The Man with the Book; or, The Bible Among the People

That visit was not lost, as the woman, who kept a beer-shop in the "Dials," was recovered from her debased condition, and with her husband became morally reformed.

The White Horse.—The potman at this house was a young man of unusual sobriety and intelligence. In style and work he was to perfection the "man of the tap," as his short apron was always clean, his room comfortable, and his pots shining. The men were often unruly and quarrelsome, but he always kept order, and got over the pressure for trust with such tact that his master never lost a customer. A grave shaking of the head, and a pointing at a picture on the wall, which represented a dog named "Trust" lying dead between two barrels, usually settled the matter. If not he read the inscription, "Poor Trust is dead: bad pay killed him;" and in a melancholy way expressed his regret that "he could not help that dog a-dying, or he would." Like many of his class, he felt proud of his position, as in the tap he took rank equal to his master in the parlour. Frequenters of the room acknowledged this, and, as the representative of the firm, appealed to him on knotty questions. Such a question arose one evening when a man, who had the habit of fixing attention upon some matter contained in a Book he carried, told them about the Saviour of the world ascending to heaven in a white cloud, and added, the angels said, "This same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as ye have seen Him go into heaven;" and then he made the solemn announcement, "Behold, He cometh with clouds, and every eye shall see Him." The men who knew little of Christianity were utterly ignorant of this great truth, and its enunciation produced thoughtfulness, and a conversation the very reverse of that which usually took place in the room. One man appealed to "Potts," as he was called, as to whether that was in all the Bibles; as if it was, it might come true. Potts very wisely looked at the visitor, and said, "He's very likely to know, and if he'll tell me where it is, I will look in a Bible this very night and see if it's there." He was commended for his answer, and told of the men of Berea, "who were more noble than those in Thessalonica, in that they received the Word with all readiness of mind, and searched the Scriptures daily, whether those things were so." The men were then, in a short but earnest address, directed to the coming Judge as the present Saviour.

A few months after this visit, the Missionary one afternoon entered the tap-room, as he desired to hold private converse with Potts. That worthy was by himself, and was, with great effort, writing a letter.

"It's strange that you should have come in, sir," he observed, "as I am a writing a letter to my sister, for whom I cares a great deal, as there is only us two; and we has bin orphans since we was very little, and she is a parlour-maid at Maidstone; and I don't mind you reading the letter, sir, as it's all true that's in it."

His friend with some difficulty got through the epistle, as its writing and orthography were very bad. It commenced in the famous "hoping to find you quite well as it leaves me at present" style; and then, as we put it in readable language, he said, "I have, my dear sister, made up my mind to be a Christian. A gentleman who comes in here has made the duty of being religious very plain, and I have got a view of Jesus like this:—if you were woke up in the dark night by a fire-escape man in your room, you would not at first understand what it meant; but as soon as you got a good look at him, you would see by his clothes and helmet what he was, and you would let him save you. Now that is just how I see Jesus Christ; everything about Him shows that He is the Saviour, and I am letting Him save me. As I cannot now be comfortable here, I have obtained work at a fishmonger's, and I want you to come to London. I will try and get you a good place, and then you will not be subjected to the temptations of the trade." He was strengthened and encouraged in the good resolution which he carried out, and some time after he gave his friend valuable assistance in the formation of a local society for the abolition of Sunday labour.

The Coach and Horses.—Two visits of considerable interest took place in this house, though at long intervals.

As the Missionary entered the bar one evening, the landlord said, in a half whisper, "The fight for the championship comes off in the morning, and a lot of the P. R.'s are in the club room."

"Can you pass me up?"

