CHAPTER VIII.
SOME SIGNS OF THE TIMES.
Mary Wythburn’s disappearance was one of the signs of the times. And, excepting to the parties most nearly concerned, it was scarcely a nine days’ wonder. To a great extent even their minds were speedily set at rest, for a few days after the wedding was to have taken place a letter reached her friend, Margaret Miller, which explained in part the occurrence, though unquestionably the real reason was that Mary’s heart was playing truant.
“Dear Margaret,” it said, “I am so frightened at what I have done that I do not know how to bear it; but you know I am such a coward that I could not bravely face it all out as I ought to have done. I simply dare not marry Alfred Greenholme, and I dare not say so. Do go to my mother and comfort her, and tell her that I am safe and well; but I cannot let any one know where I am, for, of course, if I did I should be fetched home; and I would rather die than go. Margaret, I am doing what I have always known I ought to do. I am at work on my own plans in this terrible London, and, God helping me, I will make a few of my own sex better and happier before I die. It makes me sick to see how wretched and wicked they are. Please be my friend, and do not let my dear father and mother, whom I love with all my heart, be more miserable than they need be. Of course, I know they are angry with me, and I deserve that they should be; it is very hard for them that they could not have a daughter like other people’s girls. I can bear their anger, but they must not be anxious or sorrowful about me. I have my cheque-book, and I can take care of myself for a little while; but, oh, Madge! what would I not give to put my head on your shoulder and have a good cry, and hear you scold me (as I know you would). I am very thankful to sign myself, still ever yours,
In point of fact Mary Wythburn had not done an unheard-of thing in preferring to work among the poor rather than be married. Many girls had made the same choice; and many men too. The world of the great East of London was the scene of more heroic labours for the wretched than had ever been known before. Methodism had its centre there, from which radiated all sorts of beneficent lights that flashed across the darkness. The Congregationalists had a home where good women who had given up their wealth for Christ’s sake, and that of humanity, lived together in a little community, and laboured in every conceivable way among the poor. The Baptists had long led the Forward Movement, which was another name for the “applied Christianity” in which the Church had now come to believe. The Episcopal Church had brought wealth, culture, and influence to bear upon the problem of the outcasts. University men had chosen this work instead of Parliamentary honours, or the accumulation of money. And many a young lady had quietly disappeared from society, and, receiving a pound or two a week from her father for her personal needs, had gone to dwell among the poor, as poor, in order to live a consecrated life of Christian helpfulness. Mary Wythburn had but added one to the already swelling multitude who had yielded to the fascination of the modern ministry of love and service. The old things repeated themselves—with a difference. The piety which had moved men and women to withdraw from the world and give themselves entirely to a religious life was equally strong and impassioned in many of the young men and women who were sworn disciples of Jesus now; but they served Him by withdrawing from luxuries only, and not from men. They took no vows upon them excepting the usual ones which characterise the entrance into the Church, but they put a different meaning into them. They heard a call summoning them into the thick of the crowd, there to do the works of their Master—to feed the five thousand, to heal the sick, to open the eyes of the blind, to deliver the captives; aye, to take the little children into their arms and bless them.
For thoughtful people were most of all concerned about the young. The State had given them enough schooling to render them precocious, for it was compulsory and free; but it had not educated them, for the conscience and the character were very much untouched by the schools, since the children left far too early to have had a chance to gain anything more than the mere rudiments of elementary training. The years at which they might begin to labour were put back a little, but now there were thousands, where fifty years before there had been dozens, earning their own livelihood in factories and works of various kinds. This massing of young people together, with little control over their tongues or conduct, was having a terrible effect upon the men and women of the next generation. Their conversation was frequently of the most filthy kind, and juvenile immorality was frightfully on the increase.
Arthur Knight had a shock as, sitting in his office one day with the windows open, he overheard some of the girls in his employ talking together, and he lost no time in providing a place where Miss Wentworth and her helpers might begin a beneficial work among these young people, many of whom, though at present between fourteen and sixteen, would soon be the mothers of children, and who for that, if no other reason, needed greatly the womanly ministrations of Christian love.
