"THE LADY WITH THE LAMP."
THE STORY OF FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.
"Lo! in that house of misery
A lady with a lamp I see
Pass through the glimmering gloom,
And flit from room to room."
LONGFELLOW.
"She would speak to one and another, and nod and smile to many more, but she could not do it to all, you know, for we lay there by hundreds; but we could kiss her shadow as it fell, and lay our heads on our pillows again, content."
So wrote one of the soldiers from the hospital at Scutari of Florence
Nightingale, the soldier's nurse, and the soldier's friend.
Let us see how it happened that Florence Nightingale was able to do so much for the British soldiers who fought in the Crimea, and why she has left her mark on the history of our times.
Miss Nightingale was born in the city of Florence in the year 1820, and it is from that beautiful Italian town that she derives her Christian name.
Her father was a good and wealthy man, who took great interest in the poor; and her mother was ever seeking to do them some kindness.
Thus Florence saw no little of cottage folk. She took them dainties when they were ailing, and delighted to nurse them when ill.
She loved all dumb animals, and they seemed to know by instinct that she was their friend. One day she came across her father's old shepherd, looking as miserable as could be; and, on inquiring the cause, found that a mischievous boy had thrown a stone at his favourite dog, which had broken its leg, and he was afraid it would have to be killed.
Going together to the shepherd's home they found the dog very excited and angry; but, on Florence speaking to it in her gentle voice, it came and lay down at her feet, and allowed her to examine the damaged limb.
Happily, she discovered it was only bruised; and she attended to it so skilfully that the dog was soon running about in the field again. A few days later she met the shepherd,—he was simply beaming, for the dog had recovered and was with him.
When Florence spoke to the man the dog wagged its tail as much as to say, "I'm mighty glad to see you again"; whereupon the shepherd remarked: "Do look at the dog, miss, he be so pleased to hear your voice".
The fact that even her dolls were properly bandaged when their limbs became broken, or the sawdust began to run out of their bodies, will show that even then she was a thoughtful, kindly little person.
When she grew up she wished very much to learn how to nurse the sick.
But in those days it was not considered at all a ladylike thing to do; and, after trying one or two nursing institutions at home, she went to Germany, and afterwards to Paris, in order to make a study of the subject, and to get practical experience in cities abroad.
Miss Nightingale thus learnt nursing very thoroughly, and when she came back to England turned her knowledge to account by taking charge of an institution in London. By good management, tact and skill, the institution became a great success; but she was too forgetful of self, and after a time the hard work told upon her health, and she was obliged to take a rest from her labours.
The time came when the Russian war broke out and Great Britain and France sent their armies into the Crimea. Our men fought like heroes. But it was found out ere many months had passed that those brave fellows, who were laying down their lives for the sake of their country, were being so badly nursed when they were sick and wounded that more were being slain by neglect than by the guns of the enemy.
Then there arose a great cry in Britain; and every one demanded that something should be done to remedy this state of things. But nobody knew quite what to do or how to do it, except one woman,—and that woman was Florence Nightingale.
Mr. Sidney Herbert, the War Minister, was one of the very few people who knew anything about her great powers of organisation; and happily he did know how thoroughly fit she was for the task of properly directing the nursing of the sick soldiers.
So, on the 15th October, 1854, he asked her to go to the Crimea to take entire charge of the nursing arrangements; and in less than a week she started with about forty nurses for Scutari, the town where the great hospital was situated.
All Britain was stirred with admiration at her heroism; for it was well known how difficult was the task she was undertaking. But the quiet gentle woman herself feared neither death, disease nor hard work; the only thing she did not like was the fuss the people made about her.
Scutari, whither she went, is situated on the eastern side of the Bosphorus, opposite Constantinople. Thither the sick and wounded soldiers were being brought by hundreds. It took four or five days to get them from the field of battle to the hospital, their wounds during that tame being generally unattended to. When they arrived at Scutari, it was difficult to land them; after that there was a steep hill up which they had to be carried to the hospital, so that by the time they arrived they were generally in a sad condition. But their trials were not over then. The hospital was dirty and dismal. There was no proper provision for the supply of suitable food, everything was in dire disorder, and the poor fellows died of fever in enormous numbers.
But "the lady with the lamp" soon brought about a revolution; and the soldiers knew to their joy what it was to have proper nursing. No wonder the men kissed her shadow! Wherever the worst cases were to be found there was Florence Nightingale. Day and night she watched and waited, worked and prayed. Her very presence was medicine and food and light to the soldiers.
Gradually disorder disappeared, and deaths became fewer day by day. Good nursing; care and cleanliness; nourishing food, and—perhaps beyond and above all—love and tenderness, wrought wonders. The oath in the soldier's mouth turned to a prayer at her appearance.
Though the beds extended over a space equal to four miles, yet each man knew that all that human strength could do to forward his recovery was being done.
Before her task was finished Miss Nightingale had taken the fever herself, but her life was mercifully spared.
Since those days, Florence Nightingale has done many kindly and noble deeds. She has always lived as much out of the public sight as possible, though her work has rendered her dear to all hearts.
Though she has had much ill health herself, she has been able to accomplish a splendid life's work, and to advance the study of nursing in all parts of the globe.
FOR ENGLAND, HOME, AND DUTY.
THE DEATH OF NELSON.
It was the 21st October, 1805. The English fleet had been for many days lying off the coast of Spain, eagerly waiting for the navies of France and Spain to leave their shelter in Cadiz harbour. At length, to his joy, Lord Nelson received the signal that they had put out to sea; and he now prepared to attack the combined fleet (which consisted of forty vessels) with his thirty-one ships. Yet, though the enemy not only had more vessels, but they were larger than his own, Nelson confidently expected victory, and told Captain Blackwood he would not be satisfied unless he captured twenty ships. Having made all arrangements, Nelson went down to his cabin and wrote this prayer:—
"May the great God whom I worship grant to my country, and for the benefit of Europe in general, a great and glorious victory; and may no misconduct in any one tarnish it, and may humanity after victory be the predominant feature in the British fleet! For myself individually, I commit my life to Him that made me, and may His blessing alight on my endeavours for serving my country faithfully! To Him I resign myself, and the just cause which is entrusted to me to defend. Amen. Amen. Amen."
