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BENEATH THE BANNER

BEING NARRATIVES OF NOBLE LIVES AND BRAVE DEEDS

BY

F.J. CROSS




_ILLUSTRATED_


  "I have done my best for the honour of our country."--GORDON

SECOND EDITION

1895


_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_.

GOOD MORNING! GOOD NIGHT!

TRUE STORIES PURE AND BRIGHT.

In this work will be found a Series of upwards of sixty Chats with
Children, suitable for morning and evening reading. The book abounds
with anecdotes, and contains numerous illustrations.

_Ready about May, 1895_.




CONTENTS.

_Only a Nurse Girl_,--ALICE AYRES

_A Slave Trade Warrior_,--SIR SAMUEL BAKER

_Two Working Men Heroes_,--CASE AND CHEW

_The Commander of the Thin Red Line_,--SIR COLIN CAMPBELL

_A Sailor Bold and True_,--LORD COCHRANE

_A Rough Diamond that was Polished_,--JOHN CASSELL

"_A Brave, Fearless Sort of Lass_,"--GRACE DARLING

_A Friend of Lepers_,--FATHER DAMIEN

_A Great Arctic Explorer_,--SIR JOHN FRANKLIN

_A Saviour of Six_,--FIREMAN FORD

_A Blind Helper of the Blind_,--ELIZABETH GILBERT

_A Great Traveller in the Air_,--JAMES GLAISHER

_The Soldier with the Magic Wand_,--GENERAL GORDON

"_Valiant and True_,"--SIR RICHARD GRENVILLE

_One who Left All_,--BISHOP HANNINGTON

_A Man who Conquered Disappointments_,--SIR HENRY HAVELOCK

_A Friend of Prisoners_,--JOHN HOWARD

_A Hero of the Victoria Cross_,--KAVANAGH

_The Man who Braved the Flood_,--CAPTAIN LENDY

_A Temperance Leader_,--JOSEPH LIVESEY

_A Great Missionary Explorer_,--DAVID LIVINGSTONE

_From Farm Lad to Merchant Prince_,--GEORGE MOORE

_A Man who Asked and Received_,--GEORGE MÜLLER

_A Labourer in the Vineyard_,--ROBERT MOFFAT

"_The Lady with the Lamp_,"--FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE

_For England, Home, and Duty_,--THE DEATH OF NELSON

_A Woman who Succeeded by Failure_,--HARRIET NEWELL

_A Martyr of the South Seas_,--BISHOP PATTESON

"_K.G. and Coster_,"--LORD SHAFTESBURY

_A Statesman who had no Enemies_,--W.H. SMITH

_Greater than an Archbishop_,--THE REV.C. SIMEON

_A Soldier Missionary_,--HEDLEY VICARS

_A Lass that Loved the Sailors_,--AGNES WESTON

_A Great Commander on a Famous Battlefield_ THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON

_A Prince of Preachers_,--JOHN WESLEY

_Some Children of the Kingdom_

_The Victor, the Story of an Unknown Man_

_A Boy Hero_,--JOHN CLINTON

_Postscript_




BENEATH THE BANNER.


_STORIES OF MEN AND WOMEN WHO HAVE BEEN STEADY WHEN "UNDER FIRE_".




ONLY A NURSE GIRL!


THE STORY OF ALICE AYRES.

On the night of Thursday, 25th April, 1886, the cry rang through Union
Street, Borough, that the shop of Chandler, the oilman, was in flames.

So rapid was the progress of the fire that, by the time the escapes
reached the house, tongues of flame were shooting out from the
windows, and it was impossible to place the ladders in position. The
gunpowder had exploded with great violence, and casks of oil were
burning with an indescribable fury.

As the people rushed together to the exciting scene they were
horrified to find at one of the upper windows a girl, clad only in her
night-dress, bearing in her arms a child, and crying for help.

It was Alice Ayres, who, finding there was no way of escape by the
staircase, was seeking for some means of preserving the lives of the
children in her charge. The frantic crowd gathered below shouted for
her to save herself; but that was not her first aim. Darting back into
the blinding smoke, she fetched a feather-bed and forced it through
the window. This the crowd held whilst she carefully threw down to
them one of the children, which alighted safe on the bed.

Again the people in the street called on her to save her own life; but
her only answer was to go back into the fierce flames and stifling
smoke, and bring out another child, which was safely transferred to
the crowd below.

Once again they frantically entreated her to jump down herself; and
once again she staggered back blinded and choking into the fiery
furnace; and for the third time emerged, bearing the last of her
charges, whose life also was saved.

Then, at length, she was free to think of herself. But, alas! her head
was dizzy and confused, and she was no longer able to act as surely as
she had hitherto done. She jumped--but, to the horror of that anxious
admiring throng below, her body struck against the projecting
shop-sign, and rebounded, falling with terrific force on to the hard
pavement below.

Her spine was so badly injured that although everything possible was
done for her at Guy's Hospital, whither she was removed, she died on
the following Sunday.

Beautiful windows have been erected at Red Cross Hall, Southwark, to
commemorate her heroism; but the best memorial is her own expression:
"I tried to do my best"--for this will live in the hearts of all who
read of her self-devotion. She had tried to do her best _always_. Her
loving tenderness to the children committed to her care and her pure
gentle life were remarked by those around her before there was any
thought of her dying a heroic death. So, when the great trial came,
she was prepared; and what seems to us Divine unselfishness appeared
to her but simple duty.




A SLAVE TRADE WARRIOR.


SOME STORIES OF SIR SAMUEL BAKER.

Sir Samuel Baker, who died at the end of the year 1893, aged
seventy-three, will always be remembered for the splendid work he
did in the Soudan during the four years he ruled there, and for his
explorations in Africa.

In earlier life he had done good service in Ceylon, had been in the
Crimea during the Russian war, and had superintended the construction
of the first Turkish railway.

Then, at the age of forty, he turned his attention to African travel.
Accompanied by his wife, he left Cairo in 1861; and, after exploring
the Blue Nile, arrived in 1862 at Khartoum, situated at the junction
of the White and Blue Nile. Later on he turned southward. In spite of
the opposition of slave owners, and without guide or interpreter, he
reached the Albert Nyanza; and when, after many perils, he got safely
back to Northern Egypt, his fame as an explorer was fully established.
His was the first expedition which had been successful in penetrating
into Central Africa from the north. On his return to England he was
welcomed with enthusiasm, and received many honours.

In the year 1869, at the request of the Khedive of Egypt, Sir Samuel
undertook a journey to the Soudan to put down the slave trade.

He was given supreme power for a period of four years. In December,
with a small army of about 1500 men, he left Cairo for Gondokoro,
about 3000 miles up the Nile, accompanied by his wife. It was a
terrible journey. His men fell ill, the water in the river was low
in many places, and the passage blocked up. At times he had to cut
channels for his ships; the men lost heart; and, had the leader not
been firm and steadfast, he would never have reached his destination.

On one occasion he found his thirty vessels stranded, the river having
almost dried up. Nothing daunted, he cut his way through a marsh,
making a progress of only twelve miles in about a fortnight. At the
end of this time he found it was impossible to proceed further along
that course, and had to return to the place he had left and begin
again.

Still, in spite of all obstacles, he made steady progress.

At Sobat, situated on the Nile above Khartoum, he established a
station, and had a watch kept on passing ships to see that no slaves
were conveyed down the river.

One day a vessel came in sight, and keeping in the middle of the river
would have passed by without stopping. But Sir Samuel, having his
suspicions aroused, sent to inspect it.

The captain declared stoutly he had no slaves aboard. He stated that
his cargo consisted simply of corn and ivory. The inspector was not
convinced, and determined to test the truth of this statement. Taking
a ramrod, he drove it into the corn. This produced an answering scream
from below, and a moment later a woolly head and black body were
disclosed. Further search was made, and a hundred and fifty slaves
were discovered packed as close as herrings in a barrel. Some were
in irons, one was sewn up in a sail cloth, and all had been cruelly
treated.

Soon the irons were knocked off and the poor slaves set free, to their
great wonder and delight.

Sir Samuel arrived at Gondokoro on the 15th of April, 1871. Already
two years of his time had expired. In addition to checking the slave
trade, he had been commissioned to introduce a system of regular
commerce. He set to work at once to show the people the benefits of
agricultural pursuits. He got his followers to plant seeds, and soon
they were happy enough watching for the green shoots to appear.

But before long they began to suffer from want of food. The tribes
round about had been set against them by the slave hunters, and would
supply them with nothing; so that Baker, in the midst of plenty,
seemed likely to perish of starvation. However, he soon adopted
energetic measures to prevent that. Having taken official possession
of the land in the name of the Khedive he seized a sufficient number
of animals for his requirements.

The head man of the tribe and his followers were soon buzzing about
his ears like a swarm of wasps; but seeing he was not to be frightened
by their threats they showed themselves ready enough in the future to
supply him with cattle in return for payment.

His own soldiers were nearly as troublesome as the natives. They
were lazy and mutinous; the sentries went to sleep, the scouts were
unreliable, they were full of complaints; whilst round about him were
the natives, ready to steal, maim, and murder whenever they could get
an opportunity.

His life was daily in danger; and, so as not to be taken unawares, he
organised a band of forty followers for his personal service. On these
men he could always rely. They were proud of the confidence placed
in them, and were ready to go anywhere and do anything. By a strange
perversity they were nicknamed "the forty thieves," though they were
amongst the very few who were honest.

What with sickness and fighting and losses encountered on the way up
the river, Baker's force was now reduced to about five hundred men, in
place of the twelve hundred whom he had once reviewed at Gondokoro.
Still, he did not despair of accomplishing, with God's help, the
mission on which he had been sent.

In January, 1872, with his wife and only two hundred and twelve
officers and men, he started south on a journey of three or four
hundred miles into the region where the slave trade was carried on
with the greatest activity.

He had arranged with one of the chiefs to supply him with two thousand
porters to carry the goods of the expedition; but when the time came
not a single man was forthcoming. So his soldiers had to be their
own carriers for a time. At a later date he was enabled to hire five
hundred men to assist him to transport his goods, and presented each
with a cow as a reward for his services. All took the cows readily
enough, but sixty-seven of the carriers did not appear at the time
appointed. The others were extremely desirous of going to look after
them; but Baker, knowing their ways full well, thought it better to
lose the services of the sixty-seven men rather than to allow this;
for he felt sure if they once returned to search for their companions
there would be no chance of seeing a single one of them again.

After many perils he reached the territory of Kabbu Rega on the
Victoria Nile. The king was apparently friendly at first. But on
several occasions the war drums sounded, and although no violence was
actually offered yet Sir Samuel thought it well to be on his guard.

He therefore set his men to work to build a strong fort. They cut
thick logs of wood, and planted them firmly in the ground, prepared
fireproof rooms for the ammunition, and were in the course of a few
days ready in case of emergency.

These preparations had been made none too soon.

[Illustration: Burning the king's Divan and Huts.]

A few days later a very strange thing happened. The king sent Sir
Samuel a present of some jars of cider. This he gave to his troops. A
little while afterwards one of his officers rushed in to say the men
had been poisoned.

It was really so. The men who had drunk of the cider were lying about
in terrible pain, and apparently dying. At once Sir Samuel gave them
mustard and water and other emetics, and they were soon better. But he
knew that trouble was at hand.

Next morning he was standing at the entrance to the fort with one of
his men when a chorus of yells burst upon his ear. He told his bugler
to sound the alarm, and was walking towards the house to get a rifle
when the man beside him fell shot through the heart.

The fort was surrounded by thousands of natives, who kept up
a continuous fire, and the bushes near at hand were full of
sharp-shooters. But the fort was strong, and its defenders fought
bravely; the woods were gradually cleared of sharp-shooters, and the
natives, ere long, broke and fled.

Then Sir Samuel sent a detachment out of the fort, and set fire to the
king's divan and to the surrounding huts to teach the people a lesson
for their treachery.

But the place was full of foes. A poisoned spear was thrown at
Sir Samuel, and every day he remained his force was in danger of
destruction, so he determined to go on to King Riongo, whom he hoped
would be more friendly.

It is wonderful that the party ever got there. First of all it was
found that they would probably be a week without provisions; but,
happily, Lady Baker had put by some supplies, and great was the
rejoicing when her forethought became known.

Then it was discovered that the country through which they had to pass
was full of concealed foes. From the long grass and bushes spears were
constantly hurled at them, and not a few of the men were mortally
wounded. Sir Samuel saw several lances pass close to his wife's head,
and he narrowly escaped being hit on various occasions.

But, at last, Riongo's territory was reached. The king was friendly,
and for a time they were in comparative safety.

By April, 1873, Baker had returned to Gondokoro, and his mission
ended. It was, to a great extent, the story of a failure, so far as
its main purpose was concerned, owing to the opposition of the men who
were making a profit by dealing in slaves; and who, whilst appearing
to be friendly, stirred up the natives to attack him. But, failure
though it was, he had done all that man could do; and the expedition
stands out as one of the most glorious efforts which have been made
against overwhelming odds to put an end to the slave trade.




TWO WORKING MEN HEROES.