But it happened that at the first of the girls’ meetings in the temporary evening homes prepared for their reception Miss Wentworth could not be present, and, indeed, for several weeks the young ladies who were to help her had about fifty factory girls to themselves. Neither of them would ever forget their experience. Provision had been made for the girls to wash at the rooms, and take tea there, so that they might be as long as possible under the influence of their friends, who earnestly desired to render them real service, but who were at their wit’s end to know how to accomplish it. The girls brought curling-tongs, and spent most of their time in “frizzing” their “fringes.” They were urged to join a savings’ club, but said they were already in a “feather club,” to which they paid, out of their earnings of seven or eight shillings, a shilling a week for “fashion and finery,” and they could not afford to save anything else. For some time it seemed impossible to reduce them to any sort of order. They at once gave nicknames to the ladies; and began by mimicking their manner of speaking. One of the girls went to a timid, nervous young lady, and, looking her full in the face, said, “Blush! blush!” an order which was, of course, instantly obeyed, to the great glee of those who stood around, and who laughed uproariously. One impudent-looking girl had a dreadful black eye, and in reply to a lady who kindly inquired if she had met with an accident, said, “Mother did that. She throwed a tater at me, and it hit my eye. My mother can’t do nothing with me, and it makes her mad.” The words were immediately sung in a sort of chorus: “My mother can’t do nothing with me, and it makes her mad.” A lady offered to give a little talk on the body, having made physiology her favourite study; the girls sat and giggled the whole time, at the end of which they dubbed their teacher, “Bones.” The young ladies were very much troubled by the boys outside, who waited about for the girls, and amused themselves by knocking at the doors and climbing up to the windows, and who became at last so troublesome that a policeman was asked to take up his station near and keep order. The next day many of the girls brought the policeman offerings of flowers, and nearly all surrounded him, and began talking and joking with him.
“It is of no use to try. We shall never do them any good. We must give it up and leave them to their fate.” But this was not what those educated, Christ-obeying girls said. Some whom they knew had gone away to work among the dwarfs of the Congo, the fever-stricken men and women of the jungle, and the lepers of Siberia; should these be less heroic than they? They kept steadily on, and, after a time, a few of the girls for whose salvation they agonised grew more quiet than the rest, and these would distribute themselves among the others and try to keep order during the prayer-time; and, at last, now and then the young hearts of these home missionaries were thrilled with such whispers as this: “I do want to be better, please tell me how?” So they worked faithfully.
But many signs of the times were less hopeful than this. It was known in England, and especially in London, that few financial ventures were so absolutely safe as those connected with journalism, provided the popular taste was met. Those who won the greatest popularity were those who wrote down to the masses, and went even a little lower than they. The sale of such journals was largely helped by religious people, not that they approved the morality of the journals, but because they were amusing, the gossip being of a spicy nature, and the tales sensational and enthralling. For several years almost all papers had become increasingly personal in their character, and editors were willing to pay large sums for little bits of news touching persons who were in the least distinguished for position, possession, or power. The society journals had always a large sale, especially those that were the most unscrupulous in hunting for skeletons in cupboards, and exhibiting them to the public at the rate of a penny a week.
But lately there had been commenced a new journal, which was giving intense pain, and covering with shame a large section of the British people. Its registered title was Saints’ Society, and the motto under the title, chosen in confessed irony, was, “See how these Christians love one another.” It existed for the express purpose of blackening the character and showing up the weaknesses of all sections of the Church, and was full of personalities of the vilest kinds. It would have done less harm if it had been boycotted by respectable or even Christian people, but too many women and some men bought the paper, and gloated over it in semi-secret circles, because of what it told of individuals whom they knew. The adults who did this could not perhaps be greatly harmed by it, since, already, the process of deterioration must have gone so far with their own characters that a little more made almost no perceptible difference; but it was the young people in their families who suffered most, and who, by hundreds throughout the land, were declaring gleefully or angrily, according to their temperament, that religion was a sham and a fraud, which they declined altogether to uphold by any adhesion of theirs.