Before the battle began Nelson made the signal which stirred every heart in the fleet on that day, and has since remained a watchword of the nation:—
"England expects every man will do his duty".
It was received with an outburst of cheering.
Nelson wore, as usual, his admiral's frock-coat. On his breast glittered four stars of the different orders which had been given him. He was in good spirits, and eager for the fray.
His officers represented to him how desirable it was that he should keep out of the battle as long as possible; and, knowing the truth of this, he signalled to the other ships to go in front. Yet his desire to be in the forefront of the attack was so great that he would not take in any sail on The Victory, and thus rendered it impossible for the other vessels to obey his orders.
At ten minutes to twelve the battle began; by four minutes past twelve fifty men on board Nelson's ship The Victory had been killed or wounded, and many of her sails shot away.
The fire of the enemy was so heavy that Nelson, smiling, said, "This is too warm work, Hardy, to last long". Up to that time not a shot had been fired from The Victory; and Nelson declared that never in all his battles had he seen anything which surpassed the cool courage of his crew. Then, however, when they had come to close quarters with the enemy, from both sides of The Victory flashed forth the fire of the guns, carrying swift destruction among the foe.
[Illustration: Nelson's Tomb in St. Paul's Cathedral.]
The French ship next which they were lying, The Redoutable, having ceased firing her great guns, Nelson twice gave instructions to stop firing into her, with the humane desire of avoiding unnecessary slaughter. Strange to say, that from this ship at a quarter past one was fired a shot which struck him in the left shoulder, and proved fatal.
Within twenty minutes after the fatal shot had been fired from The Redoutable that ship was captured, the man who killed Nelson having himself been shot by a midshipman on board The Victory.
When he had been taken down to the cockpit he insisted that the surgeon should leave him and attend to others; "for," said he, "you can do nothing for me".
At this time his sufferings were very great, but he was cheered by the news which they brought him from time to time. At half-past two Hardy could report "ten ships have struck". An hour later he came with the news that fourteen or fifteen had struck. "That's well," cried Nelson, "but I bargained for twenty."
A little later he said, "Kiss me, Hardy". Hardy knelt down, and Nelson said, "Now I am satisfied. Thank God I have done my duty". After that it became difficult for him to speak, but he several times repeated the words, "Thank God I have done my duty". And these were the last words he uttered before he died. At half-past four o'clock he expired.
Thus Nelson died in the hour of victory. He had won a battle which once and for all broke the naval power of France and Spain, and delivered Great Britain from all fear of attack by the great Napoleon.
A WOMAN WHO SUCCEEDED BY FAILURE.
THE STORY OF HARRIET NEWELL.
This is rather an exceptional chapter: for it tells of a very little life judged by length of days, a very sad life judged by some of its incidents, a very futile life considered by what it actually accomplished,—but a very wonderful life regarded in the light of the results which followed.
Harriet Attwood was born in Massachusetts, America, in the year 1793.
Even in her girlhood she looked forward to assisting in making the
Gospel known in distant lands. Long before any movement sprang up in
America for sending out female missionaries to the heathen, the day
dream of this little girl was to devote herself to the mission cause.
Not that she dreamed away her life in longing, and neglected her every-day duties. She was remarkable for her intelligence and dutiful conduct; and from the age of ten felt deep religious convictions, and was constant in her daily prayers and Bible reading.
Her life was brightened by her belief, and she ever kept in view what she believed to be her mission in life. "What can I do," she writes, "that the light of the Gospel may shine upon the heathen? They are perishing for lack of knowledge, while I enjoy the glorious privileges of a Christian land."
The means of accomplishing her desire soon came. A young missionary, named Newell, who was going out to India, asked her to become his wife.
Her decision was not taken without earnest prayer; and had her parents opposed her wishes she would have been prepared to give them up, but, gaining their consent, she accepted Mr. Newell's offer. She was fully aware that the difficulties in the way would be very great; for up to that time no female missionary had gone from America to the mission field.
At first her friends tried in every way to dissuade her from leaving home, and, as they termed it, "throwing herself away on the heathen".
But her simplicity of belief and earnestness of purpose soon changed their thoughts on the subject and when, early in the year 1812, Mr. and Mrs. Newell sailed for Calcutta, many came together to wish them God-speed on their perilous journey.
On his arrival in Calcutta Mr. Newell, in accordance with the regulation of the East India Company at that time, reported himself at the police office; and to his sorrow found that the Company would not allow any missionaries to work in their dominions!
Here was a disappointing beginning for these earnest young people! At first it seemed quite probable they would not even be allowed to land; and though permission was after a time obtained, yet in six weeks they were told they must go elsewhere, as they would not be permitted to settle.
A few days later, however, the prospect brightened. "We have obtained leave," writes Mrs. Newell, "to go to the Isle of France (Mauritius). We hear that the English Governor there favours missions; that a large field of usefulness is there opened—18,000 inhabitants ignorant of Jesus. Is not this the station that Providence has designed for us? A door is open wide. Shall we not enter and help the glorious work?"
But it was by her influence alone that she was permitted to engage in the work her heart longed for. On the journey to Mauritius rapid consumption set in, and day by day she became weaker.
Although she felt at first a natural disappointment that she would not be allowed to labour in the mission field, she was able to look upward in her hour of trial and to say: "Tell my friends I never regretted leaving my native land for the cause of Christ. God has called me away before we have entered on the work of the mission, but the case of David affords me comfort. I have it in my heart to do what I can for the heathen, and I hope God will accept me."
