, struggling, actor had many enemies, and very few friends — when on the 26th of January, he realised the fixed object of his life, and took London by storm ! It was a miserable winter's night ! The snow lay in wet sludge as Keen plodded through it to the theatre. The other actors received him with coldness; so did the manager. " What ! perform Shylock the Jew, without wig or Jew's beard, it is absurd," all of them declared. But Kean knew better ! With his wonderful powers he needed no disguise to enable him to move men's hearts, by displaying human feelings to the life. The story of that wonderful achievement, of that mag- nificent success, is the best known incident of the stage history of this Country ! As might have been expected, on such a night the Theatre was nearly empty. A gentleman present said that there were only about fifty persons in the Pit, but one of the best critics in London happened to be there, and wrote an article in the paper, next day, such as he had never done before ! Again, and again, one of the members of the Committee came to peep through the curtain, startled out of his self- possession, by the thunders of applause ! " I never could have imagined," he said, " unless I had heard it, that so few people could have made so muck 7toise I '' He had been greatly opposed to allowing Kean a trial. The poor young actor left the Theatre that night, hardly heeding the obsequious congratulations. After the long years of disap- pointment, the reception overpowered him ! He knew, the Committee knew, that, after that night, a golden success, a princely fortune, would be realised ! Almost frenzied with delight, Kean rushed through the wet and sludge, to their humble lodgings. His young wife ran to meet him ! no words were needed, his looks told all ! *• Mary ! " he exclaimed, " // is come at last ! You will now ride in your carriage." The poor fellow's voice trembled, his joy passed away — " Oh ! that little Howard had lived to see it ; but he is better where he is ! " And, dear youths, who read this account, Edmund Kean was right ! Little Howard was better where he was ! Far happier than seeing what his father — whom this little fellow loved so well — became ! I will pass over Kean's remaining life — deplorable, heartrending, hopeless, as it was ! 124 THAT CURSED DRINK ! The wonderful success which followed, coming so sud- denly after a life of every privation, might, without God's grace, have ruined a far better character than Edmund Kean's ! To attempt to describe the nights that followed at Drury Lane would be impossible ! Men are still living who remember them ! How for months followed the same fearful rushes ! The same whirlwinds of applause ! Dr. Doran, a celebrated writer describes them : — " Rushes so fearful ; audiences so packed ; applause so deafening ; acting so faultless, enjoyment so exquisite, I never remember ! " And you, dear readers, who totally disapprove of the Theatre, do not you think that the representation of the magnificent writings of our Shakespeare, is harmless — intellectual — compared to the wretched, shameless, perform- ances of the Theatres, and Modern " Music Halls " of our day ? The indecent ballet dancers, imported from Paris, described in a recent trial, by the Lord Chancellor, as " designedly and purposely indecent ; " — the unutterably vulgar, senseless, so-called "Comic" songs, and low comedies, which have, the past ten years, been the rage in this country, (having vulgarity for their basis, and sin, and indecency, for their claim to interest) — must not, surely be considered an advance upon the days of John Kemble, Mrs. Siddons, and Edmund Kean ! The poor, neglected boy, was now an actor of ever increasing popularity, wealth, and fame. Jewels of rare value were presented to him — note after note for £10^ did the Drury Lane Committee add to his salary, as "some slight acknowledgement for his wonderful efforts and talent." No wonder } The managers made a fortune out of it, and it is believed that, from first to last, Edmund Kean must have received before his death, at least ;^ 1 00,000. The great, the learned, the rich, considered him an honoured guest at their tables, while the ceaseless crowds, each night he acted, paid a sincere tribute to his wonderful genius. And yet all this magnificent success proved a delusion and a sham ! Why } Because it came to a young man destitute of religious feelings, who knew nothing of the wise restraints God puts on those who live in His fear. That besetting sin which Kean indulged in from his youth, became — as every besetting sin you do indulge in, will become — confirmed in the remaining life of Edmund Kean. He drank incessantly ! Before that vice of drunkenness — (I urge it as a writer addressing young men, with all the IS THIS A "GAY" LIFE? 12$ earnestness of which I am capable) — before those vices, drunkenness, and lust, everything must go. Before them truth, honour, gratitude, the love of a mother, of a parent, every noble attribute given to us by Almighty God, must sink ! These vices, which a boy begins at first so timidly — but which soon become his masters — have no mercy ! They strike at everything which is most precious to mankind ! Our prospects of a successful life here — the love of God, our interest in Christ, our Heavenly home, a happy immortality, — all must be lost to please that insatiable tyrant Satan : — and what does sin give in exchange ? To every youth whose mind is capable of nobler, better things, I appeal ! Those habits which might by a vigorous effort of the will, and by earnest prayer to God, be, at first, easily given up, become like links of iron at last ! As this book will find its way into our workshops, one word here to youths employed in them, upon bad companions. There are young men (you know them as well as I do) who seem unable to open their mouths without letting out some vile expression. In their best moods they give you a oath ! Their highest idea of wit is indecency. Yet such always expect you to be amused at what they say ! everybody must always smile at their vile and coarse allusions ! This is the test for a Christian youth ! He lets it be seen that no encouragement shall come from him ! Let others deny their Saviour if they choose to do so, he will not ! There is surely little to laugh at in the sight of one who has lost almost every- thing ! Who has lost all capacity for simple, innocent, pleasures ; whom pure pleasures, and honourable pursuits, can please no more ! Whom nothing, now, can please which has not on it something of the Serpent's Slime ! Yet these, dear reader, are the companions who sneer at your religion, and at all who do not imitate them in what they call a " gay " life — a life of pleasure ! A gay life ? Good God ! if the life of some of the young men and women lead in our large towns is a life of pleasure, give us a life of pain! When a young man is said to be "gay," we all understand what is meant ; but it must be in bitter mockery and derision. For when a youth has lost everything that made him lovely in the sight of God or man ; when health, and innocence, and purity, have been sacrificed and have departed ; when his mind is polluted ; unfitted for this world, and far more unfitted for the next ! what in the world is there to make him particularly "gay.-*" He only sneers at you who retain (as thank God many a 126 WHAT THEN IS A LIFE OF PAIN? youth who will read this book does retain), your innocence and piety towards God, because he is conscious that he has lost irretrievably that innocence and purity himself. Such laugh and sneer at goodness in others, because they feel, (and feel it, at times, far more bitterly than any words can express) — that they cannot hope to attain to that goodness themselves ! We, young men, naturally do not like to appear behind those of our own age in anything, and there is no reason why we should be, in every manly, honest, pursuit or amusement; but, dear youth, do not be laughed out of all that renders you pleasing in God's sight, merely to " keep in " with, and please, companions whose characters, in the sight of God and man, are utterly worthless ! If you have already yielded to the bad examples of others — if bad habits have been begun — if days, and months, and years, have gone past without prayer, let me urge you, with all affection, not to add another sin to those that are past, thinking that one more can make but little difference: it may make all the difference in the world ! Each so Like the Last. To many a one who thought so, with whom God's Holy Spirit has striven, and a Saviour pleaded, in early life — since that time Jww ma7iy a sin, how many a wave from the great ocean of sin and misery has come to land here ? Each so like the last, and yet each a solemn evidence that an immortal soul is passing away ! Passing away for ever from God, and Christ ! I would urge you, with all affection, to bring those sins of yours to God to be forgiven, and blotted out, while life and strength are yours ! But despise God and Religion — permit yourself — (as thousands of young men in our large towns do — to indulge those sins of which God says that they that do such things shall never enter into the Kingdom of Heaven — and the day will come when, like Edmund Kean, who died in hopeless disease, his splendid fortune and talents | squandered, and every gift of nature and of God, abused — you will look around and ask, ** What urged me to this madness, to induce me to sacrifice ALL things, and for what in exchange ? " The remaining life of Edmund Kean would only excite disgust ; but my object is accomplished if it serves as one more example to show that a youth with every talent — dauntless resolution, genius, and wealth — but destitute of religion, is destitute of all things ! " MASTER BETTY." 127 So sad a boyhood ! so bitter, and weary a struggle for a chance ! So splendid and bewildering a success — so sad a waste of genius and splendid fortune, and so sad a fate can hardly be found, as in the life of Edmund Kean, the actor ! THE CONTRAST. William Henry West Betty, or, "Master Betty," OR, "The Infant Roscius." What a contrast to the life of the unfortunate boy, Kean, IS the history of his contemporary " Master Betty," the boy actor, who, like Kean, created such a sensation in this country at the commencement of the present century. From a Medal struck in 1805. William Henry Betty — who, at the age of twelve, gained the name he is usually remembered by — " The Infant Roscius " was the only son of a gentleman who, with his young wife, had gone over to Ireland from Shrewsbury, at which town their boy had been born on the 13th of Septem- ber, 1791. His mother was a lady well endowed in mind, tastes, and accomplishments ; she was fond of reading the best poets, of repeating them aloud, and reciting them from memory. The boy's tastes were in sympathy with his mother's, and he was never more delighted than when he sat listening to her reading, or reciting passages to her. One day, his father, whose intellectual tastes responded to his wife's, repeated to them the speech of Cardinal Wolsey, 128 "MASTER BETTY." beginning "Farewell, a long farewell, to all my greatness ! " In doing this he suited " the action to the word." William Henry had never seen this before, and asked the meaning of it. " It is what is called actitig the part of the person who is supposed to be speaking," explained his father. The boy appeared much struck with the idea — thought over it — tried it by himself — and spoke, and acted, the Cardinal's soliloquy before his mother, with such pathos and effect, that she was completely overcome with surprise and admiration. Not the faintest idea of the stage had yet entered the minds of the family. The eager young lad was happy learning passages, and reciting speeches, from " Douglas," " Zara," and " Thomson's Seasons. He seems at this time, not to have learnt anything further from Shakespeare. Perhaps his parents objected to it, for the boy's reputation spread beyond home to other branches of their family ; these expressed the utmost disgust ; worthy, pious, people themselves, inspired with the usual prejudice and horror for the stage — they warned the parents that " if they did not take care their boy would become a play-actor!" His parents were alarmed ; the domestic recitals were sup- pressed ; and William was packed off to school. But the boy's genius was irrepressible. At Belfast, Mrs. Siddons (the greatest tragic actress this country has probably pro- duced, who, with her brother, John Kemble, had been acting to empty benches in London) — achieved a triumph. And young Master Betty entered a Theatre, for the first time, to see Sheridan's Pizarro, with Sarah Siddons as " Elvira." No wonder the boy was completely overcome by her splendid acting ! there are those still alive who remember Sarah Siddons — her majestic march, her awful brow, her incomparable delivery. He had seen the first actress of the age ; he went home in a trance, he felt that he was born for the stage ; and when he woke from his dream, it was to announce to his parents that " He should certainly die if he was not allowed to be an actor ! " in a voice so pathetic, that those who heard him never forgot the expression. He was their only son ; his parents did not want to lose him, and at length gave way, so far as to take him to the Belfast Manager (Mr. Atkins), before whom he recited several pieces. Mr. Atkins called into council the prompter, Mr. Hough (who afterwards became the boy's tutor, and to whose admirable training he owed much). Hough was warm in his approval, to the boy's great delight. ^*You are my guardian angel!" exclaimed the enthusiastic "MASTER BETTY." 1 29 lad. Mr. Atkins had great faith in Hough's verdict, and, when the boy had left, said, that, for his part, " He had never expected to see another Garrick, but he had seen another Garrick in Master Betty ! " He would not, however, go further than to engage the boy for four nights. They selected the tragedy o{ Zara, and on the i6th August, 1803, William Henry appeared for the first time in public as " Osman." Belfast was, as it still is, an intellectual town ; the audience was the least likely to be carrried away by a mere novelty ; they listened, became interested, then deeply stirred, and at length enthusiastic at the boy's acting. There imist have been genius to make anything of the stupid, dry, dull, long-winded plot, in Aaron Hill's adaptation, in the English " Zara," of the French " Zaire." No human being could live out five acts of such stuff, had not genius upheld the stuff itself! Mrs. Gibber in 1736, Spranger Barry in 175 1, and Garrick in 1776, had made the dry bones in this play live ; since then there had been no " Osman " of any note, until this twelve years old "Osman" enthralled the audience at Belfast. The boy had never before been on a stage — had only once before seen a play acted, had only received a few hints from the prompter Hough. He had had no experience of the passions he had to represent, and yet the boy seemed to be the very part he represented ! Many were the doubters, in Belfast, but they went to the Theatre, and were convinced. The following day the whole town was talking of the almost absolute perfection with which the boy represented the character of *' Osman." He played " Rolla," in *' Douglas," and " Romeo," on the remaining three nights, and from that time forth his career was certain. Thus, while William Henry Betty, at twelve years of age, laid the foundation of a splendid fortune for all connected with him, the other poor boy actor (Edmund Kean) then fifteen years of age, had to sing in taverns, sleep beside haystacks, attend fairs, in a word, had to pass a life of wretchedness. Yet Edmund Kean seemed through all, to feel that his day of triumph would come. When urged by the Manager of a Theatre to act a part with "Master Betty" he refused, and with his usual wild temper, fled into the fields. " He plays to crowded houses, while I am unnoticed," he said, passionately. " I will not play with him ; I know that I have more talent than he has ! " And Edmund Kean spoke the truth ; he no doubt had. At Dublin, the Old Crow Street Theatre witnessed a 130 fearful crush to see Master Betty, as " Nerval," in Douglas^ on 29th November, 1803. The Dublin audience was by no means an easy one to please. Douglas, too, is a tragedy that must be attentively listened to, to be enjoyed. The University students in the gallery, who generally made it rattle with their wit — even they were silent that night. The graceful boy's splendid representation of the youth "Norval," excited the utmost enthusiasm. On another night he took the part which so admirably suited him in every respect, namely, that of the young " Prince Arthur," in King Jolm ; — in fact, he fairly " drowned the house in tears with it." Douglas was written by the Rev. Mr. Home. The old gentleman was still alive. Forty-eight years before, Mr. Home had seen his play first acted in Edinburgh, and the Theatre was half full of ministers of the Kirk, who got into a sea of troubles, for going to see a play — however innocent a one — written by a clergyman. William Henry Betty was at Edinburgh on the 21st May, 1804, and the friendly Manager urged old Mr. Home to witness his own play represented. He went, and the old gentleman was completely overcome ; he had reserved for him his own place behind the partially opened stage door. The boy's conception of the part of the youth ** Norval," was, the author declared, precisely as he had himself con- ceived it. He was so overcome, that when the hurricane of applause summoned the boy to appear before the audience, old Mr. Home tottered forward also, and embraced the young actor, to the delight of all present. Mr. Home always maintained that the boy far surpassed any of the actors who had attempted the play of which he was the author. It was here that Betty for the first time played " Selim," the slave youth, in Barbarossa, with great effect. Four days afterwards — covered with kisses from Scottish ladies, and laden with approval and counsel from *' Lords of Session," Master Betty stood before a Birmingham audience. At the death of Master Betty (in August, 1874), "an old actress " wrote to the papers an account of the boy's first appearance at Birmingham. Birmingham has long been noted amongst professionals as a difficult town to make an impression upon, and one which requires no slight talent to gain over, but one remarkable for its never deserting a favourite performer when once he has gained favour. The writer relates accompaying her mother to see the boy on his arrival : — " At Master Betty's first rehearsal there was a great assembly in the Green Room at the Birmingham "MASTER BETTY." I3I Theatre. As usual, his age had been understated ; he was then 13, and tall for his years. To my sight — the hand- some boy was a complete vision of beauty, even in the broad daylight, without the night's appliances ; he had remarkably luxuriant hair, and brilliantly expressive, full, blue eyes. The boy bowed to us in an elegant manner — as Mr. Macready presented him — and went round the room shaking hands, separately, with us all, in a winning, easy manner, perfectly free from either bashfulness or boldness. Mr. Hough, the tutor, was a very clever man — the boy's constant guide. My mother saw one of his marked books, with lines to guide the proper inflection of the voice, and instruction as to action : — * Here raise your voice — bring the right foot out here,' &c., &c. We listened with delight to his speech at that rehearsal ; but it was four nights before he had grown upon the town ; then the same rage set in as at other places. He was a merry, light-hearted boy, fond of playing with Master William Macready, who had just come home for his holidays. They used to fly their kites, and whip their tops together. Sometimes Mr. Hough would put in his 'veto' 'Wait a moment, William, I shall have done directly, and we'll have a game at trap ! " *No sir; you play 'Douglas' to-night; no trap this afternoon, if you please ; no disputing, sir ! else I shall call your father ! To-morrow the game of trap, by all means. Good-day, Master Macready.' Exit Master Betty, disconsolately, with his tutor. He had a kind, generous, disposition. As an example, a scene shifter, named Henry, met with a fall, breaking his leg. Master Betty, though dressed as ' Osman,' immediately rushed to his assistance, and evinced the greatest sympathy. The poor fellow was taken to his lodgings in his chair, and so solicitous was the boy that he should be cared for, that, in his Turkish dress, he walked a considerable distance besides Henry's chair, through the streets of Sheffield, in broad sunlight of a summer's evening. His engagements were now very profitable ; on some occasions as much as ;^ioo for each performance ; and he sometimes acted twice in the day. The Lord Chancellor became the legal guardian of the ' Infant,' allowing him to make a will, and his first act was to settle ;^4,ooo on his mother. At fifteen he quitted the stage, and went, we heard, to Cambridge, where he studied for the church. He resumed his old profession ; but the result was not satisfactory. As he grew older Mr. Betty did not improve in appearance or acting, He had no fire. 132 "MASTER BETTY. or genius, as he grew older, like Edmund Kean ; but his after life proved that he had more solid qualities than these ; a heart full of good impluses." During these provincial tours, London was becoming impatient to see the boy ; overtures came from Drury Lane and Covent Garden Theatres, and an engagement at both Theatres was made. Nothing could exceed the expectancy with which the boy was waited for — Saturday the 1st of December, 1804, being the day for his first appearance in London. He was now thirteen years and three months old. By ten o'clock in the morning the colonnades in Covent Garden were already filled ! Before evening the line of people stretched in impenetrable columns beyond Bow Street into Drury Lane. As the hour for opening drew near, there were shrieks, and fainting, and, when opened, the house was entirely filled in a few moments. Notwithstanding, vast masses struggled to make their way in, until a force of soldiers, drawn up at the doors, saved the crowd within from being overwhelmed. Gentlemen who had paid box prices had to leap over into the pit, taking places which had been secured weeks before, and held their ground, by main force, against the police and doorkeepers ! It was like a surging sea ! People overcome by the heat had to be dragged from the pit into the boxes, and thence into the lobbies. As some relief, the curtain had to be raised a foot, thus allowing a current of air to blow over the pit. At last Charles Kemble came on to speak the* prologue, but the audience would not hear it ; the first act of the old play, Barbarossa, was therefore got quickly through, and then came the expected moment. Mr. Boarden, who was present, describes the scene. "At length, dressed as a young slave, in white linen pantaloons, a close short jacket, trimmed with sable, and a turban cap, at the command of the tyrant, on came the desire of all eyes, Master William Henry West Betty. I had secured an excellent position, had a good glass, never stirred till the end of the play, and saw him perfectly. The first thing which struck me was, that it was evidently a love for the profession that actuated the boy. He was, I could see, doing what he loved to do, and put his whole heart into it. It was amazing ! Grace, energy, beauty, were the boy's own, but the 7mdersta?idmg was that of a mature brain. This boy could convey passions which he had never felt, nor seen but on the stage, and yet seemed to think all he "MASTER BETTY." I33 said. Modest and self-possessed, he was not at all moved out of his assumed part, by the tempest of welcome which greeted him. His undertones could be heard at the very back of the galleries. From first to last he * electrified ' the audience. It was his genius which won applause, rather than his youth and grace. The pathos, joy, and exultation of the part (once so favourite a one with young actors) overcame the audience so much, that they could not lower their minds to listen to the farce, which was consequently withdrawn." A complete "furore" now set in. The pecuniary result was marvellous ! At Drury Lane for 28 nights the prodigious sum of ^^17,000 was taken; William Henry receiving nearly the whole time ;^ioo a night. At Covent Garden it is known he must have attracted more money. Thus was exhibited the extraordinary phenomenon of a boy of thirteen bringing some i^40,ooo to the treasuries of the two great London Theatres, within three months! The boy's two benefits gave him alone ^^2,540. His most successful characters were young " Norval " and " Selim," both of whom were youths. It really amounted to the character of a youth presented by a boy with singular intelligence, grace, and talent, — a very rare spectacle indeed. He played in London from Decem- ber, 1804, to April, 1805, in a wide range of characters, supported by the first actors of the day. That the ** mad- ness" (short-lived though it was) which prevailed about him did not turn his brain, is much to the boy's credit. Princes of the blood called upon him ; Nobles had the boy to dinner ; the Lord Chancellor invited him ; and the King presented him to the Queen and Princesses, in a room behind the Royal Box. Ladies took him drives in the Park, When he fell ill, the City rushed to read the bulletins with tremulous eagerness. Count D'Artois (afterwards Charles the Fourth,) witnessed his performance, in French, of Zaphna, at Lady Percival's. He was presented with silver cups from grateful managers, and with Garrick relics; Cam- bridge University gave " Roscius " as the subject for the prize that year ; and the House of Commons adjourned at the request of Pitt, to witness the boy's acting ! But flat- tered and caressed, he was not to be spoiled ! He studied new parts diligently; whilst his boyish spirits in the Green Room, — his kindly disposition, and the respect he paid to older artists, made him a general favourite amongst the professionals. Lord Henley and Fox gave their opinion that his acting equalled that of Garrick. Samuel Rogers, (who heard Fox M 134 EDMUND KEAN AND "MASTER BETTY." say so) remarks : — " Fox would not have asserted it if he had not thought so. I was greatly surprised at the remark ; Fox did not say as much to Master Betty, — but he sat with him, read to him, — and gave him some excellent counsel." After the next season (1805) there was a sensible falling off in the attraction, and in the third year it was seen that a tall youth of 16 could no longer be considered a "juvenile phenomenon." In July, 1808, he retired from the stage, and entered Cambridge University. When theatrical matters were mentioned he preserved perfect silence, as though the subject was disagreeable to him. This was evidently due to the influence of his parents. He was noted for his skill in fencing, — in the hunting field, — and in archery. At his father's death he returned to the stage, turning, no doubt, wistfully, to the splendid triumphs of his boyhood, and maintained his position as a clever and interesting actor, for twelve years, until August, 1824, when he finally retired. A few months after he had appeared for the last time in London, the other boy, (three years his senior) Edniimd Kedn, — took London by storm, with his wonderful " Shylock," and incomparable " Richard in." The genius of Mr. Betty left him in his youth ; Edmund Kean drowned his in wine and rioting before his manhood was matured. Fifty-eight years have now elapsed since Kean, — dying in 1833, — was carried to his grave in Richmond Churchyard. In September, 1874, all that was mortal of the highly-gifted boy, his contemporary, — now a venerable and much-loved old man, "four-score years and upwards " — was borne to his last resting place in the Ceme- tery at Highgate. Fifty years had passed since he had last been seen in public ; the world had forgotten the boy who created such a sensation amongst our forefathers. Most of the present generation have never heard of him, while the old men still surviving, who remember the days of his triumph, thought that he had long ago passed away. Putting a recent photograph by the side of his boyish portrait in 1805, the old soft, gentle, air can be recognised, and the outlines of the face of the boy who created such admiration ninety years ago. CONCLUSION. That the Stage may be the vehicle of untold injury to young, and innocent minds, if the plays acted are of a depraved, and vicious, character ; and that the Theatre is about the last place a good, Christian man would care to see his son attend, — all will at once allow. But every candid mind will admit that there is a broad "MASTER BETTY." 135 distinction between modern " sensational " Plays, and the representations of noble character to be found in those of Shakespeare. It was from such that the parts for Master Betty were selected, and that his acting of them softened, and elevated, the feelings of vast audiences cannot be denied. It drew them for the time out of themselves. It is not, however, with a view to defend, in the slightest, play acting, that the lives of these two gifted boys have been brought together, but their careers teach the young reader a lesson at the commencement of his. Many a youth who reads this book has, in him, the germs of ambition. It is the marked feature of boys in our day, and country ; thousands of English boys long to attract notice, to gain fortune and distinction. Both these boys succeeded in doing so. The sympathies of the reader will be chiefly with the boy Kean; he had no kind parents, no home, no start in life ; and the heroic perseverance of this poor boy, beginning life with everything against him — poverty — neglect — unkindness — must command the respect and goodwill of every generous heart. He deserved to succeed, and it is to be observed that God's Providence was true to him, if only he had been true to God, and to Jiiniself. He did achieve a success, which, had he not ruined all by his vices, would have entirely eclipsed that of his contemporary ; his genius was far greater and more lasting ; he raised the tone of the English Stage, represent- ing the splendid ideas of Shakespeare in a way they had never been presented before. He would have acquired a princely fortune ; for even in the few years before his pre- mature death, it is known that Edmund Kean must have received from first to last, upwards of ;^ 100,000; and, like Mr. Betty, he might have lived to an honoured, peaceful, and good old age. Why, then, did this boy of indomitable per- severance and wonderful powers, make shipwreck of all, and, in darkness and gloom, sink into a drunkard's grave in his early manhood, forty years before Mr. Betty's death } For- tune came to both boys alike, but found an entire contrast in their characters ; it found in William Henry Betty, the light-hearted modest boy, with kindlyj generous, disposition, and impulses, and, what was far better — as life went on — a heart far from indifferent to the claims of Religion. It found in Edmund Kean, not merely a passionate, envious, reckless, disposition, bent upon himself and his ambition alone — tJiat all would willingly forgive, considering his ter- rible deprivations and sad boyhood — but, when success, in God's good providence, had come to him, his utter rejection 136 EDMUND KEAN AND "MASTER BETTY." of Religion, and wilful neglect of all that leads to a noble and better life, was his ruin ! Both have now passed away ! Out of the four millions now living in London, how few are left who remember the years 1804, 1^05 ! Sir Moses Montefiore living to be 103 years old, till his death in 1887; and Monsieur Chevreuj, the eminent Chemist of Paris, reaching a similar age — dying in 1889, (born 31st August, 1786) living to see the Centennial of the French Revolution, — would each be about 19 years old in 1804; but what exceptions are these! The Survivors out of how many Millions ! No boy this country has produced, ever had his ambition gratified to such an extent as William Henry Betty! Yet how empty and blank at this length of time, worldly triumph seems, when the actor, and the witnesses, have alike long passed away ! Every boy who reads this book, — however poor and humble his position may seem to himself, — has now placed before him by his Creator, an ambition, — a future, — infinitely higher, and more lasting, than anything that these Boys achieved, or aspired to ! What avails the applause of delighted audiences, when the Grass in the quiet Richmond Churchyard, and Highgate Cemetery, is now waving over their half-forgotten graves ? But not so with a Christian youth ! When the lights of ** Vanity Fair" are going out in silence and gloom, to the Worldly man, the Christian youth feels that their departure is but a prelude to the life of Eternal Happiness upon which he has, with God's aid, set his ambition, his heart, and aspirations. " He aims too low, who aims beneath the skies ! " " One self-approving hour whole years outweighs, — Of stupid starers, — and of loud huzzas ! " (137) CHAPTER XIX. MODERN INFIDELITY! *' Hell is but a Fable, — Heaven a Poet's Dream." ( TJieory.) '* What have I done ! What liave I been doing ? " (Reality.) "Thou shalt not take the Name of the Lord thy God in vain." — Third Comttiandment. .^HERE is, perhaps, no country in the World which has J] been more favoured by God, for a long course of years i) 1 than Great Britain, and no country in which His Holy 7 Name is more frequently "taken in vain," and insulted by Profanity. There are men to be met with, — especially the younger men amongst the working classes, — whose every third word is an Oath ! Even the commonest salutation, — the commonest remark on what is passing around them, — is an occasion for taking God's name in vain. " Christ ! "— " Damn ! "— " Blast ! "— " God strike ! "— " Bloody," — &c., come from them in one contimioiis stream, with almost every sentence they utter ! Almighty God is, however, a Being Whose wonderful long-suffering, I am certain, strikes a very wicked man frequently with sitrprise ; he is at times, astonished at God's forbearance ; at the time it takes to provoke Him to anger, and how God can bear with him so long as He does. But with Eternity before us, — an Eternity which, after Millions of Ages have passed, will not even have begun, — we may see the reason for God's forbearance ! God knows the lives that poor neglected boys are too often brought up to, — the example they have had placed before them from childhood, by their Parents and associates, — the language and habits they have been accustomed to from boyhood ; — swearing, drinking, and vicious fellow workmen in the workshops ; Godless, and prayerless, Parents ; God's word never read to them ; — with such Examples before them, what else can you reasonably expect hundreds of youths to be ^ If we had shared their experiences, who knows what we should have been } In youths, however, who know far better, and have had a proper education, it is a far more 138 MODERN INFIDELITY. solemn thing for them to indulge in oaths, or to take God's name in vain. What God may take, with great long- suffering, from an ignorant and neglected mind, He may not choose to suffer from an intelligent and wilftUly profane person. It is this wilful taking of His name in vain, by intelligent men, for the express purpose of ridiculing Religion, and causing others to despise it and God, which is, in the worst sense of all, what is meant by "taking His Name in vain." You are probably aware that there is a Body (greatly increased of late years) calling themselves " Secularists," — in plain English, Atheists, — who, in almost every large town in England, have now regular Meetings, often on a Sunday, — not for the purpose of worshipping God, but just the contrary, — of ridiculing the Old and New Testaments, lampooning religion, and opposing Almighty God in every possible way. Before presuming to become a Teacher of Religion to others, the writer resolved to know the worst that any could advance against God and the Bible. Opinions may differ on this point, but a blind belief in anything told us from infancy, with no investigation or thought of our own, never did appear to him to present a very hopeful, or rational view of an intelligent Christian. In the mysterious opera- tions of Divine grace and wisdom in the work of salvation, every Christian knows that there are two chief Stages. The first, and elementary stage, is to convince the Under- standing, — the Intellect, — the second is to convince the Conscience, and the Heart. The first is to hear, and to understand, — the second, and all important one, is to obey I No intelligent reader of his Bible, and of God's dealings with man, can fail to see that, at ivhatever cost, God is resolved never to interfere with the Free-will of any created being. Intelligent love and service — an intelligent choice of Him for a Master, is what He desires, and what God may, if asked, incline our heart to give, but He never can, and never will, force any to render it to Him against their own free-will. Although for a youthful, — necessarily unsettled, — mind to read works of an Infidel character, or to listen, un- prepared by study and investigation, to an Infidel Lecture, would be simple madness — it is, nevertheless, certain, that an intelligent, and thoughtful. Christian, of a more advanced age, may, with God's aid, not only read carefully the works of the leading opposers of Christianity, but may see clearly their fallacy and unfairness, and how easily they MODERN INFIDELITY. 1 39 may be met by an intelligent and painstaking Believer. Amongst the principal Works which have been probably most successful in spreading the deadly Nightshade of unbelief in the world during the past century, may be mentioned those of Voltaire the Frenchman, Thomas Paine, Renan, the late Dr. Strauss the German, Spinosa, Dr. Colenso, Francis Newman (one chapter of whose book called " Phases of Faith," upon our Saviour, being probably the most deliberate insult ever offered to Christ) — and last but, not least, the Leader of modern infidelity in this country, Mr. Bradlaugh of London. In all these gifted men there are three things ever observ- able ; the first is either a deadly enmity to, or a calm contempt for God's Word, the Bible, accompanied by an intense aversion to the plan of salvation opened to us by our Saviour ;— the second is, their invariable practice of first dethroning God, and then placing themselves and their ideas upon the platform of Infinitude, for the benefit of those who can believe in them, rather than in God ; — and the third is the very remarkable fact, that, while each has endeavoured to take religion away from us, not one of them has ever given the world anything in its place ! They attempt to destroy, but never to construct. What there is in the assertions of these men to damp, in any way, our love, reverence, and veneration for God, for our Saviour, and for that most wonderful and Holy Book, the Bible, it is difficult to imagine, more especially to those who have read carefully their writings, and heard on one or two occasions their so-called " Free discussions." There must, it is thought, be a predisposition — a wilful inclining to unbelief in God, in those who prefer their asser- tions to those of Divine Wisdom. Thousands of the Working Classes will not read the Bible quietly, and patiently, for themselves ; it is difficult to induce them to listen to it, or to attend the Sabbath School, or Chapel, where they might do so ; they will not study this most wonderful and priceless book — the Bible — for themselves, yet they will go and even pay to hear men like Bradlaugh lecture by the hour against a Book which they have never read, and never will study carefully for themselves ! This country owes its supremacy over others mainly to its Religion, and its reverence for the Bible. There are not wanting signs to show that this reverence is becoming sapped, — that the working classes of this country are becoming divorced from their allegiance to what they have for years held in reverence. 140 MODERN INFIDELITY. ' You, dear youths, who read this book will not pass through Hfe without encountering such men as those alluded to — you may be tempted to go to their lectures, and to read their books. An intelligent youth, to whom drunken- ness, vile habits, and company, offer no attractions, and can- not ruin, may yet fall before \.\\^ deadly poison, of Infidelity ! I would, therefore, ask you to remember that we now see these men in good health and strength, while God supports them. This is God's World ; everything they eat and drink is God's ; they could not create a morsel of the food they live upon, to save their lives ! God supports us by His creatures, every day we live. " The earth is Mine, and the fulness thereof, and the cattle upon a thousand hills," While, then, His anger slumbers, it is easy to insult God ! All I ask is, how is it to end .'' I see no escape from God ; you may go all round this world, as I have done, but there is no getting out of it. As David says : " Whither shall I flee from Thy presence } If I ascend up into Heaven, behold, Thou art There ! " If I make my bed in Hell, behold. Thou art There ! " You, I, and all we see around us, will only leave this World to appear before our God ! This, instead of appear- ing dreadful to a Christian, is a thought which affords him the greatest joy and thankfulness ! He has ever found in God an indulgent, loving, Creator ; he has found in Christ an elder Brother, a Saviour able to present him with acceptance even before the all-seeing eye of God. But once let a man who is not, and will not be, a Christian, go too far, and exhaust God's patience and long-suffering, and then He shuts, of Whom we read in the Bible, when " He shutteth, no man openeth ! " In that other phase of God's character, God tells us that He is " not a man that He should repent." " I will laugh when their fear cometh." He is slow, very slow, to anger ; God seldom strikes in anger, but when He does thus strike, it \s for ever ! One instance of this, and I have done. There was a gentleman, well-known at one time in London, who was in many respects much like the men of whom I have been speaking. He was, however, a gentleman of considerable attainments, and of good address, fond of com- pany, good-humoured, and possessed of ample means ; he enjoyed excellent health, and a constant fund of lively spirits — in fact he was a very humorous man. But he was a most profane person ! Treating every serious subject with lightness, he seemed never tired of lampooning Religion and WHAT HAVE I BEEN DOING ? I4I the Bible ! He especially liked doing this in the company of young men, with whom he was a great favourite ; and he would do it with such lively wit, and in such a way, as to make a person who opposed him look very ridiculous. Like all such habits, it grew upon him, till it was evident that he was desperately opposed to Religion. He would go out of his way, and take no little trouble and pains to do it, and when once excited and warmed by the subject, his sarcasms, words, and blasphemies, aimed at the Bible and Religion, were such, that though far from being particular themselves, even his friends, when inviting him to an evening or dinner party, would stipulate with him that Religion might not be brought up during the evening ; and when this gentleman had once promised, he never broke his word. He went on thus for several years, enjoying excel- lent health, and all the pleasures that ample means can afford, when, one day, while walking in the street, he was seized with a sudden illness and rapidly became worse. Knowing his character, not one of his friends could be found who dared to tell him the truth : namely, that the physicians began to be anxious, and to despair of his life ! His friends, for days, encouraged him to hope that, with care, the inflammation and disease would be soon overcome ; and the gentleman expressed the same hope himself. But on the appearance of certain symptoms, which they knew to be fatal, one of the doctors thought it right that he should be made aware of the truth. After his death, a gentleman who knew him gave an account of what followed. No sooner did the gentleman clearly tinderstand that he was given up by two of the leading physicians then in London — and that he must be prepared in a few hours to appear before God — than he seemed all of a sudden, for the first time, to realise his aw fid state! No sooner had the physician left the room than he broke out into the most dreadful cries ! He never again took the slightest notice of anyone in the room, he would not listen to a single zvord ! He seemed quite imconscioiis of all around him, but, for several hours, unti^ he died, almost without a pause, he kept crying out — It was the cry of a lost soul ! " What have I been doing.? My soul is lost ! V^hdX have I done ! '' And similar expressions until he died ! To you, dear reader, and, I pray God to me also, God is our Heavenly Father — Jesus our loving Saviour. During our life, — ten, thirty, or sixty years, — God knows how long it will be, — knowing what the Eternity is which lies before 142 MODERN INFIDELITY. each of us, — everything to soften our hearts, and induce us to become His, God will try. Depend upon it, it will be so, whether you like it or whether you do not. But it is wrong in any Teacher presuming to speak of Religion, to neglect the fact that Almighty God is not a Being who can be mocked. He created you, me, and all we see around us, for purposes of His own glory, — (Associated it is true, with our best happiness,) — and if any put Him on one side as a Being Who may be safely treated, for years, with aversion and contempt, it will be found, often too late, that God is not thus to be treated in vain ! When we consider the infinite malice, the almost incom- prehensible heinousness of mortal sin, which was only to be cancelled by the last drop of the blood of the Son of God, what can we think of the unparalleled insult offered to His dear Son Jesus, and that before the whole of the Angels and saints in Heav^en — when a sinner puts God on one side with contempt, /636 Liverpool ... ... ... ... 443,938 Birmingham ... ... ... ... 334,418 Leeds ... ... ... ... 207,165 Bristol .. ... ... ... 154,093 Oxford ... ... ... ... 27,560 [,742,810 A number exceeding the whole population of these six towns — of men in the prime of life and vigour — have thus been destroyed in 17 years ! COST OF RECENT WARS. Crimean War ... ... ... ... ;!^340, 000,000 Italian War (1859) ... ... ... ... 60,000,000 American Civil War (North) ... ... 940,000,000 ,, ,, ,, (South) ... ... 460,000,000 War — Schleswig-Holstein ... ... ... 7,000,000 War (1866) Austria and Prussia ... ... 66,000,000 Mexico, &c.. Expeditions (say only) ... .. 40,000,000 War — Germans (Expenses repaid by Indemnity) French — Indemnity paid Germans ... 200,000,000 ,, Their own expenses ... ... 150,000,000 ;^2, 263,000,000 In consequence of this last, utterly useless, uncalled for, and wicked war — the result of French vanity and love of "glory"— the F'rench Nation, in six months from their cries " a Berlin ! " had surrendered Paris, had lost the above ;({^35o,ooo,ooo and two of the most prosperous Provinces (producing about one-twentieth of the entire revenue of France, and i^ million subjects) ; interest on debt for the past five years, lOO millions ; and yearly debt of 40 millions, to be paid for ever, out of the earnings of the industrial portion of the population ! The above ;!{^2, 263,000,000 would give ;^63 to every living person in England, Scotland, and Ireland — man, woman, and child. It would put a railway entirely round the Globe — 23,000 miles— at ;,^8o,ooo per mile ! It would have established 2,000 Hospitals in various parts of the World, at ;^ioo,ooo each ; or 382,000 Scnools, at £(>,qoo each ! WAR 203 The annual '•^ Peace^'' Budgets of Europe, to sustain the immense modern armies and naval preparations, now reach — Annual Expenditure Loss of Labour by withdrawal of the men ] from productive trades ... \ Annual Interest on Capital invested in Ships, / Cannon, and Military Establishments ( ;^I 19,392,655 132,174,892 30,440,000 ^^282.007,557 To be paid every year by the industrial population. Our English National Debt (1870) stands at ;,^ 800, 68 1, 42 1. During the last 70 years— during the lifetime of many living men — the British people have paid the following sums for War : — 1801 to 1810 ... ... ... ... ;^38i, 156,800 1811 — 1820 1821 — 1830 1831 — 1840 1841 — 1850 1851 — i860 1S61 — 1870 400,640,786 151,854,685 142,368,790 179,503,725 251,835,818 267,361,835 ^1,774,722,439 No wonder our industrial classes have had to work pretty hard the past 50 years to pay these enormous sums ! Add to this the interest of the War debt (commonly called the National Debt) for the same 70 yeai'S ;i^i, 950,3^0,006, giving the total cost to our Nation of War in 70 years — one lifetime— of ^3, 725,033,345 ! '• It takes a week (rapid counting) to count one million aloud, counting twelve hours a day. It would take a man 75 years, ceaselessly counting, to count this number of pounds ! The cost of War in our day (1890) should it come, — will be frightful ! Seventy years ago, the heaviest cannon cost ^^150, and each shot about 30/-. Now, our largest cannon costs ;^i 7,000, some say, ;i^20 000, and each shot, ;i^i50. Major-General Maitland puts it at ;^20,ooo, and /"200 per round fired ! no ton Gun. These Immense Cannon can only be fired a certain number of times,— their lives are short. Hence you must estimate their cost, by the rounds that can be fired before they become useless ! 204 WAR. An actually fired projectile from a no ton Gun shown in the Naval Exhibition, 1891, passed, — in succession, — through a 20-inch steel solid plate, then an 8-inch iron plate, 20 feet (!) of oak, 5 feet of granite ( ! ), ii feet of rough concrete, and finally buried itself 3 feet into a mass of Brick Masonry ! A " Man of War" in Nelson's time cost about ;i^i,ooo. The 74 Iron- clads at Spithead, August, 1889, cost about ;i^2 1,000, 000. Taking our expenditure this year (1890) at ;^i8, 000,000 Military, ;(^I3, 000,000 Navy, it gives ;({,3,200, going out per horn- — ceaselessly — day and night — Sundays and Week-days alike ! And this while England is at Peace, and things are on a "Peace footing!" What then will the next general European War be ? And what conceivable lasting good can such a War confer upon any of the Nations now on the face of the Earth. If a page of the present book was covered with dots, the size of a pin's head, it would take two books of 300 pages of pins' heads (each dot repre- senting a man) to give the number killed in War from 1853 to 1870 alone f It would need 3,725 books, of 300 pages, covered with similar dots (each dot representing a sovereign) to give the sum England has paid for War the last 70 years ! List of 1,340 men — (actual names), — alive in 1871, when the following^ list was prepared. A Regiment of 1,340 men. Eight times the following List have been killed in a Single Battle, on one Side alone ! Garden Carey Garey Garey Garr Gair Garrick Carter Garter Gastello Cathcart Catling Cavell Gawthorn Gazenove Gazenove Ghalmer Chalmers Chambers Chambers Chancellor Chaplin Chapman Ghappell Chard Charles Charringtoii Cheshire Child Chittenden Christie Christ'phersn Churchill Churchill Clagett Glapham Abbott Austin Beard Blakeway Brown Abell Backhouse Beddington Blakeway Brown Adam Bagust Bedford Bland Brown Adams Bainbridge Beet Bland Browne Adams Baker Bell Blyth Browne Addison Baker Bell Bone Browne Agars Balcombe Bell Borthwick Browne Aitken Ballantine Bellairs Boscovitz Browne Akroyd Balme Bencraft Bourke Browne Alexander Banbury Bennet Bovet Brunton Alexander Bankart Bennett Bowditch Buckler Allcard Banning Bennett Bower Buckley Allen Barber Bennett Bowes Bull Allen Barber Bennett Bowyer Bull Allen Barber Bennett Bowyer Burge Allender Barber Benporath Boyle Burge Allender Barber Benporath Boyle Burnand AUkins Barber Bentham Brachi Burnand Allsop Barber Bentley Bradock Burnett Anderson Barclay Benton Braggiotti Burnett Anderson Baring Benyon Brain Burnett Anderson Barker Bergel Braithwaite Burstall Anderson Barker Bevan Braithwaite Burt Andrew Barnard Bidden Bramble Burton Andrew Barnes Bidden Branch Butcher Andrews Barnett Biedermann Bremner Butler Andrews Barry Bigg Bremner Caffin Anning Barry BiUett Bretnerton Caldecott Ansted Bartleet Binckes Brett Cameron Ansted Barton Bingham Brewin Cancellor Arbuthnot Bart ram Binney Brize Cancellor Arnold Bart ram Binnie Broadhurst Capel Ashton Bateman Bird Brookes Capel Asser Bawden Bishop Brooks Capel Aston Bawtrey Bishop Brown Capel Aston Beach Bishop Brown Capper ONLY ONE REGIMENT. 