THE STORY OF CASE AND CHEW.

The large gasholders, which are often a source of wonder to youthful
minds as they rise and fall, are the places in which gas is stored for
the use of our cities.

By day, when they are generally receiving more gas than they are
giving out, they rise; and again at night, when less is being pumped
into them than is going out for consumption in the streets and houses,
they fall. The gasholder is placed in a tank of water, so that there
is no waste of gas as the huge iron holder fills or empties.

Now it was in one of these gasholders that a few years ago two men did
a deed that will live. Here is the brief story.

The holder was being repaired, the gas had been removed, and air had
been pumped into it instead of gas so that men could work inside, and
the holder had risen about fifty feet. Two men were working inside the
holder, one a foreman, and the other a labourer named Case, the latter
in a diver's helmet. They were standing on a plank floating on the
water. Fresh air was being pumped down to Case, who, so long as he
kept on the helmet, was perfectly safe.

All at once the foreman found he was beginning to feel faint, so he
told the labourer they would go up to the top for fresh air. But he
had not the strength to carry out his purpose. The raft was pulled to
the ladder by which they were to get out; but he was unable to ascend,
and fell down in a fainting condition.

Then the labourer, regardless of the danger he was running, unscrewed
his helmet, into which fresh air was being pumped, and, placing it
quite near his fallen comrade, enabled him to get some of the air. The
foreman tried in vain to get Case to put on the helmet; and his own
strength was too slight to force him to do so. Indeed, he was in such
a state of weakness that he fell on the raft, and knew no more till he
once again found himself in a place of safety.

Now let us see how the foreman's rescue was effected, and at what
cost. The men at the top of the holder had by this time become aware
that something was wrong below; and two men, Chew and Smith by name,
at once volunteered to go down below. They reached the plank, got a
rope round the foreman's body, when they too began to feel the effects
of the gas, and ascended the ladder, whilst the foreman was being
hoisted up by means of the rope. Smith reached the top in a fainting
condition. Chew never arrived there at all; for just as he got within
a few feet of safety he became insensible, and fell down into the
water below and was drowned. Meantime, Case had become jammed in
between the plank and one of the stays; and so, when at length they
removed him, life had passed away.

Such deeds are so often done by our working men that they think
nothing about it. They do not know that they are heroes--that's the
best of it! It is a fact to be thankful for that everywhere throughout
the land, beneath the rough jackets of our artisans and labourers,
beat hearts as true and fearless as those which have stormed the fort
or braved the dangers of the battlefield.




THE COMMANDER OF THE "THIN RED LINE".


THE STORY OF SIR COLIN CAMPBELL.

It was the 21st Of October, 1808. Colin Campbell, not yet sixteen,
had joined the army as ensign; and the battle of Vimiera was about to
begin.

It was his "baptism of fire". Colin was in the rear company. His
captain came for him, and taking the lad's hand walked with him up and
down in front of the leading company for several minutes, whilst the
enemy's guns were commencing to fire. Then he told the youngster to go
back to his place.

"It was the greatest kindness that could have been shown to me at such
a time; and through life I have felt grateful for it," wrote Colin
Campbell in later life of this incident.

Soon after, the regiment to which he belonged formed part of the army
that retreated to Corunna, when our troops suffered such terrible
hardships. Colin Campbell had a rough time of it then. The soles of
his boots were worn to pieces, and so long a time did he wear them
without a change that the uppers stuck firmly to his legs; and, though
the boots were soaked in hot water, the skin came away when they were
taken off.

After the battle of Corunna,--when the British brought to bay, turned
and defeated their foes,--it was Colin's regiment that had the honour
of digging the grave in which their heroic commander Sir John Moore
was buried.

Battle after battle followed ere the French troops were driven out of
Spain, and Colin Campbell, young as he was, fought like a veteran.

At Barossa his bravery brought him into special notice, and at the San
Sebastian he led a storming party, and was twice wounded in doing so.

First of all he was shot through the right thigh; but though a storm
of bullets was flying about, and men falling thick around him, he was
up again, and pressed onward only to be again shot down.

For his gallant conduct on this occasion he was specially mentioned in
the despatch that the general commanding the forces sent to the Duke
of Wellington.

A few weeks later the troops moved on, and fought at the battle of
Bidassoa, Colin Campbell being left in the hospital to recover from
his wounds.

But so little was it to his liking to stay in the rear that he escaped
from the hospital, and managed not only to fight at Bidassoa, but to
get wounded again!

He was, of course, reproved by his colonel; but who could be seriously
angry with a youngster for such conduct? So when he was sent back to
England to get healed of his wounds, he was made a captain at the
early age of twenty-one.

Among the first things that Colin Campbell did when he received his
captain's pay was to make his father an allowance of £30 or £40 a
year; and later on it was an immense satisfaction for him to be able
to provide both for his father and sister.

In the Chinese war of 1842 he was in command of the 98th Regiment. The
tremendous heat of the country during the summer terribly thinned the
ranks of his forces, and he lost over 400 men in eighteen months. He
himself was struck down by sunstroke and fever; but, owing probably to
his temperate and careful habits, he soon recovered.

After the Chinese war, Colin Campbell was busy in India, and at
Chillianwallah was wounded in the arm. It was in this battle he
narrowly escaped with his life. The day after the fight, when he was
being assisted to take off his uniform, he found that a small pistol
which had been put in his pocket without his knowledge was broken,
his watch smashed, and his side bruised. A bullet had struck him,
unperceived in the heat of the battle, and his life saved by its force
having been arrested by the handle of the pistol.

In 1849 Colin Campbell was made a K.C.B. (Knight Commander of the
Bath); so we must henceforth speak of him as "Sir" Colin.

March, 1853, saw Sir Colin Campbell in England; but though he had
passed his sixtieth year, most of which had been spent in his
country's service, his rest was not of long duration, as in 1854 he
went out to the Crimea in command of the Highland brigade, consisting
of the 42nd, 79th, and 93rd regiments. Sir Colin was proud of the
splendid troops he commanded, and at the battle of the Alma they
covered themselves with glory.

The 42nd (the Black Watch) were the first of the three regiments
across the river Alma. Whilst ascending the height on the Russian side
of the river, Sir Colin's horse was twice wounded, the second shot
killing it; but he was soon mounted on another horse, leading his men
to victory.

The Guards and Highlanders strove in friendly emulation who should be
first in the Russian redoubt; but Sir Colin, well ahead of his own men
was first in the battery shouting:--

"We'll hae nane but Highland bonnets here!" and his troops rushed in
after him like lions.

The terrific charge of these fierce Highlanders, combined with their
dress, struck terror into the hearts of the Russians; who said that
they thought they had come to fight men, but did not bargain for
demons in petticoats!

"Now, men," Sir Colin had said before the engagement, "you are going
into battle. Remember this: Whoever is wounded--I don't care what his
rank is--must lie where he falls till the bandsmen come to attend to
him.... Be steady. Keep silent. Fire low. Now, men, the army will
watch us. Make me proud of the Highland brigade!"

At the conclusion of that well-fought day the commander-in-chief, Lord
Raglan, sent for Sir Colin. His eyes were full, his lips quivered, and
he was unable to speak; but he gave Campbell a hearty handshake and a
look which spoke volumes.

That was a joyful day for Sir Colin.

"My men behaved nobly," he writes. "I never saw troops march to
battle with greater _sang froid_ and order than these three Highland
regiments."

The Alma had been fought on 20th September, 1854, and on the 25th
October was fought the battle of Balaclava, memorable for the "Thin
Red Line". It looked, at one time, as if the heavy masses of Russian
cavalry must entirely crush Sir Colin's Highlanders; and their
commander, riding down the line of his troops, said: "Remember, there
is no retreat from here, men; you must die where you stand".

"Ay, ay, Sir Colin, we'll do that," came the ready response. Now, it
was usual, in preparing to receive a cavalry charge, for soldiers to
be formed in a hollow square; but on this occasion Sir Colin ranged
his men, two deep, in a _thin red line_, which has become memorable in
the annals of the British army. The Russian cavalry were advancing,
but, instead of the masses which were expected to make the attack,
only about 400 came on.

Sir Colin's men, fierce and eager for the onset, would have dashed
from behind the hillock where they were stationed, but for the stern
voice commanding them to stand firm in their ranks.

The Russians hardly waited for their fire. Startled by the red-coated
Britishers rising up at the word of their leader, they broke and fled;
and the men of the 93rd, who, but a little before, had made up their
minds to die where they stood, saw as in a dream their enemies
scattered and broken; and the cloud of horsemen which had threatened
to engulf and annihilate them, make no effort to snatch the victory
which seemed within their grasp.

Before the Crimean war was over, Sir Colin resigned his command, and
returned to England, as a protest against an affront he had received.

Honoured by the Queen with a command to attend her at Windsor, he was
asked by her Majesty to return to the Crimea; and the veteran assented
at once, declaring he would serve under a corporal if she wished it.

The Russian war was soon concluded; and Sir Colin thought that at
length he had finished soldiering. But it was not to be. In the summer
of 1857 the Indian Mutiny broke out, and on 11th July he was asked how
soon he could start for India. The old soldier of sixty-five replied
that he could go the same evening; and on the very next day, Sunday,
he was on his way to take command of the British army in India.

As the Mutiny is alluded to briefly in the story of Havelock, I will
only state that Sir Colin's vigorous, cautious, skilful policy ere
long brought this fearful rebellion to a close.

For his able conduct of the war he was warmly thanked by the Queen;
and at its conclusion was raised to the peerage, under the title
of Lord Clyde. Colin Campbell was an admirable soldier, firm in
discipline, setting a good example, ever thoughtful for the comfort
and well-being of his men, sharing in all the hardships and perils
they passed through. It is, therefore, not surprising that his men
loved him.

Not that he was by any means a perfect man. He had a temper--a very
hasty and passionate temper too, and one that troubled him a good
deal; but he was on the watch for that to see it did not get the
better of him.

Here is an entry from his diary of 5th March, 1846, showing something
of the character of the man. "Anniversary of Barossa. An old story
thirty years ago. Thank God for all His goodness to me'! Although I
have suffered much from ill health, and in many ways, I am still as
active as any man in the regiment, and quite as able as the youngest
to go through fatigue."

Let us just glance at the way this victor in a hundred fights regarded
the approach of death.

He prepared for his end with a humility as worthy of example as his
deeds in the army had been. "Mind this," he said to his old friend
General Eyre, "I die at peace with all the world."

He frequently asked Mrs. Eyre to pray with him, and to read the Bible
aloud.

"Oh! for the pure air of Heaven," he once exclaimed, "that I might be
laid at rest and peace on the lap of the Almighty!"

He suffered a good deal in his last illness, and at times would jump
up as if he heard the bugle, and exclaim:--

"I am ready!"

And so; when he passed away on the 14th August, 1863, in his
seventy-first year, "lamented by the Queen, the army, and the people,"
he was quite ready to meet that last enemy, death, whom he had faced
so often on the field of battle.




A SAILOR BOLD AND TRUE.


STORIES OF LORD COCHRANE.

All who, forgetful of self, have striven to render their country free
and glorious are true heroes. Of those who have been ready to lay down
their lives for the welfare of Great Britain the number is legion.
From them let us select one as a type of thousands of brave men who
have helped to make Britain mistress of the ocean.

Thomas Cochrane, son of Lord Dundonald, took to the sea as a duck
takes to the water. When he first went on board ship the lieutenant
cared neither that he was Lord Cochrane nor that he was related to the
captain of the ship. He did not spare him one jot; but made him do all
kinds of work, just as if he had been plain Tom Smith. And so it came
to pass that he got a thorough training, and, being a smart youth, was
soon promoted.

Cochrane had the good fortune on one occasion to meet Lord Nelson, who
in course of conversation said to him, "Never mind manoeuvres; always
go at them".

This advice he certainly followed throughout his life; and he began
pretty early too. For being in command of a sloop of 158 tons, called
the _Speedy_, with fourteen small guns and fifty-one men, he happened
to come across a good-sized Spanish vessel, with thirty-two big guns,
and over 300 men. The Spaniard, of course, was going to seize on the
little English ship, and, so to speak, gobble it up. But Cochrane,
instead of waiting to be attacked, made for the Spaniard, and, after
receiving the fire of all her guns, without delivering a shot, got
right under the side of the _Gamo_ (so the vessel was called), and
battered into her with might and main. The Spaniards did not relish
this, and were going to board the tiny English craft, but again they
were forestalled; for Cochrane with all his men took the _Gamo_ by
storm, killed some, and frightened others; and ere long a marvellous
sight was witnessed at Minorca, the great _Gamo_ was brought by the
_Speedy_ into the harbour, with over 263 men on board, hale and
hearty, whilst Cochrane never had a fifth of that number!

Ship after ship he took, till his name became a terror to the
Spaniards and French; for he was so audacious, that no matter how big
was the vessel he came across, nor how small his own, he "went at
them," as Nelson had told him to do; and many a stately prize brought
he home as the result of his daring and bravery.

One of the most gallant deeds he did was in connection with the
defence of Rosas. Times had changed since the events related above,
and Great Britain was now helping Spain in her struggle against
France.