On the 30th November, 1812, at the early age of nineteen, Harriet
Newell passed away.
Might not many a one justly ask, was not her life a failure? And the answer, based on the experience and results of what her life and death accomplished, is No—emphatically No!
For her example produced a wave of religious life and missionary enthusiasm in America, the like of which has hardly ever been known.
The very fact of this whole-hearted girl giving up her life for the cause of Christ, and the pathos of her untimely end, did more to touch the hearts of multitudes than perhaps the most apparently successful accomplishment of her mission would have done.
A MARTYR OF THE SOUTH SEAS.
THE MORNING AND EVENING OF BISHOP PATTESON'S LIFE.
John Coleridge Patteson was born in April, 1827. He was blessed with an upright and good father, and a loving and gentle mother; and thus his early training was calculated to make him the earnest Christian man he afterwards became.
Here is an extract from a letter written from school at the age of nine, which shows that he had faults and failings to overcome just like all other boys:—
"My dear papa, I am very sorry for having told so many falsehoods, which Uncle Frank has told mama of. I am very sorry for having done so many bad things—I mean falsehoods—and I heartily beg your pardon; and Uncle Frank says that he thinks if I stay, in a month's time Mr. Cornish will be able to trust me again…. He told me that if I ever told another falsehood he should that instant march me into the school and ask Mr. Cornish to strip and birch me … but I will not catch the birching."
And he did not. He was so frank, so ready to see his own faults, that he was always a favourite. Uncle Frank remarked of him at this same time: "He wins one's heart in a moment".
Perhaps one ought to call him a Queen's missionary, for her Majesty saved him from a serious accident in a rather remarkable manner.
In 1838 when the Queen was driving in her carriage the crowd was so dense that Patteson, then at school at Eton, became entangled in the wheel of the carriage and would have been thrown underneath and run over had it not been for the young Queen's quick perception. Seeing the danger she gave her hand to the boy, who readily seized it, and was thus able to get on his feet again and avoid the threatened peril.
He was a boy who, when he had done wrong, always blamed himself—not any one else. Thus, when he was twelve, having spent a good deal of his time one term at Eton enjoying cricket and boating, he found his tutor was not at all satisfied with his progress. "I am ashamed to say," he remarked in writing home, "that I can offer not the slightest excuse: my conduct on this occasion has been very bad. I expect a severe reproof from you, and pray do not send me any money. But from this time I am determined I will not lose a moment."
In 1841 came the first indication of what his future career might be.
Bishop Selwyn of New Zealand was preaching, and the boy says of the sermon: "It was beautiful when he talked of his going out to found a church, and then to die neglected and forgotten".
How deep had been the influence on his mind of his mother's example may be gathered from the letter he wrote at the time of her death in 1842, when he was fifteen years old: "It is a very dreadful loss for us all, but we have been taught by that dear mother who has now been taken from us that it is not fit to grieve for those who die in the Lord, 'for they rest from their labours'…. She said once, 'I wonder I wish to leave you, my dearest John, and the children and this sweet place, but yet I do wish it'; so lovely was her faith."
In 1854 Bishop Selwyn returned to England. During the time that had elapsed since his previous visit, Patteson had been ordained. The bishop stayed with his father a few days, and during that time the feelings which the boy of fourteen had experienced were revived in the man of twenty-seven; and with his father's consent John Coleridge Patteson entered upon his life work, sailing with Bishop Selwyn for the South Seas in March, 1855.
There he laboured with such energy and success that in 1861 he was consecrated bishop. Many thousands of miles were traversed by him in the mission ship The Southern Cross, visiting the numerous islands of the Pacific known as Polynesia or Melanesia.
Of the dangers that abounded he knew ample to try his courage. On arriving at Erromanga (the scene of Williams' martyrdom) on one occasion he found that Mr. Gordon, the missionary, and his wife had recently both been treacherously slain by the natives. At another island, as he returned to the boat, he saw one of the natives draw a bow with the apparent intention of shooting him, and then unbend it at the entreaty of his comrades. "But," remarks the bishop in recording this, "we must try to effect more frequent landings."
And thus full of faith he laboured on, telling the people of these scattered islands, which besprinkle the southern ocean like stars in the milky way, of the love of Christ.
He was still ready to condemn himself just as he did in his early days. From Norfolk Island, in 1870, he wrote to his sister when he was holding an ordination: "At such times as these, when one is specially engaged in solemn work, there is much heart searching; and I cannot tell you how my conscience accuses me of such systematic selfishness during many long years—I mean I see how I was all along making self the centre, and neglecting all kinds of duties—social and others—in consequence".
He was much grieved by the accounts which reached him of the terrible war which was being fought between France and Germany in 1870. "What can I say," he writes, "to my Melanesians about it? Do these nations believe in the gospel of peace and goodwill? Is the sermon on the mount a reality or not?"
Yet he had troubles closer at home than this even. The trading ships were coming in numbers to the islands, and carrying off the natives either by guile or by force to Fiji and other places where labourers were wanted.
Notwithstanding the anxieties which beset him on this account, the good bishop continued to work as hard as ever, and very happy he was about his people.
On Christmas Eve, 1870, he writes: "Seven new communicants to-morrow morning. And all things, God be praised, happy and peaceful about us." He wrote of the large "family" of 145 Melanesian natives he had around him; at another time he spoke of his sleeping on a table with some twelve or more fellows about him; and people coming and going all day long both in and out of school hours!
In August, 1871, he baptised 248 persons, twenty-five of them adults, all in a little more than a month, and he rejoiced in the thought that a blessed change was going on in the hearts of these people.
He had never experienced such cheering success before, and, though his friends were endeavouring to persuade him to take rest and change for his health's sake, he determined to labour on while there was so much need for his exertion and such blessed results followed.
The desire to believe on the part of some of his people was very touching. One of them said to him: "I don't know how to pray properly, but I and my wife say, 'God make our hearts light—take away the darkness. We believe that You love us because You sent Jesus to become a man and die for us; but we can't understand it all. Make us fit to be baptised.'"