205 Clapham Crews Clapham Crickmer Clark Crockett Clark Crofton Clark Crosley Clark Crosley Clark Cross Clark Croslhwaite Clark Crowley Clark Crozier Clark Cuerton Clarke CuUen Clarke Gumming Clarke Gurwen Clayton Cuthbert Clayton Guvelje Clement Czarnikow Clement Dale Clement Daller Coates Dalley Cobb Dalton Cocke Dalton Cohen Dalton Cohen Daniell Cohen Dauglish Cohen Davidson Cohen Davis Colchester Davis Cole Davis Coles Davis Coles Davis Coles Davis Coles Davis Collyer Davis Colman Davison Constable Daw Cook Dawes Cooke Debenham Coombs De Castro Cooper D'Eichthal Cooper De la Mare Cooper Delmar Cooper De Quettevi Cope Derham Cork Detmar Cornell Detteibach Corn-well Deuchars Coronio Devitt Corrie Devot Corrie Dezoete Corthorn Dickinson Cortissos Dinnall Cosens Dinnall Cottom Dobree Cotton Dodd Couta Dodgson Crabb Dodson Cracroft Douglas Crafter Downer Craven Downing Cressvvell Drake Drake Draper Dreyfus Duncan Duncan Dunn Dunn Durant Durant Durant Duthy Dutton Dutton Duttson Dyer Dyer Eaton Edenboro'gh Edwards Edwards Edwards Edwards Edwards Edwards Ellis Ellis Ellis Ellis Ellis Elwyn Emanuel Emley Escombe Evans Everingham Ewings Eykyn Eyton Eyton Fairer Faith Farnan Faulconer Fawcett Felgate Fenn Fergusson Feme Ferry Field Field Field Fielding Fielding Figgis Filler Finlay Firth Firth Flack Fletcher Fletcher Flindt Flockton Follit Foot Foote Forbes Fowler Fox Foy Francis Fiancklyn Franks Franks Eraser Eraser Freeman French Frisby Frisby Frith Froom Froom Frost Fulcher Fur longer Galloway Game Gardner Gardner Garrad Garrett Geach Geere Geiger Gellatly Gibbes Gibbon Gibbons Gibbs Giles Goad Goddard Goddard Goddard Godefroi Godfrey Godsell Goetze Golding Golding Gowan Graham Grant Grant Grant Graves Gray Gray Gray Gray Gray Gray Greatorex Greaves Green Green Green Green Greenfield Greenhorne Greenhough Greenwell Greenwood Grieveson Griffin Grigson Groom Guedella Guillemard Guy Haden Hadland Hadow Haes Haes Haggard Haigh Hale Hale Hale Hale Hall Hall Hall Hall Hall Hallam Halls Hamilton Hammond Hancock Goldschmidt Hancock Goldsmid Goldsmid Goodban Goodhart Goodhart Gordon Gorton Goss Govett Hankey Hardy Hardy Harker Harker Harker Harman Harman Harris Harris Harris Harris Harris Harris Harris Harrison Harrison Harrison Harrison Hartmann Hartridge Harvey Harvey Harvey Haslehurst Hatchett Hawes Hawkins Hayn Haynes Hazard Heap Heath Hedderwick Helps Henry Henry Heniy Herapath Herbert Herring Hertz Herzog Heseltine Heseltine Hett Hewett Hewitt Hewkley Hichens Hichens Hickman Higham Hill Hill Hill Hill Hill Hill Hillier Hilton Hoar Hoare Hodgson Hodgson Hodgson Hodgson Hoghton Holderness Holdsworth 206 ONLY ONE REGIMENT. Holland Johnson Levitt Marsh Morris Partridge Hollebone Johnson Levy Marshall Mortimer Pasteur Holmes Jones Lewis Marshall Mortimer Pater Holmes Jones Lindo Marshall Mortimer Patry Holt Jones Lindo Marten Mortimer Patry Honychurch Jopson Lindow Martin Mortleman Patterson Hope Toseph Lindsay Martindale Moser Pawle Hope Jourdan Littlejohn Mason Moul Payne Hope Tourdan Livens Mason Moul Payne Horner judge Lloyd Massey Mouncey Payne Hovil Julian Lloyd Matheson Mounsey Peake Howes Reeling Lloyd Mathew Moxon Pearce Howden Keen Lloyd Matson Moxon Pearce Hoyer Kelham Lloyd Matthews Muirhead Peat Huggins Kemble Llovd Matthey Mullens Peavey Huggins Kemp Llo'yd Maud MuUins Peevor Hughes Kemper Loew Maude Mundy Pelly Hughes Kershaw Lohmann Mayer Murton Pember Hughes Kerwin Long Mayor Murton Pember Hughes Key Longden Mayor Murton Pemberton Hughes Kilburn Longden McKenna Nathan Pennington Hulbert Kilby Lord McKenna Neale Peppercorne Hunt Kilby Lough Meadows Neck Percival Hunt Kimpton Lowe Medley Neithercott Percy Hunter King Lowndes Medwin Nell Perry Hunter King Lucas Meller Nesbitt Perry Huson King Lucas Mello Nesbitt Petre Hutchinson King Lucock Merridew Newbery Pett Hutchinson Kinnear Lugg Meugens Newman Phare Ibach Kirkman Lumsden Meyer Newton Philip Idle Kitchin Luning Meyer Newton Phillips Inchbald Kitching Luning Mieville Newton Phillips Inglis Knapp Lymbery Mieville Nicholas Phillips Inman Knight Lyon Milbank Nicholl Phillips lonides Knight McAnally Mildred Niemann Phillips lonides Knight MacCaugheyMiller Noad Phillips Ironmonger Knight Macgregor Miller Noble Pickering Ironmonger ■ Knowles Mackee Millington Noble Pickering Irving Kynaston Mackenzie Milne Noel Pidgeon Irving Labouchere : Mackie Milne Norbury Pierrard Jackman Laing Mackintosh Miskin Norbury Pim Jacobs Langley Macnicoll Mocatta North Pinchin Jacomb Laurence Mackreth Mocatta Northcott Pink Jacomb Laurie McNair Mocatta Northen Pittman acomb Lavers McNiel Moffatt Nott Pixley [acks Lavington MacRosty Mollett Noyes Pixley ^acks Lawford Mahony Monk Nunes Plater ^ ackson Lawford Maidlow Montefiore Nutter Poole . ackson Lawford Maitland MontgomerieNutter Poole , ames Lawson Majolier MontgomerieOakley Porter , ames Layton Major Moon Ogden Porter . ames Layton Makins Moore Oppenheim Poston James Lea Malcolm Moore O'Ryan Pott Jefifery Leary Malim Moore Oswin Potter Jerdein Leask Malin Moore Overbury Powell Jeune Leckie Man Moore Overbury Powell Jewesbury Leese Man Mordaunt Page Power Joachim Lehmkiihl Mann Mordaunt Page Pratt Jobson Lennard Manning Morgan Paine Prescott Johnson Lenon Marsh Morice Paine Price Tohnson Levien Marsh Morice Parker Price ONLY ONE REGIMENT. 207 Price Rommel Severs Southall Thompson Walker Price Ronaldson Seward Southard Thompson Walker Price Roper Sewell Spackman Thompson Wallis Prior Roper Seymour Sparrow Thompson Walter Pritchett Roper Shadbolt Spence Thompson Ward Pritchett Rose Shakspeare Spurling Thompson Ward Prust Rose Sharwood S purling Thompson Warin Puckle Rothwell Shattock St. AlphonseThomson Wark Pugh Rouse Shaw Stahlschmidt Thomson Warren Puzey Routh Sheldrick Standring Thorburn Washington Puzey Row Shepherd Stanley Thorp Waterall Pyemont Rowlinson. Sheppard Stansbury Thursfield Watson Quilter Rowsell Shirreff Staples Thurston Watson Rams Rozea Shirreff Starling Tibbs Watson Ram el Rubens Shorter Steel Till Watson Ramsden Rucker Shout Steer Till Watt Randegger Rucker SiUar Stephenson Tod Webb Ravenhill Rucker Sillar Stevens Tomlin Webb Rawlings Rucker Silverston Stevens Topham •Webb Ray Ruffle Silvester Stewart Topping Webster Rayden Salisbury Sim Stiff Towers Wesche Rayner Sampson Sim Stockdale Towgood Westaway Rea Samuda Simes Stocken Townend Westgarth Read Samuel Simpson Stoltenhoff Townend Weston Read Samuel Simpson Stovell Townend Weston Rehden Sandeman Simpson Stovell Tozer Wetenhall Reid Sanders Sims Strachan Tracy Whalley Reidpath Sargant Simson Strachan Tracy Whatley Renny Sargant Simson Straith Trotter WTiealler Restell SatterthwaiteSiordet Stratten Trower AYheeler Restell Savill Skinner Strawbridge Trower Whistler Reynell Scaramanga . Skinner Stringer Tudor White Reynolds Schiff Slade Stuckey Tudor White Reynolds Schlotel Slater Sturgis Turner White Rhodes Schofield Smith Styan Turrill White Ricardo Scholey Smith Suckling Twycross White Richards Schroeder Smith Surgey Tyers Whitehead Rickard Schwartze Smith Surgey Uns worth Whitehead Rickards Scott Smith Surr Upward Whiting Riddelsdell Scott Smith Sutton Urie Whiting Rigg Scott Smith Sutton Valentine Wilkins Riley Scott Smith Symons Vandervell Wilkins Rimmor Scott Smith Symons Vanhouse Wilknison Ring Scott Smith Tapson Van Houten 1 Wilkinson Ripley Scott Smith Tarver Vaughan Wilkinson Ripley Scott Smith Tatham Vaughan Willans Ripley Scott Smith Taylor Vemer Williams Rippin Scott Smith Taylor Vertue Williams Risley Scott Smith Telford Vigne Williams Ritchie Scott Smith Terry Vigne Williams Rivaz Scott Smith Tetley Vile Williams Roberts Scott Smith Tetley Vivian Williams Roberts Scrimgeour Smithers Theodor Von DadelsenW illiams Robertson Scrimgeour Smithett Thomas Wade Wilson Robertson Scrimgeour Snellgrove Thomas Wadeson Wilson Robins Scrutton Snow Thomas Wagg Wilson Robinson Scrutton Soanes Thomas Waite Wilson Robinson Searle Soanes Thompson Waithman Wilson Roche Seaton Soilleux Thompson Waley Wilson Rolfes Sebag Solomon Thompson Walker Wilson Rolls Sentance Soule Thompson Walker Wimble 208 ONLY ONE REGIMENT. Windier Wollaston Wise Wollaston Witherby Wood Witherby Wood Wood Wood Woodall Woodhouse Woodhouse Woolley Woodhouse Woolston Woods Wrenn Woods Wykes Yapp Yearsley Young Young Young men alive in Dear Reader, you have here the actual surnames of 1,340 1871, when the above list was published ; Christian names being omitted. The above List is only one Regiment. Yet eight times these men, have been killed, on one side alone, in a single Battle. Now fancy 760 Regiments ! Table of 760 Regiments, each of 1,340 men,— a Million Men ! (1,018,400). 1 The zvhole of this immense mass of Men were killed in War, m the 16 years between 1854-70! And almost twice as many! Namely,— 1,761,491 ; Dr. Engel, the German Statistician, makes it considerably more ! WAR. 209: Let these small squares represent 760 Regiments each of 1,340 men, giving 1,018,400. Now, dear Reader, imagine our Regiment of 1,340 men to be otie of these small oblongs. We see before us, now, 760 similar Regiments, marching twenty regiments in a row, — a Million men in motion on a vast Plain ! Each with Rifle, &c.,and plenty of amunition, of the modern deadly type, capable of killing at an immense distance, (very different to the old "Brown Bess" musket of 80 years ago), and inflicting frightful wounds ! Add, in imagination, 500 Cannons, Gatling, and other "Machine Guns," — and vast columns oif Cavalry, and then you have a Modern Battle! Conceive the pj-odigio2is carnage, — the i7nnicnse cost it presents, treasure utterly wasted. Now conceive the expense of feeding, day by day, this vast body of men, clothing them, providing them with sleeping, &c. , accommodation, and expensive Rifles, &c. The honest labours, and productive power of these men, absolutely lost I Imagine also the number of Relatives, Fathers, Mothers, Brothers, &c. , who love, and are deeply concerned in these men ! What a mass of misery, and sorrow, would be involved if every one of these men were killed ! Especially if the majority of them were married men with Wife, and little ones dependent upon them ! The whole tvere killed in 16 years ! It is estimated that in time of peace the Continental Nations have now under arms : — Reserve ready at Under arms. any time. France ... ... ... 500,000 1,500,000 Germany ... ... 450,000 ... ... 2,000,000 England .. ... 150,000 ... ... 450,000 It is difficult to define the strength of modern Continental armies, as all able- bodied \WQn ?Lxe liable now to be called upon, in case of War ! The "War strength" is, however, given thus for 1891 : — Austria ... ... ... ... ... ... 1,140,000 France ... ... ... ... ... .. 4,100,000 Germany ... ... ... ... ... .. 3,200,000 Italy 2,119,250 Russia ... ... ... ... ... .. 2,490,000 Turkey 1,160,600 14,210,850 While Holland, Belgium, Denmark, Portugal, Servia, &c., have (compara- tively to their size) enormous armies. Fancy the masses of men, liable, in case of a general European War, to be brought into collision ! A modem Battle with the frightful instruments of destruction now employed is an awful scene ! In the two days of the Battle of Leipsic 2, 000 cannon were constantly at -isork, twice the number of the names on this list ! 120,000 men are believed to have fallen ! 120 times our List of Names, and this was one Battle, out of a hundred, fought between 1790 and 1815 ! Countries overrun with desperate, demoralised, soldiers, pillaging the inhabitants of their all ! Spreading Typhus and horrible diseases, through entire districts, and not one thing gained to any Country when all was over ! And yet still the Cuckoo cry goes on " Glory ! " " Glorious VictoHes I " General Skobeleff says of one Battle in the Russo-Turkish War, 1877, — *' During the pursuit, after the assault, we killed eight thousand, for I had them counted I Six times our list of 7iames actually killed on one side alone I Fancy the distress of sorrowing Families that must mean ! During the Civil War in America, 1864, — the North by a Mine and 14,000 lbs, of Powder, at Peters- burgh, blew up a mass of 3,000 Southern Troops ; the explosion made an immense depression in the ground, the North poured into it, but the Southern army, rallying, poured in a storm of shells, and actually sickened at the carnage, the North, caught in the " Crater," actually lost 4,000 men in it ! In 1871, 210 WAR. J20 /Railway Trucks were filled, at Metz, with French, dying of Typhus and Typhoid, in agonies, and left to die to save contagion ; only one young American volunteer was seen to go near them ! At Sedan, for miles (Russell says) and miles, there were masses of coloured clothes glued together with Blood, and pulp, — bodies without heads, — without legs, — corpses without shape, with bones projecting, — faces blown off, — smashed as though brazed in a Mortar ! And this going on for weary hours ! In forty years, 1854 to 1886, (omitting South American, and some other Wars), and merely taking noniinally Christian Nations, it is itnpossible to estimate the killed at less than 2,262,000 ! It gives a ro^v of corpses, laid out side by side to every foot of the Railway between London and Edinburgh (400 miles) ! The aggregate National Debts of eighteen European Countries, or States, in 1891, — (almost entirely caused by War) — now amounts to j,ooo Million Pounds! Let every sovereign represent a Soldier, it will be then 5,000 times the y6o Regiments, each containing 1,340, in our Table of Regiments ! Ancient Warfare "Hand to hand" fighting. Storming an Ancient City. Was it better than ** Machine Guns," — Mjirder by Machinery'^ Every page in the History of Mankind is wet with human blood ! (211 ) Ancient Winepress. CHAPTER XXVIII. THE VINE. AM the true Vine, — and My Father is the husband- man," — were our Lord's words to the Disciples, at their last Supper. The Vine is constantly referred to, both in the Old and New Testament, as a symbol of fruitfulness, and plenty. To illustrate, by a figure, a time of public tran- quillity, and profound peace, the expression is employed, Micah iv. 4, — " They shall sit, every man under his vine, and under his fig tree, and none shall make them afraid." 212 THE VINE. And Judah and Israel dwelt safely, every man under his vine and under his fig tree ; from Dan even unto Beersheba, all the days of Solomon. There are solemn references, too, as to the winepress : — " The winepress of the wrath of God." is spoken of in Rev. xix. — 13 — 15. " And he was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood, and his name is called the Word of God, and he treadeth the winepress of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God." " Wine," is alluded to more than 105 times in the Bible. Our Saviour compares the Church of Christ to His vineyard : many of His parables allude to vineyards. Indeed, Vines, Vintage, and Vineyards, are also alluded to 143 times in the Bible, making a total of 248. Wine, was, indeed, the common drink of the East for ages, probably with as little drunkenness as we see amongst Continental nations, whose light wines, mixed generally with water, are the common beverage of the Country. It is hopeless, and absurd, to attempt to prove that the wine of the Ancients was " unfermented." '* No man having tasted old wine," — our Saviour says, in Luke v. — 39, — "desireth new: for He saith, the old is better," If only " unfermented " wine was spoken of, these words are unintelligible ; for what is " old " unfermented wine ? In fact, "being drunk with wine," is alluded to, at least twenty times in the Bible ; this also would be unintelligible if only unfermented wine was spoken of Those who have read the chapter upon Drink in this Book will not, for a moment, imagine that any defence, for €ven the moderate use of intoxicating drinks of any kind THE VINE. 213 is intended to be made. The experience of countless thousands proves that it is safer and better in every respect, as regards our health, example to others, and longevity, to avoid all fermented drinks. The statistics of Life Insurance Companies, prove, by the "irresistible logic of facts," that, those who abstain from " Drink " of every kind, live the longest. Still, it is injudicious, because hopeless, for Dr. Lees and others, to attempt to prove that the wine spoken of throughout the Bible, was " unfermented ; " we cannot have our common sense abused, and such efforts do more harm than good. The Ancients were not so obtuse, and childish, as some seem inclined to make them appear, in order to favour their peculiar theories. We have only to read the Feast of Plato, and the thousands of allusions to wine, by Greek and Roman writers to put the matter beyond doubt, and question. It follows that our blessed Lord would never have turned water into wine had the latter been m itself a hateful or cursed thing. How much better, and wiser, is it, to admit facts which cannot be disputed, and confess, with Paul, that all things that God has created, or ordained, are good in themselves ; it is in the improper use, men choose to make of them, that the evil and curse lies. " All things are lawful unto me," the great Apostle says, **but all things are not expedient." '* I know, and am persuaded, by the Lord Jesus Christ, that there is nothing unclean of itself, all things, indeed, are pure, but to him that esteemeth anything to be unclean to Him it is unclean." Surely we see this in everything in God's ordering, and in the constitution of everything around us. What is vice, immorality, covetousness, drunkenness, but the result of an improper tise made of things perfect, pure, and excellent, ifi themselves, against which Conscience — which is the voice of God, — expostulates from our childhood to our grave .-* To the pure all things are pure; but they may not be expedient. Thus we may freely take the Vine as the favourite type, in the Word of God, of fruitfulness, plenty, and prosperity. The Fig tree is spoken of only forty-four times. When Caleb and the chosen spies returned from their journey into Cannan, they obeyed the instruction of Moses to " bring of the fruit of the land." Numbers xiii., 20-23. 214 THE VINE. " Now the time was the time of the first ripe grapes, and they came unto the brook of Eschol, and cut down from thence a branch with one chister of grapes, and they bore it, between two upon a staff; and they brought of the pomegranates, and of the figs." Christ, — the Vine. ** I am the true Vine, and My Father is the Husbandman. Every branch in Me that beareth not fruit, He taketh away ; and every branch that beareth fruit, He purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit. As the branch can- not bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the Vine ; no more can ye, except ye abide in Me. I am the vine, ye are the branches. He that abideth in Me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit, for without Me ye can do nothing."— 7^//« xv., 1-5. The Barren Fig Tree in the Vineyard. He spoke also this parable : — "A certain man had a fig tree planted in his vineyard ; and he came, and sought fruit thereon, and found none. Then said he unto the dresser of His vineyard, Behold, these three years I come seeking fruit on this fig tree and find none : cut it down, why cumbereth it the ground? And he answering said unto Him, Lord, let it alone this year, also, till I shall dig about it, and dung it ; and if it bear fruit, well ; and if not, then, after that, thou shalt cut it down." Dear reader, is there not, in this solemn parable, a word for us } (215) INTRODUCTION TO CHAPTER XXIX DRINK. The "Drink Bill" of this Empire for 1889 reached the frightful Total of £1^2,21^,2^6 ;— a. "Record!" Our Six Millions of Money Bags (Page 224), were drunk Twenty -Two times over ! Giving £iy 9s. yd. per Family of the population of the United Kingdom, or £1 I OS. per head! Now deduct the Millions of Teetotallers, and Children who drink no Intoxicants, — what must the rest drink ! Numbers of Working Men must be spending los. a week, or £21 a year in Drink, to make the average up ! That is, nearly half their Income ! Fancy one of the " Middle Class," with an Income of ^500 a year, putting, say, ;^250 of it into his stomach, every year, in Drink I His friends would put him into an Asylum ! The Sin of Drunkenness. As usual, dear Reader, — in our day of license, — this frightful and selfish Sin of Drunkenness, is seldom spoken of as a brutal sin. It is condoned, glossed over, — " Well 1 well ! he is a good man at the bottom, — you know, — a little given to Drink," they say, when the wretched sinner has mined his Home, ndyied his Children, killed his Wife by ill-nsage and neglect, — and finally sinks, — a diseased debauchee, — into a Drunkard's grave ; — " Ah ! well ! he's at rest at last! We must'nt jndge people, — so many temptations, — we have the new teaching of the * Eternal Hope ' for all, now, you know ! All will be * brought in* you know, — some day, — somehow! " And so the Drinking, and Vice, and Sin, goes on ! Dear Reader, nothing but the Last Day, — the last Judgment, — will ever rouse some Sinners to kjtow them- selves, to awaken at last, to feel what a Sinner, and what Sin really is ! Meanwhile, look at what we see an allowed Sin, — permitted, and persistently followed, — leads to, as long as we mortals are allowed to trace it ! Away with that sickening nonsense about "Eternal Hope" for the wicked ! Read the newspapers, — go to the Hospitals, — follow 2l6 THE SIN OF DRUNKENNESS. the life of a Drunkard, is it not a Tragedy,— r^^/, — deadly tragedy? If it is noty where are your eyes, — your common sense ? Is that vile creature, — steeped in the wilful, — persistent, — sins of forty years, of a deadly selfish, animal, life, — ■ going to inherit the Kingdom of Heaven ? Why, you would not live half-aii-hour with him yourself, for any consideration ; let alone Eternity ! " Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not enter the Kingdom of God ? Be not deceived I God is ?iot mocked! Neither Fornicators, nor Thieves, nor Covetous, nor Drunkards, shall inherit the Kingdom of God." — I Cor. vi., 9-10. Of course, we can all make excuses. Do excuses bring back ruined health, ruined fortunes, lost characters, a neglected Saviour, and an outraged God t Certainly not ! Sin is Sin ! " And sin, — when it is finished, — bringeth forth Death ! " Eternal Death ! The late George Cruikshank was born 1792, and died during the French Exhibition year, 1878. His efforts were inimitable, in portraying the awful Curse the Sin of Drunkenness proves to Mankind. Let the following, — one of his greatest efforts, — speak for itself ! The Sin of Drunkenness. (I.) Good Wages. Good Character, is introduced for the first time. Happy Home. The Drink THE SIN OF DRUNKENNESS. 217 (2.) Got "fond of his glass;'' often at "the Bar." Loses character as a Workman. Their things must go to the Pawn Shop. "Execution " put in,— all their nice things gone ! Must go to live in the "Slums'' now! What? Drinking stiil? Yes! the Drink is more needed than ever ! T 2l8 THE SIN OF DRUNKENNESS. (4.) Their little one dies of Cold, Want, and Neglect. Their Hot7ie is a Garret ; a straw mattress, a box, and that is all ! " The Wages of Sin is Death ! " Rotfi, vi., 23. The Streets. Beggary. Self-respect, — the power for honest labour, — his tools, his character, — a// lost! and for ic/iat in exchange. What? Drinking still 1 THE SIN OF DRUNKENNESS. (6) 219 Is this the "Eternal Hope" tor all! Is this not real'i Is this not " tragedy ? " Do we not read of such cases in the Papers almost every week ? (7- " And Sin laheu it is finished, — bringeth forth Death ! " — yames i., 15. His poor Wife killed, by the glass Bottle, in one of his mad furies ! 220 THE SIN OF DRUNKENNESS. To every Youth of the Working Class I would appeal ! Shun the Drink altogether I The healthiest, strongest, best Workmen in the World have proved that it is Pede- touch unnecessary ! The Champion Athletes, Scullers, trians, Swimmers, Boxers, are never permitted to it during training, Why? Because their backers know it would be fatal to their hopes ! better Sign the Pledge, and be known, at once, to Abstainer ! It will save you endless trouble, — they will say, — " No use asking him to drink, ' Teetotaler,' " — and away they will go. Far be an ''Oh! he's a " As for the Stork,— the Fir Trees are her \\o\\<,f tute Children ] |3(3(33Sl3l3!S3flfll33lSfi(3 ( aaaasQsaaaasaaaa 40 Blind Asylums | 33^3333333(33313^(1 ,,, , ( saas(3aasaaaeiaaaa 400 L,fe Boats, &c. .. < QQ^Q^^Q^QQQQQ^^^ So Public Parks j 3-aa(aga(aQa(3(3(3aaS(3 4oFreeL,branes ^ asaaaQaasaac^aaaa 40 Museums at^.o.oooj 3aaasi3(3(32a(3<2a(3a(a q? «ir OP ^si su. :sri itt m? qg «» 501. 5jw cc# c» at sv. Better Houses for the ( ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ poor;^4oo,ooo ...] ^33^3311333(333(333 Town Missions ( 333333339333(3333 ;^4oo,ooo ] a3(33S3a33QCS(333^(3 i,ooo Almhouses for j 333(3 CTY 3333 Aged Poor 3333 O -L -A. ^Q^^^Q \ The above 1,200 Sacks, — each containing ;^5, 000, — filling the above Tables — give Six Millions. Five times Six Millions is annually spent in War. TWENTY-TWO of these tables,— TWENTY-TWO TIMES Six Millions, — is annually squandered in Drink, in the United Kingdom ! ANNUALLY SPENT IN DRINK ! 225 aaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaa aaaa iSaaa aaaa laaaa jaaaa aaaa aaaa 'pi aaaa aaaa aaaa aaaa aaaa A 4 aaaaaaaaaaaaa ' aaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaoaaaaaaaai aaaaaaaaaaaaa' aaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaa aaaa aaaa' aaaa aaaa aaaa aaaa aaaa aaaa aasa aaaa QiMcats- aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa laaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa- jaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaj aasa MILLIONS aaaa In 1889 the Drink Bill incj-eased io £132,213,276! (a "Record!") £1 los. per head ; or £1"] 9s. yd. per Fainily in the United Kingdom ! Then deduct the Millions of Children and Teetotalers, who drink no intoxicants,— what w/zj/ the rest drink? Many of the Working Class must be drinking 10,'- a week! //a// their Income! 226 TWO CURSES OF MANKIND. — WAR AND DRINK. 30 Millions, — and about Twenty-two similar tables are needed to depict the Millions spent every year in Drink ! Then, — to carry out our idea — we must, — once more, see what we could do every year with these vast sums, — also what they would have done for our Nation in the memory of many living, — since the year 1800. WAR. A^ R I 2,700 MILLIONS SPENT IN NINETY 30 MILLIONS SPENT EVERY YEAR. ^EARS, SINCE 180O. What it would do eve)y year ! Build 400 Churches at ;^5,ooo each ,, 400 Chapels at ;,^5,ooo , ,, 1,200 Schools free ) . to the Poor at. ,, 400 Colleges at ;i^5,ooo ,, 400 Baths at ;^5,ooo ,, 200 Hospitals, ) Convalescent > /"io,ooo Homes at ) „ 200 Blind or Crip- ) j.^^ ^^ pie Asylums aX. ) "^ ' ,, 200 Life Boats at ...;!^i,ooo ,, 3,000 Almshouses ) for Aged Poor > ^^400 each ) ,, 200 Homes for ) Destitute Child- > ;^5,ooo ren at ) „ 400 Public Parks at/'5,ooo ,, 100 Public Mu- seums at ;,^I0,000 ,, 200 Free Libraries I /- at K^°' Better Houses for the Poor Four Millions. Town Missionary Work, &c., Two Millions. 000 What it would have done since 1800 ! Built 36,000 Churches. 36,000 Chapels. 108,000 Free Schools. 36,000 Colleges. 36,000 Baths and Wash-houses. 18,000 Convalescent Homes and Hospitals. 18,000 Blind or Incurable Asylums 18,000 Life Boats. 2,700,000 Almshouses for Aged Poor. 18,000 Homes for Destitute Children. 36,000 Public Parks. 9,000 Free Museums. 18,000 Free Libraries. Better Houses for the Poor 360 Million Pounds. For Town Missionary Work 180 Million Pounds. Total — 30 Millions a Year. Total— 2,700 Millions since 1800. DRINK. Fotir times the above, nearly, spent m Drink! Conse- quently you must multiply the above by 4. What are its TWO CURSES OF MANKIND. — WAR AND DRINK. 22/ records. To whom have these immense sums of money gone ? The above Table is merely given to shew the effect these enormous sums would have had, — had they been spent for the good and welfare of the Nation. It is not suggested that the items given would be the best way of making use of these Millions. Two or three of the items will, however, hardly be objected to by any. Fancy, dear Reader, the blessing 18,000 Homes for training destitute children in, would have been the past 90 years ; also, 360 Million pounds spent in clearing our Towns of fever dens, and substituting proper houses for the Poor similar to those of that splendid American Philan- thropist, — Peabody ! Reader ! Let your imagination picture Foitr times Table B. spent in Drink ! What has it done for us the past 90 years } Enabled a few Brewers, — Distillers, — and Gin Palace Proprietors, — to roll in Wealth 1 Against this we have the groans, and imprecations, — the Miseries, and Drunken Crimes of Ninety Years ! A Hundred Millions spent in England each Year in Drink ! What does the Nation get from it } Ruined Homes, — outcast children, — Depraved, — hopeless, — degraded Men and Women, — a curse to themselves and all around them, — who might, — but for the Drink, — have lived happy, useful Lives ! Squalid, awful homes, — millions of hard-earned Wages gone to the Gin Shop Proprietors, — wretched children, — no chance given them in life, — left in ignorance, dirt, and rags, — untaught, — untrained by Drunken wretches who disgrace the Sacred name of Parents ! " Stop ! stop ! — you are too severe ! The Licensed Victuallers are a most respectable Body, — they do not wish the Working Classes to ruin themselves. The Workman, engaged in exhausting toil, during the day, absolutely requires some stimulus, — * Drink ' of some kind ! You cannot have the needful muscle, — vigour, — health, — and lasting power, without Beer and Spirits ! " Then, dear Reader, — sensible young Reader of the Working Class, — why is it, — when we are training young men for competitions requiring the greatest muscle, — energy, — vigour, — wind,— and lasting power of endurance, in Running, — Sculling, — Boxing, — Football, — Wrestling matches, &c., — that they ** go into training " and knock off the Drink ! An essentially sporting Nation like ours, — with these facts before us for the past 90 years, — knowing 228 TWO CURSP:S of mankind. — WAR AND DRINK. that such training is indispensable alike to Professionals and Amateur Athletes, — cannot allow our common sense to be abused, — by y^ri-/ being told that "Drink is needful to produce strong, healthy Workmen," — and tJieii that it is '* absolutely fatal to successful training ! " The backers of any man would cry-off, — the Trainer would throw up his task, — the moment the man was allowed the drink! Why? Because they know that it would be fatal to his chance, they would lose their money ! What then does this admitted fact, — known to every Professional and Sporting man in England really mean ? It means that, what is best for producing the most vigorous, — powerful, men of our day, is best for the Working Man ! There are now thousands of our best Workmen, — with happy homes, — property accumulating, — well-cared for, merry children, — who never touch the drink from one year's end to the other, who will compete in a day's work with any workmen, and who, — on the average, will outlive their comrades who take the drink. " Prove it ! " It has been already done ! The Insurance Companies have proved it, by the irresistible logic of facts, — for the last fifty years ! Two or three of the Insurance "Companies will insure Teetotalers at a less premium than those who take the Drink I Well ! apply to \}[v^v(\ yourself , if you do not believe it! What does it meanf Why, that they know by the experience of ninety years that Teetotalers live lo7tger, and it pays them to de it I Away then with the delusion that Drink is necessary ! If your children are never taught to take it, they will never ask for it ! It cannot be allowed a man in training. It shortens life. It is the ruin of thousands. There can be no successful training, — in other words no perfect, health, — while it is taken. Then how can it be necessary to a healthy, vigorous, skilful workman } When will the Working Classes see that the countless thousands of Public Houses, and Gin Palaces in our large towns — so far from being necessary, — are "Man-traps" for draining these immense sums, — hard-earned wages, — from the Labouring Population, to enrich a privileged class t An immense, and influential Body, — many of them in Parliament, — are deeply interested in keeping up the Liquor Traffic, — and habitually resist any diminution of the deadly Trade. They are privileged. Other shops are closed by law on Sundays, the Liquor Shop may open. So that the gains are kept-up, the ruin of their fellow-Citizens appears to these persons a mere nothing. Look into one TWO CURSES OF MANKIND, — WAR AND DRINK. 229 of these Gin Shops in London, — as we did last Summer, — near Holborn, — one Sunday evening, and you would have seen some twenty youths, and mere girls, already flushed with drink, being served with spirits by a Barman as young as themselves. Not one of the party seemed over 20 years of age ! IV/io tests the quality of the stuff sold in these places ? W/inl is it ? Drinking in a gin shop on a Sunday evening, at Seventeen — in loose company — means a depraved old man, — a Pauper at seventy, — or, more likely^ — a drunkard's early grave ! One of our great Liverpool Brewers during the past 40 years gradually acquired 250 Public Houses, — serving as retail Shops to pass off his drink alone, — then, after realising an immense fortune, floated the whole into a Limited Company, netting ;^2,000,000 thereby. The income was taken at i^200,ooo. To produce this immense fortune, to one man, how many families of his fellow countrymen have been ruined ? What a history of wretched homes, — married happiness destroyed, — children ruined morally and physi- cally, — thousands reduced to abject poverty, — did these sums represent ! Dear Reader 1 many of us, — if this Two Millions gained by such means were presented to us, — would never touch a penny of it, — Money obtained by draining the hard-earned wages of our poorer fellow citizens, — who cannot resist the drink, — must bring a curse u^ith it. These swarms of Public Houses are veritable " man traps." If you want to see the result, choose a wet day in Liverpool, and watch the swarms of poor wretched little half-naked children in the streets, crouching together up entries, and by the liquor shop to which their parents' money has gone which ought to have been spent in clothing, supporting and educating these little ones. " It is a gigantic evil : our drinking habits are making England the scoff of more temperate Nations ; but what can we do?'* Well ! We can let our voice be heard ; — expose the System in every way we can ; — decline to hold a single share in any Brewery, Distillery, or Military Arms Company, — keep clear of them as Christians ourselves ; — and dissuade all whom we can from those two great Curses of Mankind, — Drink and War. CONCLUSION. " You make too much of it ! " — a young Reader may say, — **a glass, — now and then, — hurts no one, it never hurt my Parents, it won't hurt me!" True, — it may do U 230 TWO CURSES OF MANKIND. — WAR AND DRINK. you no harm, — your temptation may not lie that way, — it may lie in another direction, — in Immorality, — Dishonesty, — Unbelief, — or Covetousness. You may be, naturally, of too cautious, calculating a character, ever to get drunk. But your young Companion, and Friend, may be one of those who cannot safely begin the Drink, — has not your firmness, — will /o?ig for it, — will take it again and again, — till it ruins him ! He sees you taking it ; — he follows your example ! Surely it will be a bitter thing for you to think of! Look at the elder Youth in the Picture. Gone out too far ! Against the orders of his Parents, — trusting to his know- ledge of boating, — he has gone out for a sail in uncertain weather, — and has induced his School chum to accompany him. Foolhardy, — he has ''gone out too farT The wind is getting up, and beginning to change, — they must tack, now, to make the distant shore. A nasty swell too is rising, — the sky looks wild, — a gale is evidently setting in ! How bitterly does he now reproach himself for disregarding the commands of his kind, and faithful Parents, — who only desired his safety ! But, — bitterest of all, — that he should have used his influence and example, — to induce the poor lad, TWO CURSES OF MANKIND. — WAR AND DRINK. 23 I — his best friend, — an only son on a visit to them, — to come with him ! With that squall coming on, how can they, now, stop to sJiorten sail 1 Suppose he drops that sail, — how row that boat to shore in the sea that is getting up } So it is with the Sins of Drink, — Immorality, — Covetousness, or Unbelief, — " Oh ! no fear ! There is no danger ! I can go a certain distance, and induce my friend to accompany me. We shall only have a glass or two, you know, — and perhaps, a sneer at the pious fellow, — ' who never went astray;' and just one night's dissipation too, — but very occasionally; I only sin occasionally. Soon get back! We shall not go out too far ! " They all said so ! They all thought so ! They did not allow for the current, — the terrible power of habit, — or their distance from the land! It was at first, — only an occasional sin, it is true, — but they must have it again 1 The habit was only a sewing thread at one time, — they could have snapped it in a moment, — but when you use the finest thread ofte7i enough it becomes as strong as a rope, and nothing, but God's aid, will ever break it. Those habits, — commenced in youth, — become our Master! The experience of Mankind proves it ! ** If they grow mutinous, — and rave, — they are THY Master, — THOU their slave ! " The worst of Drink is that it brings in all the other sins along with it ! A young man, — having his choice of three mortal sins, — chose drunkenness, as the least of the three ; and when he was drunk he committed the other tzvo I It is vice which has no mercy ! Everything must be given up for it ! All lost ! Self-respect, — the esteem of others, — a good situation, — property, — happiness, — home, — wife, — children, — health, — life itself, — the World to come, — all are lost one after the other. Everything that is precious and sacred to Mankind is to be sacrificed to the Monster Drink, and for what in exchange.'* Be wise in time. For 90 years past, how many thousands of drunkards,— once innocent boys to whom they gave their first glass, — how many immoral men, — covetous misers, — or scofiing unbelievers, — have launched out on that dark Ocean of Misery, — have got out too far, — and, — as it is to be feared, with the boys in the picture, — never returned 1 " GONE TOO FAR OUT." " Talk to me of Christ," roared a dying drunkard on his deathbed, — " I tell you, — my unkindness, and unfaithfulness, — killed my wife ; — my drunken extravagance beggared my home and children ; — my vile principles, and atheism poisoned my best, and earliest friend ! Christ ! Hell is a refuge, — if it hides me from His frown ! " (232) CHAPTER XXX. WHO MURDERED WILLIE ? A Story of the Crimean War ! .OW dry up your tears again, Mother, Or mine will begin to flow, And give me a parting kiss, Mother, And your blessing before I go ! For I'll come back when the War is done. To cheer your declining days. And with many a tale of victories won. To tell round the Christmas blaze ! " And Willie is gone from his native land, To join in the mortal strife. Where fearful sights on every hand. And dangers, and death, are rife. For the pestilence arrows swiftly glide O'er the fields of battle won ; And the cannon ball — will it turn aside, For the sake of a Widow's son ? The Autumn's golden hues have passed Away from the old elm trees ; Through the leafless branches sweep the blast. With a sound as of moaning seas ! And her old clock ticks so drearily, Through the silence that none may cheer, And the days creep on so wearily. For her heart is sick with fear. The Swallow returns to the sunny vale, And its nest in the cottage eaves. And the Cuckoo's song, and the Nightingale, Are welcoming Spring's green leaves. From a far-off land the Troops are come. They have traversed the blue seas o'er. And their voices ring round the Widow's home. But her Willie returns 110 more ! WHO MURDERED WILLIE ? 233 'Tis a quiet spot where his Father lies, In the churchyard yew tree's shade, Where the tall grass waves o'er the mounds that rise, To tell where the loved are laid ! But Willie sleeps from his kindred far ; None knows where his grave was made, — For he fell on a field where the bolts of VVar In the life-blood of thousands wade ! No tear was shed, and no knell was rung, O'er the Soldier's lonely grave ; For him the only dirge is sung By the stormy Euxine's wave 1 Alas : for the life-blood shed in vain, — For the bright hopes quench'd in gloom, The most that the so-called "brave" obtain, Is oft but a nameless Tomb ! " Thou shall not kill ! " After "A Glorious Vicloiy. *"Tis some poor fellow's skull, said he, Who fell in the great Victory, I find them in the garden soil, For there's many still about, And often when we go to plow, The ploughshare turns them out, For many thousand men, said he, Were slain in that great Victory. What it was all about, And what they killed each other for, I never could make out, But everybody said, quoth he. It was a ' Glorious Victory.' * * * * * Why 'twas a very wicked thing. Said little Wilhemine, A wicked thing ! my child, quoth he, Why, 'twas a ' Glorious Victory.' " (234) CHAPTER XXXI. THE BITTER MELON. «^/^OKMAN — who afterwards became the celebrated Jl philosopher — when a youth, was a slave. His Master, l| however, was kind to him ; but one day, after dinner, '^ being merry with his friends at table, he thought to play a trick upon the youth, and presented the boy with a bad and bitter melon, which none of them could eat. To his surprise, the youth, after tasting it, did not change countenance in the least, but eat it all up ! " How is it possible," said his Master, " for you to eat so nauseous a fruit .? " " My dear Master," replied the youth, with a look of affection, " I have received so many favours from you, is it a wonder that I should, for once, without complaining, eat a bitter melon from your hand ? " All present were greatly struck with the boy's generous answer ; none, however, so much so as his Master, who shortly after gave him his liberty ; and Lokman became the famous Oriental philosopher. When misfortune and adversity come to us, and we do not meet with the success and happiness we could desire, we should remember the many favours, blessings, and pleasures we have all of us received from God from child- hood ; — and, like this Youth, surely we should be willing sometimes to receive, without complaint or repining, some disappointment from His all-wise and loving hand ! House Tops in the East. (See Dfut. xxii., 8.) ( 235 ) CHAPTER XXXIl. "FAITH AND WORKS." FAITH IS EVERYTHING,"— "WORKS ARE NOTHING!" "WORKS." •The Lazy Carter." } N Ancient Roman, — you must know, — t/iiuk his name was Ci-ce-ro, — ing to make his Garden smarter, Bespoke some Gravel off a Carter. The Gravel had some way to come, To reach his Seat, at Tus-cu-lum, The Horse was old, the Cart was crazy, And, — worst of all, — the Man was /a:oj' ! w N An( /il Wishii ^ Bes] 236 FAITH AND WORKS. — THE LAZY CARTER. "Oh ! " — then, — you'll say, — " I am afraid," " Cicero's job will be delayed ! " — Exactly so ! — the Cart, at length, Stuck fast beyond the Horse's strength. In vain the Driver fumed and grumbled, At length, — down in the Road he tumbled ! And there, — as in the mud he lay, — Thought he, — " To Hercules I'll pray." Note.— Hercules, — amongst the many heathen Gods and Goddesses of the Ancients, — was worshipped, — as the God of Strength. Students in our Art Classes, are familiar with the Figure of Hercules, — leaning on his great Club, and with the skin of the Lion which he has killed, over his shoulder. Scarce had he ceased, — when roaring thunder, Surprised our friend, — with fear and wonder 1 — While, — straight before his eyes, — he sees, — No less a Form than Her-cu-les, — Who spoke to him in words like these. "You stupid, — idle, — lazy fellow ! " Why do you lie there, — and bellow t " Think you, I'll help you, with your load, " While you lie sprazvlmg in that Road .'' " Apply your shoidder to the wheel, " Nor thus before me idly kneel ! " TJmi if the task too mighty prove, ** I will assist you with a shove ! " MORAL. A Moral in this Fable dwells, Heaven helps those who help themselves I In other words, — that is to say — That we mnst work as well as pray ! THE FERRYMAN. - A shrewd old Scotch Ferryman, had taken some * good folks across to the Kirk. During the passage — he had listened to a somewhat heated discussion as to the respective importance of " Faith and Works." As the discussion did not appear to be half over, he thought it probable that, — after the Service, — these good people would renew it. The old Ferryman, — a man of few words, — hit upon the following device for " putting his oar in," — as the saying goes, — and silently illustrating his notions, — very sensible ones too, — on the Subject. He therefore before following them into the Kirk, chalked "Faith" upon one of FAITH AND WORKS. — THE FERRYMAN. 237 his oars, — and " Works " upon the other. The party met him after Kirk, ready to start, and he found that they had already re-commenced their discussion. The Stream, though narrow, had an awkward Weir in one part, and equally unpleasant Rocks in another. It was, therefore, with amazement, that one of the disputants — who had just been laying it down, with some vehemence that " Faith was every tJdug ; Works were nothing^' — on looking up, — found the Ferryman pulling vehemently away at one oar, — while the other, — with " Works " chalked upon it, lay quite discarded in the Boat! "Goodness me!"— he exclaimed, — "We shall certainly go down the Weir, — quick ! — the other oar ! " " Right, Sir ! " — promptly replied the Ferryman, — and nimbly shipping the oar he had been using, — which was now seen to be marked " Faith ; " — a minute after, he was pulling lustily away, — on the port-side, — with "Works! " Rojind came the Ferry Boat, — but with not much better result, seeing that though they were now safe from the Weir, — they were going straight towards the Rocks ! The disputants had, however, by this time, quite grasped the meaning of the Old Ferryman, and both sides joined in entreating him, to use both "Faith," and "Works," — being "perfectly satisfied with his irresistible Logic." The old Scotchman, at once, resumed both oars, — remarking, — as he pulled them safely, — and surely, — across, " Ah ! Sirs ! — Fve taken her across many a time. ' Faith's' a good oar; — so is 'Works,' — but I never yet got her across without using them botli together!'' "FAITH IS EVERYTHING." And yet, dear Reader, the disputant in the Ferry Boat was perfectly right ! Faith IS everything ! Faith in Almighty God, — Faith in the perfectly finished Work — and complete Atonement, — of our Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ, — and Faith in Blessed God the Holy Spirit,— with- out Whom we can do nothing — is, indeed, — the **one thing needful ! " Faith, — as far as our Salvation goes is, indeed, " everything I " But, as a matter of fact,— it is impossible to possess this true, saving. Faith without earnest desire, — with God's aid,— to do our little to serve, honour, and please Him. If there is no desire for the extension of Christ's kingdom, no love to Him, and no wish, nor intention, to do good to others, — we may rely upon it that " Faith " is absent too. Every true Christian rests for Salvation entirely upon the finished Work of Christ. 238 FAITH AND WORKS.— PAUL. We rely implicitly upon the oar, "Faith," for reconciliation and acceptance, — but every true child of God, — with a grateful, loving, heart, will be ever found, — like the old Ferryman, — pulling also, away, — more or less heartily, — at "Works." " And why call ye Me, Lord, Lord, and do not the things which I say?" "And every one that heareth these sayings of Mine and doeth them not, is like unto a foolish man which, — without a foundation built his house upon the sand, and the rain descended, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat upon that house and it fell, and great was the fall of it." " If ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do theni.''^ A Primitive Ferry Boat. These basket-work boats, — varying in size, — are still used in Wales. They are called " Coracles," — and were used in very ancient times. It is said that in boats of this description, — only of greater capacity, — the ancient Britons crossed over, at times to Ireland. PAUL. I The Apostle Paul was also saved by being let down in a Basket. "And they watched the Gates day and night to kill him. Then the Disciples took him and let him down by the wall in a basket." — Acts ix., 24-25. MOSES. 239 In somewhat such a basket-boat the child Moses was placed afloat on Nile, by his Mother, during the persecution of the Israelites in Egypt. the " And he was a goodly child, and she took for him an ark of Bulrushes, and daubed it with slime and with pitch, and put the child therein. And the daughter of Pharaoh came dow n to wash herself at the River, and when she saw the ark among the flags, she sent her maid to fetch it. And when she had opened it, behold the babe wept. And she had compassion on him, and said, call a nurse of the Hebrew women, that she may nurse the child for me. And the maid called the child's Mother. And she called his name Moses ; for she said, Because I drew him out of the water." — Exodus iii., 5-6. (240) A STORM. " In the Picture we see a vessel driving heavily before a winter's gale." CHAPTER XXXIII. A WILD NIGHT OFF THE GOODWINS. '• All that is definitely known is that the ' Maju ' was bound from Dundee to Rangoon, and passed through the Pentland Firth last Saturday, in company with the ship ' Lochee.' Eleven bodies have now come ashore." "From Stornoway a despatch, dated Saturday night, says, that, notwith- standing the boisterous state of the weather, and the heavy sea running on the west coast of Lewes, the search for the bodies of the crew of the ill-fated vessel ' Maju ' is continued indefatigably. One body — that of a stout, powerfully built man, who would have weighed fully 17 stone — is conjectured to be that of the Captain. One body — that of a good-looking lad, about 19 — was well dressed in new clothes, and in the pocket of his jacket was found a Bible." — (See Daily Paper ^ 2yth October, ^874. ) ^(T is not far out at sea — far on the immense ocean which surrounds this world^that the chief danger to a vessel lies. Every sea captain knows that his most anxious time is when his vessel is approaching a coast at his journey's end, or when getting clear of land at its commence- ment. Once clear of the coast, and of the dangerous reefs and shoals — which run out far from the land — and which A WILD NIGHT OFF THE GOODWINS. 24I can only be avoided by close attention to the charts, — a vessel may drive before a gale for days, in the open sea. without much danger, but how is she to do so on a wild night off shore, when you are certain that you cannot be far off land, with its reefs and shoals ? Amongst the many dangers of our most dangerous English coast, perhaps there is not one more dreaded by Mariners, on a wild night, than the Goodwin sands, — upon which, our English History informs us, Earl Goodwin was lost. During a storm the sea breaks mountains high over these dreaded sands t Many a fine vessel, since Earl Goodwin's day, has driven upon the Goodwins, and gone to pieces, far from aid, and from land ! The so-called sands are in reality as hard and dangerous as if they were reefs or rocks. In the picture we see a vessel driving heavily before a winter's gale. A wild night has set in. There are times when a vessel cannot safely be brought up against a storm, when you must drive before it, or founder. The captain and his mate know that the vessel must now be somewhere near the dreaded Goodwin Sands. The mate — a weather- beaten sailor, who has sailed on many a stormy sea — has just come down from the deck ; he has fancied that he has heard in the distance a sound louder even than that of the storm — a sound which, once heard, is never forgotten — the roar of distant breakers far ahead I Could they have been the huge rollers breaking over the Goodwin Sands ? He thought, too, with a seaman's eye, that he had seen in the distance a white line far ahead ; could it have been the surf.? He has come down into the cabin from the drench- ing decks, and finds the young Captain poring over the chart, and both are trying now, for dear life, to decide where the ship is in regard to the Goodwin Sands, so that they may, at all hazards, immediately wear the ship. Everything depends now upon their decision — on which side to wear the vessel. The hardy mate has been in many a storm, but then it was far out at sea — far from any land,, with plenty of sea room. He has been in many as wild a night, but he is very anxious now ! He knows that all they have now to trust to is ^/le chart. The captain's wife, hushing the baby on her knee, knows that there is danger ;. she sees that the men are undecided, and anxious about the Ship. Dear youths, who read this book, is there no lesson in this picture for us t In many cases, indifferent to religion, cold, and entirely thoughtless towards God, a youth comes to 242 A WILD NIGHT OFF THE GOODWINS. our English Sunday Schools, apparently with the idea that all he has to care for is to secure what amusements and society — tea parties and such like — he can, and the less he hears of God and of religion the better he is pleased. But God sent us to this Sabbath school for a very different purpose to this. As young men commencing life, we have all started upon a voyage, which is to end only in Eternity! How many present will last out that voyage, God only knows, or how many will make shipwreck ! There are dangers on that voyage of a character which nothing can save you from but God's Almighty aid. Many do not believe it ; many never will believe it till they have found it out for themselves — until they have learnt, from their sinfulness, what they are capable of, and the fearful power which sin, when allowed and unopposed, possesses over a sinful Youth, or a wicked man ! Knowing the dangers of the voyage before us. Almighty God has placed in our hands — often unasked, often un- desired, by many a youth — a Chart, which, if carefull)' studied and obeyed, will guide him safely through the dangers of this world, to the better world to come. That chart is the Bible, the only book of directions and rules which God has ever given to the world, or ever will give us. It was one of these books which the sailor boy had in his pocket when his ship, the " Maju," was lost. This chart is different to any other in one respect — it is always to be relied upon. The charts issued by the Govern- ment of every country are as accurate as human skill and patience can make them, yet, though every rock, every sounding, may be given, the charts are not always to be relied on. A heavy current may have thrown a vessel out of her course and reckoning; sands, such as the Goodwins, frequently shift, and the chart may thus be rendered useless. But it is not so with the chart issued by Almighty God ! His directions 07ice given, stand for Eternity ? " Heaven and earth will pass away, but My words shall not pass away." The Saviour's wishes and directions to a young man commencing life, if followed, must lead him safely through every danger to the bright home above ! But what slightest hope is there for a young man who de- spises God's written word — never cares to read it, much less to attempt to follow in one single instance God's directions on the chart ? Ignorant, silly, vain, and self-willed, how- many a youth listens with a yawn to God's solemn directions, the importance of which no human language can convey I A WILD NIGHT OFF THE GOODWINS. 