When he got to Rosas the place was within an ace of surrender. The
French had pounded the defences into a deplorable condition.

Fort Trinidad, an important position, was about to be assaulted, the
walls having been well-nigh beaten down by the fire of the enemy.

Cochrane however, with an immense quantity of sandbags, palisades, and
barrels, made it pretty secure. But he did a cleverer thing even than
this. There was a piece of steep rock, up which the besiegers would
have to climb. This he covered with grease, so as to make it difficult
to get a foothold, and planks with barbed hooks were placed ready to
catch those who were rash enough to seek their aid.

The assault was delivered--up the rock came the French, and--down they
tumbled in dozens and hundreds. Those who caught hold of the planks
were hooked; and, to crown all, a heavy fire was poured into them by
the British.

During the siege the Spanish flag was shot away whilst a heavy
cannonade was going on; but Cochrane, though the bullets were
whistling about in every direction, calmly stepped down into the
ditch, and rescued the flag.

[Illustration: LORD COCHRANE RESCUING THE FLAG.]

When he was not fighting his country's battles at sea, he was
besieging Parliament to bring about reforms in the Navy. This
naturally brought him a good many enemies amongst rich and powerful
people, who were making plenty of money out of the Government, and
doing nothing for it. So, when these persons had a chance of bringing
a charge of conspiracy against him, they were right glad of the
opportunity; and in the end Cochrane was sent to prison.

Some there were who believed in his honour and uprightness. His wife
was in all his trials a very tower of strength to him. The electors
of Westminster, who had sent him to Parliament, never ceased to have
faith in his truth and honour, and re-elected him when still in
prison. Yet, for all this, it was between forty and fifty years before
his innocence was completely proved!

In 1847, however, he was restored to his honours by her Majesty the
Queen; and in 1854 he was made a Rear Admiral of England.




A ROUGH DIAMOND THAT WAS POLISHED.


THE STORY OF JOHN CASSELL.

"I were summat ruff afore I went to Lunnon," said John Cassell.

He had called to see his friend Thomas Whittaker, who was staying at
Nottingham, and John was announced as "the Manchester carpenter".

He was dressed on the occasion in a suit of clothes which a Quaker
friend had given him; but Cassell being tall and thin, and the Quaker
short and stout, they did not altogether fit!

The trousers were too short, and the hat too big; accordingly, John's
legs came a long way through the trousers, and his head went a good
way in at the top. "It was something like taking a tin saucepan with
the bottom out and using it as a scabbard for a broad sword," remarked
one who knew him. He had on an old overcoat, and a basket of tools
was thrown over his shoulder with which to earn his food in case
temperance lecturing failed.

When John remarked that he was "summat ruff," the gentleman at whose
house Mr. Whittaker was staying nearly had a fit; and after he had at
length recovered his gravity he ejaculated, "Well, I would have given
a guinea to have seen you before you did go".

Yet John Cassell was a diamond--though at that time the roughest
specimen one could come across from the pit's mouth to the Isle of
Dogs. His ideas were clear cut; he had confidence in himself, he meant
to make a name in the world,--and he _did_.

John Cassell was born in Manchester in 1817. His father, the
bread-winner of the family, had the misfortune to meet with an injury
which entirely disabled him, and from the effects of which he died
when John was quite young. His mother worked hard for her own and her
son's support, and had little time left to look very particularly to
the education of her boy. He, however, grew up strong and hardy.

It is true that when he ought to have been at school he was often at
play, or seeing something of the world, its sights and festivities,
on his own account. True, also, that he tumbled into the river, and
nearly ended his career at a very early age. Still he survived his
river catastrophe; and, though he gained little book learning,
possessed such a good and retentive memory, and was so observant,
that his mind became stored with vivid impressions of the scenes and
surroundings of his youth, which he related with great effect in
after-life.

He had, of course, to begin work at an early age. First of all, he
went into a cotton factory, and later to a velveteen factory; then,
having a taste for carpentering, he took to it as a trade, though he
was at best but a rough unskilled workman, tramping about the country,
and doing odd jobs wherever he could get them.

One day John Cassell was working at the Manchester Exchange when he
was persuaded to go and hear Dr. Grindrod lecture on temperance. The
lecture seems to have bitten itself into John's mind; for a little
later on, in July, 1835, after hearing Mr. Swindlehurst lecture, he
signed the pledge. That was the unsuspected turning-point of carpenter
John's life.

After this he attended meetings and took an active part on the
platform, and became known as "the boy lecturer". Though he was
dressed in fustian, and wore a workman's apron, he spoke effectively,
and his words went to the hearts of his hearers. His originality of
style, too, pleased the audiences of working people whom he addressed.

In 1836 John Cassell made his first move towards London.

He worked his way to town, and lectured on the road. He carried a
bell, and with that brought together his audiences.

At times he was very roughly handled by the crowd; yet this had no
effect upon him, except to make him the more determined.

His clothes became threadbare, his boots worn out, his general
appearance dilapidated; but he got help from a few good people, who
saw the hero beneath his rags.

He was three weeks accomplishing the journey; and when he arrived
in London spent the first day in search of work, which he failed to
obtain.

In the evening, seeing that a temperance meeting was to be held in a
hall off the Westminster Road, he went to it; and asked to be allowed
to speak. Some of those on the platform viewed with distrust the
gaunt, shabby, travel-stained applicant. But he would take no denial,
and soon won cheers from the audience. When he stopped short, after a
brief address, someone shouted "Go on". "How can a chap go on when he
has nothing to say?" came the ready reply. That night he had no money
in his pocket to pay for a bed; so he walked the streets of London
through the weary hours till dawn of day.

Other temperance meetings he addressed; for his heart and mind were
full of that subject. After one of the meetings a gentleman questioned
him as to his means; and, finding the straits he was in, asked if he
were not disheartened.

"No," replied John; "it is true I carry all my wealth in my little
wallet, and have only a few pence in my pocket; but I have faith in
God I shall yet succeed."

Struck by his manifest sincerity, the gentleman introduced him next
day to a friend who took a warm interest in the temperance cause.

"Which wouldst thou prefer, carpentering or trying to persuade thy
fellow-men to give up drinking, and to become teetotalers?" he asked.

Without hesitation John Cassell replied:--

"The work of teetotalism."

"Then thou shalt have an opportunity, and I will stand thy friend."

John Cassell now went forth as a disciple of the temperance cause.
Remembering his experiences on the way to London he furnished himself
with a watchman's rattle, with which he used to call together the
people of the villages he visited.

A temperance paper thus speaks of him in 1837:--

"John Cassell, the Manchester carpenter, has been labouring, amidst
many privations, with great success in the county of Norfolk. He is
passing through Essex--(where he addressed the people, among other
places, from the steps leading up to the pulpit of the Baptist chapel,
with his carpenter's apron twisted round his waist)--on his way to
London. He carries his watchman's rattle--an excellent accompaniment
of temperance labour."

Cassell had a great regard for Thomas Whittaker. It was an address
given by this gentleman which had first made him wish to become a
public man.

When he called on Mr. Whittaker in Nottingham, as already related,
after some conversation had taken place, he remarked:--

"I should like to hear thee again, Tom".

"Well," remarked Whittaker as a joke, "you can if you go with me to
Derby."

John accepted the invitation forthwith, much to his friend's chagrin,
who was bothered to know what to do with him; for he was under the
impression that some members of the family where he expected to lodge
would not give a very hearty welcome to this rough fellow.

This is Mr. Whittaker's narrative of the sequel:--

"We walked together to Derby that day. At the meeting he spoke a
little, and pleased the people. When the meeting was over, he said:--

"'Can't I sleep with you?'

"'Well,' I said, 'I have no objection; but, you know, _I_ am only a
lodger.'

"However, go with me he _would_, and _did_. That was the man. When
John made up his mind to do a thing he did it; and to that feature in
his character, no doubt, much of his future success may be attributed.
The gentleman at whose house he met me at Nottingham, and who was
ashamed of him, subsequently became his servant, and touched his hat
to him; and John has pulled up at my own door in his carriage, with a
liveried servant, when I lived near to him in London."

John Cassell was now in the thick of the fight. In those days the
opposition to the Gospel of Temperance was keen and bitter. Sometimes
there were great disturbances at the meetings, sometimes he was pelted
with rubbish, at times he did not know where to turn for a night's
lodging. It was, on the whole, a fierce conflict; but John was nothing
daunted.

It is, of course, impossible to sum up the amount of a man's
influence. John Cassell scattered the seed of temperance liberally.
Here is a case showing how one of the grains took root, and grew up to
bear important fruit.

The Rev. Charles Garrett, the celebrated teetotal President of the
Wesleyan Conference, writing several years after John Cassell's death,
says:--

"I signed the pledge of total abstinence in 1840, after hearing a
lecture on the subject by the late John Cassell. I have therefore
tried it for more than thirty years. It has been a blessing to me, and
has made me a blessing to others."

How to cure the curse of drink, what to give in its place when the
pleasures of the glass were taken away--that was the problem which
many have tried to solve. None more successfully than John Cassell.

At a meeting in Exeter Hall he suddenly put a new view before his
audience. "I have it!" he exclaimed.

"The remedy is education. Educate the working men and women, and you
have a remedy for the crying evil of the country. Give the people
mental food, and they will not thirst after the abominable drink which
is poisoning them."

He had hitherto been doing something to assist the temperance cause
by the sale of tea and coffee, and he now turned his attention to the
issue of publications calculated to benefit the cause.

Having, at the age of twenty-four, married Mary Abbott, he became
possessed of additional means for carrying out his publishing schemes.

Cheap illustrated periodicals began to issue from the press under his
superintendence, and copies were multiplied by the hundred thousand.

He never forgot that he had been a working man, and one of the first
publications he started was called _The Working Man's Friend_.

It is not necessary to say more. Though John Cassell died
comparatively young--he was only forty-eight when his death took place
in 1865--he had done a grand life's work; and the soundness of his
judgment is shown by the fact that works which he planned retain their
hold upon the people to this day.

John Cassell had his ambitions, but they were of a very simple kind.

"I started in life with one ambition," he said, "and that was to have
a clean shirt every day of my life; this I have accomplished now for
some years; but I have a second ambition, and that is to be an MAP.,
and represent the people's cause; then I shall be public property,
and you may do what you like with me." This latter desire he would
doubtless have realised but for his early decease.




"A BRAVE, FEARLESS SORT OF LASS."


THE STORY OF GRACE DARLING.

She was not much of a scholar, she could not spell as well as a girl
in the third standard, she lived a quiet life quite out of the busy
world; and yet Grace Darling's name is now a household word.

Let us see how that has come about.

William Darling, Grace's father, was keeper of the Longstone
Lighthouse on the Farne Islands, off the coast of Northumberland.
Longstone is a desolate rock, swept by the northern gales; and woe
betide the ship driven on its pitiless shores!

Mr. Darling and his family had saved the lives of many persons who had
been shipwrecked ere that memorable day of which I will tell you.

On the night of the 5th September, 1838, the steamer _Forfarshire_,
bound from Hull to Dundee, was caught in a terrific storm off the
Farne Islands. Her machinery became damaged and all but useless, and
the vessel drifted till the sound of the breakers told sixty-three
persons composing the passengers and crew that death was near at hand.

[Illustration: Longstone Lighthouse.]

The captain made every effort to run the ship in between the Islands
and the mainland, but in vain; and about three o'clock on the morning
of the 6th September the vessel struck on the rock with a sickening
crash.

A boat was lowered, into which nine of the passengers got safely,
whilst others lost their lives in attempting to do so. These nine were
saved during the day by a passing vessel.

The _Forfarshire_ meantime was the sport of the waves, which
threatened every minute to smash her in pieces.

Before long, indeed, one wave mightier than the rest lifted her bodily
on to the sharp rocks and broke her in two. Her after-part was swept
away, and the captain, his wife, and those who were in that portion of
the vessel, were drowned. The fore-part meantime remained fast on the
rocks, lashed by the furious billows.

That morning Grace was awakened by the sound of voices in distress,
and dressing quickly she sought her father.

They listened, and soon their worst fears were confirmed. Near at
hand, but still quite beyond reach of help, could be heard the
despairing shrieks of the shipwrecked crew.

To attempt to rescue them seemed quite out of the question. That was
apparent at once to William Darling, skilful boatman though he was,
and brave as a lion.

The sea was so terrific that it was ten chances to one against a boat
being able to keep afloat.

But Grace entreated: "Father, we must not let them perish. I will go
with you in the boat, and God will give us success."

In vain Mrs. Darling urged that the attempt was too perilous to be
justified, and reproached Grace for endeavouring to persuade her
father to run such unwarrantable risks.

William Darling saw plainly how many were the chances against success.
Even if the boat was not at once swamped, two persons alone, and one
of them only a girl, were insufficient for the work; for, supposing
they reached the wreck, they would probably be too exhausted to get
back.

No, duty did not demand such an act; and for a time he declined to put
out.