But the paper was chiefly supported by those who openly hated anything bearing the Christian name. Certain individuals in some sections of the Church had roused considerable antagonism by harassing, with piecemeal legislation, the supporters of existing evils. They had not the energy and perseverance, perhaps they had not the power, to destroy the wrongs of which they complained—that would require a revolution—but they had made it disagreeable for a good many people who coined money by, and were otherwise interested in, the perpetuation of these wrongs, and this had created a great amount of angry feeling. The Saints’ Society Journal was the outcome of revenge.
But in one respect the journal was serviceable. It threw a vivid light upon the standard of excellence which the world expects in Christian people, and many readers turned away from its columns with uneasy consciences. Even The Saints’ Society had a generous word for real goodness, but for those who professed to be religious and yet were not good it had no mercy. It devoted a whole page to paragraphs referring to incidents in which professors fell below their ideal. The following are illustrations from a single number of the paper:—
“Art and Artful.—One day last week a young lady brought a painting to a fine art depository in the West-end, and asked the proprietor to buy it for two pounds. He looked at it, and declared the price ridiculously high, inquiring, with a sneer, where she got such a lofty estimate of her own talents. She replied that she was in most urgent need of two pounds, and felt sure that the picture was worth the money. He told her to take her picture and clear out if she had no more sense than that. Then she asked him what he would give her for it; and he replied that he would pay her eighteen shillings. With trembling lips she said eighteen shillings would not be enough, she must have more; would he not make it twenty-five? No, he replied, not a penny more than eighteen shillings. Eventually, she left it on sale or return, and was to call again in two or three days. It was an exquisite little gem, and before the day was ended it was sold. A gentleman bought it for ten guineas. Two days later, the artist called again and saw the proprietor. Was her picture sold? Oh yes, it was sold, and there was the money for it—eighteen shillings. The poor girl began hysterically to beg for more, and to ask in agony, what should she do? The dealer in art ordered her to leave his premises, and not make a scene, or it would become unpleasant for her; and after vainly trying to melt the heart of stone of the art man, she went away cursing him. But he is a much respected churchwarden of St. Ronald’s. Could a wronged girl’s curse touch him?”
“Going Shares.—A gentleman had in his employment a skilled workman to whom he paid thirty-five shillings a week, which is about the usual wages for the sort of work he did. Ten years ago the workman saw how, by a slight alteration in a machine, the work might be done much more advantageously, and he told his master. ‘A very good idea, Smith,’ he said; ‘can you manage to set it down in writing and make a drawing of it?’ Smith did so, and the master had it patented. He has just died, leaving a fortune of sixty thousand pounds, made chiefly, as all the world knows, by that improved machine. Did he go shares with Smith? Oh, yes! This is how he went shares: he gave him a pound for his idea; and before he died Mr. Jones made things still more right by leaving two hundred pounds to the hospital in which Smith is ending his days!”
“A Case of Starvation has just been brought to light in King Court. A screaming child attracted the notice of the police, who broke into the room from which the sounds issued. A dead woman lay on the bare floor, and by her side a naked female child was endeavouring to awaken the mother. There was not a scrap of food in the place, and the only furniture was a wooden stool, a table, a ginger-beer bottle, and an old blanket, which partly covered the body of the corpse. The room was a very small one; the floor was broken in several places; there were three broken panes of glass in the window; the walls were damp and dirty, and the ceiling far from waterproof. An inquest will be held to-morrow. It has been ascertained by our detective that the woman paid four shillings a week for this room. We had some difficulty in finding the real owner of the house; but we have discovered him to be Mr. John Smith, of Albert Buildings. Mr. Smith is a deacon of the Duke Street Church. The woman made sacks. By working thirteen hours a day she could earn tenpence. She was employed by Mr. Samuel Sneed, of Thames Place. Mr. Sneed attends the church of Mole Street. He is the respected leader of the Band of Hope.”