243 Once more, a vessel may sail many a time upon the self- same course, her keel may plough the same ocean again and again, but it is not so with us ! You, I, and all we see around us are drifting onward to Eternity, and there is no going back I You will never sail back one mile of the course through life you have chosen, you will never pass the same course a second time ! Is it to be a Godless course, letting youth and manhood go by, with every thought of God carefully excluded,? Or is it to be a life of love to God, ever increasing in favour both with God and man ? It is now in your power to choose which course it shall be. Like it, or like it not, you have already started upon the great voyage of life, which is to end in Eternity ! Every- thing now depends upon your choice, your efforts, your prayers ! One youth is bent upon pleasure, another places his trust and highest aims upon obtaining wealth and suc- cess in the world. How few have the wisdom to secure first the friendship of Him who has all things both in Heaven and in Earth ! Like vessels on the ocean, with their sails set contrary ways, we are all passing over the Sea of Life in search of the objects upon which we have set our hearts and desires ! And thus life passes on, until there comes a day — as there will come a day to each now present — a day far more anxious than the one represented in this picture I Some accident or illness comes, and, from a dying bed, we hear the first solemn murmurs of the boundless ocean of Eternity before us I Though you seldom read it now, you will then be searching with untold anxiety in God's chart, the Bible, to see how you stand for Eternity — to decide on what foundation are your hopes of heaven ! Now, with life, health, youth, and time before you, is the calm period in which betimes to study the Chart which God has given you, and to choose your course ! You should spend a certain time every morning, and again at night before you sleep, in prayer for God's blessing on your future life and prospects ; asking his forgiveness for every sin committed (in His own appointed way, in the Saviour's name) and in reading a few verses out of God's chart — the Bible. Even ten minutes thus spent by a Youth each day, will make a difference in his character by the time he is a Man, which no words can describe ! This habit once gained, and adhered, to every day, whatever the future life of a youth may be, whatever his sins and dangers, all must, one day, be well with him ! Why ? Because God's 244 A WILD NIGHT OFF THE GOODWINS. Word \s pledged — and the Saviour's Jionoiir is pledged — that none of His creatures can invoke His aid and blessing in vain ! Christ assures us of this again and again ! He commended the troublesome, importunate Widow, who would keep asking the unjust Judge. He commended the troublesome friend persisting, at midnight, in knocking at his friend's house, and is not to be put down until he has his wish ; and the direction given in God's chart, — the gible, — to every youth is — "Ask, and ye shall receive; seek, and ye shall find ; knock, and it shall be opened unto you." " They that seek Me early shall find Me." A Calm. "And Peter said unto Him, Master, we have toiled all night, and have taken nothing ; nevertheless at Thy word I will let down the net. And when they had this done, they inclosed a multitude of fishes. And they beckoned unto their Partners, which were in the other ship, that they should come and help them. And they came, and filled both the ships, so that they began to sink. When Peter saw it he fell down at Jesus' knees. And Jesus said unto Simon, Fear not ; from henceforth thou shall catch men. And when they had brought their ship to land, they forsook all, and followed him." — Luke v., 5. (:245) CHAPTER XXXIV. THE BOY DAVID. I Samuel, xvii. "And there went out a champion out of the camp of the Philistines, named GoUath of Gath, whose height was six cubits and a span, and the staff of his spear was Uke a weaver's beam. And David returned to feed his father's sheep at Bethlehem. And Jesse said unto David his son, — 'Take now for thy brethren in the camp, an ephah of this parched corn, — and these ten cheeses to the Captain of their thousand.' * ♦ * * And when the Philistine had looked about, — (It is presumed that the giant expected the Israelites to select their most powerful man to meet him) — and saw David, he disdained him, for he was but a youth, and ruddy, and of a fair countenance. But David said unto the Philistine — ' Thou comest against me, with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield, — but / come to thee in the name of the Lord of Hosts, — the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied.' And David put his hand in his bag, and took thence a stone, and slang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead, that the stone sank into his forehead, and he fell upon his face to the earth. And David ran and stood upon the Philistine, and drew the Philistine's sword out of the sheath thereof, and slew him, and cut off his head therewith. And -when the Philistines saw that their champion was dead, they fled. And 246 THE BOY DAVID. the men of Israel and Judah pursued the Philistines until thou come to the valley of Ekron, and their wounded fell down by the way, even unto Gath." ** The Lord is my Shepherd ; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures : He leadeth me beside the still waiers." — Psalm xxiii. O wrote the boy David, — in what is thought, — no ^ doubt, correctly, — to have been one of his earhest Psalms. David, as you know, was the youngest of Jesse's sons, — a Shepherd Boy at Bethlehem, — the Birthplace, — a thousand years after, — of our Blessed Lord. David, probably wrote this Twenty-third Psalm when quite young, probably a youth of sixteen or seventeen years old. The allusions are to his daily duties, as a Shepherd Boy in the East. He had to keep a watchful eye on his sheep, — to lead them to suitable, green, pastures, — if possible near the water so precious in those hot Eastern climates. The sheep in the East get to know their Shepherd and his voice. Our Lord alludes to this in one of His discourses (John x., 27-30) — *' My sheep hear My voice, and I know them, and they follow Me ; — and I give unto them Eternal life, and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of My hand. My Father is greater than all, and no man is able to pluck them out of My Father's hand. I and My Father are one." *' I am the good Shepherd ; the good Shepherd giveth his life for the sheep." No doubt, then, David's sheep knew their young Shepherd and followed him. This reminds him of his own condition, as a pious Boy enjoying the love, and guidance of God. " The Lord is my Shepherd," — writes this pious youth, — comparing the faithful love of God to hirn, which he had felt from his boyhood, — to that of a good Shepherd ; — " The Lord is my Shepherd ; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in the green pastures, — He leadeth me beside the still waters." Youths, in reading the Bible, seem to think that there is something mysterious about the Boys in the Old, and New, Testament. They appear to think that they were not just like other boys, — and thus you lose the interest you would otherwise feel in their lives. But, surely, every sensible youth, must on reflection, admit that the Boys mentioned in the Bible were, after all, — must have been, — merely boys like yourself. What else could they have been .^ They had their boyish pursuits, — and fancies, — THE BOY DAVID. 247 were as active, — and as fond of adventure as you are. The only thing mysterious about them was that they gave, — as you may do, — their hearts to God in their youth, — and thus attracted, — as you may do, — His love. "They that honour Me / will honour." — The Boy David is merely described as a brave, handsome, and vigorous lad, — or as the Bible puts it, — " Now he was ruddy, and withal of a beautiful countenance, and goodly to look to." He was a h'ave Boy, we know, — for when the trained Soldiers would not go out to meet, — single-handed, — the Champion of the Heathen army, — who challenged them day by day to do so, — the gallant Boy, — grieved that God's people should be thus insulted for forty days by the Heathen, — resolved, — in God's strength. — to go out alone against the huge Giant, — and, with God's aid, — slew him ! According to how the ancient cubit be taken, Goliath would be between nine and ten feet high; (other Giants are mentioned in 2 Samuel xxi., 16-22), covered with armour: the only place where a disabling wound could well have been inflicted was the face. " Disabling," seems the word, rather than " fatal," for it is not said that it killed him ; — he fell probably merely stunned, — for we read that David then took his sword ''and slew him." God's providence, doubtless was behi?id that sto?ie. — Are we quite sure that it is not behind everything .'' — still, it is equally true that the stone was hurled by a vigorous, athletic, — and probably long practised, — youth, for we read that the stone sank into the Giant's forehead. As a Boy he would be doing something with his sling, we may depend, during those long days while taking care of the sheep; — already, as a young Shepherd, — David had suc- cessfully defended them against the attacks of wild animals. Doubtless, he knew what he could do with a sling, else why did he only choose "five smooth stones from the Brook," — as sufficient, — when he might have filled his bag } The Ancients attached great importance to their Slingers ; and that these men were highly-trained, — no doubt from their youth, — we learn from Judges xx., 16 ; — where we read of a body of practised Slingers, — picked men, — left-handed, — "who could sling to a hair's breadth and not miss." This, of course, is in the figurative, — flo\very,^language of all Eastern Nations. The young Christian, — or young Believer, — in reading his Bible must see how unfair it is to expect, after 3,000 years, — to translate the expressive Hebrew language — abounding in 248 THE BOY DAVID. metaphors, — so as to require it to express the exact equivalent to our matter-of-fact, precise, modern EngHsh. The young student of his Bible will allow this difficulty in thus rendering the different modes of expression used by various Nations, even at the present time ; still more so, when he considers that even in the last 200 years, many words in our own English have already quite altered their meaning I What then is 200 to 3,000 years ago ! The mode of expression used, gives us, however, the impression, — no doubt the true one, — that these ancient Slingers were accurate, and skilful, to a remarkable degree. In later times the Sling in warfare seems to have given place to the Bow, — which our own English Nation, 2,000 years after David, brought to its highest degree of efficiency, — until it in turn, gave place to the more deadly, — indeed, — frightful, — weapons of Modern Warfare. God had chosen the Boy David to be the Future King, — through whom, indeed, our Blessed Lord Himself, — the '* Son of David." — was to descend. Could any circumstance be conceived more adapted to bring the Boy prominently before the King,— the Army, — or indeed the entire Nation, — than his victory over the dreaded Giant .'' We see the immediate result in the passionate admiration, and love, the noble young Prince Jonathan, at once conceived for their young champion ; David says that Jonathan's love to him " was wonderful, passing the love of women." We also see it in the Songs of the Singing Women, — which offended the jealous King Saul so deeply, — "Saul has killed his thousands," — (figurative metaphor you see again) — '* but David his tens of thousands." That it was the Boy David's piety, which had attracted God's love, and choice, — we see by i Samuel xvi., 6 : — for his elder Brothers appear to have possessed still greater advantages of person. Indeed, the Prophet Samuel was so mucli struck on first seeing the eldest Son, Eliab, — that he at once concluded that he saw before him the future King. " And it came to pass when the sons of Jesse were come, that Samuel looked upon Eliab, and said ' Surely the Lord's anointed is before Him ? ' " But then came the memorable words of our Creator, — '* Look not at his countenance, or the height of his stature, for I have rejected him ! for the Lord seeth not as man seeth : for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh at the heart." They were, no doubt, a good-looking family ; — but THE BOY DAVID. 249 although David happened, like his brothers, to be well- favoured outwardly, — it is evident that this was not the cause of his being chosen. Eternal blessedness is by no means reserved only for the fair, and well-favoured, either in mind or person, — on the contrary, — to go no further than David's own lovely, but infamous son, — Absalom, — all history shews that such are, not unfrequently, the "Abhorred of the Lord." No youth, therefore, who may read this book, — however conscious of his inferior character, or outward appearance, should be discouraged in the slightest by it, — or hesitate for a moment in seeking salvation, and God's love, by piety in his early days. God is no respecter of persons ; — if only your heart, like David's, is set upon seeking God's favour. He will soon supply all you need to be pleasing in His sight, however mean you may judge your appearance may seem among men. Your common sense must show you that outward beauty is a mere chance of birth, — that it is but skin deep, — and may, — and, in fact, often does, — hide a detestable character. A poor Boy, if only he possesses piety towards his God, is loved by Him quite as much as if he possessed all the wealth and grace of a young Prince. Do yo2i, doubt it ? Then look around and say who were the youths most favoured by God :- David, a Shepherd Boy; — the good youth, Joseph ; — then also a Shepherd Boy, King Josiah ; — all conditions are represented : — then in later times, our pious Boy-King Edward VI ; — and how many boys of humble origin, in our day, has God chosen to be a blessing to Mankind .'' The sainted Wesley and Whitfield, — Doddridge, — Jay, of Bristol, the Stonemason's boy, who preached from 17 to 2>i years of age; — John Angel James, of Birmingham; — Mr. Spurgeon, of London, and many more, who, having honoured and loved their God in youth, have been honoured by Him to lead thousands to Heaven. Now m your youth, — with life before you, is the time to seek His favour, and to secure His love. Many a prayer, and happy communion with his God, doubtless had the pious boy, David, enjoyed during the long quiet days, while his sheep were peacefully feeding around him. And surely you can also have your quiet times for prayer, and to commence, like David, your journey to the self-same Heavenly Home. I speak not to all, but it does seem to me, that some 250 THE CALL OF GOD. youth who reads these words has already — like the boy, David, — felt the love of God, — and has heard that blessed, — and yet that solemn, call " Will you be Mine ? " Your lot is not it is true, — thrown, as David's was, amongst quiet, pastoral scenes ; — your life is probably passed in the vast towns of our modern times ; — but remember Almighty God remains the same. "A thousand years, with the Lord are as one day ; and as a watch in the night." The call still is *' Will you be Mine.?" There are young comrades in the Factories, — Workshops, — and Offices, of our day, whom your example will either encourage in good, or evil. You are beginning life, — with, probably, many years before you, — there is, — if you seek His aid, — a work for God, which you alone can do ! " Now do not spoil my pleasant pictures in Life," a — Youth may say, — " My Parents wish to see me successful in Commercial Life, — they are excellent people, but do not lay so much stress on Piety, and Religion, as you do ! We must, — you know, — have our amusements, — also, we must see to getting on in the world ; — around me are scores of pushing young fellows, — not given much to Piety or Religion, it is true, — but getting on well in life, — and likely to become wealthy, and successful men ; speak you to others, — do not speak to me ! " "Wealthy, and successful men? What is a successful man } " There is a "strong delusion," — in this age of money worship, — the God of this World blinds many a soul that they should " believe a lie ! " A few fleeting years, — where is the wealth or success.-* The noble Mansion.'' The stately grounds .? We look around. — the successful man has gone ! We see a neglected tombstone, — we see a lonely, and deserted grave ! I speak not, — I know, — to all ; — if you can find in a worldly, — selfish, — life, all that your heart desires, — God's call is certainly not iox yon! But to j^?;/^ youth who reads this book, the call of God has come, — you may hear it, or you may forbear, — He calls not to all, — but He calls X.O you — "Will you be Mine.!*" Doubtless a choice has to be made ; — for you, also, as for others, — there is a gay, and pleasurable world, — a life for self and gain. In your case, — doubtless, a choice has to be made, — below, — a dying World, — above, — the Heavenly Home ! Below, the transient gains and passing pleasures of sense, and time, — above, the joys, " Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive THE CALL OF GOD. 25 I the things God hath prepared for them that love Him." — Your choice ? What ! Grasp the Dunghill, — Miss the Starry Crown ? It may be the Blessed God sees, in some Youth who reads these words, — an intelligence, a position, a power, with His aid, to lead many to their Saviour and their God I And the Lord of Heaven, and earth, humbles Himself, — as it were, — and comes now knocking at that door saying, — " Will you be Mine ?'' Around you is a sinful, and a dying World, — and precious souls, — for whom I died, — whom you can aid, — are passing out into Eternity unsaved ! There is a work for Me which J/ ou alone can do ! " Will you be Mine ? " Methinks I see the same Youth, — to whom God once sent a call in early life to be His, — but, who disregarded it, — in his later life ! The fleeting }'ears pass by, — he is fading into age ! Property has been accumulated ; — he has had his desire ; — VVealth came flowing in ; — children all settled ; — all well for this world ! But there never came again to that soul, the call of the Blessed God ; — those whom he might have influenced by a life of pious example, have long since passed away ; — and as those long years passed by, that Voice of entreaty was certainly less, and less, often heard ! God's work, — Christ's work, — was done, — it was done by others, — but, it was not done by him ! God grant, that, in the evening of his days — after his " wealthy and success- ful " life, — far down in the stream of time, — and Eternity near, — that those deep words of Christ, — " Who spake as never man spake," — may never covie to any Youth who now, in early life, reads this Book, — " Sleep on nozv and take your rest ! " "Sleep on now and take your rest.?" Oh ! WJiat does He inea7i .^ That as those years passed by, the wealth I so longed for, came flowing in, — property was accumulated,. — but God's call came to me no more ! " Sleep on now and take my rest 1 " Oh ! What does He mean ? What, is He gone ? The Faithful God, Who called me in my youth .? Passed me by for others, and will come to me no more I What, is He gone? — the precious Saviour, — the sweet Heaven above, — and left me, an "unprofitable servant," — a so-called "wealthy" man, — to face Eternity, — unchanged^ — unholy, — and unsaved } DAVID'S FALL. There is one concluding lesson in the Life of the Boy David, — the young Believer should very carefully consider,. 252 DAVIDS FALL. — and that is, — David's fall. A young Christian is apt to think, — " Well ! I did hope, — like the boy David, — that I, also, had given my heart to the Blessed God ; but I thought, — from that day, — all would be happiness and peace. I thought that there would be no more doubts, — no more very great, — or, at any rate, — very successful, — temptations, and that I should fall no more into any very serious sins." Did you .-* Then, dear young Reader, you were expecting a life contrary to the experience of every child of God ! Certainly, — a very different experience to that of the Boy David. You are expecting the Crown, — before the Cross, — the Victory before the Conflict ! It cannot be ! The Christian must be tried. As a young Christian you are expected to prove a true, — not a sham, — ' "fair weather only," soldier of the Cross. Our Saviour's own path led Him to the Cross on Calvary! The Christian's life would be unintelligible, — if there was no trial, — no con- flict, — no foe to face, — no fighting a good fight of Faith, — no Satan to oppose, — no confidence in God to be tried \ Believe me there are Giants in the path of the young Christian in our days quite as formidable as Giant Goliath f The sneers of Godless companions, your own temptations to evil. Why, look at this pious Boy, David's, after life I The fair weather, — the youth of piety — passed ; — the storm of temptation, and Satan came, — and \)2M\d. fell ! A fall indeed ! Who would recognise the pious youth who wrote the XXIII. Psalm, — in the vicious, and wicked King, — abusing the power God had entrusted to him, — merely to satisfy his vile passions, — and then adding the cunning Murder, — by treachery, — of his faithful soldier, to avoid the exposure of his adultery.-* No ordinary ?ax\\\^x here! A marked man, — chosen by God to be King, — one who had made so great a profession of piety and love to his God ! Well, indeed, might the words of the All-just one come to him, accepting his repentance, and remorse, it is true, — but, announcing that, — in this World, — David would know peace no more ! " Now, therefore, the sword shall never depart from thy house ; and I will take thy wives before thine eyes, and give them to thy neighbour ; thou didst it secretly ; but I will do this thing before all Israel, and before the sun," — and He did. — See 2 Sam., 1-15, and 2 Sam. xvi., 21-23.) "Because, — by this deed, — thou hast given great occasion to the enemies of the Lord to blaspheme." David had indeed ! Ages pass, but we never shall THE "SECULARIST SNEERS. 253 hear the end of that fall ! How the " enemies of the Lord," — the Unbeliever, — the Freethinker, — have laughed, and sneered ! " Here is a man after God's own heart, — for you ! " — shrieks the Secularist, — in the Lecture Room, — forgetting that if God had not intended it He would never have heard of David's fall at all, — " Here is your pious man for you ! The ' sweet psalmist of Israel,' zvas he I David the Adulterer ! David the sly Murderer ! He seems much like some of us, — only worse ! All alike, these * religious ' ' pious ' men, — preach to others, — and do worse things themselves on the sly, — until they are found out ! " The Unbeliever never perceives that he owes the narrative entirely to God's Word, — to that amazing Bible, which, with wondrous boldness, — and perfect candour, — gives us the Saint's fall into the mire, and into terrible sin, — as it gives us his virtues. The Freethinker never asks you peruse that Psalm of agony, grief, alarm, and repentance (LL Psalm) written by David, just after his fall, — when he seems to have had great fears, — not without cause, — whether God was not about to "cast him off for ever." In reading David's later Psalms, — we hear little more of peace, and the " still waters ; " — say, rather, they speak of sorrow, conflict, trouble, and storm ! '* The sword," — certainly never left "his house," — trouble came after trouble; — his loved, — beautiful, — but abandoned son turns against him, and, had Absalom only taken the '* wise cousel " of Ahithophel, — " the sword " would have reached David himself, — nothing Absalom's Death. W 254 THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN iMAY FALL. " In all Israel there was none to he so much praised as Absalom for his beauty. And when he polled his hair because the hair was heavy upon him he weij^hed it at two hundred shekels. And Absalom rode upon a mule, and the mule went under the boughs of a great oak, while the battle was in the wood of Ephraim, and his hair caught in the oak, and the mule went a"way from under him ; and Joab thrust his dart through the heart of Absalom." but the divided counsel of Hushai saved David, (See 2 Samuel xvii., 1-14). It was Absalom his son, upon whom " the sword " eventually fell. The terrible fall, and life-long punishment, of the Boy David in his after life is, — thank God, — certainly not likely to be the experience of every young Christian. Thousands of them, pious like David, in their youth, have, on the contrary, followed it up, — through God's grace, — and their Saviour's aid, — by a most excellent, useful, and holy life. "The greater the sinner, — the greater the saint," — is d. false doctrine, — challenged by the entire experience of Mankind. It is a terribly dangerous experiment to try ! Well might David pray, — " Save Thou me from presttmptnous sins ! " Backsliders, sometimes are re-instated, — but how many are not } Prodigals sometimes return, thousands never return at all. " There is joy in Heaven over one sinner that repenteth more than over ninety and nine just persons." Though our Saviour was here, no doubt, alluding to the self-righteous disputing Pharisees, as "the just persons," — or rather those who thought themselves "just persons who needed no repent- ance," — still, if the fact is taken literally — have you ever asked yourself, Why } Why should there be more joy } Is it not because such cases are so rare ? " When the Ethiopian can change his skin, and the Leopard his spots, — ^then may they accustomed to do evil, — learn to do well." But the lesson for the young Christian is this ; — God Who knows all hearts, — may find it needful to show you as He did David, what you really are by nature, — if you are ever to be driven, or compelled, to come to, and to rely upon, — the Saviour alone, for Salvation, rather than upon yourself. You may, therefore, fall into the mire of sin, it may be for years, and be inclined to think that your first happy experience of the love of God was after all, a delusion. This is the " trial of our faith." " Without faith it is impossible to please God," — This is the meaning of " the trial of your faith being much more precious than gold that perisheth." " Receiving the reward of your faith, even the salvation of your souls." " I have fought the good fight ; ALWAYS COME BACK TO GOD. 255 — I have kept the faith." — How can a young BeHever's faith in his God be discovered unless it first be tried ? Instead then of concluding that all is lost, the young Christian is called upon to trust still in God's faithfulness however often he falls into sin, — and to return at once. Applying to the "Antidote" (See Chapter LI.) — resolving never to give in to Satan and sin, but always to return to God, as David did. This is the " Faith," — the absolutely indispensable '* faith," — allusions to which the Old and New Testament teem with. Faith is a dependence under a/l circumstances, — including, of course, falling into sin, — on the part of the young Believer upon the faithfulness, and unim- peachable veracity of God. It is a belief, — which nothing can ever shake, — in the unerring wisdom, — unfathomable goodness, and omnipotent power of God to save, — for Christ's sake, — all who come back to Him, to the very utter- most. There may be years of conflict, and disappoint- ment, and falls, but " faith " in God will conquer in the end. It must be so ! — " I know my sheep and they follow Me, and I give unto them eternal life, and they shall never perish, neither can any man pluck them out of my hand." It cannot be, for Omnipotence Himself forbids ! ** My Father is greater than I, and no man is able to pluck them out of my Father's hand." But unquestionably this " Faith " is to be fostered, and must be confirmed by, the -steady, habitual, habit of prayer; inwardly raising the silent petition for God's aid, blessing, and forbearance, and love, on all occasions of your life ; — in storm, or sunshine, alike. If you habitually neglect this habit, — and disregard our Lord's earnest entreaties to " pray always and not to faint," — how can you hope for Divine aid .^ Indeed, those, — like you dear Reader, who have long heard Christ's call to a prayerful and christian life, should indeed -make haste to obey it ! Look around, for yourself, amongst the " Prodigals," — the immoral, the drunken, the depraved, — how many — " rise and go to their Father } " Comparatively very, very few ! You cannot have your common sense abused ; you knozv it is so ! The vast majority of God's children who come to Him at all, come to Him in comparatively early life. The Prodigal, returning, is received with joy ; but, to the Son who went not astray, the Father's loving — endearing words,— ever are, — ** Son, iJiou art ever with Me, and all that I have is thine ! " May you, young Believer, who reads this Book, — after an excellent, — pious, — and useful career, — at life's close, — 256 MODERN GIANTS. hear the above blessed words one day addressed to you, — accompanied by the joyful reception, " Well done ! good and faithful servant ! Enter thou into the joy of thy Lord ! " See'st thou the Eastern dawn? Hear' St thou in the red morn The Ansel's song? " Christ's blood for thee was shed, And before Him lias fled All sin and wrong." " Wilt thou from sin be free? Then give thy heart to Me, As thy true friend,— Then all thy fears shall cease, And, in Eternal peace Thy life shall end ! " GIANTS OF 1891. There are Seven monstrous Giants, — far more powerful, and dangerous, — in 1891, — than Goliath, of Gath was, in B.C. 1063. Against, at least, one of these besetting sins every youth, — who wishes to be a Christian, — will have to go out, and with God's aid, — prevail. We cannot hope to kill them, as David disposed of Goliath, — but let it be our life's work to sling our little stone at them ! If God wills it, we may give them a shrewd blow or two ! To weaken and thwart these monstrous and cruel Giants, — the enemies of Mankind, — is the desire of every true Believer. There are other smaller Giants, but the Seven largest, and most terrible, in our day, — are, i. Giant Drunkenness, 2. Giant Vice or Immorality. 3. Giant Covetousness. 4. Giant Dishonesty. 5. Giant Passion, — Revenge, Brutality. 6. Giant Unbelief, Impiety. 7. Giant Selfishness,— or Do no good to anybody. (This last is not an aggressive Giant like the rest ; — in fact, he is generally asleep.) Against these Monsters, — no matter how many cubits high they are, — we must, like good Christian in Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress, — go out, — and "fight the good fight of faith." CHRISTIAN AND APOLLYON. 257 " Then said Apollyoii, — 'I am sure of thee now I ' But, as God would have it,- -while Apollyon was fetching his last blow, — thereby to make a full end of this good man,— Christian, with his sword — ('all prayer,') — gave the Fiend, nimbly, a deadly thrust, — which made him give back, as one that had received his mortal wound. Christian, — perceiving this, — tnade ixX. him again, — saying, — ' Nay, m all these things we are more than Conquerors, through Him that loved us!' And, with that, — the foul Fiend spread forth his dragon's wings, and sped him away, so that Christian saw him no more !" — Bunyayt's Pilgrim s Progress. "'■ He that overcometh shall inherit all things, — and I will be His God, and he shall be My son." — Rev. xxi., 7. ]jatterinir Ram^ Ancient Warfare. (258) CHAPTER XXXV. THE BOY JOSEPH. Joseph being seventeen years old was feeding the flocks with his brethren. Now Israel (Jacob) loved Joseph more than all his children, l)ecause he was the son of his old age : and he made him a coat of many colours. And when his brethren saw that their father loved him more than them, they hated him and could not speak peaceably unto him. And Israel said unto Joseph, " Do not thy brethren feed the flocks in Shechem ? Go, I pray, and see whether it be well with thy brethren and well with the flocks, and bring me word again. " THE BOY JOSEPH. 259 And when they saw him afar off they conspired against him and said " Behold this dreamer cometh ! Let us slay him and cast him into some pit, and we will say some evil beast hath devoured him, and we shall see what will become of his dreams." And they stript Joseph of his coat, and they took him and cast him into a pit, and there was no water in the pit. And Judah said *' What profit is it if we slay him? Come ! let us sell him to the Ishniaelites." And they sold Joseph to them for twenty pieces of silver. And the Midiaiiites sold him in Egypt to Potiphar, an officer of Pharaoh's, and Captain of the Guard. And the Lord blessed the Egyptian's house for Joseph's sake, and he made him overseer over all that he had. And he left all that he had in Joseph's hand ; for his master saw that the Lord was with him. And Joseph was of a goodly person, and well favoured. And his Master's wife cast her eyes upon Joseph, and said lie with me. And as she spoke to Joseph day by day he refused, and said unto her,— " Behold, my Master hath committed all that he hath to my hand ; neither hath he kept back anything from me but thee, because thou art his wife. How then can I do this great wickedness, and sin against God?" — Genesis xxxvii., 2, 3, 4, 13. 19. 26, 36.— xxxix., 5, 7, &c. 1 <^^ efore reading this chapter the young Reader is asked first to peruse the remarks at the commencement of the Hfe of the Boy David. If youths, — in reading the Bible, — will not consider the Boys mentioned in the Old, and New Testaments, — as merely Youths like themselves, — and persist in thinking that there was something very mysterious about them, — not like other Boys, — it seems useless to go any further. If Joseph, David, Daniel, Josiah, were not real, actual, Boys like you are, — what were they? If they were not, then we may as well shut up our Bibles. If the Scenes related were not real, — were never acted by real, living, personages like ourselves, it seems mere waste of time to go any further. But once allow that the Boy Joseph was merely a worthy youth loved, — no doubt injudiciously so, — by his Father, — and what was far better, and led to very different results, — loved, also by God, — but disliked and hated by his step-brothers, — then all mystery ceases, and we have a family history which has been repeated for ages. For we must remember that Joseph and his youngest brother Benjamin were by the same Mother ; — all the other sons of Jacob — (called "Israel" frequently, hence the term •'Children of Israel") — were by a previous marriage. Thus little love seems to have existed between them, — and when the boy Joseph, — now seventeen years old, — is impressed by his dreams of his future, and, with the open thoughtless- ness of a youth, tells them to his father, and step- brothers, their evidently long felt dislike, turns to deadly hatred, — " We will see what will become of his dreams." We never hear a word of Benjamin, — Joseph's true brother, — taking 260 THE BOY JOSEPH, A TYPE OF CHRIST. any part in their cruel treatment. To a youth Hke Joseph, of naturally a loving, forgiving and affectionate disposition, — as his future reception of his wicked brothers into the land of Goshen proves, — it must have been a terrible day to him when his unfeeling brothers sold him for a slave. Very httle prospects — in those days — of return, or of ever seeing his home and kind father again ! That the youth's agony of grief was excessive is clear, — because, when misfortune fell upon themselves, his brothers remembered it, years after. " We are verily guilty concerning our brother in that we saw the anguish of his soul when he sought us and we would not hear." — Gen. xlii., 21. How truly Jewish is the reason Judah gives for not killing Joseph right out. " Of what /;- " What possible edification can be expected from listening to an Unbelieving, — or Christless, — Ministry } '* What part hath he that believeth with an Infidel ? " " Be ye not unequally yoked together with Unbelievers, for M^hat fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness?" — 2 Cor. vi., 14. It is remarkable to notice, when Christ is not preached, and the Gospel is absent, how Vestments, Intonations, Processions, and (probably soon) Wax Candles come in. The more worthless the Ministry, the greater the anxiety to hide deficiencies by Externals, the outward Symbols, or Shell of Religion. The more empty the Priest or Minister, the greater importance he seems to assume in virtue of his sacred office, in order to disguise the deficiency ! The true Christian soon finds such a Minister out, and,— if he be wise, — withdraws his Family to another Church or Chapel. Nothing can be more deadening to Spiritual life than to listen to an evidently Christless person pretending to be a Religious Teacher of others. Under such a Minister the audience return, — like the French Lady, — from the weekly THE PRAYING WHEEL. 32 1 performance, — with a sense of hearty reUef, — unaroused by an}^ ReHgious exhortation, to their real life— where their Jicart is fixed, — the Hfe of money getting, — frivolous amusement, — the Theatre, — Concerts, — Dress, — Dances, — Comic Operas, — Cards, — endless chatter, and small talk, — Trashy Novels (in which immorality, murder, and Religion are mixed up to suit the times), — in a word, as Christless a life, — that is as unlike Christ, — and as opposed to His com- mands, — as if they had never heard of Christ at all ! Yet venture a remonstrance, — express a doubt, — whether such a life can be a safe one, — and it is like touching an ulcer, — or open sore ! — " Safe ? Wliat do you mean ? There is no danger whatever ! Oh I you are evidently one of the obsolete believers in the old creed. Our Minister teaches the new doctrine I We do not recognize those old, narrow, dogmas now, we have, — you know, — the * larger hope ' to trust in." The French Lady. Like the old French lady, — who, — having lived a gay, frivolous, — not to say immoral, — life, and was now fading into age, — on being expostulated with, — exclaimed, — in a tone of astonished contempt, " What Religion ? Oh I my Priest sees to all that I " It was no business of hers ! Never had been ! It was not her department ! She had paid her fees, — she attended Mass, — she threw all responsibility — (and how many are there like her }) — upon the Syste?n, — the Church. She declined all responsibility in the matter ; her spiritual advisers, and religious teachers, must " see to all that ! " The Praying Wheel. The " Praying Wheels," or " Praying Machines," met with in the Bhuddist Idol houses, or temples of Thibet, and India, are surely but a7i expansion of the French lady's idea. Having paid the fee to the Priests, — which will be found essential in all Countries, and without which nothing can be done, — you write your prayers on slips of paper, — and go about your daily affairs. These praying Wheels w^ork upright on a pivot and have wooden projecting cross-bars to work them by, not unlike the movement of a Ship's Capstan. Water-power is sometimes employed, at others they are turned by the wind. It is, however, the Priest's duty to keep the wheel going, — not yours, — " they see to all that." 322 THE GOSPEL NOT REACHING THOUSANDS. What a relief to be able to see to other things, — go about your Business, — and yet to know that your prayers are at work, — satisfactorily, spinning round, — at so many revolu- tions to the minute ! Is not the religion of many modern so-called Christians, and the heathen Buddhists, pretty much on a par ? The melancholy, — deplorable, — thing, — noticeable in both cases, is the dense stupidity such worshippers mtLst attribute to their Gods, to suppose the latter capable of being " bam- boozled " in this childish manner ! The Gospel not reaching Thousands. Our English Churches and Chapels seem quite ineffectual in carrying Religious Teaching amongst the Masses. Take all the Sittings of EVERY CHURCH OR Chapel in any one of our large Towns you like, — then obtain the Population ! Tens of Thousands could not be got in, any Sunday, •even if they desired. But they do not desire. Fancy, dear Reader, a party of Bricklayers' Labourers entering and taking good seats in one of our modern, fashionable Churches or Chapels, filled with stylishly-dressed worshippers ! You know, dear Reader, that such cannot come ! Then where do hundreds of thousands of our Labouring Population go every Sunday } Why the majority go nozvhere, — never hear the Bible, or the Gospel ; whole streets never attend any Place of Worship ! ** I deny it ! " Do yon ! Then go amongst them Jiext Sunday I " Canvass " one Back Street ; it will be enough ! " The Church " of our day fails to reach them ; they are filled with too well-dre.ssed folks to permit the Poor to venture in. The Services are infinitely too long for an uneducated person to stand, — much less to follow. It needs an educa- tion to go through the Service of the Church of England, Sunday after Sunday, and it has proved too much for the poorer and uneducated classes. Come in their Masses, the Working Cla.sses never have done, and, unless some vast change is made, they jiever zvill ! Responsibility of Ministers. May not one cause be the Universal Unbelief that, is falling, like a blight, upon our Religious Teachers .'' There, must be some reason for the unbelief, on the part of oui Ministers, in the truth of God's distinct warnings to Man*^ kind, in regard to Eternal punishment. It seems to argue] a secret enmity against God as the Eternal Punisher, — not only of the outwardly wicked, — but of outwardly respect- FALSE TEACHERS. 323 able, but Christless, and Unbelieving persons. It would appear to need very little to induce many of the Ministers of our day, openly to reject the authority of the New Testament, and Christ's words altogether ! They have evidently no conception what Si7i really is, and what the unholy and Christless soul, which loves, and harbours it, — deserves. They preach a God of their ow7i creation, certainly not the God of the Bible ! The Christian is spoken of with gentle sarcasm, as to his coming disappointment at finding at the last, all men saved. His reply is, what rather will be the disappointment, — nay, the agony, of self-deluded Teachers of a false hope, and their victims, — when, — too late, — they find that Christ's words, and the Bible, are after all, true I What will it be for some, who have forced themselves into the position of Ministers, — uncalled by God, — who, in the end, find themselves utterly rejected by Him '^. ** Depart from Me ! I never knew you ! " What ! reject us ! We who have been consecrated by Bishops, — have written popular books upon Theology, — have taught such large audiences, — and in Thy name done so " many wonderful works ! " (Matt, vii., 22). False Teachers. *• I never knew you ! I never called you ! You wrote your ' wonderful works ' not at the dictate of God the Holy Spirit, but in your own pride of reason, and self-conceit. My * Life ' and teachings were written already in the New Te.stament. Pretending to know more about Me than others, you taught a false hope to the People, in direct opposition to My express words and teaching. You employed your time, talents, and influence, in throwing doubt upon the Inspiration of My Holy Book, — and My sacrifice for Mankind. I placed you in a position in which, had you preached My Gospel earnestly, and faithfully, — instead of being lulled to sleep by your false teaching, — multitudes might have been roused, convicted, alarmed, and fled to Me, their Saviour ! " Disappoiutment f Let but these sentimental teachers of a false hope, — who now talk so glibly of a " God of Love," — clearly understand that they and their life's work, — not being of Christ, — are alike rejected of God ; and how, — in a moment will they be filled with speechless rage and hatred against both God, and Christ, — throughout Eternity ! 324 THE SACRED ARK. Reader! If you do not believe in the Divinity of Jesus Christ, — and in His teachings in regard to His Atonement, — His precious Blood, — and the Eternal loss of a Christless, and unbelieving, unregenerate soul, — leave Religious teaching alone ! Why pretend to teach others, when you are an Unbeliever yourself? Do not touch the sacred ark \ it is ill playing with Divine things ! Touching the Sacred Ark. " Uzzah put forth his hand to the Ark of God, and took hokl of it; for the Oxen shook it. And the anger of the Lord was kindled against Uzzah, and God smote him there for his error : and there he died by the Ark of God.'' (Severity to the disobedient). " And the Ark of the Lord continued in the house of Obededom, the Gittite, three months ; and the Lord blessed Obededom, — his house, and all that pertained unto him, because of the Ark of God." (Blessing, and comfort, to the obedient). — 2 Samuel vi., 6-1 1. If you are not a Believer in the Divinity of Jesus Christ, why " touch the Sacred Ark" at all .'^ Why attempt to teach Religion to others "^ — ** What hast thou to do to declare My Statutes, or that thou shouldest take My Covenant in thy mouth ; seeing that thou castest My words behind thee } " And, dear Reader, why so ready to bow down to the opinions of others, — and follow them in any new error, why not study the "Life of Christ," — in His ozvn Holy Book for yourself ? There are Ministers of our day who are no longer to be trusted ; many of them do not preach the Gospel, and are totally unsuited for the sacred office. Our Saviour's ''Life*' was one long protest against the assumptions of false Priests, who, pretending to be the Religious Teachers of the people, were themselves hateful to, — and utterly rejected by God. "Ye have taken away the key of TRUE WORSHIP. 325 knowledge ; ye entered not in yourselves, and them that were entering in ye hindered." — Luke xii., 52. True worship. Instead of, — " My priest sees to all that," — study His Word, and come to Christ {ox yourself ! One hour's quiet communion with God in the "pathless wood," or the " lonely shore," is more to the mind of " Him with Whom we have to do," — than all the Gothic windows, — Organs, Music, Priests, and " Praying Machines," in the World ! " Man looketh at the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart ! " Those who read the hints to Youths in Part H. of this Book, upon the importance of attending regularly a Place of Worship, will not understand the above as intended to dissuade them from hearing the Gospel faithfully preached in Church or Chapel. But the truth still remains that, "The Most High dwelleth not in Temples made with hands ; Heaven is My throne, and earth is My footstool ; what House will ye build Me, saith the Lord?" — Acts, vii., 48-49. "But the hour comelh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father, in spirit, and in truth ; for the Father seeketh such to worship Him." " God is a Spirit; and they that worship Him, must worship Him in Spirit and in Truth." — Johft vi., 23-24. Modern Teachers avoid Christ's Words. Our Lord assures us that, — "The Son of Man shall send forth His Angels, and they shall gather out of His Kingdom all things that offend, and them which do iniquity, and shall cast them into a furnace of fire ; there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth. Then shall the Righteous shine forth as the sun in the Kingdom of their Father. Who hath ears to hear let him hear." — Matt, xiii., 41-43. There are teachers in our day who have ears to hear Christ's word, but they resolutely close them. The followers of the " Larger Hope " delusion resolutely avoid every text in the New Testament, by which our Lord emphatically teaches the Eternal Punishment of Unbelievers. The Author of the " Larger Hope," — Mr. W. J. Accomb ; — quotes George Macdonald, Socrates, Carlyle, J. S. Mill, H. W. Beecher, George Dawson, Charles Dickens, Bhuddha, Mother Shipton, and Virgil 1 But he does not quote the sayings and warnings of Jestis Christ. In not one of the above authorities — quoted by Mr. Accomb, — has the Christian Believer the slightest confidence, but he has the greatest confidence in the words and distinct warnings of Jesus Christ. In not one single instance throughout the 2y6 pages of his Book, does Mr. Accomb venture to quote, CI 326 MODERN TEACHERS AVOID CHRIST'S WORDS. — or attempt to explain — one Text of our Blessed Lord, — out of a score, — warning- Mankind of the inevitable " Wrath to come." In a similar evasive manner does the '* Universalist," Rev. T. AUin, in his Bristol Tracts, studiously avoid giving one single text of our Saviour's solemn warnings, or attempting any explanation of them. They knoiv zvell the weak point ; they know that they cannot assail the truihf illness, and authority of our Lord's teach- ings, therefore they studiously avoid them ! Print a collection of the distinct warnings of Christ, on this Subject, in bold type, place them in his hands, and the follower of this " Larger Hope " delusion, must proceed thus, — either-he must decline to discuss, or listen to them, or, he asserts that they are not correctly translated ; or, he maintains that Jesus does not mean His words to be taken as true, but as Metaphor ; or, — that they are now obsolete, and must give way before " Modern Thought." If he be driven from all these evasions, and it comes to accepting Christ's words on the Subject, or rejecting them, he will choose the latter resource ; and rather than believe in the Eternal Punishment of the Impenitent he will throw Christ and His words behind him. " I do not choose to believe it ! " Thus ejiding, — where it began in " Unbelief." No advancement of " Modern Thought " will ever render Christ's words '' obsolete," for he assures us that " Heaven and Earth shall pass away, but My words shall not pass away." Christ's Words. Once uttered, they stand for Eternity. " The Son of Man shall send forth His angels, and they shall gather out of His kingdom all things that offend, — and them which do iniquity ; and shall cast them into a furnace of fire ; there shall be wailing and gnashing of teeth." — Matt, xiii., 41-42. " And I say unto you, Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do. But fear Him, who after He hath killed hath power to cast into hell : yea, I say unto you, Fear Him." " He that is unjust let him be unjust still ; and he which is filthy, let him be filthy still." " And death and hell delivered up the dead which were in them ; and they were judged every man according to their works. And death and hell were ca&t into the lake of fire. This is the second death. And whosoever was not found written in the book of life was cast into the lake of fire." — Rei\ XX., 14-15. " But the unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whore- mongers, and idolators, and all liars shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death."— ^ifz'. xxi., 8. " And these shall go away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous into life eternal." — Matt, xxv., 46. (The same word Aionios "eternal" in the Greek is used alike for both states). CHRIST'S WORDS. 327 " It is better for thee to enter into the kingdom of God with one eye, than having two eyes to be cast into hell fire : where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched." — Mark ix., 47-48. (Repeated three times). "For what shall it profit a man if he shall gain the whole world and lose his own soul?" — Mark viii., 36. "Depart from Me ye cursed into everlasting fire prepared for the Devil and his angels." — Alatt. xxvi., 41. "And the Devil that deceived them was cast into the lake of fire, and shall be tormented day and night, for ever and ever." — Rev. xx., lo. " For the hour is coming in the which all that are in the graves shall hear His voice, and shall come forth ; they that have done good unto the resurrec- tion of life, and they that have done evil unto the resurrection of damnation." — John v., 28-29. " For we must all stand before the judgment seat of Christ, that every one may receive the things done in the body accox-ding to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad. Knowing therefore the terror of the Lord, we persuade men." — 2 Cor. v., 10, " Know ye not that the unrighteous shall not enter the Kingdom of God? Be not deceived I God is not mocked ! Neither fornicators, nor adulterers, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, shall inherit the Kingdom of God." — I Cor. vi., 9-10. " Then one saith unto Him, Lord, are there few that be saved ? And He saith unto them. Strive to enter in at the strait (difficult) gate; ("agonize" — to enter, — in the Greek) for many, I say unto you will seek to enter in, and shall not be able, when once the Master of the house is risen up and shut to the door." — Luke xiii., 23. " Wide is the gate, and broad is the way, that leadeth to destruction, and many there be that go in thereat. Because strait is the gate and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life and izw there be that find it." — Matt, vii., 13. " If the righteous scarcely be saved, where shall the ungodly and the sinner appear?" — i Feter'w., 18. "But the heavens and the earth which are now are reserved unto fire against the day of judgment and perdition of ungodly men." "For we know Him that hath said Vengeance is Mine, I will recompense, saith the Lord, and again the Lord shall judge His people. It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God." — Ileb. x., 30. Dear Reader ! Accept Christ's warnings, and come to Him while time and opportunity are yours. THE ETERNAL HOPE DELUSION. " They be blind Leadeis of the Blmd ' If the blmd lead the blind, both shall fall into the Ditch " — Matt, xv., 13 14 ; Luke vui. 39 (328) The Continent under the French. Ij ll n Father drawn in ihe Conscription, and killed. Farm horses " requisitioned " for the Army, and the Young Men all taken. CHAPTER XLII. THE HORRORS OF WAR. War of Conquest and Spoliation.