Some, of course, were not so enlightened as that. After the kidnapping traders had been harrying the islands, one of the chiefs said that, if the bishop would only bring a man-of-war and get him vengeance on his adversaries, he would be exalted like his Father above.
There was indeed serious cause for the anger of the natives. One of them related how he had been out to a vessel with his companions, and a white man had come down into the canoe and presently upset it, seizing him by the belt. Happily this broke, and he swam under the side of the canoe and finally got on shore, but the other three were killed—their heads were cut off and taken on board, and their bodies thrown to the sharks. The assailants were men-stealers, who killed ruthlessly that they might present heads to the chiefs.
Five natives from the same island were also killed or carried off, and thus when the bishop visited them they were in a state of sullen wrath.
On the 20th of September, 1871, Bishop Patteson came to Nukapu. The island is difficult of approach at low water, and the little ship, The Southern Cross, could not get close in. So the bishop went off to the shore in a boat and got into one of the canoes, leaving his four pupils to await his return. They saw him land, and he was then lost to sight.
About half an hour later the natives in the canoes, without the least warning, began shooting their arrows at the poor fellows in the boat, and ere it could be taken out of bowshot one of them was pierced with six arrows, and two of the others were also wounded.
They were full of fears about the bishop, and, notwithstanding the danger, determined to seek for him. They had no arms except one pistol which the mate possessed.
As they made their way towards shore a canoe drifted out, and lying in it, wrapped in a native mat, was the body of Bishop Patteson.
A sweet calm smile was on his face, a palm leaf was fastened upon his breast, and upon the body were five wounds—the exact number of the natives who had been kidnapped or killed.
So the good bishop died for the misdeeds of others. The natives but followed their traditions in exacting blood for blood, and their poor dark minds could not distinguish between the good and the bad white men.
Two of those who were with the bishop in the boat, and had received arrow wounds, died within a week, after much suffering.
One of them, Mr. Atkins, writing of the occurrence on the day of the martyrdom, says:—
"It would be selfish to wish him back. He has gone to his rest, dying, as he lived, in the Master's service. It seems a shocking way to die; but I can say from experience it is far more to hear of than to suffer. There is no sign of fear or pain on his face, just the look that he used to have when asleep, patient and a little wearied. What his mission will do without him, God only knows who has taken him away."
Three days after, in celebrating the Holy Communion, Mr. Atkins stumbled in his speech, and then he and his companions knew the poison in his system was working. "Stephen and I," he said, "are going to follow the bishop. Don't grieve about it … It is very good because God would have it so, because He only looks after us, and He understands about us, and now He wills to take us too and it is well."
"K.G. AND COSTER."
SOME ANECDOTES ABOUT LORD SHAFTESBURY.
"And where shall we write to?" asked one of the costermongers.
"Address your letter to me at Grosvenor Square," replied Lord Shaftesbury, "and it will probably reach me; but, if after my name you put 'K.G. and Coster,' there will be no doubt that I shall get it!"
This conversation took place at the conclusion of a meeting which had been held by the costermongers. They had met to talk about their grievances, and Lord Shaftesbury had attended the gathering and promised to help them, telling them to write to him if they required further assistance.
The noble Knight of the Garter was not only interested in the costermongers themselves, but in their animals too.
At one time the costers had used their donkeys and ponies shamefully, had overworked and underfed them; but gradually they were made to see how much better it was to treat their animals well. With a good Sunday rest and proper treatment, the donkeys would go thirty miles a day comfortably; without it, they could not do more than half.
So, as Lord Shaftesbury had been kind to the costers and taken such interest in their pursuits, they invited him to a special meeting, at which they presented him with a splendid donkey.
Over a thousand costers with their friends were there, when the donkey, profusely decorated with ribbons, was led to the platform. Lord Shaftesbury vacated the chair and made way for the new arrival; and then, putting his arm round the animal's neck, returned thanks in a short speech in which he said:—
"When I have passed away from this life I desire to have no more said of me than that I have done my duty, as the poor donkey has done his—with patience and unmurmuring resignation".
The donkey was then led down the steps of the platform, and Lord
Shaftesbury remarked, "I hope the reporters of the press will state
that, the donkey having vacated the chair, the place was taken by Lord
Shaftesbury".
Let us turn for a moment to the beginning of his life, and see how it was that Lord Shaftesbury was induced to devote himself so heartily to the good of the poor and oppressed.
Maria Mills, his old nurse, had not a little to do with this. She was one of those simple-minded humble Christians who, all unknowingly, plant in many minds the good seed which grows up and brings forth much fruit.
[Illustration: Lord Shaftesbury inspecting the Costers' Donkeys.]
She was very fond of the little boy, and would tell him the "sweet story of old" in so attractive a manner that a deep impression was made upon his heart. The prayers she taught him in childhood he not only used in his youth, but even in old age the words were often upon his lips.
When he was a schoolboy at Harrow came the turning point in his life.
He saw four or five drunken men carrying a coffin containing the remains of a companion; and such was their state of intoxication that they dropped it, and then broke out into foul language.
The effect this had upon the youth was so great that he resolved to devote his life to helping the poor and friendless.
There was plenty of work for him to do. Children in factories and mines required to be protected from the cruelties to which they were subjected; chimney sweeps needed to be guarded from the dangers to which they were exposed; the hours of labour in factories were excessive; thieves required to be shown a way of escape from their wretched life; ragged schools and other institutions needed support.
These and numerous other matters kept Lord Shaftesbury hard at work during the entire of his long life, and by his help many wise alterations were made in the laws of the country.
"Do what is right and trust to Providence for the rest," was his motto; and he stuck to it always.
Lord Shaftesbury brought before Parliament a scheme for assisting young thieves to emigrate; and the grown-up burglars and vagabonds, seeing how much in earnest he was, invited him to a meeting. To this he went without a moment's hesitation.
