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

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.

In reply to the question, "What have you done with the dresses?" she replied, "'Eld 'em up 'ere, and a woman gave me ninepence for the silk un, and two shillings for the t'other; and I've bin in and bought these 'ere pretty clothes; and I've had lots of fish and taters and beer, and was a-goin' to the gaff."

This statement was made in such a disingenuous manner that it seemed evident that the poor child, like the heathen, had no moral sense. As it was useless to try and trace the dresses, it only remained to march her off to the Refuge, where, out of consideration to her friend, she was at once received. We may add, that she did well in the Institution for several years, and that she became a good general servant.

This girl was one of seventeen outcasts whom the keeper of "Teddie's Den" brought to the Missionary, all of whom were rescued; but though a "helper" in the good work, he did not obtain spiritual good himself. At times he seemed to tremble when passages concerning judgment and mercy were read from the Book; and he treated the Reader with respect,—but that was all. The dreadful influence of his business and the love of liquor quickly removed all good impressions, and he continued to do evil: "He saw the better, yet the worse pursued." Bad as he was, he at times showed a kindness of disposition quite out of keeping with his appearance and character; for instance, when he heard that his friend was ill, he went to Covent Garden Market, and, of all things there, bought a pomegranate, and left it at his house. A few nights after this he was in liquor, wandered from his door, and leaning against an area gate which was unfastened, fell back upon the stone steps. He fractured his skull, remained unconscious for some hours, and died in that state. The grief of the Missionary was great; he had diligently sought the salvation of the man, and he, therefore, felt crushed beneath the discouragement. The evangelist has his trials and heart-sorrows, his disappointments are frequent and painful, though not so often referred to as they perhaps ought to be. It is a fearful thing when the words he utters become "the savour of death unto death;" but he has no choice in this matter, as the order of the great Master is: "Thou shalt go to all that I shall send thee; and whatsoever I command thee, that thou shalt speak."

The "missus," for no one seemed to know her name, succeeded to the full control of the den, and it soon became evident that she was hardened rather than softened by the wretched end of her husband. She expressed a positive dislike to the man whose faithfulness was no doubt a difficulty to her, and she hindered his efforts to do good.

"The master was a fool," she observed, a few weeks after his death, "to bring you back here, as it's ruination. After you left the t'other night the people was all glum; and now gents as has lots of money to stand treats doesn't come, as they are affeard of meeting you; and I have got a man a-coming to help as will turn anybody out, and you shan't come."

This was no doubt her determination, but the Missionary had obtained such power with the supporters of the place, that they would have defended him from insult, certainly from violence. All knew him as one able to rescue them, and as the only one who sought their spiritual good. Bad therefore as they were, they felt that the friend of the soul was their best friend, and they treated him as such. All then that the "missus" could do was to keep him at times out of the back room.

A change, however, passed over the place as the class of customers gradually altered. The depraved became fewer in number, while the skilled criminal class increased. Magsmen and well-dressed pickpockets were more frequently to be seen there, while the thieves, among themselves, spoke of the woman as a good "fence" (i.e., a person who stands between the thieves and receivers, and renders detection more difficult). The following incident will show the class of customers:—

One night a Clergyman, who is now a dignitary of the Church, visited there with the Missionary. The shop was unusually full of youths and men of the criminal class, but in the farther corner sat a party of three persons who appeared to be separated from the rest of the company,—a man, woman, and little girl of twelve years. They were leaning forward as if asleep, but were aroused by the laughter produced by the pleasant remark the Missionary made concerning "the wisdom of the owls of night."

"What are you doing here with that child?" inquired the Clergyman.

"Please, sir," replied the woman, "we has been very unlucky, cos as how my husband has been ill, and all our sticks was took for the bit of rent, and we begged sixpence, and has had some tea and is stayin' here till it's light; and if my old man doesn't get work to-morrow we shall go next day to the Union over Battersea."

"You had better go there at once," he replied; "but don't expose the child to the night air. If you will promise me to save enough for a lodging, should you be out to-morrow night, I will give you half-a-crown."

The promise was made and the money given, though the quick eye of the experienced visitor saw by the glances interchanged between the company that deceit was being practised. The money was not, however lost, as that congregation of the ungodly listened with deep feeling to the clear, loving utterances of Divine truth which fell from the lips of that good minister of Christ Jesus.

Next evening the Missionary called in and inquired of the "missus" what was done with the half-a-crown.

"We had a bottle of gin with it," she replied, "but some of the fools wouldn't have any and went out, and said it was a shame to cheat such a good Missionary-man as him was that gived it."

"Now tell me," he continued, "who that man, woman, and child were? I am certain that they are not vagrants."

"I should think not," the woman replied laughing: "why they are smashers (i.e., makers of counterfeit money), and they sends the girl in first, who has bags of bad money under her frock, and one of 'em comes in, and if it's all serene the t'other comes, and then they does business. When you com'd to the door I tipped 'em the wink, affore opening it, as they was then a-sellin' to them chaps. One was a buying six-pennorth of shillings, and another a shilling's worth of half-crowns, according to quality, as the saying is."

Some further conversation followed, when the woman had occasion to leave the room for a few minutes, the visitor turned to the daughter and said:

"I am glad at what you told me a few weeks ago, that you were always praying to God to make you His child and to keep you from the evil to which you are exposed. Now tell me if you have decided to serve the Lord?"

"That I have, sir," she replied, her eyes filling with tears. "Mother won't let me out of her sight; but for two Sundays I have been to the chapel down the mews, where I understand everything, and keep on praying; and the gent spoke so beautiful last night that I want to serve Jesus altogether."