— Burning Villages. — Everything to be Destroyed. — Moscow and Smolensko, 1812. JN favoured England,— Generations have come and gone, without her inhabitants having seen a Battle-field or sustained an Invasion. The English therefore, as a WAR OF CONQUEST AND SPOLIATION. 329 Nation, know nothing, — personally, — of the Horrors of War brought home to their doors. Far otherwise has it been on the Continent. Up to the year 1812, — no European Army, — save that of Great Britain, — appeared able to stand, — in open field, — against the French, — led by that extra- ordinary General, Napoleon the First. We must, however, remember, that, — at the commencement of the present Century, — France was the most populous Country in Europe, now she is, happily, only fifth, and in proportion to other Countries, — is still, — fortunately for the Peace of the World, — proportionably — decreasing. Note. — Increase of Population the past five years : — Increase. Great Britain, ... ... ... 5,000,000 Germany, ... ... ... 2,285,000 Austrian Hungary, ... ... 2,250,000 Italy, ... (including Emigration) 1,500,000 France, ... ... ... 1,000,000 Russia, ,.. ... ... 10,000,000 It is believed that the Population of India, (285.000,000, 1891), h^iS. increased under English Rule, the last ten years, — 30,000,000. It is estimated that by the year 2, 000, — 1 , 700, 000, 000 People will be speaking the English Language, against 500,000,000 speaking other European Tongues, Germany, and other Empires are now also well able to take care of themselves, so that the existence of such a Despotism as that of the French under Napoleon, will never again be possible. We must also remember that Napoleon claimed all able- bodied Frenchmen, between twenty and sixty years of age, for Soldiers. Indeed, — towards the close of his terrible career, he took them all, — even mere Boys from the Schools and Colleges. The French Nation seemed to be infatuated, — to be under a strong delusion. Was it a dream of univer- sal Empire, and pillage, and spoliation, all over the Con- tinent.^ If so, the dream was indeed dispelled, when after twenty years of War, and losing the flower of their Nation, they found themselves precisely the same France, with the very same Territory as they were before, having gained nothing whatever! Still, whilst it lasted the terrible "Conscriptions" gave Napoleon an Army of some 850,000 men. It is estimated that, during Napoleon's rule, two Millions of Frenchmen, — in the prime of life, — perished! To us, — now that eighty years have elapsed, — this frightful sacrifice of human life, — fully shared by the other Continen- tal nations, — seems to have taken place, absolutely in vain. France, in the end, never gained an inch of Territory, and will never recover the blow those twenty years inflicted upon its Population, other Nations having naturally increased 330 FRIGHTFUL BATTLES. immensely in proportion, so that it is impossible for France ever again to retake them, or to regain her position. The Bloodshed was frightful. At the Battle of Eylau, — fought in a Snow Storm, — 8th February, 1807, by Napoleon against the Russians, — from Twenty to Fifty thousand were killed, and as many wounded. The losses were never acknowledged in the Bulletins, but it was allowed to be the most terrible Battle fought during the Empire. It was an indecisive conflict. Even Napoleon, — accustomed to such scenes, — as shown by his letters, — felt the horrors of that Night, for a long period after. The frozen tree trunks shattered by balls, stood in the dull moonlight, amongst heaps of dead, and dying ; half covered with snow, wretched creatures were dragging themselves, — with bloody trail, — to any little shelter from the cold. Such was the number of wounded that eight and forty hours after the Battle, 5,000 wounded Russians still lay on the ground ! Bread and spirits only could be carried to them. Turn, dear Reader, to our List of " One Regiment," Page 204, and fancy five times that number, — 5,000 poor creatures, — shattered and bleeding, — lying exposed in a severe frost, for forty-eight hours, before they could be taken into the rough shelter of the improvised hospitals ! Napoleon found the first army placed under him, by "The Directory," impoverished, unpaid, and destitute. His very first speech to them was an appeal to their cupidity ! In his first Italian Campaign he promised them PLUNDER. SACK. PILLAGE. 33 1 Pillage, Property, all that they needed ! And, for years the *• Brigand System " was systematically, and mercilessly, carried out ! Some idea of the Plunder obtained from virtually defenceless countries, — and at zvhat a cost it was obtained, — came to light when that amazing " Convention of Cintra," (30th August, 1808), was entered into by that blundering General Hew Dalrymple, who was unfortunately placed in Command, and, like others, thwarted, for a time, the splendid successes, and genius of Wellington. Our News- papers surrounded the announcement of this amazing Blunder with black lines, as in Mourning! 25,000 French, — cut off by Wellington, from all help, — on the very point of unconditional surrender, — were to be safely transported by our Ships to France with their Arms and Equipments. " Personal Baggage," was also to be included. Junot, the French General, only a common soldier by birth, — as indeed were almost all the " Princes," " Dukes," and *' Marshals," of Napoleon (who was, himself, only an artilleryman a few years before) — demanded five ships to transport his "personal baggage" alone ! He had entered Portugal with hardly a change of linen ! Amongst his ''personal luggage" were 53 Boxes of Indigo ! Treasuries, Libraries, Museums, Churches, Convents, had been stripped of everything ! The very Court of litigated Monies, await- ing decision, were robbed of ;^22,ooo (1808). Their Military Chests were taken off with three Months' pay in them ! One Regiment alone took away 100,000 crowns ! And how had it been obtained? A horrible picture of the Desolation caused by the French cruelties was clearly confirmed by the Commissioners, who distributed the money English benevolence, as usual, sent over to the Sufferers (1813). "In the District of Leyria," the population was cut down by Famine, (all their food and property taken), from 48,000 to 16,000 ! In the division of Pombal the 7,000 before the retreat of Massena was 1,800 after it! Before the Invasion 200 Families at Pombal itself derived a fair subsistence from husbandry, the Com- missioners only found a few starving survivors of 36 families left." In the main street only one dismantled building remained ; all around were ruins, amongst which swarms of dogs, and wolves, boldly attacked the Commissioners ! The wretched people were found boiling grass to check the cravings of hunger ! And this was French " Glory ! " The Field of Vittoria, r:>^ THE BURNING OF VILLAGES. June 2 1 St, 1813, was strewn, for Miles, with Pillage torn from all parts of Spain and Portugal. The French lost everything ! There lay the wreck of a mighty army ! Plunder accumulated for years with unsparing rapacity. 5^ million dollars were in the Military chests, verified by the French accounts. In Joseph Buonaparte's travelling carriage Paintings of inestimable value (one '' Murillo " was sold for;^50,ooo {}) in 1884) {}) to our Government) — were found stuffed into the imperials in canvas rolls, cut from their frames from the Palaces, &c., of Spain ! They were all alike from the Private to the Marshal ! It was indeed about time for Europe to put down a Race of Brigands ! Sack. Pillage. Massena's final retreat from Spain, before Wellington, — was one dreadful track of Villages wantonly burnt, — the inhabitants killed, — the whole country ravaged, and swept of everything ! Yet " Glory " has ever been claimed ! What *' glory .? " Glory in what } Surely there exists no Nation which has been subjected to such complete defeats, and humiliations as the French ! No Nation whose " glory " has been of a more temporary, and doubtful character ! After all this useless bloodshed, what has France gained ? Nothing ! The wanton setting on fire, and destruction of a Village or Town by Soldiers, — or by an officer's orders, — should be made a criminal offence, especially when it serves no purpose of the War. The poorer inhabitants, — their little possessions, in this world, all destroyed, — the aged poor, — defenceless children. CRUELTIES IN SPAIN. 333 --and the sick, were driven out before the storm of War, — which the French carried over Europe, — to perish as they might ! The frightful cruelties practised upon the Spanish Nation during the Invasion of that virtually defenceless country, by the trained legions of Napoleon, from 1808, till the decisive victory of Vittoria, 21st June, 1 8 13, by Wellington, ended their reign of terror, — will never be fully known. Towns and villages burnt, — massacres " cn-inasse',' — the wretched peasantry stripped of everything ; — " a system of organized rapine and plunder, enabling their armies to subsist, at the expense of the total ruin of the country in which they operated." On one occasion, the French General Dupont, for certain offences committed by the small, but heroic Spanish town of Jaen, — (i8th July, 1808) " Despatched a battalion of Infantry and one of Cavalry to punish it. These soldiers stealing on their prey by night, like a herd of wild beasts, committed atrocities on the wretched inhabitants, at the bare idea of which humanity shudders ! " Dear Reader ! This was not " War ! " It was cowardly Murder ! The Spanish, though heroic in their resistance, could not oppose untrained mobs of Peasants against Napoleon's veterans. They were ruthlessly shot and cut down by thousands. There is a tendency in our day, — now 80 years have elapsed, — to detract from the influence of Wellington's campaigns in Spain, and Portugal. Had we lived in those 334 napoleon's destructive system of war. The French in Spahi. days we should understand better how his victories first proved to Europe that Napoleon's legions were not invincible. They inspired the Allies with new life. Had there been no Battle of Vittoria in June, 1813, there would have been no Battle of Leipsic in October. The French never got over the Battle of Leipsic. In one case, Savary, describing one of Massena's battles, says, — " The carnage was dreadful, — the town was set on fire ; — the wounded were burnt to death, — and lay scorched, — the artillery and cavalry passing over, crushed them into appalling masses of horror ! So intolerable a stench came from the mass of corruption, that it became necessary to procure spades, such as are used for clearing 7nnd from the streets, to remove this foetid mass ! " Still, — while Napoleon's destructive System prevailed, — great temporary results were, — no doubt, — obtained. Jena, Wigram, — Austerlitz, — Dresden, — crushing defeats of their opponents, — seemed to follow the French efforts, — one after another ! It seemed to be one long tale of Armies cut in two just at the critical moment. Empires conquered, and FRENCH INTENDED INVASION OF ENGLAND. 335 forced to employ their armies for the time to assist the French. 1792. Taken from an old Book of 1792 ; showing the unfortunate British Soldier of that Period with the horrible stiff, choking, "stock" to his collar — the dreadful tight straps ("Pipe Clayed") across the breast, — and the absurd cocked hat ! How they could March, and exert themselves as they did in the Great Contests of that Period in such a Costume, seems now mysterious ! Napoleon's System, — which he adhered to down to the final scene at Waterloo, was, Coiiceittratio7i, — Massing. Batteries of eighty cannon acting all together ; — charges of dense masses of Cavalry ; — Infantry sent into the Battle in solid columns. The Duke of Wellington thoroughly understood Napoleon's System, — knew, — and exposed its weak points, when firmly met, — and opposed to it the resolute, stubborn, cool, determined character of the Scotch, Irish, and English Infantry, — with invariable success. Wellington never lost a Battle. Every one of Napoleon's Marshals, sent against the Duke were defeated in turn, the last being Marshal Soult, who, issuing a vainglorious proclamation dealing ungenerously with the previous failures of his fellow Marshals, announced his intention of surpassing them all. He failed completely, — was (^riven across the Pyrenees, — never having, during nine days' fighting, made the slightest impression, — and, after years 336 INTENDED INVASION OF ENGLAND. of toil and combats, — which had been rather admired than understood, — the great English General emerging from the chaos of the long Peninsular Struggle, — clearing Spain and Portugal entirely of their cruel and oppressive assailants, — stood on the Summit of the Pyrenees, — an acknowledged Conqueror ! Unable to strike at England effectively, owing to our Fleets sweeping all before them at Sea, — the Campaign of 1 8 12, had for its avowed object, — the Conquest, — or destruction of Russia ; — a War of spoliation. At one time serious thoughts of the invasion of England were entertained. Fleets of flat-bottomed boats were collected at Boulogne, — and troops exercised in their use. Could he once land 50,000 of his "Veterans," and take London, — all our immense National Treasures and Resources- would be at Napoleon's disposal. Medals anticipatory of the taking of London were actually struck, — and are still to be seen in collections, bearing the rather premature assertion, ,' Frappe a Londres!' — (Struck at London). One of them is in the writer's hand ; it represents two gladiators ; one completely vanquishing the other, with the words, '' Descente en AngleterreT At St. Helena, Napoleon was understood to say that he really, at one time, was in favour of the attempt, but acknowledged that the chances of success were immensely against him. When we consider the power of broadsides, — delivered alternately, — by our old *• Three Deckers," — firing chain shot, and canister, — amongst a fleet of flat-bottomed boats, — crammed with Men and Horses, the figure they would have cut, in their attempt to reach England, would have been indeed a sorry one ! The entire army would have been blown to pieces ! The idea was abandoned, and when, at last, — Napoleon and Wellington met, — opposed to each other, — for the first, — and the last, — time,— the Medal might, perhaps, with a little alteration, have read, — " Frappe a Waterloo I " Moscow, 18 12. The Storm then was to burst upon Russia. After sanguinary engagements, inflicting frightful slaughter on both sides, the French forced their way, — first to Smolensko, — which, — after a terrible struggle was taken. 'But, adhering to their deeply sagacious system, the Russian army was always retreating, — decoying, — drawing the French onward, leaving them nothing but burning ruins, FATE OF THE POORER CLASSES IN WAR. 337 and fruitless victories. They passed over the smoking and bloody ruins of Smolensko, in martial order, with all the pomp of military music and banners, a triumph over deserted ruins, the solitary witnesses of their own " glory." A spectacle without spectators, a glory steeped in blood, a fruitless victory ! " With gloomy and mute rage," one of the Officers narrates, — " Napoleon, — bitterly disappointed at the retreat of the Russian Army, — sat down before the Citadel, on a mat of a house door, and held forth to us for nearly an hour, on the cowardice of the Russian Generals, — the fine chances of a brilliant action he Had offered them, — their disgrace in thus delivering up Russia, &c., &c., — he thus continued to sit, venting his passionate disappointment ; uttering bitter sarcasms on the Russians." He was not yet in the secret of their deep policy ! One of the Marshals, — who knew Napoleon well, — observed, " If the Russians were so very wrong in refusing that Battle, the Emperor would not have been so long trying to convince us of it." After a dreadful Battle, — Borodino, — Moscow lay before the French ! Napoleon confidently expected on entering the conquered Capital, to be received by the usual abject deputations of Mayors, and leading Citizens, — upon whom, — as he was long accustomed to do, he would proceed to levy his cruel and terrible " requisitions." '* War must be made to support War," — was one of his dreadful maxims, — and, throughout the campaigns he led, Plunder was certainly an acknowledged, and important item, — never, for a moment, forgotten. He did not know the Russians ! For once no one appeared ! Reports came that the City was deserted : Napoleon, at first, absolutely refused to believe it ! At length the truth dawned upon him ! Drawn into the centre of Russia, far from supplies, and Winter approaching ! For once, — they entered a City without a single creature to meet them ; — it was a City of empty streets, and houses, — which, in a day or two, burst forth, in all directions, — into all devouring flames, — the work of organized bands of concealed Russian incendiaries. The ancient City, — save its vast Palaces and Churches, — was built largely of wood, — and, for two entire days, burnt like, a furnace, — fanned by a storm. It was known that at least 6,000 wounded and helpless Russians, and probably some French, were lying in the Hospitals after the Fires broke out, and there can be little doubt as to the dreadful fate of these poor creatures. In fact, the sacrifice of life D I 338 THE POORER INHABITANTS DURING WAR. throughout this Invasion of Russia was enormous ; — never fully known. The desertion, — and burning of their Capital by the Russians, — when they found themselves unable to cope with their Invaders, in the open Field, — has, — for its devotion, — no parallel in History! "Sire!" said the Russian Merchants to their Emperor, Alexander, — "Ask all ! " " It is yours ! Take all ! " The detestation of the French was universal, they were resolved to make any sacrifices. At one of their patriotic meetings, the President put down his name for an immense sum ; it was half his fortune ! One of the Russian Princes wrote to the French, — " I leave you two Palaces in Moscow, which, — with their furniture, cost half a million of roubles, but before you enter them they will be in ashes." Napoleon at St. Helena, contended that he could be no more expected as a General, to have foreseen, — and provided against, — so tremendous an expedient as the desertion and burning of their Capital by the Russians, than he could be expected to have foreseen an earthquake ! Doubtless, all the wealthier inhabitants had left Moscow, after the taking of Smolensko, — and had removed their chief valuables which could be carried away. It is known that the Magazines, Public Archives, &c., — as in the case of Smolensko, — had been safely removed. But the distress caused to the poorer inhabitants left to evacuate the city without any means of subsistence, will never be known. Napoleon calculated, (let us hope with some exaggeration), that 100,000 of these poor creatures perished from want and exposure in the Forests and Wilderness round Moscow ! The Poorer Inhabitants during War. Thus it always is in War, — whoever may be victorious, the wretched poorer inhabitants suffer more than the trained soldiers, who, as a rule, are systematically provided for. Thus, at San Sebastian, when the French soldiers had defended the breaches to the last, dealing fearful destruc- tion upon our troops, t/iey retired to the Citadel, leaving the maddened soldiers, — as at Badajoz, — infuriated by their losses, to fall upon the defenceless inhabitants. So many of our corporals, sergeants, &c., had fallen, that Wellington, for once, lost control of the men. When discipline had been resumed, the French soldiers capitulated, and were allowed to march out unharmed. War is ruin to all, but most of all it is ruin to the poorer classes. The wealthy WARNINGS OF DISASTER. 339 lose a portion of their goods, — but, — from the poor it takes their all. The Generals who escape, — and they generally are seen on the hills at a respectful distance from *' the front," — may return to receive honours and emoluments, but the working classes, from whose ranks the common soldiers are drawn, — have to go into the battle, and get, for their reward, death or a wooden leg I The burning of Moscow was then a frightful expedient, — but it proved also the ruin of the French ! Napoleon entered the Kremlin at Moscow, on the 20th September, after the flames had raged for two entire days ; it then lulled for want of fuel, the churches and buildings of .stone alone remaining. Spoliation. Ruin. To reach it he passed through the camps of his soldiers forced to remain outside the burning city in the dismal rain and cold mire. Around immense fires, fed by rich mahogany furniture and gilt doors, the soldiers splashed with mud, were lying in wet straw sheltered by a few planks, and around them, in heaps, lay superb arm chairs, damask silk sofas, costly Cashmere shawls, gold .stuffs from Persia, and even dishes of solid silver rescued before the fires broke out. Yet the soldiers, as yet, had nothing to eat but black dough, and half-broiled horseflesh. No doubt the pillage secured during the past two days had been very large, but it is doubtful if any portion of it eventually crossed the Beresina in their flight. Up to the middle of October, 18 12, the weather remained open, but during an armistice many warnings of what was before them were given by the Cossacks to the French Sentinels. ** What does your Emperor mean } " they would say, — " In three weeks your fingers will be dropping ofl" with the cold ! Were there not corn, air, and graves enough in your own Country, that you must come to fatten our soil .''" Beguiled by the wily foe, — Napoleon, — hoping from day to day to receive the submission of the Russian Emperor Alexander, — lingered on five weeks in Moscow. But on the 13th of October \\\^ first sudden fall of snozu ocaii^red in Moscow, — and, front that moment, — the only thought was of retreat ! As in Spain, — it was the old tale, — everything they could not carry away was to be destroyed. Everything to be Destroyed as usual. The Splendid Kremlin was blown to pieces, and the mas- sive iron cross carried away as a trophy! It never, however, 340 PERISHING IN THE SNOW. reached the frontier, being, with everything else, abandoned in the flight. Of course, only a very small portion of Napoleon's immense armies, — occupied as they were in every part of Europe, ever actually entered Russia, — much less reached Moscow. Probably 100,000 effective men marched out of Moscow with 550 cannon, 200 artillery wagons, and followed by an immense train of Camp followers with the sick and wounded, and with carts, carriages, and even wheelbarrows laden with spoil. Many more might have crossed the Beresina the day before the Bridge broke, but, with the instinct of Bandits, they clung to their spoil with desperate tenacity, and refused to abandon it. But fully half perished before they had even reached Smolensk©! The scene, — says an eye witness, — resembled a vast horde of Tartars returning from a succesful foray. Wei^e they anything better ? By the 12th of November, the Imperial Guard, — with Napoleon, — after fighting some terrible Battles against the Russians who endeavoured to cut off their retreat, — reached Smolensko. Behind them awful scenes were already going on, — for on the 6th of Novem- ber, the weather had suddenly changed to frightful cold, — in fact, a Russian Winter had begun ! Napoleon ordered the wounded in these battles to be taken up by the Camp followers, — and, in some cases, stopped to see it done, — but no sooner had Napoleon and the Guard left, than the Camp followers threw out these poor creatures into the ditches to perish miserably. A French officer relates seeing their dead bodies, lying in rows as they rode up from the rear, the cold being ten to twenty degrees below Zero! In fact, it soon became a mad struggle for life and self alone, — the one thought during those terrible days and dreadful nights was to reach Smolensko! Around the drifting snow, and wilderness with gloomy pines, — horses and men dying by hundreds, — the wretched host struggled through the Wilderness of snow, — through these terrible days, — and awful nights of a Russian Winter ! The provisions failed ; — the damp forest trees would not burn ; — and the packs of starving fierce dogs from the Villages cruelly burnt, — as usual, by the French, as in their retreats from Spain, — followed the host day and night, fiercely disputing with the Soldiers the flesh of the fallen horses. Behind these came the wolves and the Cossacks. It is believed that only some 50,000 of the entire host ever reached even Smolensko, to say nothing of the Beresina and the Frontiers ! It really reminds us of our Saviour's c ^ ^F < ^ .. O 342 THE COLLAPSE AT SMOLENSKO. words, " Pray ye that your flight be not in the Winter, for then shall be great tribulation, &c." Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard, — with Napoleon, — had fought their way back to Smolensko, where they expected to find the immense stores, — twenty-five days' provisions, — Napoleon had ordered to be stored up there, — for 100,000 men. Instead of this he found a mere nothing! No Meat, — only Rice, Flour, and Brandy I Napoleon rarely allowed, — even in the most terrible scenes, — his outward calm to be disturbed, — or to exhibit any outward signs of emotion. Thus, when the Couriers and officers came in bringing the report of the awful scenes going on in the rear. Napoleon cut them short b)^ calmly saying, — " Why do you attempt to rob me of my serenity ? " And on their attempting to continue, — repeated, " I ask you, gentlemen, — why do you thus attempt to rob me of my serenity ? " Long accustomed to every detail of the movement of vast armies, he knew, — after his fatal delay in Moscow, — as a General, — what would follow. But this unlooked for collapse at Smolensko, — which he knew must prove fatal, — was too much, even for that iron nerve ! For once even Napoleon s habitual calmness gave way, and his trembling officers from without, heard the Emperor's voice in frantic tones, — furiously upbraiding the Army Contractors, and Commissariat Agents, — who only saved their lives by piteous appeals, — on their knees, — pleading that what with convoys of provisions cut off" by the Cossacks, — the Country, swept clear of cattle and provender, and irregularities and disorder in everything,— they had really done all that was possible ; and they were probably right. The Guards, — with Napoleon, — left Smolensko on the 14th November, — the second day after arriving. The Russians, — although it is believed 90,000 strong, — attempted in vain, to cut off" their retreat ; — in open field they could never stand against Napoleon's "veterans," and after Battles on the i6th, 17th, and 28th, they at length reached the Beresina River, which was to prove so fatal to many. Smolensko. Hardly had they quitted Smolensko, than there began to pour into it the survivors from Moscow, — the remaining army ; — they dropped in in detached Bands, — starving, — fierce, — desperate men, — many with limbs frost-bitten (whom nothing but amputation could now save,) — half-dead with exhaustion, — many wounded, and half-naked. Already A FORGOTTEN HOSPITAL! 343 there were 15 Hospitals in Smolensko, — and one of these had been ^niiYQly forgotten for three days I Fancy, dear Reader, in that cold, — many degrees below- Zero, — a Jiospital forgotten for three days, — without food, — fire, — ligJU, — or attendance! Imagination recoils from the picture the French General, — Rapp, — gives, on his accidentally discovering this Hospital ! Into Smolensko, — already thus crowded, — continued to pour the wretched stream of famished, and desperate, survivors from Moscow ! A French officer, — like the one in the picture, — one of their number, says, — "We were buoyed up, during those dreadful days, and nights, by the one thought to reach Smolensko ! Once we lived to reach that city, and the immense stores of provisions we were told had been collected in its Magazines, we should be saved ! Imagine then our feelings, — when still two leagues off, — reports reached us that the provisions had failed ; — that the Emperor and the Guards had already left for the Beresina, and that the 9th Corps had not even entered Smolensko, but had followed them ! After all our dreadful sufferings there remained nothing before us but another terrible march towards the Frontier ! It was with difficulty that we reached the City ; the Cossacks fell upon us, and the steep rocky roads leading to the city were so covered with ice that numbers already exhausted, fell and died that night from exposure. I was told that the cold that day was 22 degrees below Zero ! Once in, — I found the streets filled with haggard, worn-out, despairing men» w^ithout food, or shelter. There was no one to see to them and no supplies given out. The Churches and stone buildings which had survived the first terrible Siege, — were crammed with the sick, wounded, and dying. Multitudes died that night by the fires they had lit in the wide open exposed streets. During the night the cry suddenly arose, — " To the Magazines ! " — " They have begun to pillage ! " Away we went, seizing sacks, baskets, — anything we could, — and presently crowds of Soldiers were seen with Flour, Biscuits, and Brandy ! There were terrible scenes ! We left on the 15th. After all the survivors from Moscow who were thought likely to have survived the march, — were supposed to have come in, — (there was no time for great delay), — the Emperor's cruel orders to fire, and blow up Smolensko before they left, — were carried out by the san- guinary Davoust. The wretched inhabitants, — who had not quitted the City before the first Siege of Smolenkso, — had been already treated during its occupation by the French 344 . SMOLENSKO BLOWN UP. with great tyranny and cruelty. This was before the Retreat from Russia, but the few days of the French occupation, during their retreat, were marked by every outrage, and wanton cruelty, which depraved, disappointed, drunken, revengeful, deeply chagrined, Soldiers could suggest, — resolved to ruin, and destroy everything they could before leaving the Country ; blood flowed in torrents. How DIFFERENTLY DID THE ALLIES DEAL WITH PARIS. Eighteen Months after (31 March, 1814). The Emperor of Russia, with the Prussians, and EngHsh, — entered the conquered city of Paris ; had they chosen to retaliate the ruin done in Russia, Paris could have been blown to pieces! Again, after Waterloo, — the 7th July, 18 15, found the English Army, with the Duke of Wellington, in the Bois de Boulogne, and Blucher, with the Prussian Army, bivouacing in the Churches, Streets, and Quays of con- quered Paris ; again, terrible reprisals might have taken place. Yet all that was suggested was the blowing up, — by the Prussians, — that night, — of the ''Bridge of Jena," — across which so many thousands of sightseers have passed during the Great Paris Exhibitions of iS6y, 1S78, and 1889. The hated name of Jena, — perpetuated the memory of that disastrous Battle, by which Napoleon broke up, for a time, the Prussian Monarchy, — and the heart of its fair Queen, — for ever ! But even here, our good Duke of Wellington, — ever generous to a conquered foe, and always opposed to reprisals, — wrote the admirable letter, at midnight, still extant, calmly asking his admirer, and fellow victor at Waterloo, — to stay his hand, till the morning. It was enough ! Blucher, to please the Duke, spared the Bridge, though scarred himself with the wounds received in that terrible Jena campaign. Smolensko. No such feelings of moderation influenced the French. Mines were established throughout the already ruined Smolensko, — and filled with 800 immense cases of com- bustibles, — and, when all who could follow the retreat were supposed to have come in ; the City was fired ! What became of the contents of the 15 Hospitals.'^ Put into open carts to follow the retreat to the Frontier, with the cold at twenty degrees below Zero, to perish miserably, and to be thrown out to the wolves ; — or were they left behind } FRENCH DEMORALIZATION. 345 One of the French Officers describes the sight from a distance. — " I had gone a few miles out of the City with my men," — he narrates, — "when all at once we heard a roar behind us ! It seemed to us as if a Volcano had suddenly burst forth! Flames shot up into the air, and burning masses seemed to fall back into the ruined city," ♦—and thus, from the blazing suburbs the sanguinary Davoust issued with his soldiers, — having executed this last totally needless act of cruelty and revenge, leaving the miserable surviving inhabitants, — provisions, shelter, every- thing destroyed, — to perish in the midst of a Russian winter, in the Wilderness round Smolensko ! Napoleon's Armies were " Gangrened." The fact is Napoleon's atrocious system of warfare, had utterly demoralized the French Army ! He had left them to support themselves by a system of Rapine and Pillage upon the unoffending non-fighting population, — so long, — that his armies had lost all the common feelings of humanity, — and rules of humane and legitimate Warfare ! The "Grand Army," says, one of their own officers, — "was gangrejied ; — it was not fit to live ! " — and, — as a matter of fact, very little of it did live to reach the Frontier ! The intense cold was followed by an exceptionally warm Spring (1813), and this unhealthy warmth killed off vast numbers who had reached the Towns and Hospitals. Sample of Napoleon's harangues to his Troops (September, 1808) before marching 200,000 of his selected Veterans into Spain, — the choicest of his Soldiers, — the Veterans of Jena, Austerlitz, and Friedland, of confirmed hardihood, — chosen from every part of Europe, to complete the Conquest of Spain, and to drive the English out of the Peninsula. " Soldiers ! after having triumphed on the banks of the Danube, and Vistula, you have passed through Germany by forced marches ! Soldiers, I have occasion for you ! The hideous presence of the Leopard," — (The Ancient Arms of England represent a Leopard, not a Lion) — " contaminates the Continent of Spain ! " (Note. — It was our presence that alone saved '\i.) ^' Let your aspect terrify and drive him from thence ! " (Note. — It did neither! Vast numbers of those "Veterans" never saw France again !) " Let us carry our conquering Eagles even to the Pillars of Hercules, and there also we have an injury to avenge ! You 346 napoleon's " FRIGHTFUL SELFISHNESS." have covered yourselves with Glory ! You have placed yourselves upon a level with the Roman Legions which, &c., &c., &c." (Note. — How his Troops could, for years, " take in " all this "clap-trap," like silly children, seems amazing !) Yet, to show the duplicity of the man, no sooner had he started them off to Spain, than Napoleon hurried off to Germany to meet the Russian Emperor Alexander, at Erfurth, where they both, — in a joint letter, dictated by Napoleon, — proposed a general peace to the English Government, who, upon the terms suggested, firmly declined it ! Enraged at a power he could neither delude nor intimidate, Napoleon (December, 1808) followed the Troops into Spain, issuing the following despatch. " The day wherein we succeed in seeing these English " — (They enjoyed that privilege for 10 years after) — "will be a day of Jubilee for the French Army," — (It proved a very serious day of " Jubilee," — and a long one, — terminating only in Waterloo f) '' Oh ! that they may dye with their blood this Continent, which they have desolated (!) with their intrigues (!) their monopolies (!) and their frightful selfishness (!) " (No Monster in History was a better judge, or exponent of, " frightful selfishness," than himself 1) ** Oh ! that they might be met with to the number of 80,000 or 100,000 instead of 20,000 ! Then English Mothers would feel the evils of War(!) and the English Government cease to sport with the lives, and blood of the Continental Nations (!) All the Plagues which can afitlict the Human Race come from London ! " Note. — He found the " 20,000 " quite as many as he, and his Marshals, could, conveniently, interview, as it was ! Twelve years after the above amiable, and truihjfid {'>) Remarks, a Party of English " Red Jackets," were respectfully carrying Napoleon's Coffin to his Grave at St. Helena, and all the Survivors of his Family, have, more or less, since found a safe Asylum in England! He purposely chose ito surrender to our Nation, knowing our character, and that he would be safe, for, after Waterloo, the other " Continental Nations " would have made short work of him, as an outlaw ! St. Helena. English " Red Jackets" carrying Napoleon to his Grave, 5th May, 1821. A CONTRAST. 347 A few days after this despatch (December 1808) Napoleon received, by a Courier, the most important Despatch he ei'er received in his Hfe ! The news that Austria had, 07ice inore^ decided upon War I From this moment the tide turned ! From it may be traced every disaster that subsequently befel him ! It hurried him back from Spain, — never again to enter it, — it saved the Penin- sula, influenced other Nations, —and led, by a remarkable chain of circumstances, — indirectly, but stirely^ — to the Russian War, the fatal Battle of Leipsic, to Elba, Waterloo, and St. Helena ! As a Christian Believer, — the Writer throughout this Book has never disguised for a moment the fact, that, while allowing perfect " Freewill " to every living creature, and N'ation., — the hand of God works, — ever has worked, — and ever 7vill work through History I Napoleon, like too many of his Countrymen, was an Atheist, totally devoid of all Religion, or Religious Principle ! That is certainly not the Ruler, or the JVatiou, to whom Almighty God has the slightest intention of permanently allowing supremacy! Let no one think it ! God's will will eventually be done I Those Nations only, who obey, and extend, the Kingdom, and the Religion, of Jesus Christ, will in the end prosper ! A Contrast. General orders of the Duke of Wellington upon entering France, as a Conqueror, with an Army, "with which I cqv\^ gr> anyivhere 2iXi^ do anythitig'.^^ " As the Army is now about to enter French Territory, the Troops of the Nations under the command of Field Marshal the Duke of Wellington, are desired to recollect that their respective Sovereigns are not at War with, but are the allies of, His Majesty the King of France." (Note. — After Elba the allies ignored Buonaparte altogether as an outlaw, and refused to treat with, or recognise him in any way, having broken his Parole, Treaties, and Faith), " And that France, therefore, is to be treated as a friendly Country. It is therefore required that nothing shall be taken, — either by officers, or soldiers, for which payment be not made. It is not pennitted either to soldiers or officers to extort Contributions. This order will be strictly enforced, and they will be held personally responsible for whatever they obtain in way of supplies from the inhabitants of France, &c., &c." What a Contrast to the frightful System pursued for 17 years (to use his own words) by that '* frightfully selfish" man, — who during those terrible years never " ceased to sport with the Lives, and Blood of the Coniinental Nations !" It was not the Millions of human beings, whom that extraordinary man Napoleon deluded, — or forced, — to lay down their lives to satisfy his own selfish, and mad ambition; how many more did he demoralize for life, by scenes of Pillage, Ruin, and reckless bloodshed with which his terrible rule of fifteen years half ruined Europe "■ How many Millions of men but for him, might have led useful, honour- able lives, dying in happy homes with children around their beds 1 He has bequeathed a legacy of hatred to, and want of confidence in French Rule, which still threatens to plunge all Europe, at any time, into War once more. 348 NATIONAL CRIiMES. Merely speaking of them as a Nation, — and cheerfully allowing their ingenuity and ability, in other directions, — the French, — as a Nation, — are not suited for Conquerors, — or for Colonizing. The " irresistible logic of facts," — past History, — proves it. How can a Nation which cannot govern itself rule over others } They lack the attributes indispensable to a truly great Nation. They lack generosity as Conquerors, — Wisdom, — Self-command, — Justice, — True Freedom, — Religious toleration, and, above all, true Religion and Principle. Their frightful cruelties, treachery, and war of extermination, towards their best and noblest fellow-citizens, the Hugenots, — can never be forgotten 1 The treacherous, and awful Massacre of St. Bartholomew, with its hundred thousand innocent and helpless victims, treacherously taken advantage of, and murdered by Night, — and that still greater atrocity the " Revocation of the Edict of Nantes," the dying legacy to Mankind of that wretched, worn-out, old Debauchee, Louis XIV, — are National Crimes, — considering the enlightenment and civilisation in defiance of which they were committed, — unparalleled in the History of Mankind I They were Crimes which it seems, as if " Heaven cannot pardon." Not only were 400,000 of their worthiest citizens driven from their Country, and Property, but twice that number were forbidden to fly, and there is no doubt that 400,000 of these unfortunate, — unoffending, — helpless, — creatures were sabred by the trained army, — executed, — destroyed, in prison, or the Galleys, by dreadful cruelties, — their churches demolished, — their property confiscated, — all merely for their Religion. A Nation capable of such a past, — capable of permitting such National Crimes, — must not complain of the universal hatred and dread felt for their rule. The great Reformation, bringing with it its speechless blessings to Mankind, — came to France, — and was resolutely rejected. It passed by, — and left them a Godless, immoral, frivolous, Nation, without Ballast, — Faith, — or Religious Principle, and, for the sake of Mankind, it is devoutly to be hoped that France may never again regain her former powder on the Continent, which she once possessed,— only to abuse. WAR IN DEFENCE OF FREEDOM. Arthur Wellesley,— the Duke of Wellington, — His War System Contrasted with Napoleon's. What an amazing contrast to the above frightful scenes of ruin and spoliation, — did the System of Warfare, carried on by our great Duke, — uniformly present ! THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON. 349 Vanquishing, — in turn, — every one of Napoleon's Marshals sent against him ; — never losing a Battle throughout his entire career, Wellington, at length, cleared all Spain and Portugal of their cruel oppressors, — the French ; — and with an Army, — " with which I could go anywhere, — and do anything," — the Duke quietly entered and occupied the South of France, — with the entire Country at his mercy. Then followed Burning Villages, — Pillage, — Wretched Peasants, " Requisitions," — the Country laid waste ? Nothing of the kind ! Some of the Spanish auxiliaries, — after the horrors their own unfortunate country had endured, — for years, — under the French ; — their country laid waste, — their treasures, — priceless Pictures from their Cathedrals, &c., — all swept away to Paris, — could not restrain a disposition to pillage, — if not destroy, — in return. But Wellington, — the Iron Duke, — firm as a rock, — would allow nothing of the kind for a moment ! The offending troops were ordered home to Spain. ** Where I command," — the Duke's despatch to the Spanish 'Generals, runs, — " I declare that no one shall plunder. If plunder is commenced then another must command. You have now large armies in Spain, and if it is wished to plunder the French peasantry, you may enter France, but then the Spanish Government must remove me from the command of their armies. While I command there must be no plunder." (Dispatches Vol. XL, p. 395). It was against the Duke's System of War. We were not fighting against France, our duty was to deliver her from the tyranny of the Despot, Buonaparte. Everything, — as usual, was paid for, — the Country people, gaining courage, brought their produce to the Camp, — mixing unarmed, and socially, with our Soldiers. Indeed, — so completely, at home, did they all make themselves, that our good Duke, and officers, — followed the hounds, like Country gentlemen, — while we were awaiting news from our Allies,— and the issue of that, — to the French, — terrible and fatal, campaign of Leipsic. " What is this that I hear } " said Napoleon, — " Wellington settled in France ! and they call themselves Frenchmen t War I War to the Knife ! " But even the French had had enough of that frightful System : and were getting sick of their'idol ! If we are to have War at all, let it be the humane, jjist, civilized, War, ever practised by the Duke of Wellington ; a noble exponent of a generous Nation ! Actuated by E I 350 HOW WAR MAY BE AVOIDED. •' duty," — never by " glory." Persistent ; — irrepressible ; never relinquishing his hold of a country, when once that hold was established ; — calm ; — ever on the side of modera- tion, and mercy, — as a Conqueror ; — he exhibited every type of a true Englishman. The Duke was of Irish extraction. Although unhappily estranged from us by miserable politics how many gallant Irishmen have fought by our side, — for old England, — and mingled their blood with ours upon viany an heroic, and Historic Field ! Pity that our Sister Isle, — which has given us such splendid Soldiers, — should not feel proud of the Nation whose greatness they have so greatly assisted in establishing, — and hand and hand with the English-speaking Race in America, Australia, and the Colonies — join them in their Grand Mission in carrying Freedom, true Religion, and Justice, to countries and nations still groaning under Des- potism, Superstition, and evil Government ! Waterloo was fought on Sunday, the i8th June, 1815. Napoleon only survived it six years, — dying at St. Helena, 5th May, 1821. He could not, — in any case, — have lived, for his suspicion that he was suffering from the disease, which had killed his father, proved only too true. The interior of the stomach, after death, was found to be almost entirely filled with a cancerous ulcer. The Duke of Wellington lived many a long year after Waterloo, namely till 14th September, 1852 ; — 37 years after the great Battle, which gave the continent fifty years' repose from War. It is estimated that the mad ambition, of the French, and their frightful System of Warfare, in 17 years, caused the lives of Five-and-a-half Millions of Human Beings ; all for absolutely, no results ; (for the Napoleon family have now disappeared), except it be the fatal, and hateful, results of an enmity between Nations, which, — not ending with Sedan, — unfortunately remains to this day. CONCLUSION. The Christian Believer, — to whom Christ's commands, and example are final ; — firmly maintains that all War is absolutely opposed to every precept, — and to the entire spirit, — of the Gospel. The only solution of the problem, how the present vast Armies of Europe can avoide inevit- able collision, and future terrible War, — seems to be their mutual consent to a partial, general disarmament, — each Country alone retaining an army, — proportionate to its EXCELLENT FRENCH NATIONAL TRAITS. 35 1 size, — sufficient to supress internal disorders, — but not, happily, — powerful enough to attack any other Country. Believing that all War, — especially a War of Conquest, — and spoliation, — is a monstrous iniquity, still, regarding Arthur Wellesley, — apart from the War System, — as a vian, his noble example, in desiring always to lessen the Horrors of War, — his unflinching duty to his Country, — his abhor- rence of cruelty and pillage, and his ever being on the side of moderation to the vanquished, — we may be allowed to lose sight of the System, — for a moment, — in the 7iobIe, calm, and gallant, man, and may, — without inconsistency, — close with the lines written at the death of the great Duke : — Mourn for the mighty dead, Mourn for the Spirit fled, Mourn for the lofty head Low in the Grave ! Tears such as iVatioiis weep, Hallow the Hero's sleep, Cal/n be thy rest, and deep, Arthur the Brave ! The French excellent National Traits. Our, — now, — (1891) good Friends, and Neighbours, the French, possess excellent traits, as a Nation. Would that we would follow their example on these points ! For instance, our National, and degrading, Sin of Drunkenness, is almost unknown to them ! The French, — as a Nation, — can enjoy themselves thoroughly without incessant Drinking. Again, the Oaths, disgusting language, and vile words, too common amongst our Working Classes, are practically unknown, across the Channel ! A worthy English Clergyman, living, for years, near one of the great Paris Railway Stations, accustomed to the sight of many thousands leaving every Sunday in Summer, and returning after a day's "outing," in the evening, could hardly recall an instance of Drunkenness, or having heard an oath ! Again the French are a thrifty, saving Nation, not given to squandering their hard-earned wages as the English Workmen do. This enables them to retain self-respect, and independence of character, and saves them from the terrible pauperism, and abject Poverty, too often seen in England. Their National Sin is a restless Ambition, and extra- ordinary love of War, which has never yet given them any return. 352 FALSE GLORY. With a splendid climate, and a Country immensely rich in its Vineyards, all would be well could they rest contented. Surely the past 90 years must have stripped aggressive Warfare of its false colours, and shown the Nations the folly of a delusive, false, " Glory," which consists in the attempted Conquest of, and pillage of neighbouring Countries, and the Murder of their Inhabitants ! In vain did Napoleon attempt to reproduce the terrible Past ; — The " Glory " of the old Heathen Times ! Before the advent of our Lord, — before Christianity dawned upon the World, — Military " Glory " took the place of Religion ! The Ancients, — being Heathens, — and the vast majority of them practically Atheists, (despis- ing, as well they might, the Deities they pretended to Worship) — knew no other Hero but the successful Warrior! Their highest ideal of the heroic, consisted in Conquest, Bloodshed and Plunder ! Napoleon came into the World too late ! Those Heathen Times are passed for ever ! In vain did he ** pose " as a second Alexander the Great, and liken his horde of maraudering Soldiers to the Legions of Heathen Rome ! What could be done in a Heathen World, is now simply impossible after the advent of Jesus Christ ! Society, Civilization, Christianity, were dead against him ! The old false tinsel, and the delusion of the old cuckoo cry " Glory," is worn out ! Mankind do not go back ! They have a higher Standard now ! The Spirit of the Times has changed ! The Nations now recognize that Wealth, and Power, have their Duties, as well as their Privileges, and insist upon those Duties being performed I Otherwise they will decline such Rulers, and Rule themselves, by enlightened Republics. Thanks to Chrlstianitv, the Future demands of all Nations, Justice to others, — Peace, — Freedom, — and a universal Brotherhood ! It takes time, — for the Passion for false " Glory," (so called) is still strong, — but its Doom is certain ! Through the dark Future, — through lon<: Generations, The sounds of War grow fainter, — and iJion cease, And, like a Bell with solemn, sweet vibriitions, — I hear the voice of CHRIST once more say " Peace ! " THE REVENGEFUL ELEPHANT 353 Education. Christ's Commands. Were kalfxhe Power which holds the World in terror,— W^ere half the Wealth,— bestowed on Camps and Courts, Given,— to redeem the Human Mind from error. There were no need of Arsenals, or Forts ! Leave revenge to wild animals. A sagacious Elephant, in the pursuit of knowledge, — introducing his inquiring trunk into the Window of a Tailor's — the latter injudiciously pricked the end of it with a needle. The Animal quietly retired, — filled his trunk with dirty water from a puddle outside, — returned to the window, — and calmly discharged the whole over the cruel Tailor, and his valuable cloth. We may hope that this "water cure," taught the Tailor the important lesson,—" To do unto others as you would others should do unto you." (354) CHAPTER XLIIl. DRINK.