"It's no use your going there," was the reply; "but I will, if you like:" and then the visitor passed upstairs and entered the room. About thirty men were present, the majority being unmistakable members of the prize-ring. As every eye was fixed upon the new arrival, he felt embarrassed as to his mode of procedure; indeed, there was no help but to produce his tracts and to commence distribution. He had given about a dozen, when the men rolled them up as balls and commenced pelting each other across the room, uttering vile words. The distributor at once saw that his work was likely to be brought into contempt, and that evil instead of good might result from the visit. He therefore, as many were pressing him for tracts, put them into his pocket. During the few minutes he had been there, he had noticed an elderly man of damaged face and whiskerless who was seated at a table with two gentlemen. He was drinking from a large silver prize-cup, which indicated that he was an ex-champion. His hand was resting upon the table, and a diamond of great beauty glittered upon his finger—as the lapidists say, it "gave fire." The distributor looked at it, and approaching its owner, remarked, in so loud a tone that all in the room heard him, "What a lovely ring! I have not seen so fine a brilliant as this for some time: it must certainly be worth a hundred pounds."

"That's it," replied the ex-champion. "They say that it's worth a hundred guineas. A gent that's dead and gone bet two thousand upon me when I beat the Slasher; and in the morning he came to 'cossit' me, as he said, and brought me this."

"It's the jewel that's worth the money," said the visitor. "Why, the gold of the ring would not fetch three pounds." All assented to this. And he continued. "Well, it's just so with these tracts you have been throwing about: as bits of paper they cost little or nothing, and are not worth your acceptance; but they are all studded with a jewel—the pearl of great price:" and then raising his voice to a clear ringing pitch, he exclaimed, "The name of the Lord Jesus, by whom alone each man in this room can be saved, is upon them,—He is the gem. None other name is given by which you can obtain mercy." And then placing some tracts upon the table, he left the room with a firm tread. The men were so interested and surprised that scarcely a word was spoken. A few days after, the potman told the distributor that the pugilists did not destroy a tract or leave one behind.

More than two years after this event the Missionary was standing one morning at the bar, in conversation with the landlady, when he noticed, the parlour door being open, a very aged man seated with a glass of sherry before him. His beard, which was very long, and his few remaining hairs were as white as the driven snow: and as he leaned upon his gold-headed cane he looked beautiful,—he had indeed that rich beauty of age which in its day is more lovely than the bloom of youth. The visitor approached politely, and asked his acceptance of a little book. He received it with a smile, and entered freely into conversation, which ended in the following way: "And now, sir, may I put the question to you which one of the Pharaohs put to an aged man who was led up to the throne by his son?"

"Certainly."

"'How old art thou?'"

"Just turned eighty-four."

"An honourable age. But your answer is not so full as that which good old Jacob gave. He told the King that 'the days of the years of his pilgrimage were an hundred and thirty years;' and added, 'Few and evil have the days of the years of my life been, and have not attained unto the days of the years of the life of my fathers in the days of their pilgrimage.' He spoke of life as short, for upon looking back time appeared to have passed quickly; he spoke of his days as 'evil,' for he had had his share of care and sorrows: but, best of all, he confessed to the heathen King that he was but a stranger and pilgrim upon the earth, and so acknowledged his belief in, and his hope of, enduring rest in the better country. I trust that you have like precious faith, and the assurance that you are near the prepared mansions,—the city of habitation whose Builder and Maker is God?"

"No: I am not;" and as he said it his voice trembled and the tears started into his eyes. "I am not a Christian, and am most miserable. I was a merchant, and until fifty years of age was absorbed in the one object of making money. I then retired upon an ample fortune, and for the next twenty years I loved and enjoyed the world, and collected art-work and things of beauty, with which my houses are filled. During that time I never thought seriously of eternal things, and scarcely ever read my Bible. Of late years I have ceased to take pleasure in these things, and I am truly wretched. My son, who is a diplomatist, when in England, brought several divines to see me, but I cannot get peace. This morning I came out for a walk, and feeling fatigued I looked in here, and as no one was in the room I called for light refreshment—and am taking rest. It seems strange that such a man as you should accost me here,—and it may be of God. Let us exchange cards, and come and dine with me."

Cards were exchanged, and next day the "parlour friends" dined together. Some time was spent in looking over the beautiful and curious possessions of the old gentleman, and then they settled down to deep spiritual conference. Many a page of the pocket Bible was turned over, and the verities of the Word were made manifest. The library door was then fastened, and deep earnest prayer was offered to the God of all grace.