But Grace was quite firm. This girl of three and twenty, never very
robust, had marvellous strength of will; and, her mind being set on
attempting the rescue, she prevailed over both her father's judgment
and her mother's entreaties; and into that awful sea the boat was at
length launched. Though every billow threatened to engulf the frail
craft, yet it nevertheless rode through the mountainous waves and drew
near the rock where the helpless men and women were standing face to
face with death. When it was sufficiently close to the shore William
Darling sprang out to help the weary perishing creatures, whilst Grace
was left to manage the boat unaided.

It was now that her courage was put to the severest test. At this
critical moment the lives of her father and all the survivors depended
upon her judgment and skill.

Well did her past experience and cool nerve then serve her. Alone and
unaided she kept the boat in a favourable position in the teeth of
that pitiless gale; and as soon as her father signalled to her she
waited for an opportune moment and rowed in. Ere long, in spite of
the fury of wind and wave, they had got all aboard, and rowed back in
safety to the lighthouse.

The passengers who were rescued told the story of Grace's courage; and
soon the tale was in every newspaper.

George Darling, Grace's brother, speaking of this deed fifty years
after, says: "She always considered, as indeed we all did, that far
too much was made of what she did. She only did what was her duty in
the circumstances, brought up among boats, so to speak, and used to
the sea as she was. Still she was always a brave, fearless sort of
lass, and very religious too--there's no doubting that. But it was
never her wish that people should make so much of what she did."

A great deal was made of the deed certainly, but surely not too much.
A subscription was set on foot, and £700 presented to her, besides
innumerable presents.

Four years later Grace died, much lamented by all who knew her.

Doubtless many a time, before and since, faith as strong, and bravery
as heroic, have been shown, and have passed unrecorded and unnoticed
by men. But duty performed in simple faith and without expectation
of reward brings inward peace and joy greater than any outward
recognition can give.

       *       *       *       *       *

GRACE DARLING THE SECOND.

Whilst these pages were passing through the press the news came of the
bravery of another Grace Darling in a far-off land.[1]

[Footnote 1: See letter of Rev. Ellis of Rangoon in _Times_ of 25th
May, 1894.]

Miss Darling was head mistress of the Diocesan School at Amherst near
Rangoon, and her pupils were bathing in the sea when one of them was
bitten in the leg by a shark or alligator. Alarmed by this terrible
shock she lost her balance and was being carried away by the tide when
her sister and the head mistress both went to the rescue. Miss Grace
Darling had succeeded in getting hold of her when she too was bitten
and disappeared under the water. The sister behind cried out for help,
at the same time seizing the head mistress and vainly endeavouring to
keep her head above water. In the end some native sailors came to the
rescue and dragged all three out, but Grace Darling and the favourite
pupil whom she had endeavoured to save were both dead.




A FRIEND OF LEPERS.


THE STORY OF FATHER DAMIEN.

Of all forms of disease leprosy is perhaps the most terrible. The
lepers of whom we read in the Bible were obliged to dwell alone
outside the camp; and even king Uzziah, when smitten with leprosy,
mighty monarch though he was, had to give up his throne and dwell by
himself to the end of his days.

In the far-off Sandwich (or Hawaiian) Islands in the Pacific Ocean
there are many lepers; but the leprosy from which they suffer is of a
more fatal kind than that which is spoken of in the Bible.

So as to prevent the spread of the disease, the lepers are sent to one
of the smaller islands, where there is a leper village, in which those
who are afflicted remain until their death.

When a shipload of these poor creatures leaves Honolulu for the little
Isle of Molokai there is great wailing by the relatives of those sent
away, for they know the parting is final.

The disease is not slow in running its course. After about four years
it usually attacks some vital organ, and the leper dies.

Until the year 1873 the lot of the lepers on their help them, that all
hearts were turned in love towards him.

He first made the discovery when he had been at Molokai about ten
years. He happened to drop some boiling water on his foot, and it gave
him no pain. Then he knew he had the leprosy.

Yet he was not cast down when he became aware of the fact, for he had
anticipated it.

"People pity me and think me unfortunate," he remarked; "but I think
myself the happiest of missionaries."

In 1889, sixteen years after landing at Molokai, Father Damien died.

When he was nearing his end, he wrote of the disease as a
"providential agent to detach the heart from all earthly affection,
prompting much the desire of a Christian soul to be united--the sooner
the better--with Him who is her only life".

During his last illness he suffered at times intensely; yet was
patient, brave, and full of thoughtfulness for his people through it
all, and looked forward with firm hope to spending Easter with his
Maker. He died on the 15th April, 1889. "A happier death," wrote the
brother who nursed him in his illness, "I never saw."

There, far away amongst those for whom he gave his life, lie the
remains of one of the world's great examples, whose name will ever be
whispered with reverence, and who possessed to a wonderful extent "the
peace which the world cannot give".




A GREAT ARCTIC EXPLORER.


THE STORY OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN.

The passage to the North Pole is barred by ice fields and guarded by
frost and snow more securely than Cerberus guarded the approach to the
kingdom of Pluto.

For three centuries and more the brave and daring of all nations have
tried to pass these barriers. Hundreds of men have been frozen to
death, hundreds have died of starvation; and yet men continue to
hazard their lives to find out this secret of Nature.

One of the bravest arctic explorers was Sir John Franklin, who, after
many wonderful adventures, finally died with his companions amid the
frozen seas of the north.

As a little boy, "life on the ocean wave" was to John Franklin a
delightful day-dream. Once when at school he walked twelve miles to
get a sight of the sea and a taste of the salt air; and such was his
desire for a seafaring career that although his father was at first
very much opposed to the idea, yet when he found how strongly Franklin
had set his heart upon a sailor's life, he got him a place on a
war-ship where John took part in the battle of Copenhagen.

Then he was shipwrecked on the coast of Australia, did some fighting
in the Straits of Malacca, and was present at the great battle of
Trafalgar.

After this he had his first taste of Arctic adventure, having received
a commission from the Government to explore the Coppermine, one of the
great rivers of Canada, which discharges its waters into the Arctic
Ocean. Down this river sailed Franklin and his companions. They
encountered rapids and falls, and all kinds of obstacles, and met with
many dangers and disasters.

The first winter they were nearly starved to death. They stayed at
Fort Enterprise; but, long before the spring returned, they found
their food was all but finished, and the nearest place to get more was
five hundred miles away, over a trackless desert of snow. One of their
number, however, tramped the whole weary way, and brought back food to
his starving leader and companions.

Next summer, Franklin descended the river to its mouth, and embarking
in canoes he and his followers made towards Behring Strait, from which
they were ere long driven back by their old dread enemy--starvation.
For many days on their return journey they had nothing to live upon
but rock moss, which barely kept them alive. They became so worn and
ill that they could only cover a few miles a day, and Franklin fainted
from exhaustion.

For eight days they waited on the banks of a river which it was
necessary to pass, but which they had no means of crossing. One of the
men tried to swim across and was nearly drowned, and despair seized on
the party, for they thought the end had come. But there was one man
among them who could not believe God would leave them to perish,
and spurred on by this thought he gathered rock moss in sufficient
quantities to preserve their lives; and, hope springing up again, they
made a light raft on which they passed over to the other side.

Then Franklin set off with eight men to get assistance, whilst others
remained to care for the sick. He and three companions only arrived at
Fort Enterprise. They had to endure a fearful journey, during
which they ate their very boots to preserve life. To their bitter
disappointment when they got there they found the place deserted! Then
they attempted to go to the next settlement; but Franklin utterly
broke down on the way, and was with difficulty got back to Fort
Enterprise. Here they were joined by two of the party who had been
left behind, the others having perished on the way.

The night of their reunion, the six survivors had a grand feast. A
partridge had been shot, and for the first time during an entire month
these men tasted flesh food. Later on, sitting round the fire they had
kindled, words of hope and comfort were read from the Bible, and the
men joined heartily together in prayer and thanksgiving. Shortly
after, friendly Indians arrived with supplies of food, and Franklin
with the survivors of his party returned safely to England.

After this, Franklin made other expeditions, gaining fame and honour
by his explorations, and was for seven years Lieutenant-Governor of
Tasmania.

Then in 1845, when he was in his sixtieth year, he went out in the
service of the Admiralty to attempt the passage through the Arctic
Ocean. Leaving England in May, 1845, in command of the _Erebus_ and
_Terror_, with a body of the most staunch and experienced seamen, he
sailed into the Arctic Seas. They were last seen by a whaler on the
26th of July that year, and then for years no word of their fate
reached Great Britain.

Not that England waited all this time before she sent to discover
what had befallen them. The Government was stirred into action by
the pleadings of Lady Franklin. Expedition after expedition left our
shores. America and France joined in the search. Five years later was
discovered the place in which the _Erebus_ and _Terror_ had first
wintered; but it was left for Dr. John Rae to find out from the
Esquimaux in 1854 that the ships had been crushed in the ice, and that
Franklin and his companions had died of fatigue and starvation.

The final relics of the Franklin Expedition were discovered by
McClintock and a party of volunteers. Starting from England in a
little vessel called _The Fox_ he and his crew passed through a
hundred dangers from shipwreck, icebergs, and other perils. But at
length, in April, 1858, they found on King William's Island the record
which told plainly and fully the fate of Franklin and his companions.

[Illustration: RELICS OF THE FRANKLIN EXPEDITION. 1. Loaded Gun. 2.
Fragment of Ensign. 3. Anvil Block. 4. Portable Cooking Stove. 5.
Chronometers from _Erebus_ and _Terror_. 6. Medicine Chest. 7.
Testament 8. Dipping Needle.]

The document contained two statements, one written in 1846, mentioning
that Sir John Franklin and all were well; and a second, written in
1848, to say that they had been obliged to abandon the _Erebus_ and
_Terror_, that Sir John Franklin had died in June, 1847, and that they
had already lost nine officers and fifteen men.

Other traces of the sad end which overtook the expedition were also
found. In a boat were discovered two skeletons; and amongst other
books a Bible, numerous passages in which were underlined, showing
that these gallant men in their last hours had the comfort of God's
Word to support them when earthly hopes had passed away.

The object for which Sir John Franklin had sailed, viz., the discovery
of the North West passage, had been attained, but no single man of the
expedition, alas, lived to enjoy the fruits of the discovery.




A SAVIOUR OF SIX


THE STORY OF FIREMAN FORD.

In the waiting room at the head quarters of the London Fire Brigade,
in Southwark Street, London, is an oak board on which are fixed a
number of brass tablets, bearing the names of men who are entitled to
a place on this "Roll of Honour".

From amongst these let us take one, and tell briefly what befell him.
It will serve as a sample of the dangers which beset the fireman daily
in the pursuit of his duty.

"Joseph Andrew Ford," so runs the official record, "lost his life at a
fire which occurred at 98 Gray's Inn Road, at about 2 a.m. on the 7th
of October, 1871.

"Ford was on duty with the fire escape stationed at Bedford Row, and
he was called to the fire a few minutes before 2 a.m., and proceeded
there with the utmost speed.

"Before he reached the fire, three persons had been rescued by the
police, who took them down from the second-floor window by means of a
builder's ladder; and, on his arrival, there were seven persons in the
third floor, six in the left-hand window, and one in the right-hand
window.

"He pitched his escape to the left-hand window, and with great
difficulty and much exertion and skill succeeded in getting the six
persons out safely (the woman in the right-hand window being in the
meanwhile rescued by the next escape that arrived, in charge of
fireman W. Attwood); and Ford was in the act of coming down himself
when he became enveloped in flame and smoke, which burst out of the
first-floor window; and, after some struggling in the wire netting, he
fell to the pavement.

"Ford was evidently coming down the shoot when his axe handle or some
of his accoutrements became entangled in the wire netting; so that, to
clear himself, he had to break through, and, while struggling to do
so, he got so severely burned that his recovery was hopeless.

"It was a work of no ordinary skill and difficulty to save so many
persons in the few moments available for the purpose; and, when it
is mentioned that some of them were very old and crippled, it is no
exaggeration to say that it would be impossible to praise too highly
Ford's conduct on this occasion, which has resulted so disastrously to
himself.

"He was thirty-one years of age when he met his death, and he left a
wife and two children to mourn his loss."

That's all the official record says--simple, calm,
straightforward--like Joseph Ford's conduct on that night.

I suppose that next morning two pairs of bright little eyes were on
the watch for Joseph Ford; and perchance four pattering feet ran to
the door when the knock came; and that two little minds dimly realised
that father had been called to a far-off country, where some day they
would see him. And it may be that a brave woman, into whose life the
sunlight had shined, was stricken with grief and bowed down. But all I
know for certain is, that Joseph Ford died in the performance of his
duty. He did a brave night's work. Six lives saved from the angry
flames--old and crippled some of the terror-stricken folk were--and he
took them down so carefully, so tenderly, and landed them all safely
below.

His work was over. He had saved every life he could; and glad of
heart, if weary of limb, he turned with a thankful mind to do just the
simplest thing in the world--viz., to descend the escape he had been
down so many times before.

He was young and strong; safety was only thirty feet or so below; and
the people were waiting to welcome and cheer the victor.

Only thirty feet between him and safety! Yet the man was "fairly
roasted" in the escape.