She was encouraged in the wise choice she had made, and the friend left, rejoicing that her heart, like Lydia's, had been opened to receive the truth.

The coiners were not met with again; but quite a year after, the governor of Norwich Castle, at the suggestion of a magistrate who assisted him in many works of mercy, wrote, asking the help of the Missionary in finding a home for a girl who, with her parents, had been apprehended for passing base money. It appeared that they left the girl in the distance, and each taking a piece of bad money passed it upon shopkeepers. They were stopped several times, but as a second piece could not be found upon them they were not detained. They were traced from London to Norwich, by the bad money they had passed, and were apprehended at a lodging-house, with the bags in their possession. The parents were sentenced to nine months' hard labour each, and the girl detained until a home could be found for her. This was done, and she was passed up to London. She was some time in the home, and then absconded; but several years after she called upon the matron, and invited her to come and see her husband, as she was comfortably married.

Several years passed, during which time "Teddie's Den" was visited with varying success, until the night upon which the International Exhibition was closed. The Missionary had arranged a tea in the building for a thousand persons, and returned home very weary, to find a thief in the house,—for there in the hall sat a man who had been frequently convicted. He, with evident feeling, said, "The 'missus,' sir, has bin bad all the week, and she's wery bad now, and is a mumbling your name; and the doctor has bin agin, and says as you ought to be sent for, so I has come." He was told to fetch a cab; but it was midnight before they arrived at the night-house.

An anxious group of depraved persons were standing at the door, but the visitor passed them in silence and entered the back room. The scene which presented itself was solemn indeed, for there, dressed, upon her couch, in the pains of dissolution, lay the woman who used to boast that she had kept dens for twenty-one years, and had not slept at night during that time. She appeared to be dying, but rallied when she heard the voice of her friend, and whispered, "Mercy! mercy!—Pray, pray!"

"I tell you again, that as a guilty sinner, you must pray for yourself," he replied, in a slow, quiet, tone. "The blood of Jesus can save you now: ask God in His name to pardon you." And then the dying woman, after him, repeated short prayers. After a pause he took her cold hand in his, and kneeling down, implored pardon for her from the God of all grace. His voice was, however, stopped by the sobbing of several women and young thieves who had entered from the shop. The death-expression upon the face of their old acquaintance in guilt, with the solemn attitude and words of prayer, overcame them, and they seemed to kneel as in contrition before their offended Maker.

There were intervals of consciousness, during which words of hope were read from the Book of Life; and at her request, expressed by movements of her hands, prayer was again offered. She soon became unconscious, and expired at three o'clock.

A few comforting words were spoken to the weeping daughter and the women who remained in the room; and the night-visitor then passed into the street. A large crowd of the criminal and depraved had assembled from other night-houses, and as he left they made a passage for him to pass through, while the two policemen turned on their bull's eyes to light him on his way. He, however, stepped back, and standing upon the threshold of the den, held out his Bible, and said, "She is dead, and her eternal state is fixed: you, however, are upon the side of the grave where mercy can be sought and found. Look up, now, to where the Saviour is seated, at God's right hand, beyond those dark clouds. Be in earnest in seeking salvation, and then live for the hour of death and the day of judgment." He then passed down the street in silence, not a word reached his ear from that gathering of the wicked.

The wretched inheritance descended to the daughter, now a young woman of twenty. Before her mother's illness she had suffered persecution from her, because she boldly confessed faith in Christ. Another cause of offence was her receiving tracts and placing them upon the tables before the customers were admitted. She, however, showed such dutiful affection to her mother, that it no doubt softened her hard heart, and caused her to show a better feeling towards the unwelcome visitor. A few evenings after the funeral she called upon her friend, and upon entering the room burst into tears, and said, "I can't, sir, keep the dreadful place open, for I am always praying, and the language and sin is awful: I will beg my bread first. What shall I do?"

She was soothed, and a quiet conversation took place between them concerning her position. After conferring with his wife, he said, "You are painfully circumstanced,—no one would receive you into their service if they knew that you had been brought up in such a place. We, however, will do what others could not, as I am assured that the Lord has dealt mercifully by you. We need a servant, and will take you into our house." She, with expressions of gratitude, accepted the offer; so he wrote notes to the landlord of the house, and to a broker, and sent her with them.

Next evening the Missionary paid his last visit to "Teddie's Den." A hand-cart was at the door, and the broker inside. The furniture, crockery, and fixtures were quickly sold and removed, and then the night visitor and its late mistress left. It was with a joyous, thankful heart, that he closed the door behind them, for he felt that a stronghold of sin and Satan had fallen before the silvery notes of the Gospel of peace.

The young woman did well in her place, and gave evidence of a renewed nature. After a few months, her master and mistress were so well pleased with her, that they recommended her into a reformatory institution as under matron. For two years she filled the office with credit to herself, and to the spiritual benefit of many of the inmates, including one who used to frequent her parents' den. This woman had for years been the companion of thieves, and had by vice so injured her health as to suffer long illness in the London Hospital. Upon her discharge she was sent to the Institution, and great was her astonishment to find the young woman who, when a girl, waited upon her at night, an under-matron in the home of Mercy. From her she gladly received the good news of Jesus receiving sinners, and was led to call upon His name, and then to rejoice in His mercy.

One evening the young assistant called upon her friend, and said timidly, "You know Mr. So-and-so, don't you, sir?"

"I do," was the reply; "and think well of him."