The door was guarded by a detachment of thieves, who watched to see that none but those of their class went in.
Lord Shaftesbury was in the chair, and the meeting commenced with prayer. There were present over two hundred burglars and criminals of the worst kind, besides a great number of other bad characters.
First of all the chairman gave an address; then some of the thieves followed, telling quite plainly and simply how they spent their lives.
When Lord Shaftesbury urged them to give up their old lives of sin one of them said, "We must steal or we shall die".
The city missionary, who was present, urged them to pray, as God could help them.
"But," said one of the men, "my Lord and gentlemen of the jury (!), prayer is very good, but it won't fill an empty stomach."
It was, indeed, a difficult problem how best to aid the poor fellows; but Lord Shaftesbury solved it. As a result of the conference three hundred thieves went abroad to Canada to begin life anew, or were put into the way of earning an honest living.
One of the subjects which occupied a great deal of Lord Shaftesbury's attention was the condition of the young in coal mines and factories.
At that date children began to work in mines at the age of four or five, and large numbers of girls and boys were labouring in the pits by the time they were eight. For twelve or fourteen hours a day these poor little toilers had to sit in the mines, opening and shutting trap doors as the coal was pushed along in barrows. All alone, with no one to speak to, sitting in a damp, stifling atmosphere, the poor children had to stay day after day; and if they went to sleep they got well beaten. Rats and mice were their only companions, and Sunday was the only day on which they were gladdened by the daylight.
It was a shocking state of existence, nor did it grow better as the children got older.
Then they had to drag heavy loads along the floors of the mine. When the passages were narrow the boys and girls had a girdle fastened round their waists, a chain was fixed to this, and passed between their legs and hooked to the carriage. Then, crawling on hands and knees through the filth and mire, they pulled these trucks as cattle would drag them, whilst their backs were bruised and wounded by knocking against the low roof.
Girls and women were made to carry heavy weights of coal. Children stood ankle deep in water, pumping hour after hour, and their work was sometimes prolonged for thirty-six hours continuously; so that it was no wonder the children died early, that they suffered much from disease, and led cheerless, wretched lives.
Against such cruelties Lord Shaftesbury was constantly warring; and his warfare was not in vain.
Quite as badly off were the little chimney sweeps. Boys were kidnapped, and sold to cruel masters, who forced them to climb high chimneys filled with soot and smoke. If they refused, a fire was perhaps lighted below, and they would thus be forced to ascend. The consequence was that many terrible accidents happened, resulting in the deaths of these poor little fellows, whilst numbers died early from disease.
Lord Shaftesbury roused the country to a sense of the wrong that was being done to the chimney sweeps, and Bills were passed in Parliament for their protection.
Not only children, but men and women also, needed to be defended from wrong and overwork.
Lord Shaftesbury visited the factories to see how the labourers were actually treated; and this is one of the things that came under his notice.
A young woman whilst working in a mill at Stockport was caught by the machinery and badly injured. When the accident happened she had not completed her week's work, so eighteenpence was deducted from her wages!
Horrified at such treatment Lord Shaftesbury brought an action against the owners of the factory, and obtained £100 for the woman.
For shorter hours and better treatment of factory hands the earl struggled in and out of Parliament; and, though the battle was long and fierce, it ended in victory.
Such labour took up much time, and brought many expenses to the good earl. It brought him, too, plenty of enemies; for most of his life was devoted to striving to make the rich and selfish do justice to the poor and downcast.
He not only gave his time, but his money too; and oftentimes, though the eldest son of an earl, and later an earl himself, he hardly knew where to turn for the means to keep his schemes going.
One day a lady called on him, and, telling a piteous tale of a Polish refugee, asked him for help. Lord Shaftesbury had to confess he had no money he could give; then he suddenly remembered he had five pounds in the library: he fetched the bank note, which formed his nest egg, and presented it to her.
One of Lord Shaftesbury's greatest works was the promotion of ragged schools.
To these schools, established in the poorest neighbourhoods of the metropolis, came the street arabs, the poor and abandoned, and received kindness and teaching, which comforted and civilised them. The outcasts who slept in doorways, under arches, and in all kinds of horrible and unhealthy places, were the objects of this good man's care; and ways were found of benefiting and starting afresh hundreds of lads who would otherwise have become thieves or vagabonds in the great city.
When he was over eighty years old he was still striving for the good of others. So much was his heart in the work that he remarked on one occasion: "When I feel age creeping on me, and know I must soon die—I hope it is not wrong to say it—but I cannot bear to leave the world with all the misery in it".
The dawn came for him in October, 1885, when in his eighty-fifth year this veteran leader was called to his rest.
For convenience I have spoken of him throughout as Lord Shaftesbury; but it may be well to mention that till he was fifty years old he was known as Lord Ashley. Through the death of his father he became Earl of Shaftesbury in 1851.
A STATESMAN WHO HAD NO ENEMIES.
THE STORY OF W.H. SMITH.
It is always well to remember that the man who serves his country as a good citizen, as a soldier, as a statesman, or in any other walk of life, deserves our admiration as much as the missionary or the minister of the Gospel—each and all such are servants of the great King.
By far the greater portion of our lives is spent at the desk or the counter, in the office, shop, or field; so that it is of the first importance we should keep the strictest watch on our actions in our work as well as in our leisure moments.
One of the most successful men in commerce and politics of the century was Mr. W.H. Smith. Strange to say, the desires of his early days were entirely opposed to business life. At the age of sixteen he greatly desired to proceed to one of the universities, and prepare for becoming a clergyman, but his parents being opposed to such a step he gave up the idea in deference to their wishes.
It was a great disappointment to him to do this—yet he was able to write, "It is my duty to acknowledge an overruling and directing Providence in all the very minutest things, by being in whatever state I am therewith content. My conclusion is, then, that I am at present pursuing the path of duty, however imperfectly; wherever it may lead, or what it may become, I know not."