Many visits followed, and the friendship was cemented. One day, as the visitor entered the dining-room, the old gentleman grasped his hand, and said, "The cloud is removed: I feel as a little child, and am resting with comfort upon God's love in Jesus;" and then he uttered the language of rejoicing. For five or six months he was happy, and his family were made glad. One morning his friend received a deep black-bordered letter from his eldest daughter, who was staying with him at his country house, and it read thus: "As my late father's dearest friend, I write to tell you of his sudden removal. He had been poorly for several days, and was taken really ill yesterday morning. We had three physicians, but they could only give him a little ease, as he was evidently dying. He was conscious to the last, and very happy. He fell asleep at two o'clock this morning, with the name of Jesus upon his lips. Our gratitude to you for your deep interest in him, and kind attention, is deep, and will remain for life."

The Lord sent forth the seventy "two and two before His face into every city and place." In effective lay-work the principle holds good through all the difficulties of domiciliary effort. The Missionaries of London and other large towns have each a responsible helper,—their local superintendent. It thus occurred that the man with the Book never stood alone in his work, and if he had it would have been feebly done. His beloved superintendent bore his full share of responsibility. At first he visited with him that he might make himself fully acquainted with the nature of the work and then he gave prayerful influence, with Christian council and sustaining sympathy. Under God, much of the success which attended, and still attends the visitation of public and coffee-houses, is due to the direction of that "honourable counsellor," Mr. W. R. Ellis.

And here it is well to add that the chief secretaries of the Mission, the Rev. John Garwood and the late Rev. John Robinson, have left an impress of good upon this and each branch of the work. Their clearness of judgment and full comprehension of the will of the committee, always gave value to their advice; while their devotion to the cause of Christ in London stimulated the zeal, and gave solidity to the labours of young missionaries. This testimony can now be given, as one of them has received the upward call from the Master; and the other, after forty years of faithful service, has retired from official responsibility, though still active as a director of the Society's affairs. Blessed, indeed, are they who are called in early life to labour in the Gospel, and are honoured with long life in the highest and best employ, with sure anticipation of the blessed rest!

The Book in the Den:

ITS MAJESTY.

 
"And often did she bless the night,—
That night without a star,
When Mercy kept the lonely watch,
And left the door ajar."
 

Mrs. Sewell.

CHAPTER X

THE SLEEPLESS CITY—TEDDIE'S DEN—A STRANGE INVITATION—THE TEA—A MIDNIGHT VISIT—A VISIT TO RAG-FAIR—MANY RESCUED—SMASHERS—THE BETTER PART CHOSEN—DREADFUL DEATH-BED SCENE—A STRONGHOLD DESTROYED.

The Book in the Den:

ITS MAJESTY

"For the Word of God is quick and powerful, and sharper than any two-edged sword." Heb. iv. 12.

LONDON never sleeps. The noise and din of the mighty city is hushed as the night advances and the toiling millions of the day sink to repose; but their rest is the signal for the activity of others. The protection of its vast accumulation of wealth and property requires an army of police. The supply of its markets requires the wakefulness of thousands, while its traffic requires an extensive night service of cabmen and others. In addition to these, and workers upon the morning press, and other sons of toil who earn their daily bread by night, there is the vast multitude of those who

 
"Live to sin, and sin to live,"
 

and who, as the evenings close in, leave their homes and dens to seek the wages of unrighteousness. These two orders of the industrious and depraved would make up a city as large as Birmingham, and they require that many night-houses and coffee-stalls should be established to meet their necessities. And so the children of the night are increased, and we therefore repeat the statement, that "London never sleeps."