“A Shocking Accident has occurred in Westleigh, a London suburb, to John Lane, the driver of a grocer’s van. His horse stumbled, and he was thrown from his seat; the horse lost its footing and fell on the unfortunate man. The vehicle was overturned, and it was with difficulty the horse was removed; but when this had been accomplished it was discovered that the man was dead. Two of his brothers subsequently demanded his watch, each declaring himself to be the elder, and the policeman gave it to the one whose appearance pointed him out as the senior. A disgraceful fight ensued, during which the watch got injured. The man has left a wife and three children; but as the widow was too much overcome with grief to demand the watch for her deceased husband’s eldest son, and no one spoke for her (although two parsons were in the crowd), she has lost the watch as well as her husband.”
“Modern Girls.—On Sunday evening, at seven o’clock, the servant left in charge of No. 1. Freeman Street, was summoned to the door by a loud peal of the bell. As soon as she opened it, a company of rough girls rushed in, pushing the servant violently into a back room and locking her in. They then proceeded to ransack the house, and appropriated all the money, jewellery, plate, and other moveable articles they could find, after which they took what food there was, and departed. It is satisfactory to be able to state that these girls—fifteen in number—were found spending the stolen money in the Half Moon public-house, in Bull Street—satisfactory, because so many of these things have occurred lately, and the police have not been able to detect the offenders. Unfortunately, however, thirteen of the girls managed to escape after the policemen who endeavoured to arrest them had been severely beaten, and the house in which they were found almost wrecked by them. They were angry because the landlord did not bar his doors against the upholders of the law, and declared that they, who had hitherto been his best customers, would ruin him. Our detective has interviewed two of the girls who escaped, and they have informed him that every one of the fifteen had at some time or other been scholars in a Sunday-school.”
“Last Night a band of boys and girls assembled in Oxford Street, and for an hour held revelry there before the police succeeded in dispersing them. Several persons were robbed, and an old lady was so much hurt that she had to be taken to the hospital. The leader of the gang was the son of the Rev. J. B. Yellowstone; and his seconder was the son of Mr. Waller, an active Christian man and churchwarden.”
“A Sailor’s Freak.—A young man, who was under orders to sail and return in the steamship Smart, has been summoned for neglect of duty. He was one of Miss King’s saints, and having been converted and signed the pledge, announced his intention of never sailing under a flag which waved above a cargo of alcohol going to foreign shores. But the young prig reckoned without his host. He was compelled to keep his engagement, although he made the discovery that the Smart carried both London gin and Scotch and Irish whisky. Somewhere out at sea the ship fell in with a fleet of fishing-boats. It was found that the Smart was licensed, and the captain ordered the lad to serve the customers who floated round the ship. This he refused to do. He was put in chains, and kept on a diet of bread and water. But his insubordination was repeated on several occasions, both while the ship was on the sea and when she was in port. His defence was that he did not engage to be a barman in a floating grog-shop, but that his work was to help sail the ship. The magistrate, however, informed him that he was to do as his captain bade him, and in order to enforce the lesson he gave him six months’ hard labour. Our grandmotherly legislators will, no doubt, ask a question to-night in the House.”
But there were happier signs than these, which told that a new revival was silently spreading among the churches. In confirmation of this, we will give one more illustration from Saints’ Society.
“Quixotic Saints.—We are informed that a very lively scene took place at Green Place Chapel, at a church meeting. The subject under consideration was the debt on the chapel. The building is one of the most ornate in the neighbourhood, and has a pretty spire and stained-glass windows. The seats are lined and cushioned throughout. The pulpit is of marble—the gift of Mr. Golden, the well-known distiller. Upon the chapel there is a debt of nearly four thousand pounds. The minister feels the pressure of this debt, and besought his people to do their utmost to lessen it. Mr. Smith, one of the leading men, made the following remarks:—‘Our minister is not the only one who would be glad to see this debt removed, and I for one am prepared to do what I can. I have the pleasure to hand over to the treasurer, on my own behalf, a second donation of thirty pounds. And I am happy to say that my daughters have, during the past month, been working for the cause. They have written seven hundred letters to well-known persons in all parts of the country, begging for help; and though I grieve that, so strong is the spirit of worldliness in the land, more than two-thirds of the persons addressed have not even had the courtesy to respond, they have yet received cheques and postal orders to the amount of twenty-seven pounds eighteen shillings and sixpence.’