Thus did William Henry Smith see the door of the Church closed upon him with no vain regrets, but in a spirit of submission to his father's wishes. Writing of these days many years later, when as a Minister of the Crown he was in attendance upon her Majesty at Balmoral, he says: "I thought my life was aimless, purposeless, and I wanted something else to do; but events compelled me to what promised to be a dull life and a useless one: the result is that few men have had more interesting work to do".
In his earlier years W.H. Smith made a list of subjects for daily prayer, embracing repentance, faith, love, grace to help, gratitude, power to pray, constant direction in all things, a right understanding of the Bible, deliverance from besetting sin, constancy in God's service, relatives and friends, missionaries, pardon for all ignorance and sin in prayer, etc., etc.; and it was one of the characteristics of his nature that he felt prayer both in youth and age to be a necessity.
It was a busy life in which Smith was launched at the commencement of his career.
His father had already laid the foundation of the newsagency business which is now of world-wide fame. Every week-day morning, summer and winter, throughout the year, sunshine or rain, fog or snow, father and son left their home for the business house in the Strand, at four o'clock. Sometimes, indeed, the younger man was at his post as early as three o'clock in the morning; and from the time he arrived at the place of business there was constant work to be done. It was difficult and anxious work too, and the constant strain told upon the young man's health.
The collection and distribution of newspapers, which formed then the chief part of the business of W.H. Smith & Son, was one that needed the closest attention and the most untiring energy.
"First on the road" was old Mr. Smith's motto; and he carried it out.
Smith's carts were in attendance at all the great newspaper offices, ready to carry off printed sheets to the Strand house for sorting and packing; and thence they sped swiftly through the streets in the early morning to catch the first trains for the country. Occasionally The Times, which was the last printed journal, did not arrive at the station till the final moment. The whistle would have sounded, the doors would have all been locked, the guard would have given his warning signal, when in would come at hurricane speed Smith's cart bearing its load of "Thunderers". Ready hands would seize the papers, and the last packet would perchance be thrown in as the train was already steaming out of the station.
A great deal of the forwarding of newspapers was in those days done by coaches. To catch these with the later papers, Smith had light carts with fast horses. If the coaches had started, Smith's carts would pursue for many miles, till they caught up the coaches at one of their stopping places.
At the death of William IV. Smith made gigantic efforts to distribute the papers early, and he got them into the country many hours before the ordinary mails would have taken them. He even hired a special ship to carry over the papers to Ireland, so that they reached Belfast on the same day. By such means the fame of Smith grew rapidly, and the business vastly increased. When Mr. W.H. Smith became a partner in 1846, at the age of twenty-one, it was valued at over £80,000.
But wear and tear and the anxieties of business life had made old Mr. Smith often quick-tempered, and difficult to please; and the coming of Mr. "W.H." into the business was hailed with pleasure by the workmen: he was so full of tact and sympathy; and sometimes, when his father had raised a storm of ill-feeling by some hasty expressions, he was able to bring peace and calm by his pleasant and genial manner.
Yet he was every inch a man of business, and even more clear-headed and far-seeing than the senior partner, his father.
It was he who commenced the railway bookstall business.
Every one knows the familiar look of Smith's bookstalls, with their energetic clerks, and their armies of pushing newsboys, and perchance think they were born with the railways and have grown up with them.
But such is not the case. It was not till about 1850 that Mr. W.H. Smith secured the entire bookstall rights on the London and North-Western Railway, much against his father's advice. The vast improvement in the selection of books and the service of papers, however, induced other companies to desire to have a similar arrangement, till the chief portion of all the English railways came to be girdled by Smith's bookstalls.
From this date the business advanced with giant strides. Managers and clerks had to be engaged, the latter in large numbers. Here the genius of Smith as a judge of character was abundantly shown. He came to a determination almost at a glance, and seldom erred in his judgment.
In 1868 he was returned to Parliament, and in 1874 Mr. Disraeli selected him for a place in his Ministry. A year later he was made First Lord of the Admiralty. How serviceable he had been in the former post may be judged by the remark made by Sir Stafford Northcote when he lost Smith's assistance on his promotion to the higher position: "I am troubled to know what to do without my right hand. I don't think he made a slip in the whole three years."
Writing to his wife when he was appointed First Lord of the Admiralty, Mr. Smith says: "My patent has come to-day, and I have taken my seat at the Board, who address me as 'Sir' in every sentence. It is strange, and makes me shy at first; and I have to do what I hardly like—to send for them, not to go to them; but I am told they expect me, as their chief, to require respect."
He often wrote to his wife whilst the debates were going on in the House of Commons. "Here I am, sitting listening to Arthur Balfour, who is answering Mr. J. Morley," he writes; "and I have ears for him and thoughts for my dear ones at home."
"Remember me in your prayers" is a request he often makes to his wife and children. In 1886 the Rt. Hon. W. H. Smith became leader of the House of Commons, and had thus reached one of the highest positions any Englishman can occupy. "Old Morality" was the nickname by which he was known; and this term is one of great honour. No man ever gained higher respect from all parties, and no man was ever more fully trusted by the people at large. Thus though Mr. Smith never entered the Church, and perchance missed a bishopric, yet he was a good citizen of the world and a humble Christian, devoting his best energies to the service of his Queen and country.
"GREATER THAN AN ARCHBISHOP."
ANECDOTES ABOUT THE REV. CHARLES SIMEON.
"As to Simeon," wrote Macaulay, "if you knew what his authority and influence were, and how they extended from Cambridge to the most remote corners of England, you would allow that his real sway over the Church was far greater than that of any primate."
There is little recorded of Simeon's early life to indicate the character of the future leader of men; for, to "jump over half a dozen chairs in succession, and snuff a candle with his feet," is an ordinary schoolboy accomplishment. Yet there is one incident which shows he could be in earnest in religious matters, even at that date.