This conviction was forced upon the attention of the Missionary to public- and coffee-houses, when he found that many of the latter were closed all day, and was informed that they were only opened at night. As it was his duty to make the proprietors and supporters of these houses acquainted with the glad tidings of peace, he had no choice but to visit them in the night season. Upon making the effort, he discovered that while the wicked never ceased from their wickedness, but during the hours of darkness gave unbounded license to their evil deeds, the people whom the Lord has set as His watchmen in the city slumbered and slept. A vast multitude existed who, of a truth, loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil; but no ray from the Sun of Righteousness was made to penetrate the darkness of the shadow of death in which they dwelt. They lay deeply poisoned by the fangs of the serpent sin, but no balm of Gilead or leaf from the tree of life was offered to them. Captives of the devil, they were bound and fettered by the cords of their iniquities, being in ignorance of that mighty Deliverer who was manifested to destroy the works of the devil, and to set at liberty them that are bound.

The sinners were astonished when, in the silence of the night-watches, a voice was heard in the streets proclaiming, in loving accents, the tender mercies of a great Redeemer. Many an honest worker or driver was arrested or comforted by sayings which reached his ears from the Book of Life, or was benefited by the silent messenger of mercy placed into his hands. Many a sin-wrecked one who had been brought to feel that there was no hand to deliver him, and who in blank despair was ready to seek a prison or a watery grave, heard the sweet notes of salvation, and was delivered from going down into the pit. There were many, however, of reprobate mind who, being filled with all unrighteousness, resisted the King's messenger, and bitterly opposed themselves to the truth. This was the case at a place called by the outcasts "Teddie's Den;" and by way of illustrating the power of the Book we will narrate the religious history of that house, strange as it may sound.

It was an old-established concern, and had a connection of its own. This was evident, as the customers were so well known to the landlord that their step, or tap, or knock, was sufficient to secure their ready admission. It was not so with the Missionary. When he knocked and asked for an entrance, the only reply he received was in a gruff tone, and to the effect, that they were "shutting up." In order to gain an entry he then obtained the promise of a pass in from a young thief of his acquaintance. This, however, was unnecessary, as, upon passing the door a little before two o'clock one Sunday morning he noticed that it was partly open, no doubt for purposes of ventilation. This was a rare opportunity, which he embraced by immediately stepping in. He called for a cup of coffee, and while it was being brought took notice of the place and people. The den consisted of an ordinary shop and parlour; the former was fitted up with narrow tables, at which were seated about twenty men and women; many of these were leaning forward upon their hands, apparently asleep. A few were of the vagrant and beggar class, who, perhaps, had only sufficient money to purchase a little food, and the right to remain there for a few hours; but the majority were evidently of the vicious and criminal order. The room was extremely dirty, and the dim light from the old oil lamps seemed to increase its gloom: the spangled sky, however, could be seen through the upper squares of glass, as the row of shutters only reached to the top panes. The back room, or "parlour," had a cheerful fire, was better lighted, and was no doubt filled with paying customers. There was laughter and merriment, but the oaths and blasphemies which reached the ear were truly terrible. It was evident that these men and women of the baser sort were holding a swearing club,—an amusement so hellish that we forbear a description. There was not time for further observation, as the landlord, a big, brutal-looking man, approached with the coffee.

An illustrated publication was offered to him, with the remark, "You don't, I see, supply papers to your customers; so I will occasionally give you some of these."

He took the paper with a deep frown, threw it upon the floor, and with a bitter oath, said, "I know you: you spy,—you canting wretch!" and, turning round, he locked the door; and then approaching the Missionary with the key grasped in his hand and trembling with rage, threatened vengeance. At this display of anger the customers rose from their seats and pressed forward, while the dreadful people poured in from the back room. It was an awful moment for the visitor, as he sat there helpless in the midst of that crowd of the violent and the guilty. Realizing the danger of his position, he uttered an inward prayer for help, and then, springing up, he struck his hand with violence upon the table, and pointing over the shutters to the clouds, exclaimed in a loud voice, "A great white throne will be set up among the stars there. The Saviour who died for sinners will sit upon it, for the dead that are in their graves shall hear His voice and live. We shall be there."

