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

"I am glad you are at leisure," was the reply, "as you have started a subject upon which I want the help of the trade, both master and man. This habit of profane swearing among the people is a crying evil, and you are the victims of its pollution more than any other class of tradesmen, which need not and ought not to be the case. In this part of London the habit is too general; but the abomination is still worse at the East end. I have with me a copy of the Church and State Review, in which a gentleman gives an account of his visits the other night with a detective. He writes: 'We stopped before one house in which all the crusts that are begged in the streets are turned into gin. Everybody blasphemed at intervals, except the women, who never stopped at all. There were old men and old women—everything that is made after the image of God, down to the little child—and the foulness of all was equal. It was fearful to hear the words that rolled from the lips of the crone, who was full of years and spirits; but it was agony to hear the curses stream from the baby-mouths, when midnight had passed and it was far away in the morning.' Now, we have a Missionary who visits the houses there, and he was deeply grieved at the pollutions that met his ears; so he had a card about a foot square printed, and illuminated with a double blue border containing four mottoes between: 'Be sober;' 'Swear not at all;' 'Be sure your sin will find you out;' 'Thou God seest me.' The requisition in the centre is printed in scarlet characters, forming a pretty contrast to the border, and is as follows: 'It is respectfully requested that persons attending this house will refrain from using improper language.' He took them round to the landlords, and to their credit, nearly four hundred placed them in their bars and taps; and many joined heartily in the effort to suppress the evil. Though scarcely a year has passed, the result is most satisfactory; and I should like to introduce the cards into this part of London: the trade and myself can work together in this matter and I trust that your master will allow one to be placed in this bar."

"I am sure that he will," was the reply; "and I will ask him, and all the barmen I know, to assist in the good effort."

A card was placed in that bar, and many of the neighbouring bars, taps, and parlours, were ornamented with them; and as "the rules of the house," an effective check was given to guilty tongues. Another good of great importance sprang from the conversation with the barman. The peculiar temptations of the class were considered, and a special effort was made for their spiritual good. A pocket Testament was given to three hundred of them, with suitable remarks as to the value of the good Book, and the duty of daily reading it. The attention of many publicans was for the time directed to the Book, and many purchased larger copies. A distribution was then commenced among those publicans and coffee-house keepers who let lodgings, and hundreds of Bibles were placed in their sleeping rooms; the movement extended to the hotels (the Books having their signs in gilt letters upon the covers), and terminated by an arrangement with the managers of the Great Western Hotel, by which nearly a hundred copies of the Scriptures were placed in their bedrooms.

The barmaids were really thankful for the Bible and Card movement, as their suffering from blasphemous and bad language was great. The following incident will illustrate this: The visitor was one afternoon standing in a gin palace, quietly conversing with the two barmaids, when three well-dressed young men of "turfy" style entered, and called for "brandies and soda." They conversed merrily about an incident which had occurred to one of them, using corrupt words with every sentence. A deep blush rose to the face of the younger barmaid, who had not been long in the business. The visitor turned towards the man, and said sharply, "Dear me, what can be the matter with you?"

"I am all right," he replied, inquiringly.

"You are not all right," was the reply: "but I can tell what's the matter with you. When a man is ill the doctor examines his tongue, and if it is furred he knows that it indicates foulness within, and that the patient requires treatment; and it's just so when men with their tongues defile themselves and others. It shows a diseased moral state when the poison of asps is under a man's tongue."

The severe rebuke so astonished the man that he could not give a ready reply; but one of his companions said, "We meant no harm, sir."

As the barmaids had fled to the other end of the counter, the visitor altered his tone to one of kindly instruction, and said, "You don't know your disease, and I shall, therefore, do you a kindness by pointing it out to you." He then opened his Bible and read, "The tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity: so is the tongue among our members, that it defileth the whole body, and setteth on fire the whole course of nature; and it is set on fire of hell." He then referred to the passage, "Children that are corrupters," and told them that this evil, with all others, proceeded out of the corrupt human heart; and of that blood which cleanseth from all sin, and makes a man every whit whole. The men, who showed a very proper spirit, promised to suppress the hateful habit, and shook hands with their reprover.

Upon his next visit the barmaids thanked him; and the youngest said, "I have been religiously brought up; and my grandfather, who was an Independent Minister, pressed me to give my heart to God when I was a little girl. You have brought all to my remembrance, and I shall leave this trade for domestic service, as I have resolved to live in newness of life."

The Merlin's Cave.—There was a special inducement to visit this house out of its regular order, as placards announced that "The gorilla, or man-monkey, had not made its escape, but could be seen by customers using the bar." Upon entering, one Sunday evening, the Missionary was surprised to find the place crowded with the lowest order of drunkards, chiefly from Seven Dials. Their object was to see the stuffed skin of the monster, and they, for so respectable a house, formed a ragged, dirty, and debased company. The landlord, who was unfavourable to Christian visitation, stopped a conversation of deep interest by inviting the visitor to look at the gorilla. "We don't usually show it on Sundays," he observed, "but as you have come in we will oblige you and gratify the people." And he then drew the curtain aside. All pressed forward to look at the monster; and the Missionary, leaning upon the bar, gazed at it for some moments.

"How he is staring at it!" observed one of the men.

"Yes, I am," was the reply, "as I was making up a conundrum for the landlord; and I hope he will answer it to our general satisfaction. 'When is a man uglier than that gorilla?'"

After a little thought, he replied, "A man never can be uglier than that, so I will give it up."

"Yes, he can," replied the visitor, with energy: "When he is drunk. Yes: a drunkard is the picture of a beast, and the monster of a man. Dressed in rags, with livid face and blood-shot eyes, and filthy breath, he sinks below a brute like that, which answered the end of its being. A drunkard debases his intellect and becomes a mere animal—a wife-beater and child-starver—a pest to his neighbours, and a disgrace to his family and country. A drunkard has the curse of the Almighty over him which no brute has; for being filthy and abominable—a child of the devil—He, the great God, has said that such shall not inherit His kingdom." The landlord stood aghast at the warmth of this declamatory speech; and the drunkards seemed rooted to the spot. Tracts were then handed round, a passage of Scripture being repeated with each.

Quite a group of conscience-stricken men and women had stopped outside, and were waiting for the visitor. One of them, a woman, seemed to express the general state of feeling, when she said, "Can't do without it now, master. Can do without food; but though the drink is killing me, I should die without it." And then she cried, as drunkards are so ready to do. The state of disease which alcohol had produced in her was explained, and she was told that a little medical attention, total abstinence from intoxicating drinks, and regular diet, would save her from the drunkard's grave, and would put her in the right position to seek pardon and deliverance from the eternal curse. She readily gave her address, and the visitor promised to call next day to receive her pledge, and to give her further advice.

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."