— THE CURSE OF ENGLAND. "Deacon of Christ's Church, who was it sold THEM THE DrINK ? " f^ N one occasion the Inhabitants of a thriving Borough in Pennsylvania were met to decide whether they should petition the County Courts to issue the usual number J of Licences to sell Intoxicating drinks during the coming year. A respectable magistrate of the Borough presided ; and, upon the platform, were seated, amongst others, the Minister of the Village, — one of his Deacons, — (who was a spirit merchant) — and the Physician. A most respectable Citizen rose to propo.se that the Meeting should petition for the usual number of Licenses for the ensuing year. His idea was that it was far better to license a certain number of respectable men, and let them sell, than that people of whom they knew nothing, should open Dram Shops. This proposition seemed to meet with general favour, and the Chairman was about to put the question to the meeting, when a woman rose in a distant part of the Hall, and all eyes were turned in that direction. She was an elderly-looking woman, poorly clad, and grey with sorrow, and yet there was something in her manner which showed she had not always been as she now wa.s. Many present seemed to know her, and the)^ whispered to each other, while she addressed the President, and asked his permission to say a few words to the Meeting. " You know, — many of you, — who I am," she said. '* You once knew me the mistress of one of the best Farms in the District. I once had a husband and two sons, and woman never had better hu.sband or boys till the Dram Shop opened ten years ago near our home. Doctor , Deacon •, I see you both on the Platform, and I ask you ivhere are they now? In the Burying Ground, close by, are three graves — my husband and sons all lie there, — and they are all three drunkards' graves ! Doctor ! You would come and take a glass with them, and you often said that moderate drinking did no one any harm ! And you, sir," she said, addressing the Minister, ** when you called, would take a THE DEACON SOLD THE RUM. 355 glass with my husband, and when you were gone the boys would say, ' there can't be anything wrong in it, for they say yoii drink.' You taught them in the Sabbath School ; we attended, at one time, your church, and they thought that whatever you did must be right ! And, Deacon of Christ's Church, zvho zvas it that sold them the Rum ? You have got on well since you came here ; you are said to be a ' successful man ! ' You have got all our Property, and the Property of many another poor P'amily, — (God help them), about this place, and you got it all by Rum ! " "And now," said the old woman, "I have done my errand ! I go back to the Workhouse, for that is my home ! You, Rev. Sir, and you. Deacon, I may never meet till I meet you at the bar of God, — where there will be also my ruined husband, and my two sons, — who, — through your example, and influence, fill the drunkard's grave." The lonely old woman hobbled slowly away, wiping her eyes with the corner of her tattered shawl. A complete silence for some time prevailed. The Chairman was evi- dently greatly embarrassed. At length he rose, and in a nervous voice put the usual question to the meeting : " Shall we petition the Courts to issue the following Licenses to this Borough for the ensuing year } " When one unbroken — indignant — and determined roar of " No ! " made the walls re-echo, and showed the results of the old woman's appeal ! If anyone had cut out of our English papers for the past forty years, all the awful scenes, — drunken crimes and cruelties caused by Drink, — what a mass of misery, and ruin, would be placed before the Public ! A GIN PALACE. A celebrated dram and beershop in one of our large Towns, was watched during the whole of Saturday, the 13th of July, 1872, and the number of persons who entered was carefully counted. It was one of what was called " hard " ale shops — that is, the drink is drugged, so as to enable a person to get drunk cheaply. A veteran drunkard acknowledged that " even he could not stand above three pennyworth of ale at this house ; if followed by three pennyworth of spirits, it stupified even him." The following were the numbers that entered : — Men. Women. From 8 to 9 o'clock 100 38 9 to 10 „ 120 65 Carried forward 220 103 356 ONE GIN PALACE. From Men. Women. Brou ght forward 220 103 10 to II o'clock 90 40 II to 12 no 48 12 to I 85 56 I to 2 100 60 2 to 3 115 60 3 to 4 112 60 4 to 5 67 43 5 to 6 108 47 6 to 7 128 50 7 to 8 75 50 8 to 9 120 55 9 to lO 100 55 lo to 1 1 81 43 1,511 770 If the publican only made l^d. profit on each individual, he made a profit of £4. 15s. a day, or ^^1,482 a year; and what did he give the working classes in exchange ? What does that thousand pounds mean but ruined homes, — miserable neglected children, — drunken parents — and the long train of ruin which that deadly curse — drunkenness — brings with it ? The beershops and saloons are the retail shops by which our great brewers and distillers pass off their goods. Why are thousands of families to be ruined to make the fortunes of a few } Knowing that drink is the weak point of the English — at least of the working popu- lation (and the upper classes were as bad forty years ago) — is that any reason why we should have a gin palace at the corner of almost every street, in order, apparently, to present as much temptation as possible to those who, their homes being close by, cannot avoid constantly passing them 1 The upper classes in this country, half a century ago, drank to a degree perfectly incredible to the present generation. For a gentleman to be drunk was a usual, ordinary occurrence ; it was then the custom ! As regards the upper classes, public opinion has changed. To see a gentleman or a gentleman's son drunk would now excite disgust and contempt amongst his associates. It would brand his character! No gentleman could indulge in this vice without loss of his character and position. Yet what tales men still living can tell of the old drinking days! It \s public opi7iio7i — Religion — enligkteiied idtdiS of what is ANCIENT STATISTICS. 35/ right, which has wrought the change for the upper classes. Let us hope that it will do the same for the hard-working labouring classes in England. Every youth who reads this book has his influence, and will have more. Will you not use it — use it aright — when you feel that your example affects others .'' Some of the finest specimens of manhood are to be found in England, who never take drink of any kind. It is utterly false to maintain that tippling at the public-house or gin palace is a necessity to the health of a workman. The following is from the excellent work by Mr. Hoyle, " Our National Resources, and how they are wasted ; " the statistics are taken from the official Government reports. The Statistics are decidedly Ancient ones, but will perhaps serve as illustrations, what the 1891 return would show must be conjectured. " We are acknowledged to be by far the richest nation in the world ; and yet a great portion of our population are in rags ! Why is this t Is it because they get insufficient wages to buy clothing } No ; for wages are relatively higher in England than in almost any country in the world. It is because they squander their earnings upon things that are not only needless, but useless and hurtful, especially in their enormous expenditure upon intoxicating drinks. Let us see how far this assertion is borne out by facts. During the four years ending 1 861, the expenditure upon intoxicating liquors in the United Kingdom was as follows: — 1858 ^91,049,911 1859 95.887,393 i860 ^6,Z^'],6'^i 1861 94,942,107 Total ^^368, 777.094 Annual average ... ... ;^92, 194,273 Note.— The "Drink Bill" for 1889 was ;^I32,2I3, 236 ! a '• Record ! " During the four years ending 1869, the expenditure upon intoxicating drinks was as follows : — 1866 ;^ii3,925.458 1867 110,122,266 1868 113,464,874 1869 112,885,603 Total ;^"450,398,20i Annual average ;^i 12,599,550 358 ANCIENT STATISTICS. Being an increase in the latter period, as compared with the former, of i^8i,62 1,107 or ;^ 20,405,277 per annum. Here is an astounding fact. In four years we spent upon intoxicating drinks ;^45o,398,20i : and yet upon cotton goods, during the same period, we spent (reckoning 10 per cent for retailers' profits) only ^51,125,842. Taking the population of the United Kingdom as given in the Statistical Abstract for 1869, at 30,838,210, it gives for each man, woman, and child in the United Kingdom, for the four years, ^^14 12s. id. as spent on drink, and only £1 13s. i^d. on cotton goods ; or, if we take the one year, 1869, we have £;^ 13s. 2i^d. per head spent on drink, and 6s. o^d. on cotton goods; or, taking a family of five persons, we have only £1 los. 2^d. spent on cotton goods, and ;^i8 6s. O^d. on drink during the year. Here is the secret of pauperism and rags! People can- not pour their money down their throats, and put it on their backs at the same time ! During the four years ending 1869, we swallowed 658,347,826 gallons more of beer, spirits, wine, &c., than we did the four years ending 1 86 1. Now for the temptation offered to drink. From, the report of the Commissioners on Inland Revenue (published in Feb., 1870), I find that the number of persons engaged in selling intoxicating liquors was as follows : — Publicans ... ... ... ... 98,009 Beersellers ... ... ... ... 52,520 Total 150,599 Making a total of 150,599, being one to every 204 of the population, or about one to every 40 houses. No Marvel, that with such an overwhelming amount of temptation, and with such an enormous number of people interested in pushing the sale of liquor, there should be such a large and increasing amount of drunkenness. But this is not all. In the same report, and on the same page, is given a list of ^//;r//zrtrj/ sellers of intoxicating drinks, the influence of some of which is proving to be even more pernicious than the public-houses or beershop.s. The following is the list : — Dealers — Spirit Dealers 5,894 Beer Dealers ... ... ... ... 5,952 Wine Dealers 3.639 Sweets (Dealers and Makers) ... 123 Carried forward 15,608 DRINK. — 189I RETURNS NEEDED. 359 Brought forward 15,608 Retailers — Retailers of Wine (not to be consumed on the premises) ... ... ... 4,780 Refreshment-house Keepers selHng Wine ... ... ... ... 2,274 Sweets (Retailers) ... ... ... 9,024 Packet-boat licenses for sale thereon... 374 Table-beer Sellers ... ... ... 2,720 Retail Brewers ... ... ... 17 3.4797 Publicans and Beersellers ... ...150,599 Making a grand total of Persons engaged in selling intoxi- cating liquors of 186,096, or one to every thirty-three houses. We have seen the business one dram-shop is doing. The 1 89 1 statistics would be interesting. In addition to these overw^helming temptations, provision was made, by a law passed in 1862, whereby occasional licenses could be taken out, in order to accommodate fairs, races, shows, &c. Thus every facility has been given to spread intemperance, and every possible temptation has been placed in the way of the people, in order to lure them into habits of drunkenness. The invention of the Steam Engine, the Spinning-jenny, the Loom, and other valuable machines, has, for a Ions' time placed in our hands a monopoly of wealth ; our coal-fields, iron mines, &c., have supplemented these ; and had we been wise, and, during the last fifty years, properly husbanded and used the wealth thus placed within our reach, our people to-day would universally have been in easy circumstances, and w^e should have been far from the fearful pauperism that marks us as a disgrace among the Nations of the earth. There has never been a Nation in the world's history whose opportunities for acquiring wealth have been equal to those possessed by ourselves ! Enjoying, as we do, a vast commerce with every region of the globe, and possess- ing manufacturing advantages, and facilities, far surpassing those of any other nation, this Country has to a great extent, become the Workshop of the World ! When a Nation possesses no resources but such as are within itself, it may even then, if it uses those resources aright, rapidly accumulate wealth ; but when in addition to its own resources, it enjoys advantages of being enriched by the trade of every country in the world, its progress ought to 360 DRINK.— THE CURSE OF ENGLAND. be such as to lift it far above the regions of want : and such would be ours if it were not for the fearful drawbacks and waste of Intemperance. The burden of taxation, crime, pauperism, and demorali- zation that results from the liquor traffic, every day becomes more and more oppressive, and the time is fast hastening when, if we do not grapple with the evil, we shall sink beneath its weight, and take our place in the second or third rank among the nations of the earth. Persia, Babylon, Carthage, Greece, Rome, Spain, and other kingdoms, which once were in the front rank, have played their part, and now are scarcely known, except in history. It was their pro- fligacy, extravagance, and debauchery, which sank them ; and ours will sink us, not only commercially, but morally and religiously, unless we adopt means to prevent them ! The remedy then, lies with ourselves. If we think we can continue to squander one hundred millions yearly on drink, increasing thereby our local taxation, and sapping the foundations of industry, virtue, and morality, we shall find ourselves greatly mistaken ! England may have an abundant and prosperous trade ; we may ensure to our artisans, and our industrial popula- tion, continued and profitable employment ; we may free our country from the fearful stains of pauperism and crime, which so disfigure it ; we may have a wealthy, contented, virtuous, and happy people ; but if we are ever to secure these inestimable blessings, we must remove the Tempta- tions to Intemperance, which are planted broadcast over the land; and our legislature must enact such laws as "will make it easy to do right, and difficult to do wrong ! " '' The disposition to be provident, I need not tell you cannot be supplied by Parliament. It may be the duty of the legislature to prohibit certain things — as so it is — which are of the nature of social abuses ; but, with regard to the general government of Man, it has pleased God to make him a free agent, and though those by whom he is ruled in this world, ought to respect that freedom— they ought to make it easy for him to do what is right, and difficult for him to do wvongy —Speech of the Right Hon. IV. E. Gladstone, Ja7i2iary 4th, 1S74. ;6[ ) They had attacked the Castle in various ways.' CHAPTER XLIV. Showing how the House could never have been taken by the robbers, if there had not been a Traitor w^ithin. The following is in part by Mrs. Hannah More, though altered in some respects, and the meaning of the allegory more fully explained. ^HERE was once a certain Nobleman who had a large Jl House or Castle, situated in the midst of a great Wilder- ij 1 ness, but enclosed in a Garden. Now there was a band ^ of Robbers who had a great mind to plunder and destroy the Castle, and bring ruin and death upon all within, but they had not succeeded in their endeavours, because the Master had given strict orders to " Watch ; " and up to the time we are speaking of, the Enemy had been kept from obtaining any great advantage. They had, it is true, attacked the castle in various ways, had tried at every avenue ; watched to take advantage of days of carelessness and thoughtlessness, and had looked for an open door or a neglected window ! But though they often made the bolts shake, and the windows rattle, they could never greatly hurt the House, much less get into it. Do you know the reason ? It was because the Servants were not a little 362 HOW TO DEFEND THE CASTLE. frightened ; they heard the noise plainly enough, and were aware both of the strength and perseverance of their enemies ; for there were many cases, where Castles in that neighbourhood had been entirely and for ever ruined b)' letting in this band of Robbers! It was a singular assurance that the Nobleman gave his Servants, namely, that while they continued to be afraid they would be safe ; it passed into a kind of proverb amongst them, " Happy is he that feareth always." There were times when the Master could not always be near them, but whenever these times came, he used to call the servants, and speak to them of the necessity there was for them to do their part. " I need not repeat to you the directions I have so often given you ; they are all written down in the Book of which each of you has a Copy, (the Bible). Remember, it is but a short time that you have to remain here ; soon, the need of care and watchful- ness will be gone past, and you will remove to my Father's House, to a more settled Habitation, where I shall have prepared a place for each of you ! Your care will there- fore soon have an end ; the period of resistance is short, that of rest Eternal ! In that Mansion you will never more be exposed to any attack, for there ' the wicked cease from troubling,' and you will enjoy rest and peace. But, mark my words — and they are written also in the Book, — whether you ever attain to that Mansion, will depend upon the manner in which you defend yourself in this! A little vigilance and self-denial, will secure you certain happiness for ever ! But I solemnly assure you that everything depends on your present conduct here. You must not think me a hard Master to leave you without peace and security ; for the fact is, without this season of trial, you could never be fitted for the life you will, I trust, enjoy hereafter. I will not attempt to deny that your Enemies are, if trifled with, exceedingly powerful ; on the contrary, I cannot too earnestly warn you of letting them gain the least advantage, the least admission ; if you do, I shall almost lose hope, for, once in, they seldom depart again. But be of good courage, I shall take care you have very many helps, and many comforts to make this House pleasant, even before you reach the other Mansion. Do not think that I grudge you any gratifica- tion, but there are some pleasures you cannot now safely yield yourselves up to ; deny yourselves these, and all things will be shortly yours ! Above all, remember what I THERE MUST BE A TRAITOR WITHIN. 363 say — I would defy all the attacks of the robbers from with- out, if I could depend 011 the fidelity of the people within ! If they ever get in, and destroy this House — and remember, that destruction will be a final one — it must have been by the connivance of one of the Family. For it is a standing lazv, as yon all knozv, of this Castle, that mere ontiuard attack can never destroy it, if there be no Traitor ivithin. You will stand or fall, as you observe this rule ; and if you are ruined, remember it must be from some neglect or fault of your own, in not seeking my aid, and in allowing admission to my foes and yours." When the Nobleman had done speaking, every servant repeated his assurance of attachment and firm allegiance to his Master. But among them all, not one was so vehement and loud in his professions as Self-love ! Self-love was one of the oldest of the servants, and they all depended greatly upon him ; and as he had charge of the gates, of which there were five — (the five senses; — he was a most important person amongst them. Now, though he really desired the good of the House, Self-love had some weaknesses ; he was, to speak the truth, a civil fellow enough, but was fond of seeking his gratifica- tions, at whatever cost ; and, though he had a great confidence in himself, which, up to a certain point was very well, and was the foremost to promise, he was sometimes the slackest to perform. His Master was more afraid of him, with all his professions, than he was of the rest, who protested less. He knew that Self-love was vain ; and he apprehended more danger from his love of talk and flattery, and love of change and pleasure, than even from the stronger vices of some of the other servants. I am sorry to be obliged to confess, that though Self- love was allowed every refreshment, and all the needful rest which the nature of his place as porter permitted, yet he often thought it very hard to be forced to be so much on duty. " Nothing but watching." said Self-love to himself; " I have, it is true, a good many comforts, a good deal of pleasure, and meat and drink sufficient, but I find it hard this watching so narrow^ly, and letting in no company without orders, merely because there are said to be some straggling Robbers here in the Wilderness, with whom my Master does not choose us to be acquainted. He tells us to be thus vigilant for fear of the Robbers, but I suspect he makes them out to be more dangerous than they really are." 364 A THICK HEDGE (CONSCIENCE). Self-love, however, kept all these things to himself; he began, however, to listen with rather less alarm to jthe nightly whistling of the Robbers, and by giving way to such thoughts as these he became sometimes so tired of duty and watching, that he would almost rather run the risk of being robbed once, than live always in this strict manner ! Now there were certain bounds or limits in which the Nobleman told his servants they might safely walk and divert themselves at proper seasons. A large and pleasant Garden surrounded the Castle, a very thick Pi edge separat- ing this Garden from the Wilderness which was infested by the Robbers, and in this Garden the servants amused themselves. Their Master had, however, often said to them, " You will consult your own safety, as well as your love to Me, by not venturing over to the extremity of the bounds, because he who goes as far as he dares always shows a wish to go farther than he ought, and commonly does so." Oh ! that youths would believe that this is but the natural course of things. If we allow ourselves to tamper with temptation in spite of Conscience, — that Hedge God places in the way to ruin, — and deliberately do wrong once, every following step in that deceitful path you will find to be easier than the preceeding one ; for sin, — some sins especially, — blind the Soul to danger. Then seeking to quiet the voice of Conscience, by which God, in his love to us, tries to warn us of our danger, by some good outward act merely, such as going to church or chapel, or reading the Bible, or some Religious Book, — in reality amounts to nothing ! It may make us fee/ easy, but it imparts to us no moral strength to resist the next Temptation. Something deeper is needed. We must face it manfully : our Sin must be given up if we are ever to see God ! Whatever else we may do, we can do nothing until we repent of, and are willing to give up, our Besetting Sin, whatever it may be. What we all need is nothing short of a change of heart and life : we must pray for this in the name of Jesus Christ, and obtain from God the Blessed Holy Spirit, saving grace, and strength, to enable us to abandon our Sin for ever — that grace which our Creator, who knows us far better than we know ourselves — can alone impart. It was remarkable that the nearer the servants kept to the Castle, and the farther from the hedge, the more ugly the Wilderness appeared ; and the nearer they approached SATAN SENDS NO FOOLS ON HIS ERRANDS. 365 the forbidden bounds their own home appeared more dull, and the Wilderness more delightful ! This the Nobleman knew well when he cautioned them about it, for he never said or did anything without a good reason. If the explanation w^as too deep for the servants quite to understand, he used to tell them that they would understand it when they came to the other Mansion, for there all the difficulties of the present one would be perfectly plain. Now, Self-love had been among the first to promise to keep clear of the hedge, and yet he was often to be seen walking as near it as he durst. One day he ventured quite close up to the hedge, and, putting two stones one on another, after a few attempts, made shift to peep over the hedge ! So it is that at first we find it difficult to commit sin without compunction and sadness, but after a time we find it agreeable, conscience becomes dull, and finally sin becomes a habit, and a continued course of sins is fallen into, — seldom to be overcome. The Villain Flatterwell. It was a singular thing that, just as Self-love was peeping over the hedge, he saw one of the robbers strolling as near as he could to the boundary outside ! This man's name was Mr. Flatterw^ell, — a smooth civil man, — " whose words were softer than butter, but having luar in his JieartT The moment he saw him, Mr. Flatterwell made several courteous bows to Self-love. To employ a well-known saying, " Satan does not send fools on his errands ! " The acquaintance of lively wit, of pleasing address, and kindly manners, but unprincipled in mind, without religious feeling, profligate, and caring only for pleasure in this life, is the one whom the young in years are most likely to be injured by. It is in the company of such that a cheerful but innocent and pious mind finds it impossible to retain its position. The company of such should be at once avoided by the young ; otherwise their way of thinking, of living, of speaking, will before long be your own. Now, Self-love had the idea that all Robbers must have an ugly look, which would frighten you at once, and a coarse, brutal manner, which would, at first sight, show they were enemies. For an open enemy he would have been prepared, but Mr. Flatterwell's civility threw him off his 2,66 THE VILLAIN FLATTERWELL. guard. Indeed, he liad not spoken a dozen words with him before Self-love drew this conclusion, — either, that Mr. Flat- tcrwell could not be one of the Gang, or that, if he were, the Robbers themselves, could not be such Monsters as his Master had described, and therefore it was folly to be so fearful of them. Having begun the conversation, and telling his new friend his name, and how pleased he was to have made his acquaintance, Mr. Flatterwell spoke of the Nobleman, commending him, in a general way, as a person who meant well himself, but who was rather too apt to suspect others. Maligning the Faithful God. To this Self-love assented. The villain then ventured by degrees to hint, that though the Nobleman might be a good Master in the main, yet he must be allowed to be a little strict, perhaps a little stingy, and not a little censo- rious. That he was blamed by the " Gentlemen of the Wilderness " for shutting his house against good company ; and his servants were laughed at by people of spirit for submitting to the gloomy life of the Castle, and the insipid pleasures of the Garden, instead of ranging as they chose, at large, in the Wilderness. "There is certainly some truth in what you say," said Self-love, " My Master does seem rather harsh and close ; but to tell you the truth all his precautions in telling us to watch and secure all the doors and loopholes are to keep out a number of ROBBERS, who, he assures us, are only waiting for an opportunity to destroy us ! I hope no offence, but the fact is. sir, by youv livery, I half suspect you must be one of those he is so much afraid of! " "Afraid of me ! impossible ! My dear Mr. Self-love, for that I think is your name, you cannot think that I am your enemy ; I am unarmed. What harm can a plain man like me do } " But the villain blushed as he spoke ! Self-love : " Well, certainly that is true enough, yet our Master says that if once we give way to you and let you into the house, we shall be ruined soul and body ! " Mr. Flatterivell : '* I am sorry, Mr. Self-love, to hear so sensible a man as you appear to be on other points, so deceived in this ! Your Master knows we are cheerful, entertaining people, foes indeed to gloom and superstition ; I cannot but fear that he is naturally morose himself, and does not choose you to become acquainted with us." CONSCIENCE, god's BARRIER. l^-J Self-love : " But he says that if we follow our own dis- position and do as you would have us, before long, we should forget Him, and His laws altogether; that, as soon as you got all your own way, you would drop all the cheerful- ness and good nature you appear to possess, and your real character would then appear ; that once in your power, you would nev^er leave us, until you had made us as wretched and wicked as yourselves, full of all that is vile and sinful ; caring nothing more for Him, and blind and reckless to the utter ruin we should bring upon ourselves ! " *' Really, my dear Mr. Self-love," said Flatterwell (who, however, upon this, with all his art, blushed as he spoke), *' I am forced to say that all this is far from the truth, that you really must not believe Him 1 The worst that we should do is to enjoy ourselves. We might, perhaps, take a friendly glass with you, play an innocent game of cards together, or sing a cheerful song. Pray, can there be any harm in all this } " *' Well," said Self-love, " I must confess I think that the Master DOES judge rather harshly in these matters, I have, I own, sometimes thought that He made you out to be worse than you really are I " The Hedge, Conscience, God's Barrier to Sin. Flatterwell, saw well by this time, that, as far as his disposition went. Self-love was already over the " HEDGE," and that he was kept on his side by fear instead of principle ; from the time he saw this, he made sure of him. He continued, *' The more you see of us, the more you will have cause to think so ! I only wish for my part, that there was not this ugly ' HEDGE ' between us. I have several things I want to speak to you about, but, knowing in what esteem your people hold us, I really fear being overheard or seen talking with you ! If you will allow me, dear Mr. Self-love, a little private conversation with you, I might, with your aid, get through the * HEDGE,' and call under your window this evening : the fact is our whole brotherhood are desirous of obtaining your friendship. I think we shall be able to convince you, that it is mere prejudice, and not wisdom, which makes your Master thus bar His doors against us, and I shall tell you something to your advantage." " Don't say ' we,' " said Self-love, '* pray come alone ; I would not see the rest of the gang for the world, I only 368 MAKING THE HOLE IN THE HEDGE. feel pleasure in you ! I think there can be no great harm in talking to you through the bars of the door ; but you must understand I am dertermined not to let you in ; I must own I wish to know if you can tell me anything to my advantage." Flatterwell going, — turns back, — " Dear Mr. Self-love, there is one thing we have forgotten. You know that I cannot even get over the ' HEDGE ' zvithont assistance. You are aware that there is a secret in the nature of that ' HEDGE ! ' Yoii in the house may get over to us in the wilderness, of your oivn accord, but we cannot get to your side against your resolute wishes! If you will look about to see where the 'HEDGE ' seems thinnest to you, and then set to work to clear away, here and there, a few boughs, it will do for me ; it won't be missed ; and if there is but the smallest hole made by you, on your side, of your oivii accord, we on our side can get in ! " To this Self-love made some objection, but only on the ground of its being seen. Flatterwell replied that the smallest hole would be sufficient, for " he could then work J lis ozvn IV ay ! " '* Well," said Self-love, *' I will think it over ! To be sure I shall then be equally safe inside the castle, as all the bolts, bars, and locks will be between us, so it will make but little difference." " Certainly not ! " said Flatterwell ; but the villain knew well that it would make all the difference in the world. For after an allowed sin is wilfully committed, the HEDGE — Conscience — becomes more and more thin and weak ! Making the Hole in the Hedge. (Conscience). So they parted. Self-love went home convinced of his Master's prejudices against the robbers, and he began to esteem them so only in name. " But for all that," said he, " though Mr. Flatterwell is certainly an agreeable companion, he may not be perfectly safe, so that I certainly shall not let him in ! " Thinking thus, Self-love did not forget the agreement he had made to thin the hedge a little ; he found it easiest to do so by thinking as little as possible of the Master, and exaggerating, by dwelling upon it, the pleasure he hoped to enjoy with his new acquaintance ; At first he only tore off a handful of leaves, then a little sprig; then he broke away a bough or two ! It was observable that the larger the breach became, the more slightingly PRAYER NEGLECTED. 369 he began to think of his Master, and the better of himself ! Every peep he took through the broken hedge increased his desire to get out into the Wilderness, and made the thoughts of the Castle more irksome to him. " I am sure," said he, "one may always stop where one will ; our Master cautioned us that if we went to the bounds we should next get over the hedge. Now I have been at the utmost limits, and did not get over : " Here Conscience (for the hedge was not yet quite destroyed) put in, " Yes 1 but it was not from want of inclination on your part, but only because you were afraid of being seen I " Flatterwell, in the meantime, prevailed on the rest of the robbers to make an attack on the Castle that night. " My brethren," said he, "you now and then fail in your schemes because you are for violent beginnings, while my quiet, insinuating measures hardly ever miss ! You become repul- sive by shocking Vices, blustering and frightening people, thus setting them on their guard. You inspire them with fear and disgust at you, and cause them to apply to their Master (whom we hate and dread) for aid, while I endeavour always to make them think ivell of themselves first, and then to think ill of the Master I If I once get them to entertain hard thoughts of Him, my business is done ! This Self-love is the very one to succeed with ! I am very glad I was,under the Hedge while he was peeping over : he is easier managed than one of your sturdy, sensible fellows, for he has no self-denial, his chief object being his own gratification ! With others we need strong arguments and strong temptations ; but with such fellows as Self-love (and let me tell you there are very many like him), in whom vanity and sensuality are the leading qualities, flattery and assurance of pleasure and ease will do more than you can by intimidation I Only let me manage, and I will get you all into this Castle before midnight I " Prayer Neglected. At night the Castle was barricaded as usual, and no one had observed the hole which had been left in the Hedge. This oversight arose from the servants neglecting the Examination their Master had often encouraged them to make of what had transpired during the past day or week. All were very cheerful within, and all was very quiet without. Some of the servants even observed to the rest, " That as they had heard no robbers that night, they 370 WHY CANNOT WE STOP ? thought they might soon begin to remit some of the bolting and barring, which was troublesome, and they hoped the danger was now pretty well over." It was remarkable that these opinions were generally advanced when the servants had neglected their private business with their Master (Prayer). All, however, except Self-love retired quietly to bed. Self-love slipped down to his lodge. Conscience foreboded something ill would happen if he continued resolved to have his own way, in defiance of the Master's wise and good cautions. But then what right had he to suspect Mr. Flatterwell or anyone who appeared so obliging and civil ? *' Why be uncharitable, and always be kept from doing as others do ? Besides, Flatterwell may really have some- thing to tell me much to my advantage f' — and, to tell the truth, the prospect of pleasure to be obtained, or profit gained, weighed more with Self-love than all else ! " He will be alone," continued Self-love, " what harm can he do me through the bars of the window } Our Master has taken a dislike to him and his associates, but I will prove that he has no cause to fear on my account. I can go to a certain length, and yet stop when I please, and return ! " Had Mr. Flatterwell heard this speech, he ivoiild have been sure of his man I Why } THE REASON. Why cannot the Sinner Stop 1 For here let me pause an instant, and ask you in the words of one of the best and wisest of our day (Dean Trench,) to consider with me ivhy it is that any allowed sin has this fearful power of enslaving those who have no intention of yielding themselves absolutely, and without reserve, to its dominion } — how it comes to pass that no one can say, ** this one sin," or " this sin once more I must have, but I go no further ; in this, it is true, I allow myself wilfully, and deliberately, to commit a sin, but I will then stop short — I need not repeat it ! " How is it that such calculations are sure to be defeated, and none can tell the amount of evil he will commit — the ruin he will bring on himself .? The reason, I think, is that no sin, however separate from other sins it may seem, can be regarded as alone, or by itself; every kind of sin is connected with a whole Spiritual AN ALLOWED SIN, A WHIRLPOOL. 37 1 Kingdom of darkness, of which Satan is the leader and the head, from which it came forth, and with which it holds relation still, even after it has found lodgment in the sinful heart ! The existence of this dark kingdom of envy and hate, of pride and lust, which is ever around us, like the Wilderness filled with Robbers, and would fain also be luithin us, — the existence of Satan and his angels (those tempters, ever w^atchful to find an open door in the heart, and, where that door has been opened for one pleasant besetting sin, ever watchful, by force or fraud, to make an entrance for many) — the fact that there is a Kingdom of Darkness around us, as well as a Kingdom of Light — that w^e have affinities with the one no less than with the other — that sins, no less than graces, are linked together by a mysterious law — explain how it is that any sin walfully admitted into the heart cannot remain quiescent there : It will ever move onwards, casting forth its roots and fibres on every side ; it must gradually vitiate and corrupt the portions hitherto nobler and purer, and sincerer in our natures ! Daily actions, — good or evil, — long continued, produce habits, — habits, confirmed, — make the character (for time and for Eternity), and the Character decides the Destiny, whether for weal or woe ! And oftimes a ruling Sin will have power, little by little, to colour the whole life — to assimilate everything there to itself, swallowing up, like a whirlpool, all that was purer, and nobler, and more Heaven-born in the man or in the youth t There are many sins which have this absorbing character^ ever encroaching more and more, to the wreck and ruin of every noble faculty and power. Let us take but three, 1. Vanity is such a sin. Conceit, — Vanity, — may often seem little worse than a mere harmless foible; yet Physicians will tell you that there is no sin which makes more inmates to the Lunatic Asylum than this. And how many through it have missed the Crow^n of Life on the Last Day will disclose ! 2. The Love of Money is another such sin — ever claiming a wider, fiercer, more relentless tyranny over the soul — ever resisting more and more any openness of action — ever suppressing any generosity in that mind. 3. The L^ist of the Flesh, and Driinkemiess, indulged in, and allowed, prove oftimes another such sin. They have a fearful tendency to become such ! Let me imagine, for example, a youth with many capacities for a nobler and 372 RESIST THE DEVIL. purer life, with everything on God's part to fit him for a useful, honourable position on earth, and an eternity of bliss hereafter, who has suffered himself to be entangled in youthful lusts, has stained himself with these, and then, after a while, or, what is worse, all the while, is awakened by the Good Spirit of God to ask himself, " What have I done ? " Let me ask him how fares it with him at the retrospect when he, not yet wholly laid waste in spirit, with something of good still left in him, feels, never- theless, mastered by the " sins of his youth ! " Though none but himself be conscious of his fall, he wanders away from his fellows ; or, if with them, he is alone, for he is brooding over the awful power of evil, which, indulged and allowed, he now too dearly knows ! Sins in act will, in the nature of things, be only occasional from time to time ; but sins in thought and imagination may, and often will, be almost continual. What a Manufactory of unholy and impure fancies will be the heart which has given itself up to, or has allowed an entrance to this sin ! In that heart what foul and ugly imaginations will be for ever fashion- ing ! Seeking everywhere and in everything for the fuel which feeds them ! You, over whose innocency a Saviour watched with hope ; you, who might ere now, loved and forgiven, have been well forward on your Heavenward way,, had you early repressed this vice ! Oh ! that the youth timidly beginning a departure from his God, by indulging in such sins, could know the fearful condition of him for whom simple, innocent, pleasures and pure delights, exist no more — whom nothing now can please which has not upon it something of the Serpent's slime ! To such a youth who, it may be, feels yet many restraints of conscience, of a godly education — the gentle influence, it may be, of a parent's prayers — whose mind, capable of nobler, better things, warms still at the thought of obtain- ing some distinction, I would appeal. I would remind him that Christ teaches us (and all experience confirms it) that '* Whosever committeth sin is the servant of sin," so that an evil habit, which might have been but as a spider's web at first — so easily might it have been, by a vigorous effort of the will, snapped asunder, — becomes links of iron at last ! He would have you know that Satan, — that tyrant of our lives, — ever puts him who has accepted his yoke to viler drudgeries than before ! If the case is yours, I could weep to think of your one day being lost to feeling, doing things CHRIST CAN DELIVER. 373 greedily and without hesitation from which you would, at the first, have shrunk back with disgust and alarm. But if you have already gone some way in evil, and time after time the subtle temptation is offered to you, and you have given way, let not this discourage you from attempting to throw off the yoke of sin 1 Be delivered from that bond- age of yours — that besetting sin, so sweet now, so fearful in the end. Christ came for that very purpose, that He might deliver. Resist the Devil in the hour of temptation ; resist, not leaning upon your own strength alone, but also appealing for, and leaning on. the strength of Him whose "arm is not shortened "' that it cannot save you ! Do not give up as hopeless the ceaseless struggle such a prospect may present to you, with impure, covetous, or wicked thoughts. Such is not meant to be our portion. We must, indeed, always stand upon our guard from time to time during our youth and during our life ; but this temptation — the Evil One, in the shape he now wears — resist him by prayerful effort, and he will presently flee from you ! Whatever else may hereafter come, the present temp- tation is withstood and shall have passed away. For that time you have proved faithful ; one good step has been taken towards a happier and better world ! You shall know — if such as I have pictured be among my readers — you shall know something of Jehovah's smile, something of the blessedness and joy of a trial and temp- tation met and overcome ! Must I say, in honesty, one other word of caution ? Then I would have you remember — never again to forget it, — that it is possible to go too far ; it is possible to place yourself in a condition for which, as far as regards this life, nothing can be done ! To one who has gone some length in sin — above all, one who, after having begun recovery, has turned back once more to the mire and quicksands of sin — all that is pure — the innocence of children, the holy love of sister and of mother — all that is most fair in God's world must, at times, come to him with a shock of pain, with an INFINITE sadness, for it wakens up to him a sad image of what he is and what he might have been ; but his prayer will now be sincere, " Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean : wash me, and I shall be whiter than snow." You may have to carry — it may be to the grave — the sad effects you have brought upon yourself by sin ; but though 374 WITH GOD ALL THINGS ARE POSSIBLE. your opportunities here may have been lost, your hopes blighted (and the past can never be recalled!) — still there is that last blessed hope left you, if penitent —forgiveness for the sake of Christ. It is not for any to judge another ; He alone knows your trials and your guilt ; but do not shrink from applying to Him. It is your last — I pray God it may prove your best — hope for the endless life to come! I would speak no word of censure, for to such as I have pictured there comes at times a sorrow, a despair, which is more powerful than any words of man ! I would rather ask you calmly to consider what you have to gain or to hope from sin — a moment's fleeting pleasure — and then to reflect what, to obtain this, you nmst hazard and for ever lose ; and as, without holiness, no one can ever see the great and pure God, I would urge you to waste no longer the precious, fleeting days of opportunity that are still your own. Apply to Christ betimes ; throw yourself at His feet. If you can but, by earnest prayer, touch the hem of His garment, you may yet be clean. The injury you have inflicted on yourself may, I say, be carried with you to the grave ; but, if you are accepted for His sake, the stains, the sins themselves can be cleansed. They can be forgiven by God for His dear sake Who, to obtain the power, had to bear the dread- ful load Himself, and to die for them. If He, Who was God Himself, being in agony under the awful burden, could not but raise the cry to God the Father, " Why hast Thou forsaken Me .'' " I would ask you, what shall you do if you fail to come to Him for aid } By the unknown anguish He endured, and every one unforgiven and impenitent, will surely feel before a just Creator, I would urge upon you thus to apply at once ; those sins — under which many a one has given up, and settled down into a sleep of despair, or the quiet calm of spiritual death, and under which (is it not true }) you have almost fainted — will be no longer laid upon yourself, you will be able to look upon them as laid upon another, upon Jesus Christ, upon One " mighty to save," upon Him who did but for a moment stagger under the weight of a World's sin, and then so borne that He has borne it away for ever ! Do not then say, whether older or younger, *' The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and I am not saved ; " do not say that there was no " balm in Gilead, no physician there," for though your sins are " like crimson. He can make them whiter than snow ; " do not say that you have cried and He has not answered. " Hast thou not known, hast thou not heard, that the everlasting God, THE ROBBERS GATHER OUTSIDE. 375 the Lord, the Creator of the ends of the earth, fainteth not, neither is weary ? " " There is no searching of His under- standing." " Even the youths shall faint and be weary, and the young men shall utterly fall ; " but they that wait upon Him in prayer shall feel that though with man it was " impossible," with God, if sought in the name of His dear Son, ''all tilings are possible ! " The Siege begun. About eleven, Self-love heard the signal agreed upon. It was so gentle as to cause little alarm. Flatterwell never frightened anyone ! Self-love stole softly down ; planted himself at his little window ; opened the casement, and saw his new friend. It was pale star- light. Self-love was a little frightened, for though he had become a little accustomed to his new acquaintance, he thought he perceived one or two other persons behind Flatterwell ! The latter, however, assured him that he was mistaken, that it must have been a shadow, which his fears magnified into a company. " Besides," said he, " I assure you that I have not a friend who is not as harmless as myself I " A long conversation now followed : Flatterwell descant- ing upon the advantage of being free from all bounds, in the pleasures of the wilderness, ridiculing the Master, and, above all. His Book. (The Bible.) "As to the Book, Mr. Flatterwell," said Self-love, " I do not know whether it is true or not, for to tell the truth I have rather neglected it, than disbelieved it. I am forced, indeed, to hear it read occasionally, but I seldom look into it myself, it has always appeared luiinteresting to me, and I am not fond of laws and commands, and above all, of the self-denial it urges upon us." " I cannot wonder at it, Mr. Self-love," said Flatterwell, " but I would especially desire to deny the dangers and 3/6 HE OPENS THE CASTLE DOOR. effects of disobedience, which it pretends to be true ; you need go no further than you wish, and a sensible man, can, at all times, return, if he thinks well. The window, however, from which you speak, is so high, that I wish you could come to the door! I am afraid every moment of being over- heard ; besides I have brought you a vessel filled with the wine we use here in the wilderness, for I thought you might like to taste it." " Well," said Self-love, " I see no great harm in being a little nearer ; there is a little wicket in the door, through which we can converse with more ease, and equal safety, for the same fastenings will still be between us." " It will be just as safe'' replied Flatterwell, but the villain signalled to his comrades, for he knew it would make all the difference in the world ! The little wicket being now opened, and Flatterwell close on the outside, they conversed with great ease. " I should not take all these pains to make your acquaint- ance," said he, ** if I did not long to prove that the Master's objections to me are unreasonable and tyrannical ; have I any appearance of hurting anyone .-^ Why I believe, Mr. Self-love, you could trust me inside with you, if we were to close the door directly ; if so, I should at least prove what I say, that we could pass the night sociably together. I have brought you a little of the most delicious wine that grows in the wilderness. You shall taste it, but you know I cannot give it to you unless you put a glass through the wicket to receive it ; you must do it with your own hand, and your own will." " Well," said Self-love, " I can find a glass, but are you alone, Mr. Flatterwell } I thought I saw a uuinber of persons behind you." Flatterwell swore that he was alone, and poured out a glass of that delicious wine, which has, for near six thousand years, gained the hearts, and destroyed the souls, of the keepers of many a castle, when, in defiance of the Book of Laws, they have wilfully held out their own hands to receive it. The Master knew well '* what was in man," when he gave those wise laws ; it was to keep out that delicious poisonous wine, self-gratification, mingled and sweetened with sensual pleasure, covetousness, and flattery, that he had mainly planted the hedge and constructed the locks and bolts. For as soon as Self-love had swallowed the fatal draught, he at once lost all power of resistance ; he felt no more fear, for he was prepared for any breach ! ALL LOST ! 377 His own safety, his good and wise Master, his distant home in the other country, all were forgotten ! " How needless has it been," said he, " to have denied ourselves so long ! I can see no danger in letting you in alone." For though the train was now increased to near a hundred robbers outside, yet so intoxicated with pleasure was Self-love that he did not see one of them except his new^ friend : He Opens the Door. All Lost ! He gently pulled down the bars, drew back the locks, slid the bolts, and opened the door — never, alas ! again to be closed by him. But once again he said, "Though I love this one sin, I do not wish altogether to forsake the Good Master, nor have Him altogether to leave me, so I hope Mr. Flatterwell, you are certain no more will come in besides } " Flatterwell protested and swore that he was alone. Self-love then opened the door (for to the last moment his obedience to the Master's rules had bid defiance to the foe without) ; they could not till then enter. The inontent it was fairly opened, i7i rtisJied, not only Flatterwell, but the ivhole band of Robbers, who ever lurk behind ! The moment they were in sure possession, Flatterwell changed his soft tone, and cried out in a voice of thunder, " Now down with this Castle ! kill, burn, and destroy ! " Rapine, Murder, and Fire, one after another took place. Self-love fell, covered with wounds. As he fell, he cried out (and oh ! my dear young Reader, of either sex, who reads these words, I would ask you to mark them), " Oh ! my Good Master, I die a victim to my unbelief in Thee. I see now that Thou deniedst me no one single pleasure to be enjoyed, if I could have had self-denial to wait till I could enjoy it lawfully I Thy loving laws guided me to the last ; the other Mansion in the Better Country was ready prepared ; Thy loving welcome was ready for me there. Oh ! that the guardians of other Castles would hear me, with my dying breath, repeat the Good Master's words, that ' all attacks from without will not destroy the House, unless there be some Traitor, — some accomplice, within.' Oh! that the Keepers of other Castles would learn from my ruin that he who parleys and dallies with temptation is already undone ! — that he who allows himself to go to the very bounds will soon want to pass the Hedge, 378 ALL LOST ! and will, before long, open the Door for the Enemy ; and when he opens the Door for one besetting sin, all the other sins come in too, and the man perishes, as I do now ! " "And thou, my son, know thou the God of thy fathers. If thou seek Him, He will be found of thee ; but if thou forsake Him, He will cast thee o^ for ever.'''' Sleeping on the House tops, in the East. — (See Dmt. xxii., 8.) (379) CHAPTER XLV. A GOOD SON. ^HERE was a journeyman Bricklayer in our town — an table, quick workman, when sober — but a very drunken fellow, who spent at the Alehouse almost all that he earned, and left his wife and children pretty much to shift for themselves as they could. " Nothing very unusual in this ! " you will say. Unhappily there is not, nor likely to be, while there are half-a-dozen Dram Shops in every street surrounding a workman, — whose weak point is drink, — with every possible temptation that can be thrown in his way. Of all the cruelty and tyranny in the world, surely that of bad husbands, and drunken fathers, is the most frequent and the worst ! Indeed the family might have been starved but for this man's eldest son Tom, who had been brought up to his father's work, and who was so industrious and clever, that though only 17 or 18 years of age, he was able to earn pretty good wages ; every penny of which, that he could keep out of his father's hands, this good boy brought to his poor mother ; and when his brute of a father came home drunk, cursing and swearing, and in such a humour, that his poor wife, and the other children, were in fear of their lives, this good lad, Tom, kept near him to pacify him, and get him safely to bed. However drunk and angry, he 7iever struck Tom. His mother, therefore, poor woman, looked upon her good son Tom as the support of the family, and they all — even his drunken father when not intoxicated — loved Tom dearly! It chanced that one day, the boy, whilst carrying a load of mortar up a high scaffolding, missed his hold, and fell down to the bottom, on a heap of bricks and rubbish ! The bystanders ran up to him, and found poor Tom all bloody — with his thigh broken under him ! They raised him up, sprinkled water on his face, and took him in a cab to the Hospital. I was present soon after, while the Surgeons were setting his thigh ; he did not seem to regard the pain, but said to me, " Oh ! what will now become of poor Mother } " And 380 A GOOD SON. soon after, when she came half-distracted, he said — " Don't cry ! Mother, I shall get well, the doctor says, in time ! " And, not to give her pain, he disguised his own ; not a groan escaped him ! " A simple story enough ! " you will say. Yes it is — only about a poor boy. True, Tom was only a poor lad, with a ragged coat, and he could not write or read ver}^ well, yet there are hundreds of selfish, well-dressed people, who are not half, nor a quarter, the man Tom was ; and Tom, the Bricklayer's son, has always been upon my list of heroes ! They will catch nothing there, but "a cold Transformation. — Scene in the Life of a Gnat. (38i) CHAPTER XLVI. A SINGULAR PAIR OF SCALES. (-JiHE following Fable appeared many years ago in the 4] '* Contributions of Q.Q." It illustrates the value certain i) I things have in the sight of our Creator which are not J greatly esteemed by men, whilst others, which we think highly of, are in reality, comparatively worthless. After many years of thought, toil, and research, we are told that an Ancient Philosopher invented a pair of very singular scales, by which he could test the true, real worth of everything, no matter what ! You will presently see That these Scales were not made to weigh sugar or tea ! Oh, no ! for such properties marvellous had they That qualities, feelings, and thoughts they could weigh ! Nought was there so bulky but there it must lay, And nought so ethereal but there it must stay ! The first thing he tried w^as the head of Voltaire, Which contained all the wit that had ever been there. As a weight, he threw in a torn scrap of a leaf. Containing the Prayer of the Penitent Thief I When the skull rose aloft with so sudden a spell As to bound like a ball to the roof of the cell ! Next time he put in Alexander the Great, With a garment that Dorcas had made for a weight ! And, though clad in armour from sandals to crown. The Warrior went up and the Garment went down ! A long row of Alms-Houses, amply endowed By a self-righteous Pharisee busy and proud, Now loaded one scale, while the other was pressed. By the two Mites the Widow dropped into the Chest ! Up flew his endowments, not weighing an ounce. And dozvu came the Widow's two mites with a bounce ! By further experiments — no matter how — He found ten War Chariots weighed less than one Plough ! A Sword and a Cannon flew up in the scales. Though balanced by only some tenpenny nails ! My Lord and my Lady went up in full sail. When a Bee chanced to light on the opposite scale ! 