At this every tongue became silent, and the people stood back, gazing upwards or into his face. Therefore, pointing at one and another, he continued, "And you, and you; for we must all stand before the judgment-seat of Christ. I am not an enemy or a spy, but a servant of the Lord Jesus, who will judge you at the last day. He is now the Saviour of the ruined and the lost, and in His name I offer you mercy through the blood He shed for you upon the cross. In this His blessed Book it is written, 'Whosoever believeth on Him shall be saved.'" The speaker then stepped toward the door, which the landlord unlocked with a trembling hand, and he passed out into the cold, silent street.

There is a charm in the solitude of a sleeping city. The hum of the multitude and the deafening rattle upon the stones are stayed, while the distinct tread of the pedestrian and more measured tread of the policeman, seem the only link between the slumbering myriads and the activities of the day. As the distant footsteps fall upon the ear there is an instinctive turning towards the approaching or receding objects. The visitor had not proceeded far from the den when he heard footsteps, and upon turning round saw the landlord coming toward him; he therefore stopped under the next lamp, and awaited his arrival. With faltering voice he said, "Come again, guv'nor. Didn't mean anything; and a chap as knows you says as it's all right."

The words, "Come again," were as music to the man with the Book; for he felt that the door of that dreadful place was opened, and that he had obtained power, under the protection of that bad man, there to read from its pages of judgment and mercy, and in the Name of names to rescue ruined ones from present and eternal destruction. He therefore replied, "Never mind the past; it is all right with me. I do all the good I can for people, and don't injure anybody. I will now call as a friend of yours. When shall it be?"

"You sees, guv'nor," he replied, "as we lives different to other people, cos our okupation is at night; and we opens at twelve and shuts up at six in the morning, when we has our supper at seven and goes to bed, and then we gits up to breakfast at five, as would be your tea-time; and if you'll turn in this afternoon, as is Sunday, we'll have winkles and muffins, and you'll see as I ain't a bully as some is, though my temper ain't zackly right allus."

The promise was given, and punctually at five o'clock that afternoon the invited guest entered the den. It had been swept, but the floor, tables, and wall were of the same sombre colour, while the air was offensive. The back room, into which he was welcomed by his new friend, was in the same condition, but better furnished, for there was an old couch and several chairs; the walls being decorated with a Dutch clock and pieces of old tinware, while upon the grate, which had never been cleaned, was a large boiler and two kettles. The house was so closely built in, that it was only a dusky light which penetrated its small side windows; that light was, however, sufficient to show that the landlord's family and four of the depraved persons who had been impressed at the visit of the early morning were present.

It was evident that the family consisted of the landlord, his wife, and a daughter about twelve years old. The "missus," as she with pleasant familiarity was called, was a low coarse woman of forty-five, strangely but expensively attired. Her dress was of brown silk, trimmed with lace, in front of which she wore a braided white apron with large pockets, not unlike a toll-collector's. Her cap was smartly trimmed with red ribbon; and upon her bare neck was a thick coral necklace of many rows, and a heavy gold-like chain; her dirt begrimed fingers being ornamented with at least eight rings. The little girl was dressed in like fashion.

Both tea and coffee were ready in soot-covered vessels upon the hob. At one end of the dirty table was a tray, upon which were cracked cups and saucers of questionable cleanliness; and on the table itself was a little pyramid of periwinkles; while upon a heap of ashes before the fire were two plates, heavily piled with muffins and crumpets. These observations were quickly taken, and the visitor became thoughtful concerning the feast before him. When the tea was poured out he looked with anxiety at the cups, wondering which would be inflicted upon him; but when the muffins were placed upon the table, and a generous supply of periwinkles were pushed towards him—the women plucking pins from their dresses—he was seized with a sudden loss of appetite. The hospitable host and hostess increased his misery by showing determination that he should enjoy their good things. Such horrors as that tea must not however be dwelt upon. Let it suffice, that time which remedies so much, slow as it seemed to pass upon that memorable occasion, did at last bring the repast to an end.

During the tea the little party were set at ease and led into pleasant conversation; and when the things were cleared away, the visitor laid his pocket-Bible upon the table with the remark, "This is Sunday, the happy day, as my little boy calls it; and we all ought to be happy upon this day, as we are reminded of God's goodness and the Saviour's mercy; after dying for our sins, He, upon the Sunday morning, rose from the dead. Now, as none of you attend divine worship, suppose I read to you about Him and the words He spoke?"