Whilst he was at Eton, in 1776, a national fast-day was appointed on account of the war with America, which was then in progress. Simeon, feeling that, if any one had displeased God more than others, it was certainly he, spent the day in prayer and fasting. So great was the ridicule, however, which followed, that he gave up his serious thoughts for the time, though it is related that he kept an alms-box, into which he put money whenever his conscience accused him of wrong-doing.
It was rather a favourite habit of his to punish himself by fines for bad behaviour. Later on in life, when he found it difficult to rise early in the morning, he resolved to give the servant half a crown every time he played the part of the sluggard. One morning he found himself reasoning in his own mind, whilst enjoying a warm, comfortable bed, that, after all, half-crowns were very acceptable to the poor woman who received them. But he made up his mind to put an end, once and for all, to such suggestions from the tempter; and resolved accordingly that, if he got up late again, he would throw a guinea into the Cam. He did it too. The next time he rose late he walked down to the river, and threw a hard-earned guinea into the water. It was worth while, nevertheless; for he never had to punish himself again for the same fault.
The turning point in his life came soon after his arrival at
Cambridge.
The provost sent him a message to say that he would be required to partake of the Holy Communion at mid-term, then about three weeks distant.
The thought of so solemn an occasion weighed heavily on his mind. He at once set about reading devotional manuals, and sorrowed earnestly for his past sins. So heavy, indeed, lay the burden of sin upon him that he envied the very dogs, wishing that he could change places with them.
For three months this state of feeling continued. But in Passion Week the thought came to him that God had provided an Offering for him, on whose head he could lay his sins, just as the Jewish high priest laid the sins of the people on the head of the scapegoat. He saw dimly at first that his sins could be, and were intended to be, transferred to Christ; and he determined to lay them upon the Saviour, and be rid of them.
On Wednesday hope dawned in his heart; on Thursday it increased; on Friday and Saturday it grew and developed; and on Easter Day, 1778, he awoke with the words on his lips:—
"Jesus Christ is risen to-day, Hallelujah!" and, better still, written once and for ever in his heart.
In his twentieth year he had experienced that deep conviction known as conversion.
Like every true convert, Simeon, having found the way himself, now endeavoured to help others to realise the same blessed hope.
His intimate friends were told of the new joy that had come to him: he instructed the women who worked at the colleges, and when he went home induced his relatives to commence family prayers.
Though the light had dawned upon him he was nevertheless full of faults. He dressed showily, went to races, spent his Sundays carelessly.
But gradually these habits were overcome, and he grew in holiness, becoming watchful of his conduct, praying more fervently, living nearer to Christ.
In 1782 Simeon was ordained deacon in Ely Cathedral, and shortly after became honorary curate to Mr. Atkinson, vicar of St. Edward's Church, near King's College. He was already a marked man on account of his earnest life. He visited the parishioners as Mr. Atkinson's substitute, and was soon received with pleasure by them.
The church became so full that the people could hardly find room. It is related that even the clerk's desk was invaded, and that when Mr. Atkinson returned after a holiday the clerk met him with the following strange welcome:—
"Oh, sir, I am so glad you are come: Now we shall have some room!"
On the very first Sunday he took duty he showed the metal of which he was made; for, in going home after service, he heard voices high in dispute in one of the houses he passed. Straightway he went in, reproved the couple who were at strife, and knelt down to pray. Peace was restored, and Simeon's character for earnestness was confirmed.
Now came an eventful period in this good man's life. The minister of Trinity Church, Cambridge, having died, Simeon was appointed by the bishop.
The parishioners, however, desired to have as minister the curate; and, as it was impossible to gratify their wish, they made matters as unpleasant as possible for Simeon.
The pew doors were nearly all kept locked, so that the space left for the congregation was much reduced.
On the first Sunday there was practically no congregation; but later on people could not resist his influence, and the church began to fill. To provide places for those who came, Simeon had seats placed in various parts of the building. The churchwardens, however, threw them out into the church-yard!
It was an uncomfortable beginning; but Simeon persevered. He began a course of Sunday evening lectures, to which the people flocked in crowds; but the churchwardens locked the church doors and carried off the keys.
Besides beings rude and unmannerly, that was distinctly illegal; but
Simeon put up with the affront for the sake of peace.
When necessary he could be firm. The young men threw stones at the church windows and broke them. On one occasion Simeon discovered the offender, and obliged him to read a public confession of his fault.
The church was crowded. The young man read the paper which Simeon had prepared for him, but did so in a voice low and partially inaudible. Then Simeon himself, taking the paper from him, read the apology in such tones that none could fail to hear.
The young men were impressed, and the congregation listened to the sermon that followed with more than usual attention.
He was of all men the most humble; yet this did not prevent his speaking honestly and openly when he considered by so doing he could be of service. Thus a friend once asked him, after having preached a showy sermon with which he himself was remarkably satisfied, "How did I speak this evening?"
"Why, my dear brother," said Simeon, "I am sure you will pardon me; you know it is all love, my brother—but, indeed, it was just as if you were knocking on a warming-pan—tin, tin, tin, tin, without any intermission!"
Once a party of undergraduates laid an ambush for Simeon, intending to assault him. He, however, by accident happened to go home that night another way.
Not only had he to put up with active but also with much passive opposition. But he went on in faith and charity, till his enemies became his friends—his friends, his ardent and reverent admirers.
We must pass over without further comment a life of humility, love, and holiness—a life full of good works at home, and ardently interested in missions abroad.
In 1831, when Simeon was seventy-two years old, he preached his last sermon before the university. The place was crowded. The heads of houses, the doctors, the masters of art, the bachelors, the undergraduates, the townsmen, all crowded to hear the venerable preacher. They hung on his words and listened with the deepest reverence.