382 A SINGULAR PAIR OF SCALES. An Attorney, ten Lawers, two Courtiers, one Earl, Three Councillors, with wigs full of powder and curl, All heaped in one Scale, and swinging from thence, Weighed less than one atom of candour and sense ! A sackful of Diamonds weighed less by one pound Than one good Potato just washed from the ground ! Yet not mountains of silver or gold would suffice One Pearl to outweigh — 'twas the " pearl of great price." (Matt, xiii. 45-46.) At length the luJwle world was bowled in at the grate, With the Soul of a Beggar to serve for a weight, When the former sprang up with so strong a rebuff That it made a vast hole, and escaped from the roof! Whilst the scale with the Soul in so mightly fell That it banged our Philosopher out of his cell ! Parable of our Lord. — The Pearl of Great Price. "Again, — the Kingdom of Heaven is like unto a Merchantman, seeking goodly Pearls ; who, — when he hath found one Pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had, and bought it." — Matt, xiii., 45-46. Let us lose everything rather than Christ. •• And one of them shall not fall on the Matt, X., 29. round, without your Father. (383) CHAPTER XLVII. THE JESTER. /N bygone days of English History — when the Nobles lived in Castles surrounded by their Retainers — the long Winters were dreary enough times. With the j"" first breath of Spring came the Troubadours, with their songs of history and chivalry ; and the pursuits of the chase or war were resumed ; but it must have been dull work, without books or education of any kind, in those dark days. It was therefore usual, among the families of the Great, to have a man who was the Fool, Buffoon, or Jester, generally with a cap and bells, to amuse the guests, and to make merry on all occasions, Hamlet speaks of the Court Jester — during his boyhood — as a very superior man. "I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy ! How often was he wont to set the table in a roar." It is evident that these men had really some pretensions to wit and intelligence, though probably what we, in these days, should think of a very coarse character. A certain Nobleman who kept a Fool or Jester, one day, while making merry at table with his friends, and laughing at his jests, presented the Jester with a handsome staff, or short stick of ivory, mounted with gold, telling him to keep it "until he met with a greater fool than himself." Some years after, the Nobleman, who had lived a very indifferent life, fell ill, and felt his end approaching. He therefore took leave of his Retainers, and, amongst the others, came the Jester, looking for once, very gloomy and disconsolate. He had always been noted for his faithful- ness, and although by his profession a Jester, he was greatly respected for his proper conduct and good qualities. In fact he had been a better man than his Master. " Well ! my poor Jester," said the Nobleman, " I am going to leave you ! " " Going to leave us ! " said the Jester. " Why, where are you going to, Uncle ? " '* Into another World," said the Nobleman. " Well ! when do you return. Uncle.'*" asked the Fool — in a month.-*" "No ! indeed, poor Fool ! " — said the dying Baron, with a sigh ; "thou dost not understand much of these things — I shall never return ! " Never return ! " — repeated the Jester ; — 384 HE HAD MADE NO PREPARATION AT ALL. " Good heavens ! Master ! then what provision have you made for your reception where you are going to?" " Why, alas ! " — exclaimed the dying Baron — " I fear my prepa- ration has not been a good one ; I have lived a bad life ; I greatly fear, to tell the truth, that I have made no preparation at all ! " " None at all ! " repeated the Fool, solemnly producing the ivory staff — ** Oh ! Uncle ! Uncle [ Here is }'o?ir stajf I You must take it back again ! For though I am a Fool, I have not been guilty of snch folly as this ! " Parable of our Lord. — The Happy Servant. "And ye yourselves like unto men that wait for their Lord, and if he shall come in the second watch (Youth), or the third watch (Manhood), Blessed are those servants whom the Lord, — when He cometh, — shall find watching," — Luke xii. , 36-40. We see others taken, — all around us ; — every age is recorded on the Tombs- of our Cemeteries ; our own amongst them. Unless we are living an habitual Life of Prayer, how is it possible that we can be ready when God sends the Solemn Summons to us? Men think all Men mortal but themselves ! " When. — and under what circumstances, — shall /also die?' (385) CHAPTER XLVIII THE YOUNG OFFICER AND THE SENTINEL. fN one occasion, during the Peninsular War, one of our Regiments, — sent on to the Front to take up their positions for an expected encounter on the morrow, — had approached by nightfall near to the Enemy's lines. As the first movement of the latter would be in their direction, double Pickets or Sentinels were posted at every point, with injunctions to keep the strictest watch, and orders to report any movement they might observe, or hear, in the direction of the P^nemy. One of the Sentinels, a fine young Soldier, recently come out from home, thought that during the night he heard sounds, as if from an advancing guard from the opposing army; but his Officer of the watch not coming round for his report, and being forbidden to leave his post on any account, he was greatly perplexed what to do. Whatever the sounds were, they were not repeated, and soon after he was reUeved by the next watch. The Sentinels brought in their reports ; no one else had heard anything. Being truthful and honest, the young soldier thought that he ought to mention what he had heard, and, when asked why he had nor reported it before, (for it was found what he had heard was an important change on the part of the Enemy), he replied that he had no means of doing so, as no Officer had been ' round to his post. As his position had been an important one in advance of the others, the Commanding Officer, — greatly dis- pleased, — sent for the young Officer whose duty it should have been. This Officer was a youth hardly out of his teens, who, through influence and good family, had bought a command over veteran soldiers old enough to be his father, who had been serving their country for years. Alive to the disgrace of his position, at such a critical time for the army, this young Officer (who had, in fact, altogether forgotten this particular Sentinel), resolved to deny it altogether, and stated that he had not only come round, but that Henry the young Soldier, distinctly replied that all had been quiet. He was believed ; the Soldier was placed under arrest, and received a severe reprimand. This the young Officer was ordered to repeat \n the morning on Parade, and the Soldier was degraded I When the young man indignantly remonstrated with him for allowing such injustice through his fault, the young Officer, exas- perated at this appeal before the other Officers, struck the Soldier in the face, calling him a " Liar 1 '' The young man flushed crimson, but became suddenly silent. He made no further com- plaint, only saying in a low voice, " I will make you repent all this, sir l" The young Officer, conscience stricken, felt very uneasy at this H I 386 THE YOUNG OFFICER AND THE SENTINEL. threat ; but, in the excitement of the engagement now approaching^ the affair was soon forgotten except by those concerned in it. Then was fought one of those great Battles which made the name of our " Iron Duke," — ^WeHington, — so celebrated. Towards evening one of our regiments was temporarily repulsed. The young Officer, who, to do him justice, was no coward, retreated, fighting every step, till a ball broke his leg. Lying helpless, unable to move without intense pain, and expecting every instant a charge of heavy Cavalry to sweep over them, he gave himself up for lost, especially as he felt that a Surgeon alone could dress the wound, and preventing his bleeding to death. At this moment he heard his name called, and answering, he beheld, on glancing upwards through the smoke, the young Soldier whom he had treated so shamefully, at the risk of his life returning towards him 1 Remembering his threat, he concluded that the young man would now have his revenge ! He could only look up imploringly. Guessing what was passing through his mind, the noble fellow said, "Oh, do not fear me, sir I I heard from the men you had fallen, and ran back to save, not to hurt you. The Hussars will charge over here directly, and our men are in Squares to receive them ! " So saying, he got the youth on to his back and,— just in time, — carried him safely off, with great exertion, and at the risk of his life I When they were safe, and the surgeon had stopped the bleeding, overcome by his feelings, the young Officer clasped the generous Soldier, — whose hand he had not let go, — round the neck, and burst into tears I The young Soldier understood him, and, returning the embrace, said in a low tone, " No need to tell anyone about it. I am quite satisfied with having thus made you repent it ! '" " Be not overcome of evil, but overcome evil with good." Sentinel Box. I (3^7) CHAPTER XLIX. PRIDE. THE YOUNG TUTOR. ANY years ago, in the old coaching days, a young gentleman took the remaining inside place of the North Day Mail Coach. As the scenery towards the ^*J^ end of their journey was fine, and as it was the Summer season, one would have thought that an outside seat would have answered his purpose as well. The fact was, however, that the young man had a great idea of his consequence, and the importance of keeping up appearances. He was quite young — indeed had only recently left one of the great Public Schools — but had distinguished himself so greatly during his stay there, and a few months spent at College, that he had been offered a situation as Tutor to the sons of a wealthy Nobleman in the North ; and was now on his way there. One of a large family, and in poor circumstances, he was greatly elated at having, with great difficulty, secured this position in an Earl's family ; and being a good-looking youth, and brought up, as is too often the case at our public schools, with great ideas of the distinction to be maintained betw^een the Richer and Poorer classes of Society, his natural consequence and conceit was not a little increased by the idea of entering a Nobleman's Family. At about Noon the Coach reached the inn where dinner was provided for the passengers, and a little time given them to rest before resuming their Journey. As the youth alighted, an elderly, respectable looking, man, descended from the top of the coach, and followed him into the Room. The vain young gentleman thought this a good oppor- tunity to show his importance, and to impress the other passengers with a proper idea of the society he had been accustomed to, and therefore, while taking off his stylish wrapper, bran new kid gloves, &c., our elegant young gentleman, addressing- the Waiter, remarked — " I thought that a separate room was provided for the outside passengers ? " The Stranger immediately rose, and, with the air of a perfect Gentleman, observed — " I beg your pardon, I can go into another room ! " — and immediately retired. The Coach soon after resumed its course, the young 388 PRIDE. — THE YOUNG TUTOR. gentleman being highly pleased with himself at having shown proper pride and becoming spirit. At length the Coach stopped at the lodge gates of an evidently grand Mansion, surrounded by a noble Park and Grounds, and he was informed by the guard that this was the Nobleman's residence. A small pony carriage stood waiting, also a handsome Mail Phaeton. " We will attend to you in a moment, sir," said the servant in charge of the pony carriage, in a whisper, coming up to the coach door — " As soon as his Lordship's things are ready ! " The next moment the Phseton door was opened ; the elderly ge}itleina}i, descended from the coach ; obsequious Footmen handed him in ; the Coachman, Guard, &c., all touched their hats ; the door was slammed to ; the footmen swung themselves into the rumble, and the Carriage dashed off down the Drive ! " Why, that was the Earl of himself! " said the guard to the coachman, — pocketing the guinea he had just received, — and handing the coachman the other. " He must have gone outside to see the vieiv ! " Good Heavens I the outside Passenger was the very Nobleman of whose family the youth hoped to become an inmate ! No sooner had he been shown his room, — to dress for Dinner, — than the poor young man sent down a message that '* he felt very unwell, and begged to be excused an interview that evening." But the Nobleman was a wise and considerate Christian man, who knew well the importance of "not letting the sun go down upon one's wrath." One in his position might well overlook the foolish pride of a young Tutor ! " We must not allow the evening to pass thus," he observed to the Countess (to whom he had related the incident, to their mutual amusement ;) " I like the appearance of the young gentleman, he very good-naturedly assisted a poor old lady out of the coach, I think he might suit us ; you must send for him, and we will talk with him upon his conduct." Accordingly one of the boys, — a pretty little fellow, — soon came with " Mamma's compliments " to the young man's room, and the latter, seeing an interview was inevitable, descended, — with the little fellow holding his hand, — to the Dining-room. The good Nobleman, and Countess, had not to reason long with him on the wrong feeling which had induced him to act as he had done in a way calculated to hurt the feelings of another, nor to assure him that 7iothing i PRIDE. — THE YOUNG TUTOR. 389 would induce tJieui, to allow tJieir children, to be taught such unkind notions, and actions, towards others, — perhaps more worthy people in God's sight than themselves, — though not placed by His Providence in possession of the same Wealth, — for the young man at once confessed the folly he had been guilty of, — pleaded his youth and inexperience, and the way youths are brought up at Public Schools ; and being, in other respects, an amiable, accomplished, and agreeable. Youth, he made so good an impression that the Earl resolved to forget the unfortunate commencement of their acquaintance, and to engage him as Tutor. He had no cause ever to regret his clemency, for the latter proved himself well-adapted for the position, and remained many years in their Family. By this Story we may learn, — first, never to despise or hurt the feelings of those whom God's Providence has not placed in an equal social position with ourselves, — and, secondly, we see the advantage of forbearance and forgive- ness at the momentary folly and conceit of another, who may, in spite of it, possess an amiable character, and who had no real desire to injure or offend us. Had the Earl given way to resentment, and treated the Youth with cold- ness, and contempt, he would have lost the services of one who proved a valued, and faithful, attendant in after years, and would have inflicted an injury upon the young man much greater than his act of boyish conceit and pride merited. •'The Lord resisteth the proud, but giveth grace unto the humble." " For he ne'er can be true," she averr'd, ' ' Who can rob a poor bird of its young And I loved her the more when I heard, Such tenderness fall from her tongue. (390) CHAPTER L. INCENTIVES TO PIETY IN YOUTH. "And Samuel ministered before the Lord, being a boy girded with a linen ephod. "Moreover, his Mother made him a little coat, and brought it to him from year to year when she came up with her Husband to offer the yearly sacrifice. " And ere the lamp of God went out in the temple of the Lord, and Samuel was laid down to sleep, the Lord called Samuel, and he answered, ' Here am I.'" — I Samuel \\. and iii, " Cheat not yourselves, as those who do prepare for Death when life is almost turned to fume ! One Thief was saved — that no man might despair ; — and only one, —that no man might presume ! " — Henry Delaune, 1657. QpHE affection of earthly relatives and friends, and the Jl goodwill and love of your comrades, you feel to be 4) I needful to your happiness; but I would remind you 2 that there is one infinitely greater Friend, whose approbation is of more consequence than that of all earthly friends united. God deigns to regard piety in youth as peculiarly acceptable to Himself; if, therefore, you would secure His love here, and be happy for ever hereafter — useful and honoured on earth, and glorious in Heaven — I would, with all affection, urge you to make this blessing of youthful piety yours ! The esteem and love of friends, if obtained in youth and enjoyed through following years, if unaccompanied with INCENTIVES TO PIETY IN YOUTH. 39 1 the love and favour of God, will sink into insignificance when death separates your soul from its earthly abode, and Eternity receives you to its endless existence ; but to possess that early acquaintance with Christ, — that youthful piety which is so pleasing to God, — will most concern you, long after not a trace of you or yours remains on earth, — long after the graves have given up their dead, and the Judge has fixed their eternal doom ! You are now, proba- bly, vigorous and cheerful and well ; but you know that it will not always be so. You know that if you weather a thousand accidents and perils, that the end must come at length, — the day, the hour will come, when it is your turn to stand before the Judgment Seat of Christ. Will it, think you, be a light thing in that dread hour to possess His affection and regard — to know that in His faithful bosom reposes, never forgotten or effaced, that youthful love you felt for Him and His — those acts of self-denial, of forgive- ness done for His sake — that earnest resolution you one day made in secret to honour and serve Him for ever ? Ah ! sweet indeed will you find it then, when passing, like Christian and Hopeful, through the waters of the shadow of death, to know that He is near — to feel that " He is with you." You will remember that in that wonderful book, " The Pilgrim's Progress," when poor Fearing, after his fears and troubles, had to pass (as all must) over the River of Death, Greatheart says that "The Water of the River was at that time loiver than I had ever known it I " What a beautiful idea does it give us of that faithful, tender, love, and goodness, shown by God to the weak and trembling soul as it passes for ever from this earth, — to one who, in life and health has secured His regard and appro- bation ! God can smooth your passage to the Tomb till it is as easy as to fall asleep 1 Can you tell me of any Worldly concern which will be of any importance to you when the year 2,000 comes ? It is not possible ; you cannot. The World then, as now, may be gay and thoughtless ; but to you — long, long ere that period comes — there will not remain one worldly sorrow or one pleasing worldly joy ! The sun may shine as brightly then for others, the earth be as gaily dressed for them, as now for you ; but, long ere that year arrives, those who are now in vigorous youth or decrepit age will be mixed alike in the same dust ! The Clod of the Valley, almost for generations, will have covered both alike — forgetful of a busy, or a pleasurable. World. " The wind 392 INCENTIVES TO PIETV IN YOUTH. passeth over us" and we are gone, and the place that once knew us shall know us again no more 1 The Grass of the Field,— for years and years, — will have flourished and died about the spot where you and I shall lie ! The wild flower, — for years and years, — will have blossomed and faded on our forgotten Graves ! Seek, then, dear Youth who may read these words, a better portion than this world with its pleasures, or its riches, or its honours can bestow. Pursue His favour, Whose favour is better than life, when the world's gains and losses will have ceased to afl"ect us, and the world will have passed away ! The World's scenes of business, and pleasure, and sorrow, will fade from our sight, but not the gratitude or the patience, the kindness or the resignation they draw from our hearts ; the noise of its restless pursuits will never more fall upon our ear when we pass to meet our God ; but not one unselfish thought, not one kind and gentle word or deed, not one act of self-sacrificing love done for Jesus' sake, in the midst of our daily work, but will have left an indelible impression on the soul, which will go out with it to its eternal destiny I Our life here is but an education to fit us for the life to come ! While piety in any situation or age is pleasing to the Most High, yet youthful piety has His especial approba- tion. There can be no sight on this earth more lovely than that of a youth who is rich towards his God, devoting himself to his Saviour — Who died for Him — and ornament- ing Religion by giving it his best years ! INCENTIVES TO PIETY IN YOUTH. 393 Religion may be accepted, at times, in God's mercy, in the aged, but it is honoured by the young — by those who are religious in the prime of their days. Youthful piety is especiall}' pleasing to Jesus ! " I love them that love me, and they that seek me early shall find Me ; " and again, *' Whosoever shall offend " — [that is, in any way turn them aside from religion and piety] — " one of these little ones which believe in Me, it were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and that he were drowned in the depths of the sea ; " and one of his last commands, three times repeated, was the one He gave to Peter, " Feed My Lambs." The apostle John was His young disciple, but it was he who leant upon Jesus' breast at supper, and was the *' disciple whom Jesus loved." As the young peculiarly honour God by youthful piety, He condescends, in return, especially to honour them. ** He that honoureth Me, I will honour." Run over the list of names which God has honourably distinguished in His Word, and you will observe how many of them had early given their hearts and affections to Him. It has been so in later times ; it was so in olden days with the boys Joseph and Samuel, David and Josiah, and Daniel ; and in our times it was no less so with Baxter and Owen, Doddridge, Watts, Wesley, the great and good Mr. Spurgeon, John Angel James, Whitfield, Chalmers, Hervey, Martyn, and very many others, who, in their day, led thousands to Heaven ! Since God, dear young reader, has thus distinguished youthful piety — since He has set such honour upon it — will you entirely neglect it } Will you delay to seek, now that it is in your power to obtain it with a little effort, that blessing for yourself.'' You may easily see various reasons why the Saviour should have a peculiar fondness for his young disciples, and why the Most High should take early piety as a mark of regard to Himself, which he will distinguish with particular approbation at another day — on that day when all the pleasing delusions and vanities of this world will appear small indeed 1 You suppose that he loves you most who appears to care most about you, and is ready to do most for you ; and depend upon it Jesus judges by a similar rule. Those who are most willing early to honour and please Him, and give Him most, show most affection for Him. If, in God's strength, you resolve that you will give to Him 394 INCENTIVES TO PIETY IN YOUTH. those early years which others spend in sin and folly, this will show a most decided preference for Him and His cause. ""I love my Saviour much," may be said by the aged convert ; but " I have humbly proved that I love him," is a declaration that must be left to those who were pious in their youth. They do not give to the Lord merely the evening of a day, whose early and best hours have been devoted to folly and sin ; they present him a better offering than it would ever again be in their power to make 1 While your mind is yet unoccupied with the cares of life, and your aff'ections unchilled with age, — while health, and strength, and cheerfulness, and all the freshness and vigour of life is yours, — this is the Season in which to make the decision of God, before your soul is. loaded with the dark consciousness of long years of ingratitude and sin, gone past beyond recall. You are happy in having it yet within your power ; in a few years, which will soon have passed away, you will have it no longer. As we grow older, new things, new pursuits, crowd upon us, and engross our attention. VVe may think more wisely, we may learn far more of worldly concerns, it is true ; but there /lever comes ngaiii that freedom from care, of boyhood, when the heart and affections might turn with an earnestness, and innocence, and a disinterestedness, to the service and love of the Saviour, which we cannot look for at a more advanced age. You have it yet within your power ; with some pains you may now acquire habits of piety ; and your faults — not yet long confirmed — would soon yield before the sweet com- munion with Him you will enjoy in prayer. That some effort is needful at any period of life — that it is no slight thing to change the naturally evil heart to holiness and purity — it were false and wrong to deny ; but the commencement, at the easiest time for beginning the work, is in your power ; you can begin the needful work any day. God, we are told, " loveth a cheerful giver." The Lord loves the cheerful docility and the affection the Young offer to Him in the bloom and vigour of their days better than the offerings of a few sad dregs of life, which are wrung, as it were, from the aged ! The affection and love of the young is commonly more fervent than that of the aged ; they resign their hearts to the impressions of Divine love when most capable of loving in return ! These love God soonest, and are we to wonder if He loves INCENTIVES TO PIETY IN YOUTH. 395 them best ? Some, like Manasseh, after long years of rebellion, are driven home at last by the heavy rod of affliction, brought low, perhaps, by illness, misfortune, or worse to bear than all, by shame ! In some way or other, mark me, — if He has any love for you, — He will yet drive you home by such means to your Father's House, and you will be welcome ; but where is the late penitence of Manasseh celebrated as equally acceptable to God as the early piety of Abijah, Daniel, Josiah, Timothy^ or John ? After a slothful, selfish life, a lifetime spent, it may be on self, and the acquisition of the things of this World, how will such a one, — even if saved, — bear to hear the gracious words, (a sarcasm upon his life), — " Well done ! good^ and faithful, servant, tJwu hast h^^n faithful, &c." What ! join in the Harvest Home, and bring no sheaf? What ! meet the Father's smile, and have done no work for Him ? What ! meet the Saviours greeting, and bring no jewel for His crown ? God loves all who humbly love Him : nay, more — He loves us even while we are far from loving Him, abusing, it may be. His long-sufTering and goodnes by repeated sins. He loves us in spite of all ; but He loves those best who, beginning soonest, merit His favour most ; it is to such He says, '* Son, thou art ever with Me, and all that I have is thine ! " Again a person setting out on a journey at Daybreak will travel further by Noon than he who sets out by Noon would be able to reach by night-time ; so in religion, those who yield their hearts to Christ in youth will be much forwarder on their way to Heaven by middle life, than they could by extreme old age, if they neglected to do so till later years. What, then, is to be the commencement of your course > Has not God done more for you than words can express I Are we not indebted to Him for life, breath, being, and all things } Through his fostering care in childhood and infancy you have now reached the vigour and bloom of youth ; His creatures have, for years, ministered to your support and pleasure. What shall be your first action in return "i It has been said that '* He who is ungrateful has no other sin," meaning that it is so great a one that it causes all others to sink into insignificance I Shall your first return be to neglect God and religion, and thus act towards your best and dearest Friend with base ingratitude ? 396 JESUS. The Gift of a Saviour. In the estimation of God the Father, Christ was infinitely precious. Christ dwelt in the bosom of the Father from eternity. The bosom is the place of honour. To dwell in one's bosom means to be a sharer in a person's intimate affections and in his secret counsels. Of Christ we read, " This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased." What a proof of the love of God, the Father, to us. His fallen, sinful children, that He should bear the loss of Christ when He left the bosom of His Father to come to redeem the world ! Still more, that He spared not Christ, whom He so tenderly loved, but consented to His suffering and dreadful death for our sakes — the death of a malefactor ! — though, to the eye of faith, there is a surpassing glory upon that cross I He was never so kingly as when girt about with that crown of thorns 1 There was never so much of royalty upon that brow as when He said, "It is finished V and died ! As my desire is not to let the death of Christ be to you " a hundred-times told tale " — which, though you heard it a thousand times, possesses no interest to you, because you cannot comprehend it, — I would wish to make as clear as I can that great and wonderful sacrifice, and what it procured for us. Is it not true that you have formed a vague idea of our Saviour appeasing the fierce anger of God against sin, and satisfying, by His death, the wrath of God, which we should otherwise have felt } It is an unworthy idea to entertain of God's infinite goodness and love to us. No wonder that the young are at times, unable to appreciate or understand the truths of our religion, when they are so generally presented to them in a vague and uncertain manner. There are, it is true, difficulties ; you must not expect to understand the Being of God, and of His Son, and Christ's Holy Spirit. We might as well expect to take up the great sea in the hollow of our hand as to embrace God — the whole mystery of His Being — in our minds ! The finite to embrace the Infinite ! The child of time to comprehend Him that is " from everlasting ! " It is impossible ! Still, we should endeavour to obtain some true idea of God's infinite goodness, and our Saviour's love to us. Christ's Sacrifice was a willing one. You must ever remember that the sacrifice of Christ was a willing one. In many places in the Scriptures you see JESUS. 597 this, especially in the garden, when betrayed, His words to Peter were, " Put up thy sword into its place : thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to My Father, and He shall presently give Me more than twelve legions of Angels ? " But He would not. He had come to redeem us from sin ; the Sun of Righteousness had dawned upon a dead and fallen world ; and, having loved us, He loved us to the end, and conquered sin and Satan ! But was it just that the Righteous should suffer for the sinful ? It was better than Righteous ! How many an act of heroic self-forgetfulness, self-sacrifice, which it would be most unjust to demand from, or force on one reluctant, is yet most glorious in one who has freely offered himself: it is only not righteous because it is imtch better than righteous — because it moves in that higher region where law is no more known, because it has been changed into Love ! The idea of the satisfaction God had in the sufferings and death of the Saviour is an unjust one. How could God be well pleased with the sufferings and death of the innocent and the holy, and that innocent and Holy One, His own Son? Assuredly He could have none ; but He must, from the moral necessities of His being, have pleasure, — nay, the highest joy, satisfaction, and delight, — in the perfect good- ness, obedience, and patience those sufferings gave Christ the opportunity of displaying. It was joy such as alone the mind and heart of God could contain, that in His Son this perfect obedience and perfect pattern of self-forgetting goodness and love was shown. Christ satisfied not the Divine anger, but God's yearning and desire after perfect holiness, righteousness, and obedience in us, — His chosen creatures — the first fruit of His creation, the last and highest work of His hands. You know how we are fallen ; you know that no man ever had satisfied, — how all had disappointed, — God's desires. Everyone, instead of repairing the evil sin had brought into the world from Adam's dis- obedience, had left the evil only worse than he had found it ! But here, at length, was a Son of Man, yet " fairer than all the Children of Men," one on whom the Father's love could rest with perfect complacency, and whose obedience was proved by the greatest proof possible — that he was " obedient unto death." It was thus by that I I 398 JESUS. life of His, crowned and perfected by His death for us, that Christ satisfied to the uttermost every desire of God, every demand which all the other children of men had not satisfied for themselves. The debt of sin was contracted in the currency of earth ; Christ paid it in the currency of Heaven! '' I and My Father are OneT What mystery is here ! What if Eternity discloses the solemn fact that it was God Himself V^\\o died for our sins ; that the Blessed God Himself died that we might live .^ There was a real and intrinsic value in the ofi'ering of Christ, which enabled Him, in behalf of mankind — of whom He became thus the representative, — to claim as a right — (which the Father as joyfully conceded as the Son demanded) — the Redemption, under certain conditions, of us all, from the power and effects of Satan and sin, and opened to us all the door of eternal life. And God consented to all this because through Christ alone, the deep, eternal, love that is in the bosom of the Father to His sinful, erring, creatures, could ever have found a way to reach and redeem us. Amazing love to us, His poor, fallen Creatures, — unparalleled, except by the love of Christ ! Thus Jesus Christ, the brightness of His Father's glory, has suffered and died to redeem our souls from eternal death. Oh ! learn the worth, then, of your immortal Spirit from what passed on Calvary in its behalf ! The great and blessed God resigning His best-beloved to the shameful Cross, to stripes, to insult, and to death ! The patient Saviour accomplished what none but He could perform, and bearing a load of human guilt and sorrow more vast and dreadful than any tongue can tell ! And will you allow it, as far as you are concerned, all to have taken place in vain ? Will you still choose your own way, or cling still to the loved sin, while refusing to listen to the gentle voice which strives to lead you into the path of peace } For us, in the most affecting manner, God the Father and God the Son have declared the value of the Soul. So also learn the same from all which His Blessed Spirit does for the salvation of our souls. Has He not exerted His gentle influence in your heart } Have you never felt the convictions of sin and folly, those sincere and loving desires which can only come from above .'' Has not His still, quiet voice, as it were, said to you at times, " Turn in affection and love to God and to the Saviour 1 You will not find Him a hard Master. Forsake worldliness, and folly, and sinful pleasures ; INCENTIVES TO PIETY IN YOUTH. 399 they cannot but lead to misery : follow religion, and you will be happy for ever." Have there not been times when you have slighted the warnings and the holy thoughts and desires given you thus from above ? Yet has God left you to yourself .-^ Has not your conscience been alarmed, and these holy impressions repeated again and again ? Why does the Saviour, and His Holy Spirit, thus strive with you ? Why has it caused your heart almost to melt ? You did not seek it. Oh ! believe me it is because God '* seeth not as man seeth." His eye alone can look into Eternity. He alone knows what Eternity means! It is because God knows the prospect before you is, indeed, a LONG one, that He would not have you, or any, perish ! Shall God the Father, our Saviour, and His Holy Spirit, all express such concern for the welfare of your soul, and will you slight and neglect that soul yourself? Practical Piety. But do not let your piety be as transient as the morning cloud — as quickly passing away as a watch in the night. Do not draw near at one time of your life to the Saviour, and then pass on again once more into greater alienation from Him than ever I Acquire by earnest, daily prayers, in Jesus' name, and by quiet reading and thought, fixed habits of piety, a true and lasting turning of the mind and affections towards God. If difficulties meet you in religion, or anything which you fail to understand, never neglect to seek the aid of those whom you have reason to believe wish you well ; and do not fancy by their manner that they fail to feel these things earnestly. Only mention your wants, and you will meet with earnest and ready sympathy. We are only standing on the shore of the boundless ocean of eternal life, and are daily acquiring habits both for bad and for good which the stroke of death will rivet beyond the power of an eternity — endless though it is — to loosen ! Do not fear then to determine upon the acquirement of any good habit: remember it can be obtained by you ; contemplate the desirableness of it ; and begin at once its formation ; let some effort, however slight, be made every day ; go on in spite of defeat — by repetition it will become a /ladit. Let us take one or two. (i) Be worthy of trust : never attempt to deceive or im- pose on another ; when found out in anything wrong, never allow yourself to give way to evasion — prevarication ! half 40O INCENTIVES TO PIETY IN YOUTH. the truth told to satisfy conscience, the other half kept back, to falsify the whole ; but speak the truth boldly out at once — to steer dexterously between the two is impossible, for the desire to deceive, or make another believe what is not true, constitutes a lie as much as an open falsehood. When Washington was a boy his father possessed a particularly fine young fruit tree, of which he was very fond. Young Washington thoughtlessly tried his axe against it so vigorously as to reduce it to a sad condition : his father, on his return, enquired of each who had been guilty of its destruction, for the tree was ruined ; all pro- tested their innocence until it came to Washington's turn, when, after a pause, he burst into tears, saying, " I did it, father — / cannot tell a Her' His father took him in his arms, exclaiming with delight — that he *' would sooner lose a dozen such trees than have a son who was a Liar ! " And though it may happen that no such approval, but even punishment, may follow confession in your case, permit me to remind you that the approval of One has been gained, more important and precious far, than that of any earthly parent — your Heavenly Father, before whose eye it has not passed unnoticed, nor will He, who has all things in His hand in Heaven and in Earth allow it, or similar actions done to please Him, by any means to pass away forgotten or unrewarded ! (2) Check those feelings of resentment for any injury, and the resolve to avenge it either now or at some other time ; try to learn that blessed lesson, really to forgive an offence. (3) Remember, also, that no habit is more easily learned, or more difficult to break than idleness ; the first time a youth refuses to try to do anything on account of its trouble, he has begun this fatal habit, and its effects will be bitterly felt when you come into actual contact with the world ! (4) Above all, shun, as you value your eternal happi- ness, and your health, and vigour of mind and body while living, those ideas, those books, that company, which tend — indeed, whose very object it is — to ruin and pollute! They are the most awful scourges with which our world has ever been visited ! They dig graves so deep that they reach to hell. I cannot say more on this subject ; but having seen and known what I have of the freshness of early youth tainted, the spirit soiled, I cannot say less! Bright prospects of future promise lost irrevocably ; the haze of indistinctness thrown over the acquirements, and the pure feelings, of INCENTIVES TO PIETY IN YOUTH. 4OI earlier and better days ; the gradual benumbing and palsying of the intellectual faculties, and/ f J Ki X .^ 1 H in \il "^ V'^^^TaiA I m^K 4^^7y .i#v i rw^^i i K ^M \ 1/ Wk ^ iS^fflu /"«' jesus dies. 433 Calvary. Now from the sixth hour there was darkness over all the land until the ninth hour. And about the ninth hour Jesus cried in a loud voice, saying " Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani," — that is to say, "My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?" After this Jesus knowing that all things were accom- plished, saith " I thirst." And straightway one of them ran and took a sponge and filled it with vinegar, and put it on a reed, and gave Him to drink. When Jesus had received the vinegar He cried " It is finished," and He bowed His head, and gave up the ghost. And behold the veil of the Temple was rent in twain from the top to the bottom ; and the earth did quake, and the rocks rent. But when they came to Jesus and saw that He was dead already, they broke not His legs, but one of the Soldiers with a spear pierced His side, and forthwith came there out Blood and water. Christ's Victory. Thus ended the last contest — the Death upon the Cross ! And had Satan's designs at length succeeded ? Had he made the wicked leaders of the Jews, — God's own people, — • into whose hands his accomplice Judas had betrayed Him, — the destroyers of their own Redeemer from Misery and Sin ? And was the Champion at length smitten ? Was there victory at last for the powers of Hell .'' Imagine, if you can, the joy in the breast of the Evil One when the Saviour expired ! — How he would exult at the Victory which had more than recompensed the struggle of four thousand years ! Exulting Demons are with him, flushed with high hopes they c/are not name, that boast of a ruined World and a peopled Hell ! Hours roll on ; He makes no sign, save that there was darkness over the whole Earth, as if the Sun of God's Creation refused, for a time, to cast its beams of life-giving light, and warmth, upon so guilty, so sad, a Scene ! Day and night succeed each other ; the victory of Evil appears complete and final ! Shall no one undeceive those Evil Ones .^ No ! let them enjoy their triumph while they may ! It were cruel to disturb a Dream like that, which will have so terrible an awakening ! The Victory of Christ. But we, dear Reader, with the light of more than eighteen hundred years shining upon that Mount of Calvary, understand the matter better ! Our Saviour died, — it is true, — for thus only could sin be forgiven. He bore the penalty of God's righteous, but dreadful, punishment for the Sins of the World, of course ; L I 434 CHRIST S VICTORY. — because He alone could by death atone for them, and open to Mankind the way once more to God through Him ! Oh ! to the eye of faith there is a surpassing Glory upon that Cross ! He was never so Kingly as when girt about with that crown of thorns: there was never so much Royalty upon His brow as when He said " It is finished ! " and He died! Yes ! the conflict with sin and Satan was over ! It was " finished " when He said it was — upon the Cross ! The penalty of God's anger against Sin had been borne by One who did but once stagger under the weight of a World's sin when He cried, " My God ! my God ! why hast Thou forsaken Me !" and then so bore that He bore it away for ever ! The hatred and persecutions of the wicked Jews, — His own peculiar people, — the efforts of Satan, and a cruel and dishonoured death, had been borne without a word of pain ; it was only when that departure of God Himself, — that awful consciousness that His blessed presence is leaving, or has left, the Soul, was felt, that this cry was raised ! But it was " finished " now, and the way to Eternal Life is opened to us all ! Poor sinners, — blinded by Satan and their own evil passions and sin, — can now approach God through the Saviour ; and those very Jews who stood round the cross, and brought about His death, were the first invited to come! Yes; Christ had become obedient unto death in the love He bore to us, even such a death as that of the Cross ; therefore God also "hath highly exalted Him, and given Him a name which is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bow." The words of Scripture almost allow us to follow our Lord, who, in His perfect obedience, — perfect goodness, — "■ went forth conquering and to conquer !" We can almost follow Him as He ascends to the right hand of his God and our God — His Father, and now our reconciled Father in Heaven ! The question is asked in the beautiful words of His inspired Psalmist, as he nears the Celestial City, and passes through the blessed ranks of the Redeemed, " Who is this that cometh from Edom, with dyed garments from Bozrah, travelling in the greatness of His might ? " And then comes the joyful command, " Lift up your heads, O ye gates ! and be ye lifted up, ye everlasting doors, that the King of Glory may come in ! " For God has now put all things under His feet ! I jesus can save to the uttermost. 435 Jesus the Saviour of the Young. Be of good courage then, as many of you, dear Youths, who have begun to pray to Him, — but pray with effort, — who resist sin, but too often give way to it ! From our cradle to our grave, Christ the King is ever ready to guide, to teach, to deliver us. Whatever your age, — whatever your wants, — He gives you leave to think of Him as taking our nature, our temptations upon Him — as knowing us altogether. All of us can say, " What I am, Christ has been." He was a Child once — a Boy — a Youth. Thus you may be sure He loves and can aid you, for He has passed through every age, with its temptations ! Wait patiently, then dear Youth, if your Prayers are cold, if your Faith is but weak, if your sins seem many. Pray still ! Believe in God's love and power amidst Unbelief ; struggle still with your sins, however often they may overcome you ! In your perseverance — in your hoping against hope — is the sign that you are Christ's ! Only wait and be not weary, and the night will come to an end at last ! How delightful is the early dawn in the Summer Season, when the forms first, then the colour of things, begin to appear, and there is a stillness over everything, as if preparing for the heat and the noise of the coming day ! So it is with the Dawn of our Spiritual life 1 That is the Dawn, — the Dazvn of an Eternal Day ! — to those who have been thus waiting, when Prayer at last becomes welcome, when we begin to think of God as our loving Father, and begin to feel as His children ! For " a little season " He may seem ^' to hide His face" from you, to try your faith and confidence in Him; but, "with everlasting kindness," He will have mercy upon you ! Therefore take courage, you who believe in God's love and power, and yet at times are ready to doubt it ! Still pray to Him, and try to weed out whatever sin you observe in yourself. Oh ! do not be persuaded to give up the point you have attained to, and before long, the night — your time of trial and darkness — will come to an end, and you shall know something of those things which God has prepared for those who love Him ! Jesus the Saviour of the Old. To the older Reader. Although this Book is intended for the Young, — the writer cannot leave the subject of the 436 THE LATE REPENTANT PERSECUTOR. Crass of Christ, without the following appeal to the older,- and perhaps, unconverted, Reader. "And, straightway, one of them ran, and took a sponge, and filled it with vinegar, and put it on a reed, and gave Him to drink." — Matt, xxvii., 46-48. " When Jesus had received the vinegar. He said, * It is finished,' — and He bowed His head, and gave up the ghost."— John xix., 30. Mankind have ever to be grateful to this unknown man, for this one act of kindness shown to our Blessed Lord in His last agony, — amidst a scene of outrage and cruelty. Even Pilate, — corrupt, and unjust, as we learn from History, though he was, — had his compunctions too ; he had striven hard, and long, with the Jews, to save "this just Person." He had taken a Basin ! — He had washed his hands before them all, saying, "/am innocent of the blood of this just Person, — see ye to it ! " Thank God, some little sense of justice and feeling- representative of our common humanity, — was shown by some ! Moved by the terrible cry from the Cross, — this unknown, — late repenting, — persecutor, ran to the Cross, and performed one act of kindness to the dying Saviour ! It was almost too late! — Matt, xxvii. 49, — tells us that "The rest said, * Let be, let us see whether Elias will come to save Him ! ' " — misunderstanding our Saviour's words to the last. But this late repentant persecutor, — seized with remorse, — runs, — and with trembling haste, — holds up the sponge to Christ ! He repented late, but he was just in time ! Matt, xxvii., 34, tells us that the coarse Roman Soldiers had offered our Lord, — as usual at their Executions, to deaden the criminal's pain, — the '* vinegar and gall ; " but our Lord refused it, He had come to suffer the penalty of Human Sin, — and He would drink the bitter cup to the dregs! But now, that this repentant one, offers it with eager solicitude, the Blessed one, — gracious to the last, does not refuse the last kindly act of Man to his dying Saviour ! Is there no lesson here } It may be that some older Reader, after, perchance, a Christless, — perhaps woeful, — past life, — ^the Harvest past, the Summer ended, — may take up this Book intended for the young. " You speak well," — such a one may say, — " but speak you io the yoimg, — you speak too late for me ! " O ! say not so. Brother ! O ! say not so. Sister ! — limit not the saving power of Christ ! O ! say not so, Brother! — THE master's call. 437 while that precious blood is flowing still for us ! O ! say not so, Sister ! The voice of Jesus cries, " Yet there is room for thee ! " " My life speaks to me of nothing but a neglected Saviour, — a neglected God ! " Then try the last ! Haste like this unknown, repenting, man, to the Saviour upon His Cross, — hold up with trembling sorrow the offering of a contrite heart, and see if the Blessed One will reject you ! " I am too old now to change; I have nothing now to offer Christ!" Well ! some of us never expected much from our characters by nature, — and we have not been disappointed ! Little indeed have we to look back upon with satisfaction ! But some of us, — however poor, and deplorable, may have been our past lives, — d.o yet expect a great deal from our belief in Christ I Nay ! — we expect all tilings from our belief in Him ! The Christian's hopes are not fixed upon the merits of his own past life, — his own good deeds, and virtues, — real, or supposed, — but on the precious and availing sacrifice of Jesus Christ ! Those regrets at our past — too often, — woeful and unprofitable life, — our past sins, — are they not too much like regrets that we could not save ourselves? Come then, to Christ, my Brother ! Come then, my Sister ! The shades of night will soon be closing o'er the Scene ! The Sun is sinking, and to some, the Night seems dark ! Come then, my brother ! Come then, my sister ! They are not my poor words ! It is the lMASTER calls ! Our past life has gone, — it is true, — but JESUS still remains I Like the man who, repenting late, — ran to the Lord, and, though late, was just in time, — let us, also, hasten to that Cross, while Time, and Opportunity are ours ! Christ. Hath He diadem as Monarch, That His brow adorns ? Yea ! a Crown, — in very surety, - But, — of Thorns ! Hark ! hark ! my soul ! Angelic songs are swelling, O'er Earth's green Fields, — and Ocean's wave-beat Shore How sweet the Truth those Heavenly strains are telling, Of that Bright World, — where sin shall be no more ? Far, — far, — away, — like Bells at Evening pealing. The Voice of Jesus sounds o'er Land and Sea ! And Laden Souls, — by thousands meekly stealing, Kind Shepherd ! — turn their weary steps to Thee ! 