“A working man in the meeting said, ‘Sir, it is our chapel and we ought to pay for it ourselves. It is well known that our brother whose daughters have been flooding the land with begging letters could, if he would, write a cheque for the whole amount of the debt. The place has been built in accordance with his wish, and I for one hope he will see his way to give instead of beg.’
“Mr. Shelve, a gentleman in the middle of the room, next arose with a beaming smile upon his countenance. ‘I, sir,’ he said, ‘am the bearer of good news. Like our friend Mr. Smith, I have written a few letters, and in response to one of these I have received this cheque for one hundred pounds, which I have much pleasure in presenting in the name of the giver.’
“Very loud applause followed this announcement, and then a man asked, in a quiet voice, ‘Will Mr. Shelve kindly give us the name of the generous friend?’
“‘Certainly,’ was the reply. ‘The munificent gift is from Mr. William Quellset.’
“‘Then,’ said the questioner, who was still on his feet, ‘I beg to propose that we respectfully return this cheque to the sender. Mr. William Quellset can well afford to give a hundred pounds to this chapel, and he is anxious to stand well with the people of this neighbourhood, whom he intends, if possible, to represent in Parliament. But no blessing could go with any amount of money from such a man.’
“There was some interruption, and the speaker corrected himself. ‘I beg pardon; I know nothing of the personal character of Mr. Quellset. I will therefore change the form of my words and say, No blessing could go with money made as he makes his. I suppose everybody knows that he is the patentee of those lozenges which are so attractive that probably the wives and daughters of nine-tenths of the men present are eating them every day—the lozenges to which he has not given the name of opium, but which have done more than anything else to make opium-eating universal amongst us. As our Government grows opium, and is anxious to sell it, it has contented itself, as you know, with imposing a duty on Mr. Quellset’s articles, and many a statesman quiets his conscience in regard to this growing evil by telling himself that the country is enriched by this increase to its revenue. Sir, the country is being ruined by it. The drink has slain its thousands and opium is slaying its tens of thousands. Mr. Quellset has found out how to make it palatable, and he has grown enormously rich; but surely, sir, we do not now live in days when men think they can purchase pardon and heaven by presenting to the Church a small part of their ill-gotten gains. I hope there may be found some one to second my proposition.’
“‘I will do so,’ said a blunt, uneducated man, ‘and I cry shame on any church which, for the sake of adorning its building, will in such a way as Mr. Shelve proposes thus make friends of the mammon of unrighteousness.’
“‘Sir,’ said another, ‘I move that the grateful thanks of this church be presented to Mr. Quellset for his munificent gift. We have been patiently listening to a lot of arrant nonsense. We have nothing to do with the way in which a man chooses to make his money. If we had, I should say that Mr. Quellset has done the country more good than harm. He has found a new employment for men, women, and children. He pays better wages for box-making and all the other branches of his industries than they could earn in many ways. It is not yet proved that opium does more harm than alcohol; and, for my own part, I believe that all these good gifts of God, taken in moderation, are useful. And, besides, beggars must not be choosers, and it would be an insane thing to return a man’s money when we need it so much.’
“Nevertheless” [added the journal], “this Quixotic company of saints decided by a majority to return the cash, and pay its debts by the practice of its own self-denial and generosity.”
There were many quiet souls filled with piety and patriotism who thanked God and took courage when they heard this, for there was a leaven working in the real Christian society of the day which was destined eventually to bring about a marvellous change.
And this change, like almost everything else in England, had to do with politics.