His closing days were singularly bright and happy. Three weeks before his death a friend, seeing him look more than usually calm and peaceful, asked him what he was thinking of.
"I don't think now," he answered brightly; "I enjoy."
At another time his friends, believing the end was at hand, gathered round him.
"You want to see," he remarked, "what is called a dying scene. That I abhor…. I wish to be alone with my God, the lowest of the low."
One evening those watching beside him thought he was unconscious, his eyes having been closed for some hours. But suddenly he remarked:—
"If you want to know what I am doing, go and look in the first chapter of Ephesians from the third to the fourteenth verse; there you will see what I am enjoying now."
On Sunday, 13th November, just as the bells of St. Mary's were calling together the worshippers to service he passed away. He had accepted an invitation to preach a course of four sermons, and would have delivered the second of the course on that very afternoon. I am permitted, by the kindness of the Rev. H.C.G. Moule, from whose delightful biography the foregoing sketch has been compiled, to reproduce a page from this address.
"Who would ever have thought I should behold such a day as this?" wrote Simeon. "My parish sweetly harmonious, my whole works stereotyping in twenty-one volumes, and my ministry not altogether inefficient at the age of seventy-three…. But I love the valley of humiliation."
In that last sentence, perhaps, lies the secret of the man's far-reaching and undying influence.
A SOLDIER MISSIONARY.
THE STORY OF HEDLEY VICARS.
It was the 22nd March, 1855, just outside Sebastopol. The night was dark and gusty. Close to the Russian entrenchments was an advanced post of the British forces, commanded by Captain Hedley Vicars. Fifteen thousand Russians under cover of the gloom had come out from Sebastopol and driven our French allies out of their advanced trenches. Then a portion of this force stealthily advanced, seeking to take the British by surprise.
The first to discover the presence of the enemy was Hedley Vicars. With great judgment he made his men lie down till the Russians were within twenty paces. Then, springing to his feet, he shouted:—
"Now, 97th, on your pins and charge!"
His force was about 200, that of the enemy nearly 2000! Wounded in the breast at the first onset, he still led the charge. "Men of the 97th, follow me!" rang out his voice above the din of battle, and leaping the parapet of the entrenchment he charged the enemy down the ravine. "This way, 97th!" was his last command—still at the head of his men. His sword had already dealt with two of the foe, and was again uplifted, when a musket shot, fired at close quarters, severed an artery; and the work on earth of this gallant man was over.
Hedley Vicars was a true soldier and earnest Christian. The last words he wrote, penned the night before he died, were: "I spent the evening with Cay. I read Isaiah, xli.; and he prayed. We walked together during the day, and exchanged our thoughts about Jesus."
He spent a busy time in the Crimea, doing plenty of hard work in the trenches; and when off duty engaged in hospital visiting, tract and book distributing, attending prayer meetings and mission services, constant in his Bible reading, and always endeavouring to do good to others.
Here is an entry from his diary on the 4th March, 1855: "Sunday. Had Divine service in camp. We afterwards met together in a tent. All present. Then sat on a regimental board, after which I went to the Guards' camp for Cay; and we then went, laden with tracts, books and prayers, to the remaining hospitals of the Second Division, where we distributed all we had. Had service in our hospital tent on my return, and prayed with one of the sick, particularly, who asked me to do so… I spoke to him of and directed him to 'look to Jesus' the Saviour. Service in the tent again in the evening. … Oh, what a happy day this has been!… I must now conclude, as I must get ready for the trenches."
[Illustration: HEDLEY VICARS LEADING THE 97TH.]
On 12th January he wrote: "I have just returned from a night in the trenches, having come off the sick list yesterday morning. Last Sunday I was unable to leave my tent, but I had happy communion with Jesus in my solitude, and derived much pleasure from the fourteenth and fifteenth of St. John. How true is the peace of mind that cleaving to Christ brings to a man! There is nothing like it in this world."
Such was Hedley Vicars—a bright, loving, faithful Christian. He knew what it was to be without peace; for having got into debt when he was first in the army, and knowing the distress it caused his family at home, his mind was so troubled that he wrote to his mother: "Oh, what agony I have endured! What sleepless nights I have passed since the perusal of that letter! The review of my past life, especially the retrospect of the last two years, has at last quite startled me, and at the same time disgusted me." And again: "Oh, that I had the last two years allotted to me to live over again!"
His mother's letters stirred him to sorrow for past faults and desires to live a new life. The sudden death of his fellow-officer, Lieut. Bindon, made him realise the uncertainty of earthly things.
In November, 1851, whilst at Halifax, Nova Scotia, he was awaiting the return of a brother-officer to his room, and idly turning over the leaves of a Bible that was upon the table. He caught sight of the words, "The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin". The message went home. That night he hardly slept. With the morning came LIGHT AND LIFE. Like Christian in the Pilgrim's Progress he looked to the cross, and his burden rolled away.
Feeling keenly his own weakness he bought a large Bible, and placed it open on the table in his sitting-room, determined that an open Bible in the future should be his colours. "It was to speak for me," he said, "before I was strong enough to speak for myself." The usual result followed. His friends did not like his "new colours". One accused him of "turning Methodist," and departed; another warned him not to become a hypocrite, and remarked, "Bad as you were, I never thought you would come to this, old fellow!" So for a time he was nearly deserted.
But he had got that which was better than any ordinary friendships. Though he often came under the fire of jeers and taunts—more trying to most men than the rifle bullets of the enemy—he experienced a new joy which increased and deepened.
Later on he would spend four or five hours daily in Bible reading, meditation and prayer, so that whereas he had written a few months earlier: "Oh! dear mother, I wish I felt more what I write!" he was now daily becoming more earnest, patient and watchful, and was gradually putting on the whole armour of God.
And so, during those three short years that intervened between his call to grace and his death at the early age of thirty, he did the work of a lifetime; and of him it can be truly said (as of many another alluded to in this book) that "he being dead yet speaketh".