438 CHRIST. " Whosoever drinketh of the Water that I shall give him, shall never thirst." *' For God so loved the World that He gave His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish, but have everlasting life ! " ** I am the resurrection and the life, he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live." " Whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die ! " " They that are whole need not a Physician, — but they that are Sick!'''' '* I came not to call the Righteous, — but Sinners to Repentance ! " '* Wherefore He is able to save them to the uttermost, that come unto God by Him ! " — Heb, vii., 25. Despondency. The *' Slough of Despond." I Christian struggles to the side of the Slough nearest to "the Wicket Gate," and is helped out of the Slough, Pliable got?, back to the " City of Destruction." (439) The Hid Treasure. CHAPTER LIV, THE HID TREASURE. N your story books you have read many things which have greatly pleased and amused you. You have read of Travels, and Shipwrecks, and Adventures in distant lands, and the wonderful things to be seen in them ; you have been, no doubt, with Robinson Crusoe on his desert island, and pondered over the " Arabian Nights ; " you have read of hidden treasures and gems, carefully guarded by magicians, necromancers, and dragons that never slept. It is really but a short time ago, and it seems less still, since I was reading, like you, the same stories; the same youthful blood flows in me as in you ; the same fancies and desires dance in my bosom as in yours : so that when I would speak to you of a Treasure real and actual, and to be obtained by you, — far richer than all the riches and treasures that fairy tales ever pictured, — which, once obtained will indeed make you happy for ever ; you must not think of me as old and grave, and placed by age out of all fellow-feeling or sympathy with you. No ! I am almost as much a boy as you are, — as fond of seeing all that is to be seen as yourself ! 440 THE HID TREASURE. But is it not true that when you have read such stories as I have spoken of, through many a sunny and happy hour, they have, after all, proved but pleasing tales — pleasant fables — day dreams of imagination — clouds with a sunbeam, or a rainbow, brightening for a moment upon them ? And have you not had to come back to sober every-day life, to work cheerfully and constantly, if you ■would get money or make your way in the world ? So that when I would persuade you to secure with me the treasure I speak of, to come to the same Saviour, and endeavour to walk in His love and favour during our lives — surely I am not persuading you to anything beyond your years and understanding ! Work as cheerfully and constantly as you will, it may not happen that you will succeed in obtaining great riches for yourself in this world : but though success in life is not always to be commanded, and worldly prosperity and riches may never be yours, it does depend upon your efforts in order to obtain this treasure for your •own ; and if you do but become possessor of it, it will make you good and happy in this world ; rich, in having the favour of Him to whom belong all things in heaven and on earth : and it will lead you safely through the dangers and pollution of a sinful world, until it at length secures for you a joyful, loving welcome amongst the blessed ones in the Paradise of God. Hid Treasure. Treasure, hid years ago, is still, at times, found in old walls, ruins, &c. When War is in a Country, it is a ruinous thing ; men's lives are not safe, men's property is not secure ; armed plunderers go about searching for it ; they seize whatever they can ! The more each gets, the better is he pleased. In such times, men who had money or other valuable things, used often to gather all together, bundle it up, dig in the ground, and hide it there ; this they did to secure it, so that when the War was over they might dig it up again, and enjoy it. It sometimes happened that they were disappointed ; the man who hid the Treasure in his field was slain, or died before the return of peace. No one but himself knew about this hidden Treasure, and so no more was heard about it for a long time. It would sometimes happen that, long after, some one ploughing in the earth, or turning it over with his spade, would stumble upon the Treasure so carefully hidden. As the gold and precious stones, and caskets of jewels, and THE HID TREASURE. 44I vases of gold and silver, glittered before him, in the sun- shine, he would lift up his hands in joy, and count himself happy indeed ! It seems thus to have happened with a man we are told of, in a parable of our Lord Jesus Christ. Digging in a field he came upon an hidden Treasure. But the field was not then his own ; he concluded therefore, that until it was, he had not a just claim to the Treasure. The present owner of the field knew nothing of the treasure ; it did not belong to him, but to some one dead and gone long before he became possessor of the field ; nor would he have been any the poorer had the treasure never been discovered ; still, he might claim the whole because he happened to be the owner of the field at the time it was found. The man who discovered it, therefore, examined the Treasure, and seeing that its value was far greater than all the Property he possessed, he next covered up the treasure again, and going home collected all he had in the world, and bought that field ; — thus coming into possession of the Treasure. It was his own. In Matthew xiii., 44, we have the words of our Lord Jesus Christ — "Again the Kingdom of Heaven is like unto treasure hid in a field, the which when a man hath found, he hideth and for joy thereof goeth and selleth all that he hath, and buyeth that field." This is the Treasure I spoke to you of, and which I wish to describe and recommend to you. The Gospel a Hidden Treasure. The Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ is the field in which this treasure is hidden. Is it then hidden ? It is. We see that it is a hidden treasure, for many read the Scriptures where it is hidden, and yet nez'er fi7id it, as many might dig in a field where treasure was hidden, but never discover it. Have you not, indeed, felt it to be so with you, while you have been addressed upon these Subjects } The words of Scripture used, may seem to some uninteresting, because they have heard them so often before. The history of our Saviour's life. His death for us to open to us a way to approach God, and His resurrection — though of infinite importance to each one of us, — is like a twice, or a hundred-times told tale, which we have heard so often, that we are even wearied of hearing about it ; our attention would be ten times more aroused by the commonest Story, or pleasant Tale ! If so, is not the Gospel treasure at present hidden to us } 44:2 THE HID TREASURE. The love of God and Christ towards us has yet given us no real, distinct, lively idea ; our hearts and minds have not yet taken it in. Yet on nothing do the Scriptures lay so much stress ; nothing did our Lord so often urge upon our obtaining, so much as this Knowledge and Faith or Belief in God and in a Saviour. We are again and again assured that our Eternal happiness, and salvation, depend upon our securing this " hidden treasure " — this Faith or belief in God. " I am the Resurrection and the Life," is one of the many assurances we have ; " he that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live;" and again, ■" Whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die." Sin the Result of Want of Faith. And do we not see that every youth who believes in God, and His promises, nmst conquer sin, and therefore must win eternal life? A Christian Youth who is really a Believer in God and in His Saviour, when tempted to a sin, thinks thus ; — '* My body and mind is a holy thing, for Christ died to redeem it ; my heart is a holy place, for His Holy Spirit makes it His temple ; every evil and impure thought and deed, every unkind and wicked passion, profanes the place where God would dwell, and renders it unfit for His abode. I know that the present temptation is strong, but then I have the promise of God, of our Saviour, that to serve Him faithfully will be better for me than anything else in this World ; so, trusting to His word, I will forego the present sinful pleasure, in the hope of that future blessing and happiness." He says, with the good youth, Joseph, when tempted, (Gen. xxxix., 6-9). *' How can I do this great wickedness and sin against God } " Do we not see how great a blessing is this Faith in God — this Belief which prefers future, and as yet, unseen happiness, to sinful pleasure, be it ever so near and present } Do we not feel that temptation must be powerless against one who possesses this Gospel Treasure of Faith, who is fully persuaded of GouW presence, and the power He has of bestowing upon him a reward for his obedience, above all the treasures, and enjoymeria that can be obtained on earth } If temptation proves too =;trong for us, is it not because our Faith is weak } If tie present sinful pleasure beguile us, and we give way to it again and again, although we know it to be wrong, is it not because the future blessings, and the future miseries, jod promises us, are things of which we do not feel quittsiire, and therefore the Gospel Treasure THE HID TREASURE. 443 of faith has yet to become our own ? But the means of becoming possessor of it are open to you ; they are, principally, reading the Scriptures, and Good Books which speak of them, — and Prayer. You see what is wanted, namely, to make the Unseen and the Future prevail over what we see and hear around us every day. I know, indeed, one thing which would effect this in an instant. Let any of us be taken dangerously ill ; let the Doctors look grave and express their fear for our lives ; let his prospects of earthly life be rendered hopeless, — then, at once, a Youth would think far more of the unseen than of the world around him. Our business is to gain for ourselves, while yet in health, with death far distant — with no risk, but to our infinite profit — that lively sense of the presence of God which sick- ness and sudden death would bring upon us when too late to save us. The Treasure is there ; Others have Found It. Thus we see that the knowledge of our Saviour, — obtaining His love and approval, — is part of the Gospel treasure ; we see, too, that it is a hidden treasure. It is hidden, that we may diligently search for it. It undoubtedly is in the Gospel, — we are sure that it is ; but it is hidden, that we may dig for it. If a man knew positively for certain that a great sum of money was concealed in some part of his field, w^hat would that man do } He would surely not be content with knowing it was there ; he would begin to dig over the field carefully. If still he could not find it, he would begin again, and go over it all deeper, until it was found, and safely in his possession. We are certain that the Treasure of the " Kingdom of Heaven " is in the New Testament ; and shall we be less earnest in seeking to discover it and possess it ourselves, especially as we have God's promise, who cannot lie or deceive us, '' Everyone that seeketh findeth ; " and also, " Ask and ye shall receive." I fear you do not seek with enough diligence ; I would have you seek till you find ; the treasure is worth the pains to obtain ! We have all had times of happiness, — too soon, alas ! to be clouded, — when all ill-temper and unkind feeling were far distant, and we felt disposed to love all around us. We have all, surely, at some time or other, felt the happiness which follows having done a good action. What Pleasure in this world can we look back upon compared to these happy moments 1 — and why t Because we have a slight 444 THE HID TREASURE. foretaste of that which is enjoyed in Heaven ; because God permits one of his approving smiles to fail, like sunshine, on our souls, — too soon to be effaced by our- selves. Such happiness, to be enjoyed through an endless eternity, is worthy of some effort to obtain ! The Lord Jesus Christ has purchased the Kingdom of Heaven as a pleasant heritage for Believers. He gave Himself to purchase it, to open it to fallen and sinful creatures, when changed and fitted for an entrance into it by the blessed influence of God the Holy Spirit. Heaven. He told His disciples, " I go to prepare a place for you." What a Place that will be which Christ will prepare ! Selected out of all the Universe — a chosen Place ! We see, even on this earth, places of great beauty, and we can conceive spots far more delightful than any we see. But what comparison can they bear to Heaven, where everything exceeds whatever "eye hath seen " or imagination conceived ? It is a purchased possession. The price it cost the purchaser everyone knows ; and, having purchased it, He has gone to prepare it. Oh ! what a place Jesus will make, — has already made, — Heaven ! The place should indeed attract us ! It is free from the evils of earth. Not only what is in Heaven should attract us, but what is not there. There is no night there, with its darkness, its coldness, its dreariness ; and no moral night, with its ignorance, its misery, its unkindness, its sin. And why is there no night there .'* Because it is lighted by the presence of God. " The glory of God doth lighten it," and there is no need of other light. There is no more curse, for Christ has redeemed it from all curse ; and " no more death." Each, as he enters this blessed place, feels, with untold delight, I shall see Death no more ; I have done with sin and deaths and God's displeasure, for ever and ever ; I shall now enjoy the Company of all who were truly lovely on Earth ; above all, I am made welcome by Christ Himself, and shall be presented by Him faultless before the Throne of God ! I had judged our Saviour hard, His yoke difficult. His conditions impracticable ; I now see Him meek and lowly in heart, remembering the least thing I did to please and serve Him ; I find that it was He who interceded for me, watched over me all the days of my life, gathering up with love, the least good He perceived in me ; and my sins are now covered by His righteousness, and forgiven for His sake, so that they shall never be mentioned to me again ! THE HID treasure:. 445 He permits me to join the blessed company in Heaven. What warm and joyful thoughts crowd upon them, of their dwelling there with such company, and that for ever and ever, ever growing in goodness and knowledge towards infinite perfection, " Neither sorrow is there." Sorrow is here ; it is here around us, about us every day ; we hear and see it, and, sooner or later, we \\\w?>\. feel it ! But it is not there, neither shall there be any more pain, for *' God shall wipe away all tears from all eyes," never to return ; for what shall cause weeping when He wipes away tears.' Time to Seek the Treasure. Shall we make no effort to gain this Heavenly Kingdom especially when we are urged by our Lord Himself to "strive to enter in, for many shall seek to enter in, and not be able } " And why 't Because He would have you to remember that now is the time to seek it, — to seek that *' land that is very far off/' Yes, now that the time is ours : for they do not seek it in Heaven, — they enjoy it there ; nor in Hell, — they lament it there I But you can see the treasure now, for it is the Morning time with you! The Years of Youth are called "The morning of life." It is a beautiful expression. For the Morning is the time of dew, and fragrance, and of pure fresh air and sunlight. It is a time that all enjoy, — young and old alike, — so cheering, so refreshing is the breath of morning ; and therefore because they are the first and best of our years, youth is called " The morning of life." One thing that youth is expert in, is in shaping dreams of future happiness. Old men and men in middle life do the same, but a youth excels them all, in this work; for they have had some trials of the realities of life, but a youth has had little experience in them ; hope is generous and ardent, bold and adventurous. Of all the dreams of a youth, the dream of long and happy years is among the most pleasing. What a long period a single year in Boyhood appears ! A few weeks of Vacation from School, or from Business, appear long ; they look long. What an amount of pleasure they yield \ Content to think but of the passing moment, our only thought is to obtain as much pleasure from them as we can. Thus, without a thought of the future, we can- not believe how short time really is ; we cannot be convinced of it ! You cannot understand older men when they tell you that all the years they have lived seem like a dream of the night when once they are gone, or like a morning cloud that hastens to pass away, and fade out of M I 446 THK HID TREASURE. the sky. You will understand them by and by. It must soon be your own experience ! Our life here, beginning from youth, and terminating with our death, is a " day of oppor- tunity " — the opportunity of knowing what are the things that belong to our peace, and of gaining possession of them. And what is life, even if all else w^ere ours, without peace, — peace with God ? Without peace with God, though every earthly pleasure be ours, life must ever be a burden /lere : it will be a curse in the world to come ! On earth, — for some years, — a man ?/iaj' make shift to live without peace with God, although it is in God alone he lives, and has his being ; but how when it comes to his turn to go out into Eternity ? Do you ask " What are the things that belong to m}- peace ^ " The first, — and without which little can be hoped for, — is to obtain a consciousness of si/i — of our distance from holiness and from God ; the consciousness of the power of sin, and that only with God's assistance can you strive successfully against it. It is the first step in the Path of Peace, — the first step taken on that narrow path which leads upward, and onward, to endless life, — the first step taken to find the " Gospel treasure. " But oh ! if obtained early, it is one great step indeed ! for it disposes you gladly to use the means of obtaining peace with God ; and God has so arranged that if you seek, in prayer, for deliverance from sin, and for peace with Him, in the name of Christ Jesus, God can, with perfect justice, forgive, and blot out your sins, and be reconciled to you, and bestow upon you Peace and Salvation. The Enmity and Dislike in our hearts towards God and Religion, will thus be changed to love ; and Communion with Him will be pleasant indeed to you then. There are other things which belong to your peace, you can read what they are in your Bible. Ask your Parents, your Teachers, what they are, but, above all, ask God, in Christ's name, what they are. You should think how exceedingly anxious God is that you should seek this Treasure, that you should attend to the things that belong to your peace, in order that you may obtain it. He is very anxious about this ; for He knows how many things that you have in your daily life to turn you away from the Search. He knows, too, that the "Day of your opportunity," though it seems long to you, is really very short, and is quickly passing away. His eye alone can see how long is the everlasting prospect before you ; and yet in that short day alone, can you or THE HID TREASURE. 447 anyone, have the opportunity of seeking the " Kingdom of Heav^en." You cannot fail to see how anxious God is about this — how anxious He is that you obtain peace with Him ; for He allowed His only beloved Son to die for you, in order to open you a way of reconciliation with Him. And Christ is no less anxious that you should draw near to Him ; our Lord weeps over the wilful, hardened sinner, as He did once over those in Jerusalem. " Oh ! that thou hadst known even in ' this thy day,' the things that belong to thy peace." " How often would I have gathered thee, even as a hen doth gather her brood under her wing, but thou ivouldst not ! " " The day " was their day of opportunity. You also have a day of opportunity ; we all have. Your '* day " is the present time — quiet days, quiet Sabbaths for thought, earnest teachers, God's Word placed in your hands. It is now that you are entering upon life with young, (and I do not doubt, warm and loving) hearts, not yet set upon worldly things, — not yet deadened to the love of God and Christ by long years spent in earthly cares and possessions, — long years of coldness towards Him, the giver of them all. Christ showed His anxiety over us by thus weeping over those who had despised the things that belonged to their peace, and cared nothing for Him, the only means of reconciliation with God. " If thou hadst known ! " It was as if He had said, " Oh ! that thou hadst attended to them ! " It is true that when sinners have rejected and despised Him till their day of opportunity — of salvation — has at length passed, there comes a time when Christ can mourn over them, or care for them, no more/i?r ever ; those sinners over whom He wept at Jerusalem have long since departed from His sight, and from concern ; but that is not so with you ! Oh ! believe me He watches over you with as full, and anxious a heart, as He ever did over them ! How will you rejoice His loving heart if you now attend to tne things that belong to your peace ; with what love will He look upon you if you thus early give Him your heart, and earnestly seek to please Him. Whether rich or poor (for God is too just to be a respecter of persons), there is no sight upon this earth so blessed as that of a youth who is thus rich towards His God ; it is cause for thankfulness both to men and angels to see a youth, with all the time allowed us here in his hands, employing it all to the honour of his Saviour. He waits for the smallest melting of your heart ! Will you disappoint Him } Will you turn away ? Is your heart 448 THE HID TREASURE. too proud, or too cold, to drop one tear of penitence before Him who has so loved you ? Life comes but once. Those days we thought so long in boyhood will surely have an end ; evening after evening will close around them, as, one after another, they pass from our view ; the year we once thought so long a time will seem nothing when it is gone. Many and many a youth has thought that he would very soon, begin to seek after this " Gospel treasure," — this peace with God. All intend, one day, to be concerned as to their hopes of Heaven : every youth intends, one day, to take some steps towards his Heavenly Home ! He was not insincere in his resolve ; he really did think to do so shortly ; but he did not begin to-day, and thus, letting one opportunity after another go by, has perished ! There is no such time as to-morrow ; our only time is the present hour. God's ear is not heavy that He cannot hear ; you may begin to pray to Him any day in Jesus' name, if you will. He can do much for you! The Lord Jesus can pardon your sins ! You cannot get quit of them otherwise ; you cannot, in any other way, get their guilt removed ; the punishment due to them, in God's law of perfect goodness, and justice, cannot otherwise be escaped. It is no wonder that in hours of reflection, — (for, however he may drown it in pleasures, the hour of sober thought and reflection must come to all, the same), — this thought sometimes mars the sinful pleasure of a wicked youth, or a wicked man, filling him with terrible apprehensions, and almost with despair. It will do so one day, and that day, to many, may not be far distant. Colonel Gardiner, — who, noted for his wickedness, and apparent cheerfulness, was known by the name of "the happy rake," — says, that when a dog came into the room, he wished himself that dog, in order that he might escape the misery of his conscious sins and guilt ! But Christ can deliver you from this sense of God's displeasure, this weight of sin and guilt, which, even upon this earth, is a load of misery ; and how willingly would the Lord Jesus do it did you but feel conscious of your distance from Him, and would make up your mind to do your part ! What Christ can do for you (which none other can) forms a precious part of the "Gospel treasure." Deliverance from the power and the punishment of sin, safety from all the snares of Satan, unspeakably precious as it is, is but a part of what the Lord Jesus can do for you. He can enrich you still further, for the Gospel THE HID TREASURE. z}49 treasure is inexhaustible. Our hearts are naturally prone to love sin. and liable to give way to it : He can give you a new heart, which will prefer good to evil — heavenly desires and affections, such as holy minds and the angels have. To have a soul at peace with the great God, on Whom depends our happiness during an endless eternity, — possessing His love, becoming more like Him, impressed with His likeness, — what a thing is this ! It would be pleasant to dwell longeron the riches the Lord Jesus has to give you : they are called "the unsearchable riches of Christ," there is such store of blessings, and riches in Him. But I fear to weary you. If I have already done so, forgive it ; it is because I am in earnest in wishing your best welfare, — in longing that you and I may both secure the Treasure of the Kingdom of Heaven for ourselves, and meet each other there. If all that I have said falls coldly, dully, on the ear of any, should you not ask j^ourself why it is; — why the treasure is so hidden from you that you feel no disposition to seek it, and why all that has been said seems so unreal to you.? You would not be willing to throw all your earthl}' treasure away ; you would not be willing to throw away the five pounds, or the five sJiillings, you may possess : will you, then, despise and throw away the " unsearchable " riches of Christ } Until you have taken some steps in the search, you can know but little of His riches and love, and of the value of the Gospel treasure. It is but a very little I have been able to set before you now. I would not wish to throw a shadow on your hopes for this life, — cast one cloud pn your pleasures, and prospects of future happiness. I only wish you to enjoy them as in God's sight, — not as stolen, but as His free gifts, that His smile ma}' rest upon them all. One word in conclusion. \\"hat did the man do who found the treasure in the field } He went and sold all, and bought that field. We must do the same if we would gain Christ's treasures; you must give Him something in return. He says, "My son, give Me thy heart." It is all He asks for in return, — your affection, }-our love. He makes you a most gracious offer. One of two must have your heart, your desires, your thoughts, — Satan, with his allurements, or the Lord Jesus Christ. Jesus bespeaks it, that he may make it pure and holy, that he may enrich you with all blessings and glorify you with Himself May He give you grace to accept thankfully the good offer which He makes ! "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to conceive, the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him." (45o) CHAPTER LV. RICH AND POOR— A CONTRAST. POOR (?) kl4HEN I was teacher in , a severe winter had set in. Dark December had arrived, with its cold, nipping wind and frost ; the ice was thick on the ponds, a pleasant time for those who are well fed and clothed, with money, friends, a warm house, and merry parties awaiting them night after night during Christmas time ; but it was a terrible winter for the poor. It was a sad time for the half-naked bodies and feet of the children of our Ragged School. Their ankles and feet were often bleeding with the cold ; the teacher was often grieved to witness them shivering with the cold, especially as little could be done for such a number, it being with great difficulty that sufficient funds were raised to carry on the School. During this winter some of the boys were taken ill, and died through their constant exposure to the piercing cold. There was one poor boy, James , whose death-bed I shall never forget. A cold (neglected) had settled on the lungs, poor diet, exposure, no proper attendance or medical care, hastened the end. The teacher learnt that he was dying, and, after a long search, found, at length, the Court and House, in a back court of a wilderness of streets, in a poor neighbourhood. Up a back staircase, and in the corner of an empty, cheerless, cold room, lying on some dirty straw, he found the boy. A coarse, drunken-looking, woman, evidently the mother, — what a MOTHER ! — handed me a broken chair, the only one. A large deal box stood in the middle of the floor, serving for a table, and tJuit was all ! Their things had gone, one after another, to the pawnshop, close by, and the Proprietors of the two large gin palaces, at the corner, had the money. If the members of Government {not tJiemselves in the tirade) would leave their West-end-Clubs some winter nights, and go a little amongst the poor, and witness their temptations, the swarms of flaunting gin shops, which snck the life blood from the labouring poor, would soon be diminished ! James had a young brother and sister, and had just taken leave of them, urging upon them to keep in the school, and learn about Christ and the way to Heaven. RICH AND POOR. — A CONTRAST. POOR (?) 45 I James said that he *' was dying," and that he "was going to Jesus." He asked to have some words of the Saviour's read to him which had struck him most at the school. He was evidently dying ; the medical man had thought it needless for him to call again ; he could be of no use. He fixed his dull eyes upon his father and mother, who were both now in the room, looking at the dying boy for the last time, and poor James said, in a faltering voice, " Oh ! mother, will you give up drinking, and go to chapel, and pray for a new heart ? I want to meet you in Heaven, dear mother." Poor woman 1 the tears were running down her pallid cheeks. A guilty conscience added force to the dying request of her child. There was, doubtless, a long, sad tale here, of neglected children, and a ruined home. Who knew better than she did, that his life had been shortened by her own extravagance, and miserable neglect, — spending year after year, in her intemperate habits, the money which should have clothed her children } Theirs had been one of those miserable homes, — drunken parents, — constant quarrels, and the whole train of wretchedness which follows; but there was not one word of reproach for unkindness, ill-usage, and a life shortened by their neglect. James had turned to his father, telling him he was about to leave him, but he felt sure that he was going to his " Heavenly Father," and, looking wistfully at him he continued, " Won't you give up swearing and bad words, father, — and not beat mother, and read the Bible, and pray to God } " The rough drunken, and coarse-looking, man could not answer a word ! There he stood, wiping aw^ay the tears with his flannel jacket. The mother answered for him — " He will, James ! Yes, he will ; we both will ! " The teacher offered up a prayer, as they all knelt beside the bed, and then left. He heard afterwards that the boy died about an hour after he had left them. But after the affair had a little gone from their minds, the Parents of poor James, were the same again as ever, and returned to their drunken habits. Poor James ! It was impossible to wish him back again, — why should we, when the Saviour had taken him to Himself from such a life of wretchedness — had taken him to that bright home where God wipes away tears from all faces, and where all sorrow, and crying, have passed away ! And why should we say " poor " James, when, after all, he possessed all things, in possessing God's love, and the " unsearchable riches of Christ ? " Was this boy " poor ? " (452 ) CHAPTER LVI. RICH AND POOR.— A CONTRAST. RICH (.?) " I am too busy. " MERCHANT sat in his office ; numerous letters and books were spread before him, clerks and messengers passed to and fro from the various offices, everything indicated a successful man, surrounded by a splendid business, and absorbed, in its intricacies. An earnest Christian man is shown in to the office. "Oh! Mr. , we want to interest you in an effort to check some of the vice, intemperance, and misery, which has of late been increasing in our part of the town." The Merchant cut him short — " My dear sir, zvill you kindly excuse me ; but I am really too busy to attend to subjects of this kind." " May I call again when you have a few minutes' leisure.''" Why! really I cannot say ! I'm generally very busy, occupied every day. You will excuse me, I know, GOOD morning ! " So it was, and so it had always been, with this successful man ! He would talk for hours about business ; hint at a profitable speculation, and he would invite you to his house to talk it over, for he was a sagacious, bold, and successful business man ! But when it came to anything which did not concern his oivn interest and gain, he was always " too busy ! " And he said the truth ! He was involved in a lucrative business — his hem^t was there — he was too busy to listen to the claims of religion — too busy for any tiling but making money ! But one day a SUMMONS came to that Selfish Man ! The Pale Messenger who brought it was unexpected ! He came suddenly, — and he seemed in haste ! Stop him ? You might stop the world ! It was a Summons which brooked no delay ! Every door flew open, and in lie came I The Stranger stepped up, at once, to the Rich Man, — no one saw him but the Merchant, — and, laying a cold hand on his shoulder, said, in a voice that ivould be heard, — " You must come home with me ! " A sudden chill fell upon the merchant's heart, — he laid down his pen, — he would never want it any more ; — he closed his books, — he would never open them again ! He left his counting-house, and was taken home to his RICH AND POOR.— A CONTRAST. RICH (?) 453 bed, and ever and anon something whispered to him — *• You must go with me!" What! leave it all! A chill had, indeed, fallen upon the rich man's heart ! Dim visions of his ships, and property, deeds and shares, and land, flitted before his mind ; but there never came visions of past good done ; the widow and the fatherless visited — the neglected cared for — Christ's cause promoted ! For years and years he had said that he had been too busy to attend to these things, but he found that he was not too busy to die ! For the merchant knew all along, that the name of his strange vistor was DeatJi I Humanity — mercy — and religion had once begged his influence, and means, and attention. He always said that he had no leisure to attend to these things, but he found that he had plenty of leisure to die ! Yet every one said after his death that he had been a "very successful man," and, at the splendid funeral, it was said at the grave, that '* it was with a sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection ! " A sure and certain hope for one who had never done one single thing for the God Who made him, and the Saviour Who died for Him "i Successful ? Surely if the Bible is true, it were far better for that sham, false, Christian, when lying in his coffin — far ** better for him if he had never been born ! " When excuses arise to our life — " that we are too busy to find time for prayer, and for religion " — too busy to secure life's great end, — let us remember, however busy we may now be, — we shall find, like the Merchant, that we :shall not be too busy to die ! Was this man " rich ? " (454) CHAPTER LVII. THE RICH YOUNG MAN; OR, THE ANXIOUS INQUIRER. A Moral Young Man. — Anxious about Eternity. — Yet Turns from Christ. — What he should have DONE. " Lord, what shall I do that I may have eternal life ? " ^(\(\ E are told, when the fame of Jesus, and his wonderful miracles was spread far and near, that there came a Young Man to Christ, earnestly asking Him " what he should do " to ensure eternal life. Our Saviour named to him the Commandments : — to do no murder — not to steal — to avoid sins of uncleanness — not to say, or to swear, anything falsely ; to honour his parents, because they stood in God's place towards Him while young ; and sums up by that most difficult, but blessed attain- ment — " Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself." The Young Man was able to reply that he had "" observed all these things from his boyhood upwards ! " And, indeed, it appears there was truth in what he said — his eagerness in coming to the Saviour, (for we are told that he " came running ; ") — his reverential manner, for we learn that he kneeled at Jesus' feet ; and his being able to say that he had kept so many of the commandments, showed that there was indeed much in his youth to love and admire. Jesus Himself recognised, (as He is ever ready to do), the good and amiable qualities in this young Man. A courteous, humble, behaviour, — a sincere and docile disposition, — is far from being disregarded by Christ ; not only in this place, but in others in the New Testament, our Lord expressed his approval of it. It was evident that this young man had given some diligence in seeking after eternal life, and had a Concern about his hopes of Heaven : he thought himself righteous, it is true, but still he was willing to receive further instruction, for he asked, " What lack I yet ; is there any other precept to be performed in order to entitle me to life eternal } " There is ever hope of one who is willing to be taught, and not indisposed to improvement. His concern for Heaven was not a sick-bed concern, for he was in the THE MORAL YOUNG MAN. 455 vigour of health and youth, — nor was it the melancholy of old age, which renders the pursuit of many of the pleasures of this world no longer possible, — nor was it his being discontented and out of humour with the world, for he was rich and prosperous, — already a young ruler among his people. How many things meeting, as they did together, in this young man, were there to render him worthy of love ! How rarely do we find amongst those like him, in the prime of youth and prosperity, this concern after Eternal life ! He turns from Christ. And yet this unhappy Youth, — one whom even the Saviour, as he regarded Him, " loved," — nevertheless fell short of Heaven, from his love to this World! Here we have one who was young, was modest and sincere, — had a desire after Heaven, went far in the outward forms of godliness, and he had a mind, too, to follow Christ — but there came the parting point ; Jesus was poor, and His followers must, in some things, learn to deny themselves ; he " was not far from the Kingdom of Heaven " — he was almost a Christian, — but he loved this world, — feared the loss of his riches, and pleasures and honours too much to become altogether one ! We are not expressly told whether he was brought to repentance and salvation in the later years of his life — but, from what we gather from our Saviour's discourses with His disciples on His departure, — most probably he never was, — for if he loved his Estate and Money so well in his youthful years, that Vice would naturally, and but too probably, increase, as it invariably does, with age ; if he could not decide altogether to accept the proposals of Christ now, in early youth, would he be more likely to do so, after years of worldliness had been passed T' Many lovely accomplishments joined together will not of themselves win eternal life. Why should they .? They are accidents of Birth. God does not see merely as man seeth ; nor can he bestow that priceless blessing — Eternal Happiness, — merely on account of some natural good qualities possessed. Before His eyes the hidden vices of the mind are naked and open ! They may be concealed from others, we may even impose upon ourselves, in respect to our real merit, but he who knows what is really excellent, obtained by a life of piety adopted, and persevered in ; nor is His love, in its highest sense, to be purchased 456 HE TURNED FROM CHRIST. contrary to His own settled and eternal laws. He could not but perceive in all these good qualities of this youths a mind too full of love to other tilings to have room left to love Him. Although God loves us all, He does not save us all. " God so loved the World, that He gave His only Son, that he that believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life." Yet thousands do perish ! Jesus- tells us that many go in at the wide gate and broad way to destruction, and few go in at the strait (difficult) gate that leads to life. Why t Because, like this youth, they cannot give up, — ivill not give up, — what is needed to secure their salvation. Although considered in His hnnian nature, our Lord could not but feel complacency and love towards so hopeful a youth, yet Jesus Christ, considered in His Divine cJiaracter (as God), could not merely, for this reason, so bestow His special and saving love upon the young man, as to communicate, in his present condition of mind, Divine grace and salvation to him. It becomes us to be silent, and humble, before that depth of Divine wisdom, which could pass by so hopeful a one air this youth, upon whom Jesus could not look without loving him ! Yet there is a lesson for all, in this very painful and solemn thought ; for what would become of the morose, the naturally rough, the rugged, tempers, the ill-formed,, and unlovely, of this World, if God should give eternal blessedness to none but the fair and well-favoured } No youth, therefore, however conscious of his inferior character and disposition, should by any means, be discouraged in seeking Salvation and God's love. How mean soever may be his position and appearance among men, God can supply all that he needs to be pleasing in His sight. Let such only avoid sin, and be happy for ever ! On the other hand, those possessing great natural advantages, must not flatter themselves that they are, upon that account, beloved of God, and the more likely to become partakers of eternal blessing. It is undoubtedly a most saddening thought that any, born, like this youth, with a sweet disposition, and, — (to our finite ideas) — blessed with so much that is lovely, with such capacities for good, should ever fail of securing Eternal happiness. But you should remember that this good humour, or natural kindness of heart, which makes you the favourite of all, and gains for you their good wishes, and THK RICH YOUNG MAN. 457 kind services, in return, may spring more from your natural good, healthy spirits, and gentle, cheerful, disposition. And is this enough upon which to place your dependence for Eternal life } Oh ! that I could speak in words earnest enough to awaken you to the timely fear which those in such a position find it so difficult to feel the necessity for ! Allowing that there is some truth, — and justice, — in my words, let me ask, " How will your gentle nature, that had something so loving in it, sustain to be banished for ever from a World of Love ? How will you bear the rage, madness, contention, and spite, of Malicious Evil Spirits, in a lost state, excluded for ever from the regions of concord and peace ? " Appeal to the Reader. And, dear young Reader, is not your own case very similar, in many points, to that of this young man .-* He came to learn of Christ, — and you came to Sunday schools, or to Christ's earnest Ministers, to hear of Him, to learn the only way to eternal life and happiness, by loving and serving Him, Whom to love and serve is happiness here, and must be so for time everlasting. It is the aim of every true teacher in religion to lead others to apply to Christ for themselves ; and if our Lord were to ask US as to our knowledge and practice, surely a large proportion of us would be able to answer that they know well, as this youth did, the chief Truths of the Gospel, and that, though they could not say that they had followed the commandments, like this young man, from their youth up, yet at least they had followed many of them, and intended still to follow them ; that they had, at least, shrunk from much evil, and hoped to shrink from it still. We must all have had, at one time or another, some feeling, — however transient it may have been, — of the infi- nite love and kindness of our Lord to all His people, especially to the Young. The love, the goodwill, the kindness we remark in any here on Earth, what are they but very faint, and imperfect, reflections, borrowed from Him, from Whom all goodness, and love, and kindness spring ? Before Whose merciful eye not even a sparrow falls unnoticed to the ground, and before Whom " the very hairs of our head are all numbered." When, therefore, He sees any of you living as I have described,— guilty of no gross sins, and doing many duties, — trusted, and confided in by your superiors, — doubtless N I 458 APPEAL TO thp: young. loved by your friends, and affectionate to them in return, — it is indeed true that Jesus, beholding you, as He did this young iiian, loves you. He regards you, not with severity or threatening, but with an earnest desire that you may become wholly His, and be loved by Him for ever. So it is, I trust, that we stand before Christ to-day : Jesus, ** beholding you, loves you ! " In His voice to you there is nothing harsh, but it is full of gracious encourage- ment ; all that there is good in you He freely acknowledges, and regards with approbation and love. But let us hear His words to a young man who had constantly kept so many of His commandments : " One thing thou lackest," which must be obtained, and " come, follow me ; '' follow My teachings, and that daily life which will brighten more and more, and lead ever upwards, through a fallen world, to the bright home above. Can we say that we have kept, like this youth, many of God's commandments ? Then let us not be content ; for do not our consciences assure us that there is " one thing " that we also " lack ; " which He would have us gain without delay ? No Way but by the Cross. It may have been we were following Christ's teachings when it was easy to us to obey Him,— and it is, often thank God! pleasant and easy to do so. We "loved those" whom we felt "loved us ; " we were glad when we could give them pleasure : — it is good, and right, and pleasing to Him, to do so, but surely not very hard or painful. We have abstained from many low, discreditable, vices ; it is good and right to do so, but surely not very difficult, when there is but little to induce us to give way to them. Christ loves you, as He did that young man, but He calls you to something of more real service ; true, He encourages us to enter upon that service, for He tells us, — and those who have followed only a little way can testify to the truth that His yoke, — His law, — is easy and light, that it is the Path of Pleasantness and Peace. Yet still He says, " You have followed me when it was ea.sy to do so, will you also ' go away ' when a little more is asked of you, when you can, with some little pains, honour and advance My cause.''" What else is the meaning of "taking up the cross" but being able to deny ourselves something given up for His sake, anything which promises enjoyment, but is, we feel, opposed to His will, as it also is to our best interests and good ? NO CROSS, NO CROWN. 459 It is easy to deny ourselves extravagant, and idle, or sinful pleasures, when they are such as we care little for, but when they just suit our tastes and desires it is not always easy to deny ourselves. There are times when it is no easy thing to check the impure thought or inclination ! It is easy to speak the truth w^hen the truth is convenient, — but there are times when it is not always so easy to speak the whole truth. It is easy to feel kind and good-humoured when we are pleased and happy, but we must expect sometimes to do our duty, though it be at the loss of some pleasure and enjoyment ; — to endure the scornful smile, or unkindness, from others, without irritation or longing to return evil for evil : — all those things must surely run through our lives daily. These are the things in regard to which Christ tells you, " One thing thou lackest," in order to inherit Eternal life. What was it hindered the young man, we read of, from following Christ ? He " went away " grieved because he could not be good easily ; he had now to choose between his pleasure, and comfort, and riches, — and his duty, — and he " went away," grieved, — it is true, — that he could not keep them both ; but although he " went away sorrowful," yet he could not give them up, and so lie ivent azuay ! Did Christ call after him ? And surely, with a /rtr deeper grief than he could feel, did our merciful Lord look after him as he "went away ! " To see him in whom He had seen so much that was good that He loved him, and hoped to have loved him always, not turn away, with but very little hope of ever coming again in this life so near to Him, when he " was not far from the Kingdom of Heaven ! " But did our Lord call after tJiis youth, — (whom in his human character He loved,) — as he " went away," and say, " Turn back, young man, for I love thee still, and if thou wilt not follow Me when it is hard to do so, tJiou may est still be Mine } " Alas ! notldng of the kind I It could not be 1 Our Saviour's own way led to the Cross on Calvary, whither His Father's will called Him ! Then said Jesus to His Disciples, " It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the Kingdom of God." What he should have done. But if this rich young man had NOT turned sorrowfully away from Christ, but had kept the nearer to Him, and 460 TRANSIENT IMPRESSIONS. asked him for that strenorth and love he needed to follow Him, surely his Saviour would have beheld him with a far greater love than before ! He would have given him the strength he needed, and what seemed as impossible as a camel going through the eye of a needle WOULD have become possible, and "the rich young man" would have entered the Kingdom of Heaven ! You, dear Youth, who reads this Book, have heard Christ's call to follow His gentle rule, to serve Him in thought and word, and deed, even when it may cost you some little effort and pains to do it. Will you also ''go away ? " Like a Vessel sailing on a moonlit Sea, hozv many a youth has come out of darkness and gloom, and sin, — has been enlightened for a brief moment with a Saviour's love, with concern as to his hopes of Heaven, — like the vessel which, coming from gloom and darkness, is illuminated, for an instant, in the narrow strip of moonlight that glitters on the water, and then, — passes on again once more into the darkness and gloom beyond, never to return ! Will you also " go away t " Oh ! do not turn away, it may be, sorrowful — because you are young, — and because you may be in a place where temptations are many, and faithful obedience, and service to Christ, may cost you many a sacrifice, — for if the necessity for such a life as this still appears harsh to any one, — let him remember how soon he may change it into words of the tenderest love, — *' Whosoever shall do the will of My Father, which is in Heaven, the same is my Brother, and Sister, and Mother." THE RICH YOUNG MAN. 461 We had judged our Saviour's yoke, heavy and severe, His commandments impossible to perform. You will find Him gentle and loving in heart, keeping account for you of even a cup of water given in His name ; gathering up with love the least good He perceives in you ! We shall find there is happiness to be obtained in such a life, — when it has become habitual, — which nothing else will ever give ! Amongst the number who assemble together in a Sunday School, or in a place of worship, — who for a short time meet together and then pass away from sight, and in time from remembrance, — there will be some by whom such words as the foregoing will be heard with indifference ; the words are heard, the Seed is sown, it is true, but it falls imJieeded or uselessly by the Jiard luayside, upon the cold, hard, or careless heart ! But there will be more, w^ho, like the young man in the Gospel, are convinced that they have a Heaven to gain and a Hell to shun, — who do feel some anxiety as to their hopes of Heaven, — and are willing to do something to obtain Eternal happiness hereafter ; but they cannot see the absolute necessity of beginning at prese7it, of letting others see that they care so much about these things ; or there are pleasures, and amusements, which they fear they may have to give up, and so, for the present, tkey turn away, it may be sorroivfnlly, — resolving, at some future time, to begin anew. Speaking from the experience of all ages, and all times, I would warn you that that time, to some, will iiever come ; the door of Eternal life will never be entirely closed, so that it cannot possibly be opened, but the truth is that the entering in to some 'will never take place I Neglect. "Time Enough Yet." They will allow their present opportunity to gain Eternal Life to pass by neglected ; — the negligence of to-day will only be followed by the negligence of to-niorrozu ! There will come a time when these will look back with alarm upon a prayerless, woeful, misspent life, and fain would have their youthful days over once more to devote them to the Saviour ; they w^ill be startled to find, after long habits of sin and prayerlessness, that there comes a time when it does seem impossible to press into the Kingdom of Heaven ! It may not, it is true, be said of any that even in the eleventh hour, some may not go to work in the Vineyard, 462 WE MUST USE THE MEANS. that even in the eleventh hour it is impossible for the sinner to enter into Hfe eternal, but God does not, — cannot, — work such miracles every day ! And when others shall have reached that Promised Land of life and happiness, and meet once more in those Rtalms of Light, their names, those names which once were called over together, — those who were once so closely connected, who sat side by side, — hearing the self-same words, — will not be found written in the Book of Life, and they themselves will be absent for evermore ! But oh ! if this should ever be the case with any who has read these words, do not let him ever say that it was because Christ had less love to him than to others, — that evil came more easily to him than to others, and that his prayers seemed to meet with no answer, and so he gave them up ! No ! The Saviour's heart now yearns over each alike ; and though, after long grieving His Holy Spirit during a sad and misspent life, there does seem a time when we shall seek Him but shall not find Him any more, yet we may noiu all pass into the Kingdom of Heaven if we will ! And let him not say that there was no one ever to entreat him to think upon these things, and to begin the needful work ! We all know the meansof doing so, — thehabit of praying alone, — of reading our Saviour's words and commands, — the daily attempts to fulfil them, and to overcome our besetting sins. It does, I say, depend upon ourselves, with God's blessing, upon our efforts, our prayers — (for I speak to those who have known and heard Christ's Gospel, and with all things ready on Christ's part to give us the victory) — whether that entering in shall take place to us, — whether we shall be among those who are taken, or those who are left. In the Battle of the World, what may be lost at one time may be retrieved at another ; but the great Battle of Life comes but once for us all ; the interests at stake are so tremendous, — a long Eternity depending upon the result, — that we must in this Battle win and conquer now, or all is lost ! If any prove not successful, the blame, alas ! will too clearly be seen, when too late, to have been his own ! We shall find that our Lord followed us with tender and watchful interest through our life, from the earliest period that we ourselves can remember, making all terminate in those thoughts of conversion, — those desires after God and LET US ALSO COME TO CHRIST. 