Men have been burnt at the stake and tortured, and limbs have been
stretched on the rack, and people have been maimed by thumbscrews
and bootscrews, and put inside iron figures with nails that tear and
pierce. All this have they suffered in pursuit of duty, or at the
bidding of conscience; and of such and of brave Joseph Ford there
comes to us across the ages--a saying spoken long ago, to the effect
that "he that loseth his life shall save it": and we need to remember
that saying in such cases as that of Fireman Ford.




A BLIND HELPER OF THE BLIND.


THE STORY OF ELIZABETH GILBERT.

"A fine handsome child, with flashing black eyes!" Thus was Elizabeth
Gilbert described at her birth in 1826; but at the age of three an
attack of scarlet fever deprived her of eyesight; and thenceforth, for
upwards of fifty years, the beautiful things in the world were seen by
her no more.

Her parents were most anxious that she should take part in all that
was going on in the household, in order that she should feel her
misfortune as little as possible. So she lived in the midst of the
family circle, sharing in their sports, their meals, and their
entertainments, and being treated just as one of the others; yet with
a special care and devotion by her father, Dr. Gilbert, whose heart
went out in deep love towards his little sightless daughter.

Bessie was fond of romping games, and preferred by far getting a few
knocks and bumps to being helped or guided by others when she was at
play. She was by nature passionate, yet she gradually subdued this
failing. She was a general favourite; and, when any petition had to be
asked of father, it was always Bessie who was put forward to do it, as
the children knew how good were her chances of being successful in her
mission.

She was educated just like other girls, except that her lessons were
read to her. She made great progress, and was a very apt pupil in
French, German, and other subjects; but arithmetic she cordially
disliked. Imagine for an instant the drudgery of working a long
division sum with leaden type and raised, figures; think of all the
difficulty of placing the figures, and the chances of doing the sum
wrong; and then it will not cause surprise that the blind girl could
never enjoy arithmetic, although in mental calculation she showed
herself later on to be very clever.

When she was about ten years old, the Duchess of Kent and the Princess
Victoria visited Oxford, where Bessie then lived with her parents.
On her return home Bessie exclaimed: "Oh, mamma, I have _seen_ the
Duchess of Kent, and she had on a brown silk dress". Indeed, the child
had such a vivid imagination that she saw mentally the scenes and
people described to her.

And, so though no glimmer of light from the sun reached her, the child
was not dull or unhappy. She listened to the birds with delight, and
knew their songs; she loved flowers and liked people to describe them
to her; and she was fond of making expeditions to the fields and
meadows.

But as Bessie grew up she began to feel some of the sadness and
loneliness natural to her lot. Her sisters could no longer be
constantly with her as in the nursery days; and though she made no
complaint, nor spoke of it to those around her, yet she felt it none
the less keenly.

By this time her father had become Bishop of Chichester.

When Bessie was twenty-seven years old an idea was suggested which
was the means of giving her an object in life, and affording her an
opportunity of doing a great work for the blind.

It was her sister Mary who first spoke about it, having seen with
sorrow how changed the once happy blind sister had become, and longing
to lighten her burden.

Bessie listened to the facts which were set before her of the need
that existed for some one to give a helping hand to the blind in
London. She made many inquiries into the condition of the sightless,
and then thought out a scheme for helping them.

Some of her friends considered it a great mistake for her to undertake
such a mission. "Don't work yourself to death," said one of her
acquaintances.

"Work to death!" she replied with a happy laugh. "I am working to
life."

But if a few were opposed, her parents, brothers, sisters, and the
majority of those she loved, were in hearty sympathy.

So in May, 1854, Bessie commenced her life work. Seven blind men were
given employment at their own homes in London; materials were supplied
to them at cost price, they manufactured them, and received the full
price that the articles were sold for.

This, of course, entailed a loss; but Bessie had been left a legacy
by her godmother, which gave her an income of her own, and a large
portion of this she continued to devote throughout her life to helping
the blind.

A cellar was rented in New Turnstile Street, Holborn, at a charge of
eighteenpence a week. A manager, named Levy, was engaged at a salary
of half a crown a week and a commission on sales. He was a blind man
himself, and a blind carpenter was engaged to assist in making the
storehouse presentable.

It was a small beginning, certainly, but it was not long ere Levy's
wages were largely increased, and trade began to grow in response to
Miss Gilbert's efforts. From the cellar in Holborn a move was made to
a better room, costing half a crown a week; and then, within little
more than a year from the commencement, a house and shop were taken at
a rent of £26 a year.

The increase in expenses as the scheme developed rendered it necessary
to ask for public assistance. By the bishop's advice a committee was
formed, and money collected.

By 1856, Miss Gilbert thought her work far enough advanced to bring it
under the notice of Her Majesty, who, having asked for and received
full particulars, sent a very kind letter of encouragement with a
donation of £50.

This gracious acknowledgment of the work in which Miss Gilbert was
engaged not only gave sincere pleasure to the blind lady herself, but
helped on her scheme immensely. And the Queen did more than contribute
money: orders for work were sent from Windsor Castle, Osborne and
Balmoral; and the blind people delighted in saying that they were
making brooms for the Queen. The benefit to the blind was not confined
to what Miss Gilbert was doing herself, but general interest in their
welfare was excited in all parts of the kingdom.

Naturally, many difficulties had to be encountered. Blind people
applied for work who wished for alms instead; and arrangements
necessary for carrying out so large a scheme entailed a good deal of
labour on Miss Gilbert's part. Yet she was very happy in her mission,
which attracted numerous friends occupying positions of eminence.

Miss Gilbert herself gave £2000 to the Association as an endowment
fund, and others contributed liberally too. One day a strange old lady
came to see her, and left with her £500 in bank notes. She did not
even give her name; and a further gift of £500 was received the same
year from a gentleman who felt interested in the work.

Up to the close of her life, which ended in 1885, Elizabeth
Gilbert continued to take an active interest in the affairs of the
Association. Notwithstanding her own weak and failing health she
laboured on, winning the love and gratitude of the blind, and
accomplishing a great work of which any one might feel justly proud.




A GREAT TRAVELLER IN THE AIR.


SOME ANECDOTES OF JAMES GLAISHER.

For many years past men of science have been engaged in ascending
far up amongst the clouds for the purpose of finding out as much as
possible about the various currents of air, the electrical state of
the atmosphere, the different kinds of clouds, sound, temperature and
such matters.

One of the most eminent balloonists of modern times, Mr. James
Glaisher, was many times in danger of losing his life whilst in
pursuit of knowledge miles above the earth.

His first ascent was made from Wolverhampton on the 17th of July,
1862. It was very stormy at the time of starting. Before he and Mr.
Coxwell got fairly off they very nearly came to grief; for the balloon
did not rise properly, but dragged the car along near the ground, so
that if they had come against any chimney or high building they would
probably have been killed.

However, fortunately, they got clear and were soon high up above the
clouds, with a beautiful blue sky, and the air so pleasantly warm that
they needed no extra clothing, as is usually the case when in the
upper region of the atmosphere. When they were about four miles high
Mr. Glaisher found the beating of his heart become very distinct, his
hands and lips turned to a dark bluish colour, and he could hardly
read the instruments. Between four and five miles high he felt a kind
of sea sickness.

Mr. Coxwell began to think they might be getting too near the Wash for
safety, and they therefore came down quickly, and reached the earth
with such force that the scientific instruments were nearly all
broken. In their descent they passed through a cloud 8000 feet (or
over a mile and a half) thick!

On the 5th of September, 1862, Mr. Glaisher and Mr. Coxwell made one
of the most remarkable ascents in the history of ballooning. It nearly
proved fatal to both.

Up to the time they reached the fifth mile Mr. Glaisher felt pretty
well. What happened afterwards is best described by himself.

"When at the height of 26,000 feet I could not see the fine column of
the mercury in the tube; then the fine divisions on the scale of the
instrument became invisible. At that time I asked Mr. Coxwell to help
me to read the instruments, as I experienced a difficulty in seeing
them. In consequence of the rotary motion of the balloon, which had
continued without ceasing since the earth was left, the valve line had
become twisted, and he had to leave the car, and to mount into the
ring above to adjust it. At that time I had no suspicion of other than
temporary inconvenience in seeing. Shortly afterwards I laid my arm
upon the table, possessed of its full vigour but directly after, being
desirous of using it, I found it powerless. It must have lost its
power momentarily. I then tried to move the other arm, but found it
powerless also. I next tried to shake myself, and succeeded in shaking
my body. I seemed to have no legs. I could only shake my body. I then
looked at the barometer, and whilst I was doing so my head fell on my
left shoulder. I struggled, and shook my body again, but could not
move my arms. I got my head upright, but for an instant only, when it
fell on my right shoulder; and then I fell backwards, my back resting
against the side of the car, and my head on its edge. In that position
my eyes were directed towards Mr. Coxwell in the ring. When I shook
my body I seemed to have full power over the muscles of the back, and
considerable power over those of the neck, but none over my limbs....I
dimly saw Mr. Coxwell in the ring, and endeavoured to speak, but could
not do so; when in an instant black darkness came over me, and the
optic nerve lost power suddenly. I was still conscious, with as active
a brain as whilst writing this. I thought I had been seized with
asphyxia, and that I should experience no more, as death would come
unless we speedily descended. Other thoughts were actively entering my
mind when I suddenly became unconscious, as though going to sleep.
I could not tell anything about the sense of hearing; the perfect
stillness of the regions six miles from the earth--and at that time we
were between six and seven miles high--is such that no sound reaches
the ear. My last observation was made at 29,000 feet.... Whilst
powerless I heard the words 'temperature' and 'observation,' and I
knew Mr. Coxwell was in the car, speaking to me, and endeavouring to
rouse me; and therefore consciousness and hearing had returned. I then
heard him speak more emphatically, but I could not speak or move. Then
I heard him say, 'Do try; now do!' Then I saw the instruments dimly,
next Mr. Coxwell, and very shortly I saw clearly. I rose in my seat
and looked round, as though waking from sleep, and said to Mr.
Coxwell, 'I have been insensible'. He said, 'Yes; and I too very
nearly ...'. Mr. Coxwell informed me that he had lost the use of his
hands, which were black, and I poured brandy over them."

When Mr. Coxwell saw that Mr. Glaisher was insensible he tried to go
to him but could not, and he then felt insensibility coming over him.
He became anxious to open the valve, but having lost the use of his
hands he could not, and ultimately he did so by seizing the cord with
his teeth and dipping his head two or three times.

During the journey they got to a height of 36,000 or 37,000
feet--about seven miles--that is to say, two miles higher than Mount
Everest, the loftiest mountain in the world.

The year following Mr. Glaisher had a narrow escape from drowning.

He and Mr. Coxwell started from the Crystal Palace at a little past
one o'clock on the 18th of April, 1863, and in an hour and thirteen
minutes after starting were 24,000 feet high. Then they thought it
would be just as well to see where they were, so they opened the valve
to let out the gas, and came down a mile in three minutes. When, at a
quarter to three, they were still 10,000 feet high Mr. Coxwell caught
sight of Beachy Head and exclaimed: "What's that?" On looking over the
car Mr. Glaisher found that they seemed to be overhanging the sea!

Not a moment was to be lost. They both clung on to the valve-line,
rending the balloon in two places. Down, down, down at a tremendous
speed they went; the earth appeared to be coming up to them with awful
swiftness; and a minute or two later with a resounding crash they
struck the ground at Newhaven close to the sea. The balloon had
been so damaged that it did not drag along, and though most of the
instruments were smashed their lives were saved.

Much valuable scientific information has been obtained by Mr.
Glaisher, and by those who, like him, have made perilous journeys into
cloudland.




THE SOLDIER WITH THE MAGIC WAND.


THE STORY OF GENERAL GORDON.

"That great man and gallant soldier and true Christian, Charles
Gordon."--THE PRINCE OF WALES.

Charles George Gordon was born at Woolwich on the 28th of January,
1833.

In early life he was delicate, and of all professions that of a
soldier seemed least suitable for him. At school he made no mark in
learning.

He was a fearless lad, with a strong will of his own. When he was only
nine years old, and was yet unable to swim, he would throw himself
into deep water, trusting to some older boy to get him out. He was
threatened on one occasion that he should not go on a pleasure
excursion because of some offence he had committed; and when
afterwards he was given permission he stubbornly refused the
treat--circus though it was, dear to the heart of a lad.

After passing through the Royal Military Academy at Woolwich he
obtained in 1852 a commission as a Second Lieutenant of Engineers, and
was sent out to the Crimea in December, 1854, with instructions to put
up wooden huts for our soldiers, who were dying from cold in that icy
land.

On his way he wrote from Marseilles to his mother; and, after telling
her of the sights and scenes he has witnessed, mentions that he will
leave Marseilles "D.V. on Monday for Constantinople".

Whilst in the Crimea he worked in the trenches twenty hours at a
stretch times without number.

Once when he was leading a party at night he was fired at by his own
sentries. On another occasion he was wounded in the forehead, and
continued his work without showing any concern. He found it dull when
no fighting was going on, but when there were bullets flying then it
was exciting enough.