There was general assent, and the visitor read that marvellous chapter commencing with the words, "Then drew near unto Him all the publicans and sinners for to hear Him. And the Pharisees and scribes murmured, saying, 'This man receiveth sinners and eateth with them.'" The little party listened with rapt attention, and several were moved to tears by the running commentary which was made upon the parables. The landlord and his wife, in their strange way, assured the reader that he was welcome to come when he pleased; and they parted as pleasantly as though they had been old friends. Weary, but happy, the Missionary entered the first church he came to with the object of giving thanks to the Lord in His Temple, for deliverance from danger, and for mission mercies received; and he then presented prayer for spiritual success with the keepers of that night-house and their supporters.

About a week after the tea he paid a midnight visit to the den, and as he entered the landlord commanded silence in the following words: "I know this 'ere gent, and if you doesn't shut up while he's here, I'll have you out with a shake and a kick. You bad manner'd brutes, to keep your hats on when your betters comes in." This was sufficient to secure silence, while tracts were delivered with scriptural remarks. It was thought well that the visits should be short until influence was obtained with the customers. The Missionary therefore left, after fixing attention upon the word Saviour and its sweet meaning. He then pinned his address card upon the wall, and said, "Let this remain here. I have told you how to obtain pardon from Almighty God; but as it may be difficult for some of you to leave lives of sin, I shall be glad to be the friend of any who are truly penitent. Some of you might be glad of some one to plead with your relations, and I might assist others into institutions of mercy."

In answer to this invitation several outcasts called during the week upon the "reformatory man," as they pleased to style him, and were rescued. Early one morning, the keeper of the night-house came himself, leading by the hand a little girl without shoes or stockings. She was offensively dirty, with dishevelled hair, her frock of rags being pinned round her. He fairly dragged her in at the door, and said, "This 'ere gal, sir, has been about the streets for months, as she's a Irish cockney, as we calls 'em. Her mother is dead, and her father has bolted; and she sleeps under stairs where the doors are open, and under the arches with them that's got no homes; and she gits into my shop for bits of grub; and a woman, who is a bad lot, wants to take her, and we had a row, and I have bringed her to you,—and here she is."

Yes; there the poor child stood, an object to be shuddered at and avoided; but a fit object for Christian compassion. To provide for her was a difficulty, as the Missionary had burdened so many Institutions with cases that he scarcely knew where to apply. After conferring with his wife, it was arranged that she should be cleaned in the back kitchen, and dressed in one of their children's old clothes, while he went in search of a home for her. After hours of toil, all the success he met with was a promise from the manager of a crowded home to receive her at the end of three days, when an inmate was to leave. There was, therefore, no help but to keep the child for that time.

A bed was made up for her in the kitchen, and orders given that the doors should be all locked, and that she should be carefully watched. There appeared little need for this, as the child was shy and reserved; but she proved to be deeply cunning. Next morning, while the family were at breakfast, she slipped upstairs with a key which had been left upon the dresser, and entering a room, she stole two dresses—one of them a good silk,—and fifteen shillings in money. The theft was soon discovered, but the thief had got clear off. As she had spoken of the savouriness of "Jew's fish" (cooked in oil) it was surmised that she would go to Rag Fair, and her ill-used friend, therefore, got upon the roof of an omnibus, in hope of seeing her upon the way. In this he was disappointed, and, therefore, walked about the fair for some time. He was about leaving in despair, when he noticed, in the distance, a girl of her style, but of strange appearance, and upon approaching he found that it was her, but so changed that he could not refrain from laughing as he seized her arm. Her clothes had evidently been changed,—in place of the neat little frock, she had put on a dirty sky-blue silk, which was much too large; upon her feet were a pair of green boots, and upon her head a straw hat with large red feather. In one hand she held a piece of greasy fish, and in the other a green parasol.