463 Holiness He now strives by His blessed Spirit to produce in you ! The blessed God, — and the faithful Saviour, — follow the Sinner from Jiis childhood to his grave ! Oh ! beware how you reject those precious thoughts and feelings while you are young ; believe me they are not at our command ! We can, if we will, encourage them by our prayers ; we can make a point of doing so every day ! What shall I say more ? ** Come and see ! " To lead you to Christ is our great aim and hope, — (perish all our books and words if they have not this one earnest desire ever for their object !) — and, ashamed of having so long delayed, so long hesitated whom to serve, — yourself or Him, — so long disputed, — you will seek your first prejudices against Him, but will find them no longer ! " God's ways are ways of pleasantness, And all His paths are peace." ' ' In Thy presence is fulness of joy, and at Thy right hand there are pleasures for evermore ! " " If I ask Him to receive me. Will He say me Nay ? Not till Earth, and not till Heaven Pass away ! " (4^4 ) Home from School. CHAPTER LVIII. OUR FATHERS AND MOTHERS. " Honour thy father and thy niotlier." r^r^'OTHlNG is more striking, — as showing the wise and Jl gracious plans of our Creator, than surrounded by a H \ number of Youths, to ask the question, — " Where were ^ all these some fifteen or eighteen years back .'' They were not alive, — this room crowded with Youths, not one of whom was alive when it was built ! How can we help admiring God's wonderful provision, by which thousands, and hundreds of thousands, of Children are nourished and cherished till they have grown to be as healthy and intelligent as these Youths now are ! What cause is there to thank God for our Fathers and Mothers ! That obedience and love towards them is pleasing to God, we are assured again and again ; and when we give the Subject a little thought, we shall clearly see why this is so highly esteemed in the sight of God, for there are many things which prove that the same disposition to love and obey our parents is nearly associated with the obedience and love we owe to our Heavenly Father. We should try to OUR FATHERS AND MOTHERS. 465 encourage the most dutiful thoughts about our Parents. We should view them as standing in the most endearing relation to us, as those who, while young, stand as in God's stead towards us ! We should regard them as those to whose love and government God himself has committed us. We read in old times of two sons who saved their aged parents at the sacrifice of all they possessed, and at the risk of their own lives. In ancient times a city had been set on fire by the savage troops, no quarter was to be given, but two youths, who had done them a service, were permitted to bring out any- thing which they held most dear to them. The soldiers waited impatiently to begin the savage work and pillage. At length the two youths re-appeared ; — there was gold and plunder to be had, — but no ! The youths sought their aged parents ! One took his feeble old Father on his back, .and the other his aged Mother, and bore them through the scorching streets, till they had got them safely outside the wall ! Granted, if perchance they be aged, and possibly infirm, there is little of interest or amusement, and therefore, but little fellow-feeling, between them and you ; granted, even, that, with increasing age and feebleness, there may be at times, a querulousness of disposition, should you not, in spite of all this, remember what they have been to you ? With life and health laid up, as it were, in store for them it may be, for many years to come, how apt are the Young not to feel for the aged ! You may laugh at the little weaknesses and foibles of the old, let us see if you laugh at them when your hairs are grey ! You have yet to learn the sadness felt as one relation after another, — one old friend after another, the comrades of our early days, — pass from our sight never again to return ! The eye once as bright as your own is dimmed, it is true, by age ; the spirits once as bright and gay as your own, are heavy now perhaps with many an anxious care ; the limbs, once as light and active as yours, are failing, it is true ; but if, when it shall come to your turn to experience this, if when you need a stronger than you, — an Almighty Friend to whom to turn, — you do not wish Him to close His ear to you, try to do your duty to your earthly parents ! Godless, Wicked Parents. It is true, alas I that there are some who will say, " But there are many things in my parents I can neither * honour' 466 GODLESS PARENTS. nor * obey ; ' they never taught me when my heart was young, and could have been easily turned to God, to pray to Him, and I have grown up hardened in habits of prayerlessness ; hardened to the thoughts of His goodness, accustomed to living without Him in the world, ignorant and careless of the presence of a loving Saviour." We will not speak of such Parents in the terms which they deserve ; surely we may think their punishment sufficient in the day when we shall all stand before the Judgment seat of Christ, and His Almighty and Awful voice is asking " Where are those to whom I entrusted this immortal life, but which they ruined by their sinfulness and neglect ? " Alas, for them ! they are saying to the rocks and mountains, " Fall upon us, and hide us from the face of Him that sitteth upon the Throne!" And if the lot of those born in such scenes of irreligion, scenes, it may be of sin, and wickedness, excites sympathy and desires for a happier future in store for them, in the minds of their Teachers and friends, how much greater must be the interest felt for such by the Great and Blessed Creator Himself? He never made man to bring misery on himself and on his Children, or Wife, by sin and idleness, and Drunken- ness, and an Irreligious life ; what is it but His Holy Spirit which ever tries to incite us, when tempted, as we all must be sooner or later, to pray for help ? How must the loving Saviour's heart be pained \yith seeing the lives such Children are brought up to, — to witness the temp- tations such are exposed to as they grow older ? But these are not the cases most of us have to do with, most of us have had Fathers and Mothers worthy of the name ! A Mother who fed you at her bosom, day by day, for many a month. Many and many a time she denied herself for you, many a weary hour of anxious care did you cause her ; she thought of you wherever she went, and your little cries soon brought her back ; she bore with all your weak- nesses and fretfulness, she dried up your tears with the sunshine of her smiles, and sang you to sleep with gentle songs. Does she deserve no love, no returns from you ? Then your Father ; — how many a year, — through disap- pointments and anxious cares, — has he patiently toiled from morning till night, to procure you food and subsis- tence, when you could do nothing for yourself. What plans have your father and mother thought over for you, OUR FATHERS AND MOTHERS. 467 what anxious solicitude do they feel that you should grow up pure, and honourable, and good men ! How many a prayer have they raised for God's blessing to be granted you, that you may join them after death in a brighter and better world ! Have you been tempted to think Prayer in the Family tedious and monotonous ? Have you asked yourself why it feels so, and if at least some of the fault is not your own? What more beautiful picture can you desire, more pleasing in the sight of the Great Creator, than is presented by the poet Burns, in " The Cotter's Saturday Night :" "The cheerful supper o'er, wi' serious face, They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; The Sire turns o'er wi' patriarchal grace. The big ha' Bible ance his father's pride. Then, kneeling down to Heaven's Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays ; Hope springs exulting on triumphant wings, That thus they all may meet on future days." Who was it but your Father who gave you those pretty presents ? Who took you to all those pretty sights ? Who tried to make your studies interesting to you ? Who but he supported, protected, and educated, you ? And does he merit no love, no affection from you in return ? Look at any poor boy, without Parents to care for him, without home, it may be, driven to beg in the Streets, and you must see what a blessed thing it is to have a " Father and Mother/' It is to be marked how very little we are told of the Lord Himself, when He was a boy, and yet that the little we a7r told about Him should bear upon this very Subject of obedience, and respect, and love to parents. We learn that He was subject unto His parents, and that he increased in wisdom and stature, and favour with God and man. And oh ! if He who was God over all, and blessed for evermore, — \i He honoured and obeyed His parents, setting us an example to follow in His steps, can we plead that it is unnecessary } Do we feel no ambition to follow Christ's example, and now, that the opportunity is yours, also to increase in favour with God and man .^ If so, remember that law which, from the first, God Himself came down from Heaven upon Mount Sinai,— which shook and burnt and smoked the while, — to give, with nine other great laws, to Mankind ; that law, " Honour thy Father and Mother, that thy days may be long in the land." 468 WICKED SONS. To warn Mankind how important this is, God ordained that " the eye which mocketh at his father, and despiseth to obey his mother, the ravens of the valley shall pick it out," meaning that such might expect an untimely end, and thus be exposed unburied to the birds of prey. To show how dreadful is disobedience to this law in God's sight, however lightly we may think of it, to show what great importance He attaches to it, we read that His la\\^ in those early days was, " If a man have a stubborn and rebellious son, which will not obey the voice of his father or his mother, they shall say unto the elders of the city^ this our son is stubborn and rebellious, he will not obey our voice : he is a glutton and a drunkard. And all the men of the city shall stone him that he die." True, we now live under a new, a clearer dispensation ; true, the law that was then, '* Eye for eye, tooth for tooth ; if a man has caused a blemish in his neighbour, so shall it be done to him again," has given way to a purer, nobler, higher law, now that Mankind are sufficiently advanced to receive it, the new law our Saviour brought with Him upon earth, ** But I say unto you, love your enemies, do good to them which hate you." True, disobedient and bad sons are not to be destroyed in this way now ; cases which would have been death under the old law, appear to be unnoticed now ! But is it really so ? Alas ! how many Youths there are of a character only too like that just represented to us ; — unlike the youth who came to Jesus with so many good qualities that the Lord loved him, though he lacked one thing needful, — these, as they grow up are possessed neither of the beauties of holiness, nor the attractions of kindness and courtesy! Ungentle,— unaccommodating, — in their disposition, they are incapable of enjoying happiness, and unwilling to impart it I Unhappy young men ! See them at home ; they are tyrannical, morose, proud, selfish, domineering, ungrateful, disrespectful, to their parents ; not to be checked by a father's mild authority, unsoftened by a mother's love. Such often actually realize the words of God, their days are not long in the land ; for His Holy Spirit being rejected, and having withdrawn from them, how often do they add immorality and profligacy to all this ; shorten their own lives, and do much to break a Mother's heart, and bring down a Father's grey hairs with sorrow to the grave ! True, such are not suddenly destroyed now ; in these days of grace, God allows the wicked time for OUR FATHERS AND MOTHERS. 469 repentance ; our punishments and rewards have now not so much to do with tJiis world as in olden days, but such, if they remain impenitent, are in danger of a worse punishment than stoning. Oh ! do not go away with the impression that such conduct is to be passed by now unnoticed ! Is it really so .'* Is God's eye dull that it can- not see } It is easy to laugh at the admonitions, the warnings of others, but there will come a time to such when they will laugh again no more ! You may go on to-day and to-morrow as you have done ; you may inflict the bitterest grief and pain on a loving Parent ; you may visit the same scenes of Vice and Sin yet a few times more ; the jests, and folly, and coarse language of the companions you have chosen will fall yet a few times more upon your ear ; you may think that God has forgotten, that His judgments are less sure than formerly ; but the hour will come when you will luidersiand tJie matter better ! Gentle, loving as the Saviour was and is. His warnings are plain and unmistakeable, He forewarns us " Whom we should fear ; not those who can kill the body, and after that have nothing more that they can do ; but fear Him who, after He hath killed, hath power to cast into Hell ; yea, I say unto you, fear Him ! " Let not God's long-suffering in these times make any think that His eye, before which all things are open and naked, looks more slightingly upon disobedience to His laws than in those former days ! Indeed it is not so ! Is there such a youth as I have described attending to me at this moment t Go, I implore you, while time and opportunity are yours, to your room, to your knees, to your God, and strive after a change of disposition ; it is the fruit, I am aware, of many a struggle to such a character as this, — of many a prayer ; but remember that every good and perfect gift cometh from Him, and that the Change you need is yet possible. I have already spoken of the example of our Lord Himself; and, to show how suitable it is for your imitation, I would remind you that our Lord was at this time a Boy twelve years old, a period neither too late nor too early for your imitation. But, instead of setting our eye upon His example, and, with His assistance, earnestly endeavouring to follow Him, how often do we look to what others will say and think of us if we do so ? O I 4/0 false shame. False Shame. The practice of private prayer, of communion with God and Christ, may not in itself be generally delightful to you ; but, although not generally delightful to our fallen nature, it would, I believe, be much oftener practised by the young, at the period of life most pleasing to God, and most blessed to themselves, were it not for a false and mistaken shame of what may be said or thought of them by others. But what ? Is there cause for shame because our hearts are yet young and tender towards our Heavenly Father ? Are we to feel shame because we desire to love and serve that great and blessed God, in whom, "we live, and breathe, and have our being ? " It would seem strange, a Youth thinks, to be seen reading his Bible, although that blessed Book is the only one in the whole world which has God for its Author ! It would seem unusual, he fears,. to seem to love Prayer, although by it alone we can be fitted for a brighter, and a purer, World ! Surely we all see the falseness of all this ; surely the shame and the deepest shame too, is to those who refuse to pray to their Creator and Preserver ; surely there is not a sight more blessed on this fallen Earth than a Youth who is thus rich in love towards his God ! I have spoken of the false shame which would turn us from Piety. But this is not all ; but, strange to say, you sometimes learn to feel ashamed of indulging your natural affections, — of being much attached to your father, or mother, or sister, and being fond of their society. You fancy it is unmanly to be influenced by them, and you are afraid of being supposed to care for their kindness towards you. I would not discourage perfect manliness and independence, but I would ask you, — do you not some- times affect a bluntness and hardness you do not really feel } At first it is put on with an effort, from fear of seeming too fond of home ; but alas ! the effort, I fear, soon ceases, especially in some dispositions, to be one, and the coldness and reserve, which were at first merely put on, become too often the natural temper. It may be greatly owing to the System of Education in PZngland, which tends to weaken, and lower, confidence and love between Parent and Child ; for certainly there is more of cordial intimacy, more of real familiar friendship between parents and children in other Countries of Europe than generally exists among us. In OUR FATHERS AND MOTHERS. 471 England, when at School, there is a long absence from Home — other persons and things engross a large share of your thoughts and feelings. Many things, small in themselves, are felt very keenly; for instance, you compare yourself with others, and you do not like to have less money than other boys, or to have fewer presents sent you ; this hurts your pride, and you think of your Parents as less generous or less wealthy than others. Thus feeling towards Home, the effect of absence is increased tenfold : concealment and restraint are sometimes the dispositions with which you meet your Fathers. Then comes actual life. You go out to service as Clerk or as Apprentice, perhaps, in another Town — it may be to other parts of the World, — and settle at a distance from your Father's house ; the opportunities of undoing the bad, and cold, impressions of early life are no more obtain- able, those loving voices which are associated with early, and bygone days, are but to be heard by you a feiv times more, and all that passes between Father and Son are a feiv short letters, — and a feiv short visits. — till you are called upon to perform the last sad act of duty that will EVER be required of you, — in following your Parent's dead body to the Grave ! *' Be kind to thy Father, for now he is old, His locks are besprinkled with grey, His footsteps are feeble -once fearless and bold. For thy Father is passing away! " Last Words. Though this may be far from being your case, we have all need to guard against the tendency to that false shame, — 4/2 OUR HEAVENLY FATHER. — that hateful pride, — which suppresses the expression of duty and affection, and makes you affect being undutiful even before you are so in reality. And I press it upon your attention the more earnestly, that your confidence and affection may not be lost toward your earthly parent before they are centred upon a Heavenly one. For I would remind you that the same coldness encouraged towards those who stand in His place respecting you is too likely to be felt towards our Heavenly Father. In all that I have said in reference to the claims of a Parent, I had this in view ; for what are they but a faint type of that duty, that affection, that confidence which ought to exist in your heart towards your Creator and your Redeemer ? I am the more desirous, in conclusion, to draw your attention to this, because many who are gentle, docile, and dutiful, towards their earthly parents may yet be wanting in this one needful thing. OUR FATHER IN HEAVEN. There may be some among you who possess many things really lovely and amiable ; kindly and affectionate to your Parents and Companions ; willing ever to oblige, and looked upon by them in turn with joy and pride. There may be some of you who, if needful, would work nobly to render assistance to an aged Mother, and keep her from want, who would share your last meal with her, and your Brother, or Sister, or Friend, while at the same time you are wholly destitute of piety or affection towards your God! Alas ! this, 7nore *than anything else, exhibits to us the fallen state of man towards his beneficent Maker ! That the Immoral, the Thief, the Adnlterer, and the Covetous, whose idol is his wealth, should disclaim subjection to his God, is sad, but not surprising ; but the alienation of the World from its Maker is even yet more seen in the amiability which can feel love to all but God, — the industry that feels no labour heavy, that never yet wrought one work for Christ, done to please Him, — the strength and endurance that care for no toil, except the labour of serving and worshipping God ! That must be a Separation, indeed, which exiles Him, as it were, from the World that He has made ! That when His voice is heard seeking admittance to our hearts, "When He comes to His own, His own receives Him not." Will you that He should see the fairest things that He has formed, — the fairest feelings He I OUR FATHERS AND MOTHERS. 473 has implanted, — embracing every object but Himself, bearing fruit for all but Him ? At your cheerful presence many an eye brightens when you enter, and the kindly smile shows that you are a favourite with all ; have you no wish for the favour of One whose favour is above all ? You would not willingly be thought ungrateful, unkind, to your companions, nor repulse the kindly feelings of a young companion towards yourself! Will you repulse, by coldness and ingratitude, Him who has so loved you ? Will you refuse His love who even died for }'our sake, to redeem you and to make you His ? Shall you by courtesy, civility, and good-nature please and gratify every one else, but never ask the question " Where is my Maker, my Heavenly Father who gives me all things to enjoy, that I may feel the light of His countenance, and reflect it back in gratitude and love ? " — He who merits our faith, our love, our submission, our devotedness, He, our Creator, Preserver, and Benefactor ! Does it never occur to you. if such a one is amongst us this day, to ask yourself, " How must I appear in the eye of God Himself with this one defect, — the want of Religion, of Piety towards Him ? " Seek, then, by overcoming this false pride and coldness, I have spoken of, towards your nearest relatives and friends, to encourage in j^our heart the growth of kindly affection and disposition. But let your reason for doing so be because you feel it is pleasing in the sight of Him, who is the nearest and dearest friend of them all ; One who thought nothing too dear or too costly to resign for us. At unexpected seasons, in unforeseen ways, and without 474 CHRIST AT THE DOOR. effort on your part, tokens of God's goodwill will come dropping in upon you, as richly laden vessels come dropping into a sheltered harbour with the tide ! And if miracles are not wrought for your reward in this life, — if purer gales do not breathe to preserve your health, nor softer suns arise and more timely rains descend to ripen your harvest, — yet of this you are confident, that God is pleased with you, and will surely manifest His approbation. He, indeed, looks with gracious approval upon a blame- less, dutiful childhood, as it blossoms into a graceful Youth and Manhood 1 He regards with pleasure the inclination of your heart towards him, your early docility and gentle, good-humoured acquiescence to those who endeavour to act for you, standing as it were, in His stead. " Honour," then, ** thy Father and thy Mother, that thy days may be long in the land." Do not repel by coldness as if to show that you can do without it, the affection they feel and show towards you ; let their faults be what they may, the life-long affection of a parent is not to be slighted; the world is cold and selfish, you will find such love is easier lost than found, when that familiar form and well- remembered voice have passed away. But, above all, let me urge you, finally, never to forget what the object of your obedience to them is, — that it is to lead you to obey and love another and an Almighty Father. Repel not, above all besides, by coldness and indifference, the affectionate and sincere desires to please, and love and honour God, which we all sometimes feel. Beware, above all else, when His gentle voice pleads with you against sin, or indifference and coldness to Him and His, — how you turn a deaf ear, and stifle such feelings with your pleasures and pursuits. The face of Nature never, surely, showed a sight so wonderful as that expressed in these words, " Behold ! I stand at the door and knock." — That He the Lord of Heaven and Earth from the Creation — " when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy" — that He, in the person of our Saviour, should show such Divine condescension, such unmerited, and alas ! often unrequited, love, as to stand and knock at the Door of each of our hearts ! The wonder of wonders is that none other than God Himself should come, thus standing at the Door, asking us— ** My son, give Me thy heart ; open the door ! My yoke is not a heavy one ; My burdens are but light ! Consent to be My Son, and I will be thy God ! Thy stay in this world cannot be a long THE ATTITUDE. "BEHOLD I STANDI'' 475 one ; its restless scenes will not give thee happiness, for after drinking of earthly pleasures thou wilt surely thirst again ! Why, then, spend that strength for naught, which now thou mayest spend for My honour and thy own eternal welfare ? I will give thee of that living water of which those who drink will never feel thirst again! A few hurtful pleasures thou must deny thyself, it is true ; a few lessons in My school thou must learn, it is true, to fit thee for the life of bliss to come ; as others, thou must share, it is true, the penalty of My righteous judgment on a fallen world ; and, like others, thou must one day return to dust ; but accept the offers of My love (which thou canst not doubt), seeing that I gave Myself to redeem thee), and that I will be with thee in life and death," — and that there should be any that refuse ! It is not that the Door is never opened I The World, with its pleasures, its gains, and its pursuits, knocks at your door, and you know that it is opened to it ! Evil passions and desires, — and Satan, even, — knock, and you know that the door closed to Christ, is sometimes opened to them ! I would entreat you to mark Christ's words, — " Behold ! I stand." The attitude is not that of one who will alivays be standing there ; it is the attitude of one who may soon PASS ON ! Christ does Pass on ! From the unopened door even Divine patience, must, in time, turn sadly away ! " They wish to be left alone. Day, after day, have I gone, offering them blessings, — priceless, eternal, — and they have spurned them away ! Sunday after Sunday have I sent them teachers, inviting them to come to Me, encouraging them in all danger, and trouble and temptation, to pray to their Saviour that He would hear and save all that put their trust in Him ; but they wished to be left alone! My kindness and my charity must be turned into other channels, where they may meet with a welcome and loving reception. Well, if it must be so, let tJiein alone !'' Those who have long heard Christ's call should indeed make haste to obey it ! Surely there are some of us who have tried his patience long enough. I would have you bear in mind that it is possible, even in early life, thus to reject the offers of God, and to pass a life of ordinary ease and comfort, though in a life chosen by ourselves, and without God in the world. It is marked by no greater symptom than 4/6 ANOTHER SUMMONS WILL COME. a prayerless, thoughtless life, by almost perfect indifference to religion, by the aim and object of your life being centred in yourself, Alas ! I fear there comes a time in the experience of some when their Creator's sun, it is true, may still shine a few more days upon their dwelling, but there comes no Jesns there ! The day will come (for life is at best but uncertain) when there will be Another^ and a Terrible one, knocking at your door ! Where the Saviour stood once there stands now the King of Terrors, — Death ! Oh ! how will you then spring to your feet and rush to the door to seek for Christ, where once He came so often in vain to seek for YOU ! " Oh ! Let US IN ! The Bridegroom is so sweet ! " But the opportunity, the precious opportunity, is yours ^low ; you need only open to Him your heart, to call upon Him by Prayer ! He is near you now ; His ear is not heavy that He cannot hear ; He is as near you now as if He still lived upon the earth ; He is even more so. Go to Him ; go from our discourses to Him ; to lead you to Him is the one object which we have ever proposed to ourselves in writing. Perish all our discourses and all our books if this is not the spirit which animates them ! Go to him yourself, for human language stops at that limit ; beyond, in communion with Christ, pass things which are between yourself and God ; things which " a stranger intermeddleth not," which cannot be reduced into language, although known in the happy experience of the least of the children of God ! You had judged Him severe, His yoke heavy. His conditions impracticable ; you will find the Saviour meek, and lowly, in heart, keeping account for you of a cup of cold water given for His sake, gathering up with love and approval the least good which He perceives in you. He will show you that He followed you with tender and watchful interest through your life, from the most distant point which you know yourself, making all terminate in those thoughts of conversion which He now produces in you — (is it not time .'') — and which, in favoured moments, you all sometimes must have felt. And if there be one Youth amongst us here who has one day poured out his penitent heart before God, and has formed, unknown to all men, the sincere design (more sincere, alas ! than realised) of giving himself to the Lord unreservedly, He will instruct him that it was, nevertheless, not lost, that honest resolution, — that it did not fall to the OUR FATHERS AND MOTHERS. 477 groimd, that silent Prayer, — that they have not flowed in vain, those too-soon dried tears, of which He alone still retains the trace, — but that all these loving proofs, gathered within His faithful bosom, will one day bear for him their precious fruit ! " I do remember the kindness of thy youth, the love of thine espousals." YOUTH. Come, while the Spring, its Linden blossom spreads, Come, while life's Morn is bright, Come, while the golden Crown is to be won. Come, ere the long, cold Night I Come, while the Saviour's love for thee is saving. Come, while Salvation is God's holy will, Come, ere the churchyard grass o'er thee is waving, And all around is Cold, and Stent, and Still ! The Eagle's Nest. With great difficulty, Robert scaled the Cliffs, found the nest with young in, — and was aijout to take them, when he was attacked by the enraged Mother bird. Discharging his gun ineffectually, he was nearly driven over the Precipice. Whatever the cause,— whether injured, — or content at seeing her young ones still safe, — the Bird wheeled off to her nest ; leaving the Boy only too glad to descend, especially as a distant speck in the sky proclaimed the approach of the Male Eagle. Had the attack been renewed, while he was descending, the Birds would, in that defenceless position, — have torn his face to pieces,— causing him to miss his footing, and he would have been killed. (478) CHAPTER LIX. MODERN UNBELIEF. A Bhuddist on Apostate Christians. Kenan's Theory opposed by a Cloud of Witnesses. The Sin of Unbelief Attacks Mankind in Ear[.y Life. The Bible must be got rid of somehow. Religious Phrases. Faith a Revelation, obtain ed by Prayer and Bible Study. The Open Secret. The Heathen, upon Heathen Christianity. " Christianity may make great progress in the Country parts of Japan, and maybe in China," said one of the most enlightened and educated Bhuddists of our day, — some ten years ago, — ''''for many are zueary, — zveary, — lueary, — and it is a Religion easy to coviprehend. But not so with the well-educated in the large towns. Here the most powerful influence at work is your new English Philosophy, taught by Mill, Herbert Spencer, — and others. The works of Huxley, Darwin, &c., are taught, and the young men read them with zest. Besides there are here many English and Scotch Teachers who openly assail Christianity in their lectures, and teach an undisguised Materialism. Your new Philosophy threatens Bhuddism and Christianity alike. The ancient Philosophy of Confucius is being replaced by it ; it appears to be thi-eatening your ozvn. belief at home, ^mdyour Priests appear to be adapting their teaching to it, and probably their Creeds. Bhuddism and Christianity both teach purity, and purity is the road to rest. As men gro7u more wicked they despise the doctrine of purity. Do men keep Christ's precepts in England ? " RE not these utterances, (especially those in italics) — of this educated, and able, Heathen, very remarkable } What a reproof to the Nation, which God has raised up purposely to carry the Bible and Christianity to the dark places of the Earth ! Surely, however, our Buddhist friend somewhat exaggerates the success of Materialistic teaching in our day. On the contrary, every discovery of Huxley, Darwin, and our painstaking, scientific men, seems only to irresistibly confirm the Christian Believer in the existence of a Supreme Ruler of infinite knowledge and forethought. The results obtained in every branch of modern scientific investigation appear to us to be most acceptable, and to confirm, — what every reasoning man knew before, from his own observa- tions, — that there is design in every tiling. Then, dear Reader, how is it possible that there can be design in everything around us without a Designer ? MODERN UNBELIEF. 479 The Materialist, by every action in his daily life, is compelled to bear witness to, and illustrate in himself, the presence of an all-wise Creator. He cannot speak, read, move, eat, or digest, without bearing witness to the presence of design, and plan. For who created him.'' Spontaneous creation ? How can unintelligent, — unthinking, — dead Matter, bring into being an intelligent, and thinking creation ^ Like can only beget like. It would have to produce something superior to itself Amongst the ever- shifting, — innumerable windings on those barren mountains of Unbelief, — the position of the absolute Atheist, — the rank Materialist, — seems, of all others, the most difficult to sustain. Many indeed deny the possibility of the existence of an absolute Atheist. To maintain the non- existence of a Creator, involves the Materialist, — if a really intelligent, educated man, — in difficulties of a most amazing character ! The believer in Materialism must require a faith, (or bigotry,) compared to which Faith in Christianity is indeed, as the Bhuddist remarks, — " an easy religion to comprehend." The merest Schoolboy cannot whip his top, find a bird's nest, or tend his flower bed, — without noticing that there is Design, and Plan, in everything around him. The following chapter does not, therefore, treat upon the phase of Unbelief asserted to be held by the Materialist, but upon the much more prevalent and dangerous phase of Infidelity which professes belief in a Supreme Ruler, — reads the Bible with respect, — but expresses Unbelief in Christ. Acknowledging the existence of an all-wise and an all-good Creator, but resolutely denying the necessity of the great Atonement, — the facts of the Redemption of Mankind, — the Divinity of our Lord, and the fact that without the shedding of the precious blood of Christ, — and belief in Him, — Salvation is impossible. Ancient Unbelief. " Who is ' the Lord,' — that I should obey His voice ? I know not ' the Lord,'— neither will I let Israel go ! " PHARAOH.— ^.;c^^7/.f v., 2. So spake Pharaoh, — three thousand four hundred years ago, — and so in their hearts have spoken Unbelievers ever since. Constantly shifting its ground, and changing its front, — to suit increased intelligence and culture, — the 480 MODERN UNBELIEF. polite, and ingenious, Scepticism of the more refined type of Unbelievers, in 1891, is very different to the coarse Infidelity of Paine, and the School of Atheists, — of ninety years ago. They never made much pretension to Scholarship, — ancient records, documents, monuments of the Ancients, — never troubled Paine much, they simply denied everything, and treated the Bible as an imposition and a fraud. The modern, refined, leaders of Unbelief, now look with contempt upon the ignorance of the old School of Atheists. Modern Criticism and Scholar- ship, for instance, no longer permit the Kenan, or Strauss, School of Infidelity, to disallow the authenticity of the letters of the early Christian Writers ; such as the Epistle of Clement, A.D. 97, the letters of Ignatius, Bishop of Antioch, A.D. 1 10, or the Epistles of Paul to the Romans, Galatians, &c., written about A.D. 58, or, as some think, a little earlier. These letters are now accepted by Modern Scholars to be as authentic as the writings of Cicero and others. Totally disagreeing, however, with each other, the Modern Leaders of Infidelity pull each others' theories of Unbelief ruthlessly to pieces, — and the views of Modern Freethinkers seem to change every few years. Thus it is now found safest, after all, to acknowledge, and quote from, the Gospel narrative, — as admitted History, and Fact, — and then to endeavour to explain away, the belief of the early Christians in Christ, — in the Resurrection, — and all else, — by wild phrases, and incredible Suppositions. The Hallucination Theory. Thus Renan, — taking only a detached portion of the Gospel account, — argues in phrases, exquisitely, and entirely, French, — that Mary Magdalene saw a Vision of our Lord, and that she was the authoress of Christianity ; others, merely following her lead, and sharing her hallu- cination. He only deals with a small portion of the Gospel narrative. Unbelievers are ever apt to omit all the remain- ing narrative which might be inconvenient and fatal to their wild theories. The Resurrection. " When the Even was come, there came a rich man of Arimathsea named Joseph, a Counsellor ; he was a good man and a just, who also was Jesus' disciple. He went boldly unto Pilate and craved the body of Jesus. And Pilate marvelled if he were already dead, and, calling the Centurion, he asked him whether he had been any while dead. And when he knew it of the Centurion he gave the body to Joseph. And when Joseph had taken the body, he wrapped it in a clean linen cloth, and laid it on his own new tomb which he had hewn out of the rock. Now in that place there was a Garden. MODERN UNBELIEF. 481 Mary, supposing him to be the Gardener, saith unto him ; " Sir, if thou have borne him hence, tell me where thou hast laid Him." Jesus saith unto her, "Mary !" She turned herself and saith unto Him, " Rabboni," which is to say, Master ! The same day, at evening, — when the doors were shut, where the disciples were assembled, for fear of the Jews, — came Jesus, and stood in the midst, and saith unto them, " Peace be unto you," And He showed them His hands with His side. But Thomas,— one of the twelve, — called Didymus, was not with them when Jesus came. The other disciples therefore said unto him, "We have seen the Lord !" But he said unto them, " Except I shall see in His hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into His side, I will not believe." And after eight days again came Jesus, the doors being shut, and Thomas was with them. Then saith He to Thomas, " Reach hither thy finger, and behold My hands, and reach thither thy hand, and thrust it into My side, and be not faithless, but believing." And Thomas answered and said unto Him. " My Lord and My God." Jesus said unto him, " Thomas, because thou hast seen Me, thou hast believed. Blessed are they that have NOT seen, yet have believed." All this portion of the Gospel narrative, Renan and others, avoid. They do not mention all these Witnesses who, — so far from being enthusiasts, — given to hallucina- tions, — were very hard to convince, — even on the evidence of their senses, — and evidently found it most difficult fully to believe in our Blessed Lords Resurrection. Again, Renan has not a word to say about the five hundred early Christians whom Paul calls upon as having all seen our risen Lord, i Corinthians, xv., 6. "After that. He was seen of five hundred brethren at once ; of whom the greater part remain unto this present ; but some have P I 482 THE SIN OF UNBELIEF. fallen asleep." This challenge of Paul, as to hundreds of witnesses then still living, was written about the year 58. These witnesses, — so far from going merely by Mary Magdalene, were men, who, like Thomas, — had actually seen their risen Lord, — had spoken to, and eaten with Him. The Crucifixion had taken place only 28 years before Paul wrote these words. No one then disputed the fact of the Resurrection, — or Paul's words ; too many witnesses were then still alive. How many of us in 1891, can distinctly remember,— and in case of need, could witness to, and prove, — events which occurred 29 years ago, viz., in 1862, the year of the Second Great Exhibition in London ? Again Paul had been a Christian 20 years when he wrote his Epistles, thus we are brought within 8 years of our Lord's death. This host of witnesses, — Strauss, Renan, and the modern Infidels, — find it convenient not to allude to ! Yet these are the men, — Heaven save the mark ! — who are called " Our great Thinkers," — " Leaders of modern thought." — '* The first Scholars in Europe ! " They certainly do not •' lead " the Christian ! What must be the unutterable folly, and sin, — in any intelligent, responsible, thoughtful, person, — who can choose the monstrous dogmas of Infidel writers, to the sublime teachings of his Bible ? In our day even the most deadly sins and the worst of mankind are most leniently dealt with. " Honest Unbelief," is rather encouraged than condemned ! Sinners of all kinds are now to be pitied rather than shunned, and their vile principles, and "deadly nightshade" of "Unbelief" are to be defended, rather than detested ! The Sin of Unbelief. A Youth to whom coarse sins, — sins outward, apparent, obvious, to all, and evidently ruinous to Character, and Self-respect, — present no attractions, — may yet fall before the more deadly, — because more insidious, — sin, — of Unbelief It is outwardly respectable, — excites little alarm, — but it ktl/s tlie Soul in secret, and by stealth ! There is the Unbelief, however, merely of the Intellect, — intellectual difficulties, — which may occur to many well- meaning youths. These may, with God's aid, and a little Study of His word, be easily dispelled. But the real, deadly, Unbelief, — is the sin of wilful Unbelief of the UNBELIEF MUST ATTACK THE BIBLE. 483 Heart. The persistent choice, and preference for an evil life of Unbelief, — rather than a life of obedience. The Real Unbelief which kills, is the " rejection of Christ and refusal to come under the influence of the Gospel." God has placed a barrier to this fatal sin, in placing the Bible in immense profusion, amongst all Christian Nations. The Bible Stops the Way. The Bible stops the way ! On his dread pathway to perdition, it is evident to every Freethinker that one thing must be done. The Bible must either be treated in the old, coarse, brutal, manner of Thos. Paine, and the old, ignorant School of Unbelievers, — or its teachings must be explained away, a la Renan, to suit the increased culture of Modern Scepticism. All Sceptics, Secularists, Theosphists, Free- thinkers, Infidels, Unbelievers, Atheists, — (giving them any name they prefer), — feel that the first, and esse?itial thing to be done, is to attack the Bible J Every phase of Unbelief requires this to be done. The Authenticity of God's word to Mankind, — either its Teach- ings, — its History, — its Morality, — or its Facts, — must be challenged, — disputed, or ignored. Once the Bible is admitted by Mankind to be a Divinely inspired Book, — in fact, to be what it emphatically claims to be, — " The Word of God," — Unbelief finds no standpoint, — no ground to rest upon. To lessen, therefore, the Authority, and to weaken the hold of the Bible, upon the minds, and consciences of men, — ever has been, — and ever will be, — the first, and necessary effort on the part of Unbelievers in every age of the World. The Sin begins in Early Life. This sin of Unbelief attacks Mankind often in early life, — and unless at once opposed, it carries, — like the sins of Vice, Covetousness, or Drunkenness, — every thing before it. Thos. Paine, whose religious instruction had been by no means neglected, — relates that it attacked him first when comparatively young. As he was one day, going down the steps into the garden, there suddenly ca^ne over his mind, — he says, — an opposition, to, — and unbelief in, — the entire Scheme of Salvation through Christ. It was doubtless, his temptation in life. Unresisted, — it led, — as every besetting sin will, — to his ruin. Judging from the following "thoughts," — recently re- published by Renan, — written in 1848, — nearly forty years 484 APOSTATES. ago, — when comparatively a young man, — he also seems to have once had religious inclinings. Whether the " God " of Renan's " Youth," — was the God of the Christian, — or a Deity of his own creation, we have no means of judging. " Oh ! God of my youth," — he writes in 1848, — " I had hoped, — long since, — to return to Thee." (The return is seldom made) — "spoilt by the pride of reason." — (Note. —It seems always Reason, — human reason, — which is made responsible for a ship- wreck of Faith, — like Paine's " Age of Reason," — itself the most unreasonable, and unreasoning of books.) "And maybe I shall ere long return humble, and vanquished." (The "maybe" never took place; the return was never made: it seldom is. The return eritirely depe?ids upon the grace of God ! The instances of an Infidel Writer, and Lecturer, returning, or alleged to have re- turned, — are so rare, that the case of Joseph Barker, the apostate Minister, whose apostacy did such mischief in Newcastle-on-Tyne in 1849, — seems the only recorded instance at hand. Dying at Omaha, U.S., in his 70th year, — changing his views for the last time, — Barker asserted that he died a Christian Believer. Whether he did or not, he had certainly done mischief enough, in his day, to Christ's cause.) "But, for the present," — Renan continues, — "Thy Temple lies in ruins." (If Renan had ever been, what Paul declares every true Christian to be, — "a temple of the living God," — this remark, made in 1848, — is now certainly true in 1891.) — "I cannot see Thy face," — (Surely, it was hardly to be expected ; but the Unbeliever will have to see His face some day). " Adieu, then ! " — he continues, with sufficient impu- dence), — "God of my youth! Perhaps Thou wilt again appear at my death bed." (What ! after 40 years as a Teacher of Infidelity? It will be truly amazing, — totally unintelligble, — unworthy of the Almighty, and in direct contradiction to His own word, if He does ! He certainly was not present at the death beds of Voltaire, and Thos. Paine ; for the former appeared to be in a frenzy of rage, — and the latter kept screaming out when left alone). " For though Thou hast deceived me," — Renan concludes, — " I love Thee still." If so, — he has, — for 40 years, chosen aii extraordinary way of showing it ! It will irresistibly occur to the Reader, that it was the Devil, — not the faithful, and blessed, God, who "deceived," Paine, Barker, Renan, Voltaire, Bradlaugh, Col. Ingersoll, Strauss, Besant, Foote, &c., and the many foolish Readers who have preferred the "deadly night- shade," — the dreadful stuff, and unmitigated rubbish, these wretched creatures have written, to the Priceless Word of God ! Dear Reader, if you persist in your deadly sin of Unbelief, and choose infidel companions, and infidel writings, in preference to a loving Saviour, and a faithful God, —whom have you to blame but yourself? The "Leaders of Modern thought," — (Heaven save MODERN UNBELIEF. 485 the mark! they certainly do not "lead" the Christian Believer), — make light of the existence of a "Jealous God," — they "bid adieu to the God of their youth," — spend the precious years of life as Teachers of Unbelief — and then in the end, like Barker, desire to " Die a Christian," — and trust that He will "appear at their death bed ! " But the Word of God, tells a far-different tale ! The Apostate. ** For it is impossible for those who were once enlightened, — and have tasted of the heavenly gift, and the power of the world to come, — if they shall fall away, to renew them again to repentance ; seeing that they crucify to themselves the Son of God afresh, and put Him to open shame. For, if we Sin wilfully after that we have received the knowledge of the Truth, there remaineth no more sacrifice for sins, but a certain fearful looking for of judgment and fiery indignation which shall devour the adversaries. He that despised Moses's law died without mercy under two or three witnesses. Of how much sorer punishment, suppose ye, shall he be thought worthy, who hath trodden under foot the Son of God, and hath counted the blood of the covenant, wherewith he was sacrificed, an unholy thing, and hath done despite unto the Spirit of grace ; For we know Him that hath said Vengeance belongeth unto me, I will recompense, saith the Lord. And again, the Lord shall judge His people. It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the Living God." — Hebrews vi,, 4, and x,, 26. These men, — like Barker, — seem to be under the delusion that after years of rebellion, they can change their lives at will! They forget that "Belief," " Saving Faith," and " Saving Grace," — without which Salvation is impossible, — are the most precious gifts of God, which He alone can bestow upon humble seekers. These inestimable Gifts of God are not at the beck and call of Mankind, just when they choose ! They are not at our cofitrol I Faith a Divine Gift. Left to Unbelief. Do you doubt it } Then look at God's own people, — or, rather, His once chosen people, — the Jews. Why do they not " believe } " — They go with us Christians as far as the Old Testament ! They grasp with us, as God's own word, — handed down to us by their own inspired Writers, — the splendid prophecies of the Old Testament, — teeming as they do with types and promises of the coming Christ, — they go with us, down to the last word of Malachi ; but when it comes to the fulfilment of their own prophecies, — necessitating belief in Jesus Christ, — ih^y stop dead! They absolutely reject every word of the New Testament. Dear Reader, do you want to see Miracles, or " Fulfil- ment of Prophecy," in 1891 } Surely a greater Fulfilment of Prophecy than the position of our Jewish Friends, — never iook place before the eyes of mankind ! " Hearing they 486 FAITH A DIVINE GIFT. shall hear, and not understand, — seeing they shall see, and not perceive." Dividing the sums spent by the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel amongst the Jews, by the number of authentic conversions, it is said that ^^"5,000, to ;^io,ooo, is expended in procuring the conversion of a single Jew ! Paul in Rome. And Paul dwelt two whole years, in his own hired house, and received all who came in unto him. And some believed the things which were spoken and some believed not. And when they agreed not among themselves they departed, after that Paul had spoken one word. " Well spake the Holy Ghost, by Esaias the Prophet unto our Fathers."— (AcZi^/^, in the Hebrew ; vi. 9.) saying, " Go unto this people and say. Hearing ye shall hear, and shall not understand ; and seeing they shall see, and not perceive. For their ears are dull of hearing, and their eyes have they closed." " Be it known, therefore, unto you that the Salvation of God is sent unto the Gentiles, and that they will hear it."— ^