He was mentioned in the official despatches, and received from the
French Government the Cross of the Legion of Honour.

Five years later Gordon was fighting with the English and French
armies in China. Shortly after he was made commander of a force that
was commissioned by the Emperor of China to put down a rebellion
of the Taipings, of so dangerous a character that it threatened to
overturn the monarchy.

Gordon had only about 3000 men, chiefly Chinese; and, notwithstanding
the fact that when he took over the force it had just been demoralised
by defeat, he soon proved himself more than a match for the rebel
hordes. From one victory to another he led his men on, and cities fell
in quick succession before him. His name ere long began to have the
weight of an army in the mind of the rebels. Major Gordon, in fact,
had made a great mark in the Chinese Empire.

On the 30th April Gordon was before the city of Taitsan, where three
months before the same army which was now under his command had been
defeated.

Three times his men rushed into the breach which the big guns had
made. Twice they were hurled back; but for a third time Gordon urged
them on, and their confidence in his leadership was such that they
went readily; and this time, after a swift, sharp conflict, the city
was won.

Europeans were fighting both with him and with the rebels. In the
breach at Taitsan he came across two of the men he formerly had under
his command. One was shot during the assault; the other cried out,
"Mr. Gordon! Mr. Gordon! you will not let me be killed". "Take
him down to the river and shoot him," said Gordon aloud. Aside he
whispered, "Put him in my boat, let the doctor attend him, and send
him down to Shanghai". He was stern and resolute enough where it was
necessary, but underneath all was a heart full of love and pity.

During this war the only weapon Gordon carried was a cane; and men
grew to regard this stick as a kind of magic wand, and Gordon as a man
whom nothing could harm.

On one occasion when he was wounded he refused to retire till he was
forcibly carried off the field by the doctor's orders.

After he had put an end to the rebellion the Emperor of China wanted
to give him a large sum of money; but Gordon, whose only object in
fighting was to benefit the people, refused it, and left China as poor
as he had entered it. He had various distinctions conferred upon him
by the emperor, and the English people gave him the title of "Chinese
Gordon".

A gold medal was presented to him by the emperor. Gordon, obliterating
the inscription, sent it anonymously to the Coventry relief fund. Of
this incident he wrote at a later period: "Never shall I forget what
I got when I scored out the inscription on the gold medal. How I have
been repaid a millionfold! There is now not one thing I value in
the world. Its honours, they are false; its knicknacks, they are
perishable and useless; whilst I live I value God's blessing--health;
and if you have that, as far as this world goes, you are rich."

He returned to England and settled down at Gravesend, living quite
simply, and working in his spare moments amongst the poor. To the boys
he was a hero indeed. That was but natural, seeing he not only taught
them to read and write, and tried to get them situations, but treated
them as his friends.

In his sitting-room was a map of the world, with pins stuck in it
marking the probable positions of the ships in which his "kings" (as
he called his boys) were to be found in various parts of the world.
Thus, as they moved from place to place, he followed them in his
thoughts, and was able to point out their whereabouts to inquiring
friends.

It is no wonder then that the urchins scrawled upon the walls of the
town, "C.G. is a jolly good feller". "God bless the Kernel."

He visited the hospitals and workhouses, and all the money he received
he expended on the poor; for he believed that having given his heart
to God he had no right to keep anything for himself. He comforted the
sick and dying, he taught in the Ragged and Sunday Schools. He lived
on the plainest food himself, thus "enduring hardness". He even gave
up his garden, turning it into a kind of allotment for the needy.

He had one object in life--to do good. His views were utterly
unworldly and opposed to those generally held, but they were in the
main right.

In 1874 Gordon went to Egypt, and at the request of the Khedive
undertook the position of Governor-General of the Soudan, in the hope
of being able to put down the slave trade.

He was beset with difficulties, and "worn to a shadow" by incessant
work and ceaseless anxiety; but he would not give up.

In all his trials he felt the presence of God. As he watched his men
hauling the boats up the rapids he "_prayed them up_ as he used to do
the troops when they wavered in the breaches in China".

Once his men failed in their attack on an offending tribe; and,
believing they had been misled by the Sheik, wanted to punish him;
but Gordon saw the other side of the man's character--"He was a brave
patriotic man," he said; "and I shall let him go".

Here was his hope. "With terrific exertion," he writes, "in two
or three years' time I may with God's administration make a good
province--with a good army and a fair revenue and peace, and an
increased trade,--also have suppressed slave raids." He felt it was a
weary work before him, for he adds: "Then I will come home and go to
bed, and never get up till noon every day, and never walk more than a
mile". No wonder he was worn and tired, for he moved about the Soudan
like a whirlwind. He travelled on camelback thousands of miles. In
four months' time he had put down a dangerous rebellion that would
have taken the Egyptians as many years--if, indeed, they could ever
have done it at all.

This is the kind of way in which he won his victories. On one occasion
with a few troops he arrived at a place called Dara. That great slave
trader Suleiman, who had given Sir Samuel Baker so much trouble, was
there at the head of 6000 men. Gordon rode into the place nearly
alone, and told the commander to come and talk with him. Utterly
taken aback the man did as he was requested, and afterwards promised
obedience.

It is true he did not keep his promise; but after fighting several
battles Suleiman was at length taken prisoner by Gordon's lieutenant;
and so many were the crimes and cruelties that he had committed that
he was condemned to death, and thus the slaves of Africa became rid of
one of their worst oppressors.

[ILLUSTRATION: GORDON STATUE IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE.]

The work begun by Baker was continued with great success by Gordon. He
estimated that in nine months he liberated 2000 slaves. The suffering
these poor creatures had gone through was appalling. Some of them when
set free had been four or five days without water in the terrible heat
of that hot country. Every caravan route showed signs of the horrible
trade, by the bones of those who had fallen and died from exhaustion,
unable to keep their ranks in the gang.

So great was the effect which the thought and sight of these
sufferings produced on Gordon that he wrote in March, 1879: "I declare
if I could stop this traffic I would willingly be shot this night".

Later on he was to give his life for these people; but the hour was
not yet.

When Gordon was in Abyssinia King John took him prisoner. Brought
before his Majesty, Gordon fairly took away the breath of the monarch
by going up to him, placing his own chair beside the king's, and
telling him that he would only talk to him as an equal.

"Do you know, Gordon Pasha," said the king, "that I could kill you on
the spot if I liked?"

"I am perfectly aware of it," replied Gordon calmly; "so do it, if it
is your royal pleasure."

"What! ready to be killed?" asked the king incredulously.

"Certainly. I am always ready to die," answered the pasha; "and so far
from fearing your putting me to death you would confer a favour on me
by so doing."

Upon this his Majesty gave up the idea of frightening him.

At the end of 1879 Gordon was free from the Soudan for the second
time. In 1876 he had left it, as he thought, for good; but, as it
turned out, it was only for a few weeks' holiday in England, and then
back to quell the rebellion.

Even now it was destined that he should soon return once again and
finally. But during the breathing time that now came to him, so far
from leading an easy life or "never getting up till noon," he was in
all parts of the world, from China to the Cape, from Ireland to India,
still on the old mission of endeavouring to do a little good wherever
he was.

Leopold II., King of the Belgians, who had a profound regard for
Gordon, greatly desired that he should go out to the Congo; and in
January, 1884, he was just preparing to start in his Majesty's service
when on the 17th of that month a telegram from Lord Wolseley arrived,
asking him to return to England.

At six o'clock next morning he was in London; and the same day, having
received instructions from the Government, he was on his way for the
last time to Khartoum.

The Egyptian garrisons of the Soudan towns were sore beset by the
legions which were gathering beneath the banners of the Mahdi, who,
flushed with victory, was threatening an eruption into Lower Egypt
itself.

To extricate these garrisons without bloodshed if possible was
Gordon's object. It was a forlorn hope; still if any one man could
accomplish it Charles Gordon was that man.

But ere long it was found even beyond his powers; for after sending
off a portion of the Khartoum population in safety down the river, the
Mahdi's legions closed in upon him, and Khartoum was in a state of
siege.

For nearly a year he held the city against all the forces of the
enemy; and meantime Great Britain was stirred with a vehement desire
to save the life of this devoted man.

In the autumn of 1884 a force under the command of Lord Wolseley was
sent out to relieve Khartoum.

Whilst the British troops were slowly forcing their way up the river
and across the desert, Khartoum was enduring a death agony.

By January, 1885, the city had been reduced to starvation. Donkeys,
dogs, rats, everything indeed in the way of flesh, had been consumed;
even boot leather, the straps of native bedsteads, and mimosa gum did
not come amiss to the sorely-tried garrison.

Famine had produced lack of discipline on the part of some of the
troops; and Gordon foresaw well what the end must be, though without a
fear for himself.

You can read for yourself from the reproduction of the last page of
his diary, written on the 14th December, 1884, his own estimate of the
length of time he could hold out; and, though he managed to keep back
the enemy for another month, yet on the 26th January, 1885, whilst yet
Sir Charles Wilson and the British troops were fighting their way up
the river Nile to his relief, Khartoum fell.

In the early dawn of that day the Mahdi assaulted the town in
overwhelming force--whether helped by treachery is not exactly known;
and before his well-fed, well-trained hosts, the feeble worn-out
garrison gave way, the walls were scaled, the city taken, and the hero
who had won the affection of many nations fell amidst the people he
had come to save.

[ILLUSTRATION: REDUCED FACSIMILE OF THE LAST PAGE OF GORDON'S DIARY AT
KHARTOUM.]

It was on the whole a happy and fitting end. The mind cannot conceive
Gordon rusting out; and the man lived so much in the presence of God
that death was a welcome visitor.

"Like Lawrence," he wrote, "I have tried to do my duty"; and England
confessed that right nobly he had done it.

Let those who wish to testify their love and veneration for this great
man remember the Gordon Home for Boys at Chobham, which was founded to
perpetuate his name. It is situated in the midst of Surrey; and here
are to be found over two hundred boys rescued from the streets of our
great cities.

The bracing life they lead in their country home soon brings the
colour to their cheeks, and the training they receive fits them for
becoming useful citizens and valuable servants of the State. Most of
them join the army, and the Gordon boys are now to be found serving
the Queen in every land.




"VALIANT AND TRUE."


THE STORY OF SIR RICHARD GRENVILLE.

One of the most glorious of the many battles of the British navy was
fought on the 10th and 11th September, 1591, by Vice-Admiral Sir
Richard Grenville, in his ship _The Revenge_, against a great fleet
of Spanish vessels. The fight was described by the gallant Sir Walter
Raleigh, from whose account (published in November, 1591) the facts
given in the following narrative are taken.

If the story seems somewhat out of place amongst nineteenth century
records, it is, nevertheless, such a unique display of stubborn
heroism "under fire" that I have not hesitated to include it.

On the 10th of September, 1591 (31st August, old style), Lord Thomas
Howard, with six of her Majesty's ships, five victualling ships, a
barque and two or three pinnaces, was at anchor near Flores, one of
the westerly islands of the Azores, when Captain Middleton brought the
news that the Spanish fleet was approaching.

He had no sooner delivered his message than the Spaniards came in
sight. The few ships at Lord Howard's command were in a very unready
state for fighting. Many of the seamen were ill. Some of the ships'
companies were procuring ballast, others getting in water.

Being so unprepared for the contest, and so greatly outnumbered, the
British ships weighed their anchors and set sail. The last ship to get
under weigh was _The Revenge_, as Sir Richard waited for the men left
on the island, who would have otherwise been captured.

The master of the ship wanted him to "cut his mainsail and cast about,
and to trust to the sailing of his ship"; but Sir Richard utterly
refused to turn from the enemy, saying that he would rather choose to
die than dishonour himself, his country, and her Majesty's ship, and
informed his company that he would pass through the two squadrons in
spite of them. He might possibly have been able to carry out his plan;
but the huge _San Philip_, an immense vessel of 1500 tons, coming
towards him as he was engaging other ships of the fleet, becalmed
his sails and then boarded him. Whilst thus entangled with the _San
Philip_, four other ships also boarded _The Revenge_.

"The fight thus beginning at three of the clocke in the after noone,"
says Sir Walter Raleigh, "continued verie terrible all that evening."

Before long, the _San Philip_, having received the fire of _The
Revenge_ at close quarters, "shifted herself with all diligence,
utterly misliking her first entertainment".

The Spanish ships had a great number of soldiers on board, in some
cases two hundred, in others five, and in some even eight hundred;
whilst on _The Revenge_ there were in all only one hundred and ninety
persons, of whom ninety were sick.

After discharging their guns the Spanish ships endeavoured to board
_The Revenge_; but, notwithstanding the multitude of their armed men,
they were repulsed again and again, and driven back either into their
ships or into the sea.

After the battle had lasted well into the night many of the British
were slain or wounded, whilst two Spanish ships had been sunk. An hour
before midnight Sir Richard Grenville was shot in the body, and a
little later was wounded in the head, whilst the doctor who was
attending him was killed.

The company on board _The Revenge_ was gradually getting less and
less; the Spanish ships, meanwhile, as they received a sufficient
evidence of _The Revenge's_ powers of destruction, dropped off, and
their places were taken by others; and thus it happened that ere the
morning fifteen ships had been engaged, and all were so little pleased
with the entertainment provided that they were far more willing to
listen to proposals for an honourable arrangement than to make any
more assaults.

As Lord Tennyson writes:--

  And the sun went down, and the stars came out far over the summer sea,
  But never a moment ceased the fight of the one and the fifty-three.
  Ship after ship the whole night long their high-built galleons came,

  Ship after ship, the whole night long, with her battle-thunder and
  flame;
  Ship after ship, the whole night long, drew back with her dead and her
  shame.
  For some were sunk and many were shatter'd, and so could fight us no
  more--
  God of battles, was ever a battle like this in the world before?

_The Revenge_ had by this time spent her last barrel of gunpowder; all
her pikes were broken, forty of her best men slain, and most of the
remainder wounded. For her brave defenders there was now no hope,--no
powder, no weapons, the masts all beaten overboard, all her tackle cut
asunder, her decks battered, nothing left overhead for flight or below
for defence.

Sir Richard, finding himself in this condition after fifteen hours'
hard fighting, and having received about eight hundred shots from
great guns, besides various assaults from the enemy, and seeing,
moreover, no way by which he might prevent his ship falling into the
hands of the Spanish, commanded the master gunner, whom he knew was
a most resolute man, to split and sink the ship. He did this that
thereby nothing might remain of glory or victory to the Spaniards:
seeing that in so many hours' fight, and with so great a navy, they
were not able to take her, though they had fifteen hours in which
to do so; and moreover had 15,000 men and fifty-three ships of war
against his single vessel of five hundred tons.

He endeavoured to persuade his men to yield themselves to God, and to
the mercy of none else; that, as they had repulsed so many enemies,
they should not shorten the honour of their nation by prolonging their
lives by a few hours or days.

The captain and master could not, however, see the matter in this
light, and besought Sir Richard to have a care of them, declaring that
the Spaniards would be ready to treat with them; and that, as there
were a number of gallant men yet living whose wounds were not mortal,
they might do their country and prince acceptable service hereafter.
They also pointed out that as _The Revenge_ had six feet of water in
the hold and three shots under water, but weakly stopped, she must
needs sink in the first heavy sea; which indeed happened a few days
later. But Sir Richard refused to be guided by such counsels.

Whilst, however, the dispute was going on, the master of _The Revenge_
opened communication with the Spaniards and concluded an arrangement
fully honourable to the British, by which it was agreed that those on
board _The Revenge_ should be sent to England in due course; those of
the better sort to pay a reasonable ransom, and meantime no one was
to be imprisoned. The commander of the Spanish fleet agreed to this
readily, not only because (knowing the disposition of his adversary)
he feared further loss to his own side by prolonging the fight, but
because he greatly admired the valour of Sir Richard Grenville, and
desired to save his life. The master gunner, finding Sir Richard and
himself alone in their way of thinking, would have slain himself
rather than fall into the hands of the enemy, but was forcibly
prevented from carrying out his intention and locked in his cabin.

Being sent for by Don Alfonso Bassan, the Spanish commander, Sir
Richard made no objection to going, answering that he might do as he
pleased with his body, for he esteemed it not. As he was being carried
out of the ship he swooned, and reviving again desired the company to
pray for him.

Though the Spaniards treated Sir Richard with every care and
consideration, he died the second or third day after the fight, deeply
lamented both by, the enemy and by his own men.

"Here die I, Richard Grenville," said he, "with a joyful and quiet
mind; for that I have ended my life as a true soldier ought to do,
that hath fought for his country, queen, religion and honour. Whereby
my soul most joyfully departeth out of this body, and shall always
leave behind it an everlasting fame of a valiant and true soldier,
that hath done his duty as he was bound to do."

The reason the other British ships did not take part in the contest
was that it was altogether hopeless; and that, had the admiral ordered
it, the entire fleet would probably have fallen into the hands of the
Spaniards, seeing that they so greatly outnumbered the British ships.

Six small ships ill supplied with fighting men against fifty-three
bigger ones filled with soldiers was too great a disparity of force to
give even a hope of victory.

And, although Lord Howard would himself have gone into battle even
against such odds as that, yet the other commanders were greatly
opposed to so rash an enterprise; and the master of his own ship said
he would rather jump into the sea than conduct her Majesty's ship and
the rest to be a prey to the enemy.

Hence it was that _The Revenge_ fought alone on that September day the
entire Spanish fleet, and has given us one of the most glorious pages
in the annals of our national history.




ONE WHO LEFT ALL.


THE STORY OF BISHOP HANNINGTON.

Fancy Hannington, of all persons in the world, turning missionary, and
going out to preach the Gospel to the blacks!

It is well-nigh incredible at first thought that such a light-hearted,
rollicking, jovial fellow could have given up _everything_ for such a
work as that!

He had plenty of money, hosts of friends, wife, children, any amount
of useful work to do at home,--everything, in fact, that can make life
worth living.

What could possibly make such a man as that go into the wilds of
Africa to be tormented, tortured, and slain by savages?

I will try and show briefly how it came about.

At school Hannington was the veriest pickle, and was nicknamed "Mad
Jim".

On one occasion he lit a bonfire in his dormitory, he pelted the
German master with rejected examination papers, and in a single day
was caned over a dozen times. Yet he fought the bullies, and kept his
word; he was brave, honest and manly, and was a great favourite.

When about fifteen years old he was put into his father's business
at Brighton. His life there was certainly not hard or trying. He was
allowed to travel a great deal, and thus went over a considerable part
of Europe, enjoying himself immensely when so doing. Still, he had no
taste for the counting-house; and after six years gave it up to become
a clergyman, and forthwith proceeded to Oxford.

Both at Oxford and at Martinhoe, in North Devon, where he spent some
time during the vacations, Hannington preserved his reputation for
fun and love of adventure. At Oxford he took part in practical jokes
innumerable; at Martinhoe cliff-climbing and adventurous scrambles
occupied some little of his time.

One day he went with two companions to explore a cave called "The
Eyes". Adjoining this they discovered a narrow hole leading to a
further cave, which was below high-water mark. Into this with great
exertion Jim managed to squeeze himself. It was quite dark inside, and
whilst he was describing it to his companions they suddenly noticed
that the tide was fast coming in, and implored him to get out of his
perilous position at once.

Easier said than done. The difficulty he had found in getting in was a
trifle compared with the passage out. He tried head first, then feet
first, and whilst his friends tugged he squeezed. It was of no use.
The sea had almost reached him, and drowning seemed certain.

Then, quite hopeless of escape, he bade his companions good-bye. All
at once it occurred to him to try taking off his clothes. This made
just the difference required, and with a tremendous effort he got out
of his prison-house in the very nick of time.

A little later comes an important entry in his diary: "---- opened a
correspondence with me to-day, which I speak of as delightful; it led
to my conversion".

Thereafter followed a change in Hannington's life--he prayed more.

It seems that about this time a college friend began to think much
of him, and to pray earnestly for him; and finally wrote to him a
serious, simple, earnest letter, which had much effect on Hannington.

The letter was unanswered for over a year; but coming at a time when
the man of twenty-five was beginning to find that there were better
things to be done in life than cliff-climbing in the country, or
giving pleasant parties at Oxford, it wrought its purpose, and formed
the first step towards the new life.

Having spent some time in study, Hannington went up for his ordination
examination. He did very well the first day; the second he was ill and
could do nothing; the third the same; and when he was dismissed by the
bishop he was in a state akin to despair.

The next examination was better, but he was nervous, and found his
mind at times a hopeless blank. He passed, but not in such a way as he
desired. At the examination for priest's orders he came out at the top
of the list.

The first portion of his life as a curate did not seem to point to his
making any mark upon his Devonshire flock. His audiences were sleepy,
and paid little attention to his sermons.

One day he got lost on Exmoor in trying to make a short cut to a place
where he was to conduct service. He was consequently late in arriving,
and found the congregation waiting. On explaining why he was late to
the clerk:--

"Iss," said that official, "we reckoned you was lost, but now you are
here go and put on your surples and be short, for we all want to get
back to dinner". Truly he was no Wesley in those days!

But to him, as to every true-hearted seeker, light came at last. Not
long afterwards he could write, "I know now that Jesus Christ died for
me, and that He is mine and I am His".

After little more than a year in Devonshire, Hannington was appointed
curate in charge of St. George's, Hurstpierpoint, near Brighton. By
his earnestness he roused the people to a fuller faith and to better
works. Finding much drunkenness in the place he turned teetotaler, and
persuaded many to sign the pledge. He started Bible classes, prayer
meetings, and mothers' meetings. Not only was he a shining light in
his own parish, but he also went about the country and assisted at
revival missions, showing himself everywhere a bright and helpful
minister of the Gospel.

In the year 1878 Hannington heard of the violent deaths which had
befallen Lieut. Shergold Smith and Mr. O'Neil in Central Africa. From
this time he became drawn towards mission work in that district.

It was not, however, till the year 1882 that he finally entered into
arrangements with the Church Missionary Society to go to Africa.

Their high estimation of his capacities may be gathered from the fact
that he was appointed as leader of the expedition which was being sent
out.

It was a horrible wrench at last to leave wife and children. "My most
bitter trial," he writes--"an agony that still cleaves to me--was
saying good-bye to the little ones. Thank God the pain was all on one
side. 'Come back soon, papa!' they cried." His wife had resolutely
made up her mind to give him to God, and was brave to the last.

"When at length the ship left England I watched and watched the
retreating tow-boat," he continues, "until I could see it no longer,
and then hurried down below. Indeed, I felt for the moment as one
paralysed. Now is the time for reaction--to 'cast all your care upon
Him'."

Strangely enough, both his missionary journeys in Africa failed in
their original aim, which was to reach the kingdom of Uganda.

In the first journey the expedition started from the coast at the end
of June, 1882. After two months' difficult marching into the interior,
amidst the constant difficulties which beset the African traveller, he
writes on 1st August: "I am very happy. Fever is trying, but it does
not take away the joy of the Lord, and keeps one low in the right
place".

On, on they went. Fever was so heavy upon him that his temperature
reached 110 degrees; but still he struggled forward, insisting upon
placing a weary companion on the beast which he ought himself to have
ridden.

By 4th September they reached Uyui, a place which was still far
distant from Lake Victoria (or Victoria Nyanza); and now he was at
death's door. So intense was the pain he suffered that he asked to be
left alone that he might scream, as that seemed to bring some relief.

Notwithstanding this suffering, the expedition started forward again
on 16th October, Hannington being placed in a hammock. They reached
Lake Victoria, but the leader could go no further. He was utterly
broken down by continued fever; and, though the thought of returning
to England without accomplishing his mission was bitter to him, it was
a necessity.

By June, 1883, he was again in London. How favourable was the
impression Hannington had already made upon the Missionary Society is
apparent from the fact that the bishopric of East Equatorial Africa
was offered him. He was consecrated in June, 1884; and, after visiting
Palestine to confirm the churches there, he arrived in Frere Town on
the west coast of Africa in January, 1885, and spent several months of
useful work in organising. By July, 1885, he was ready to attempt the
second time to reach the kingdom of Uganda.

He determined to try a different route from that taken before, in
order to avoid the fevers from which the previous expedition had
suffered so terribly.

After surmounting many difficulties in his passage through Masai Land
he had by October reached within a few days' journey of Uganda; but
there, on the outskirts of the kingdom he sought to enter, a martyr's
death crowned his brief but earnest mission life.

On 21st October, 1885, the bishop had started from his tent to get a
view of the river Nile when about twenty of the natives set upon him,
robbed him, and hurried him off to prison. He was violently dragged
along, some trying to force him one way, some another, dashing him
against trees in their hurry, and bruising and wounding him without
thought or consideration. Although the bishop believed he was to be
thrown over a precipice or murdered at once, he could still say,
"Lord, I put myself in Thy hands; I look to Thee alone," and sing,
"Safe in the arms of Jesus".

At length, after a journey of about five miles, he was pushed into
a hut, and there kept prisoner. Whilst in this place he endured all
kinds of horrors. Laughed at in his sufferings by the savages, almost
suffocated by the bad smells about the hut, taken out at times to be
the sport of his captors, unable to eat, full of aches and pains, he
was yet able to look up and say, "Let the Lord do as He sees fit," and
to read his Bible and feel refreshed.

On 27th October he writes: "I am very low, and cry to God for
release". On the 28th fever developed rapidly. Word was brought that
messengers had arrived from Mwanga, King of Uganda. Three soldiers
from this monarch had indeed arrived; but, instead of bringing orders
for his release, doubtless conveyed instructions that the bishop
should be put to death.

It seems that Mwanga had some fear of invasion from the East; and
acting on his suspicions, without taking any trouble to ascertain the
facts of the case, had sent the fatal command.

On the day of the bishop's release, the 29th, he was held up by Psalm
xxx., which came with great power. As he was led forth to execution he
sang hymns nearly all the way. When his captors hesitated to launch
their spears at him, he spake gently to them and pointed to his gun.
So, either by gunshot or spear wounds, died another of that glorious
band of martyrs who have, century after century, fearlessly laid down
their lives to advance the Kingdom of God.

Mrs. Hannington has kindly made a tracing of the page in the bishop's
little pocket diary for 28th October, the day before his martyrdom
took place. I am very glad to be able to give a reproduction of so
interesting a memento.

[Illustration: diary entry]

_Seventh day's prison. Wednesday, 28th October_. A terrible night, 1st
with noisy, drunken guard, and 2nd with vermin which have found out my
tent and swarm. I don't think I got one sound hour's sleep, and woke
with fever fast developing. O Lord, do have mercy upon me and release
me. I am quite broken down and brought low. Comforted by reading 27th
Psalm.

In an hour or two's time fever developing rapidly. My tent was so
stifling I was obliged to go inside the filthy hut, and soon was
delirious.

Evening: fever passed away. Word came that Mwanga had sent 3 soldiers,
but what news they bring they will not yet let me know.

Much comforted by 28th Psalm.




A MAN WHO CONQUERED DISAPPOINTMENTS.


THE STORY OF SIR HENRY HAVELOCK.

He was nicknamed "Phlos"--short for philosopher--even when at school.
Havelock and a few companions at Charterhouse met together for
devotion, and of course came in for a large amount of jeering from
some of the other boys. But it was useless to call him "Methodist" and
"hypocrite"; he had learnt from his mother the value of Bible reading,
and possessed sufficient character to care little what his companions
said.

He knew the right, and did it--thus early he was a philosopher in a
small way.

It had been intended that Havelock should follow the law as a
profession; and he was studying with this end in view when his father
stopped the necessary supplies of money, and he had to turn to some
other occupation for a living.

He had always had a leaning towards a military life, and by his
brother's aid obtained a commission as second lieutenant in 1815,
being then twenty years old.

Unlike Colin Campbell, who was in the thick of the fight within a few
months of joining his regiment, it was some years before Havelock had
a chance of distinguishing himself; but meantime he set to work to
study military history and tactics both ancient and modern.

Not content with this, he learnt Persian and Hindostanee; and thus
when he went to India in 1823 he was equipped as few young men of his
day were.

Havelock's faith, strong though it was, had to undergo a time of
severe trial. Doubts arose in his mind, and made him miserable while
they lasted. But on board ship he came across Lieut. Gardner, to whom,
with others, he was giving lessons in languages; and as a result of
his intercourse with this man he became again the same simple loving
believer that he had been when he learnt to read the Bible at his
mother's knee, or braved the taunts of his school-fellows.

During the two months he was at Calcutta he held religious meetings,
to which the soldiers were invited. At these, not only did he preach
the Gospel of Christ, but he made a point of telling the men the
blessings of temperance; and it was by his influence that later on
a society was formed in the regiment, and various attractions were
placed before the men to keep them from intemperance.

Now came the chance of active service for which he had been longing.
An expedition was planned against the Burmese, and Havelock was one of
the members. But a great disappointment was in store for him. The ship
in which he sailed was delayed, and did not arrive at Rangoon till the
town was taken. Still, though there was no glory to be gained, there
was much good work to be done in looking after his men's comfort and
well-being; and this he did to the utmost of his power. He also held
simple services, such as the men could appreciate, in one of the
Buddhist temples.

Though there was not a great deal of fighting to do, there were great
losses of men through disease; and Havelock himself was ere long so
ill that he was told a voyage to England was the only thing to save
his life.

This, however, he objected to; and after a stay at Bombay he was
sufficiently restored to rejoin his regiment.

During this war a night attack was made by the enemy on an outpost;
and the men ordered to repulse it were not ready when summoned.

"Then call out Havelock's saints," said the commander-in-chief. "They
are always sober, and can be depended upon, and Havelock himself is
always ready." And, surely enough, "Havelock's saints" were among the
enemy in double quick time, and soon gave them as much steel and lead
as they had any wish for!

"Every inch a soldier, and every inch a Christian,"--that was an exact
description of this man.

Even the day he got married to Hannah Marshman, the missionary's
daughter, he showed that he was a soldier before all else. For, having
been suddenly summoned to attend a military court of inquiry at twelve
o'clock on his wedding day, he got married at an earlier hour than he
had previously arranged, took a quick boat to Calcutta, returning to
his bride when his business of the day was finished.

Time passed on, and the leader of "the saints" was still but a junior
lieutenant, though he had been seventeen years in the army.
Thrice were his hopes of promotion raised, and thrice doomed to
disappointment.

Still he murmured not. "I have only two wishes," he would say. "I
pray that in life and death I may glorify God, and that my wife and
children may be provided for."

Heavy trials befel him. Death laid its hand on his little boy Ettrick,
and another child was so burnt in a fire that happened at their
bungalow that he died also, whilst his beloved wife narrowly escaped
the same fate. Yet he bore all this with patience.

Stern commander though he was, his men loved him so much that they
wanted to give him a month of their pay to assist him in the loss of
means occasioned by the fire.

Though their offer was refused, yet Havelock could not but be thankful
for the kind feeling which prompted it.

At length, after over twenty years' service, he became a captain.

In the Afghan war Havelock was with General Sale at Jellalabad at the
time that Dr. Brydon brought the news of the massacre of our men by
the Afghans; and during the anxious time that followed he was able to
render good service in the field and at the council table.

He fought in the battles of Moodkee, Ferozeshah, and Sobraon. At
the first-named he had two horses shot under him; and in all he
distinguished himself by coolness and bravery.

When the terrible mutiny broke out in India in the year 1857, the
hour of dire emergency had come, and with it had come the man. "Your
excellency," said Sir Patrick Grant, presenting Havelock to Lord
Canning, "I have brought the man."

That was on 17th June, 1857.

Two days later Havelock was appointed to the command of the little
army. His instructions were that, "after quelling all disturbances
at Allahabad, he should not lose a moment in supporting Sir Henry
Lawrence at Lucknow, and Sir Hugh Wheeler at Cawnpore; and that he
should take prompt measures for dispersing and utterly destroying all
mutineers and insurgents".

A large order that to tell a commander with 2000 men, to take a dozen
fortified places defended by ten times the number of his own force!

Not a moment was to be lost, for both cities were in deadly peril.

Alas! Early on the 1st July came news of the terrible massacre of
the Cawnpore garrison,--men, women and children slain in one wanton,
heartless slaughter, which still makes the blood run cold to read
about.

Out of the 2000 men under Havelock's command 1400 only were British
soldiers. But in that force every man was a hero. Notwithstanding the
scorching heat of an Indian summer,--in spite, too, of the fact that
a number of the men were obliged to march in heavy garments utterly
unsuited to the climate; though death, disease, and a thousand perils
lay in front of them,--not a man of Havelock's "Ironsides" but was
impatient to push onward to death or victory.

The general himself was full of humble trust in the Lord, and was in
good spirits notwithstanding--perhaps because of--the perils before
him. For it is written of him that "he was always as sour as if he had
swallowed a pint of vinegar except when he was being shot at,--and
then he was as blithe as a schoolboy out for a holiday".

Sour he was _not_, but he kept splendid discipline among his troops.

"Soldiers," he said as they set out, "there is work before us. We are
bound on an expedition whose object is the supremacy of British rule,
and to avenge the fate of British men and women."

The first battle fought was at Futtehpore. Writing to his wife on the
same night, Havelock said: "One of the prayers oft repeated throughout
my life has been answered, and I have lived to command in a general
action.... We fought, and in ten minutes' time the affair was
decided.... But away with vain glory! Thanks to God Almighty, who gave
me the victory."

Day, after day, the men fought and marched--marched and fought. Battle
after battle was won against foes of reckless daring, carefully
entrenched, amply supplied with big guns, and infinitely superior in
numbers.

His men were often half famished. For two whole days they had but one
meal, consisting of a few biscuits and porter!

Hearing that some of the women and children were still alive, having
escaped the massacre of 27th June, Havelock pressed on with his
wearied little army. "With God's help," said he, "we shall save them,
or every man die in the attempt."

Nana Sahib himself barred the way to Cawnpore. His 5000 men were well
placed in good positions; but they were driven from post to post
before the onset of the British.

"Now, Highlanders!" shouted Havelock, as the men halted to re-form
after one of their irresistible onslaughts; "another charge like the
last wins the day!"

And again the Scots scattered the enemy, at the bayonet's point.

The sun was far towards the western horizon before the battle was
finally over. The mutineers were brave men; and, though beaten,
retreated, reformed, and fought again.

The enemy had rallied at a village; and Havelock's men, after their
day's fight, lagged a little when, having gone over ploughed fields
and swamps, they came again under fire.

[Illustration: THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW.]

But their general rode out under fire of the guns, and, smiling as a
cannon ball just missed him by a hairsbreadth, said:--

"Come, who is to take that village--the Highlanders or the 64th?"

That was enough: pell-mell went both regiments upon the enemy, who had
a bad quarter of an hour between the two.

Cawnpore was won; but, alas! the women and children had been slain
whilst their countrymen had been fighting for their deliverance. And
Lucknow was not yet to be relieved.

For after advancing into Oude Havelock found that constant fighting,
cholera, sunstroke and illness had so reduced his numbers that to go
on would risk the extermination of his force.

He therefore returned to await reinforcements. By the time these
arrived, Sir James Outram had been appointed general of the forces in
India; but he generously refused to accept the command till Lucknow
had been relieved, saying that, Havelock having made such noble
exertions, it was only right he should have the honour of leading the
troops till this had been done.

So he accompanied the army as a volunteer; and again the men fought
their way, this time right through the mutineers, accomplishing their
object by the first relief of Lucknow.

On the evening of 28th September, the soldiers reached the Residency,
where the British had been shut up for so long face to face with
death. The last piece of fighting was the worst they had had to face.
Fired at from roof and window by concealed foes, they marched on with
unwavering courage, and those who reached the Residency had a reward
such as can come to few in this life.

As the women and children frantic with joy rushed to welcome their
rescuers the stern-set faces of the Highlanders changed to joy and
gladness; hunger, thirst, wounds, weariness--all were forgotten as
they clasped hands with those for whom they had fought and bled.

"God bless you," they exclaimed; "why, we expected to have found only
your bones!"

"And the children living too!"

Women and children, civilians and soldiers, gave themselves up to pure
gladness of heart, and in that meeting all thought of past woes and
dangers faded away.

After a series of the most thrilling incidents the world has known,
Lucknow was finally relieved by Sir Colin Campbell.

When Havelock came from the Residency to meet the troops the men
flocked round him cheering, and their enthusiasm brought tears to the
veteran's eyes.

On the 17th November Lucknow was relieved, and on the 24th Havelock
died. "I have," he said to Outram in his last illness, "for forty
years so ruled my life that when death came I might face it without
fear."



A FRIEND OF PRISONERS.


THE STORY OF JOHN HOWARD.

In St. Paul's Cathedral there stands a monument representing a man
with a key in his right hand and a scroll in his left, whilst on the
pedestal from which he looks down are pictured relics of the prison
life of the past. The man is John Howard, who travelled tens of
thousands of miles, and spent many years in visiting gaols all over
England and the Continent, and in endeavouring to render prison life
less degrading and brutalising. Wherever he went prison doors were
unlocked as if he possessed a magic key; and by his life and books he
did more to help prisoners than any other man.

It is only just over a hundred years since John Howard died; yet in
his day persons could be put to death for stealing a horse or a sheep,
for robbing dwellings, for defrauding creditors, for forgery, for
wounding deer, for killing or maiming cattle, for stealing goods to
the value of five shillings, or even for cutting a band in a hop
plantation. And many persons who were innocent of any offence would
lie in dungeons for years!

At his father's death John Howard came into possession of a good
property; and, marrying a lady some years older than himself, settled
down on his estate and passed three years of quiet happiness.

Then a great grief came to him. His wife died, and Howard was bowed
down with sorrow.

But the distress brought with it a longing to be a comfort to others;
and he set out for Lisbon, which had just been visited by the great
earthquake of 1755, with the hope of assisting the homeless and
suffering.

France and England were then at war, and on his way thither he was
captured by a French vessel and thrown into prison. He was placed in
a dark, damp, filthy dungeon, and was half starved. For two months he
was kept a prisoner, and as soon as he was free he set about obtaining
the release of his fellow captives.

Some years later he became a sheriff of Bedford, and began visiting
the prisoners in the gaol where John Bunyan wrote the _Pilgrim's
Progress_.

From the inquiries he made during the course of his visitations he was
astonished to find that the gaolers received no salary, and that they
lived on what they could make out of the prisoners. As a result it
often happened that those who had been acquitted at their trial were
kept in prison long afterwards, because they were unable to pay the
fees which the gaoler demanded.

Horrified at the state in which he found the prison and at the abuses
of justice that prevailed, John Howard determined to find out what
was done in other parts of the kingdom, and visited a number of gaols
throughout the country. And fearful places he found them to be! Boys
who were taken to gaol for the first time were put with old and
hardened criminals; the prisons were dirty and ill-smelling; the
dungeons were dark and unhealthy; and, unless prisoners could afford
to pay for comforts, they were obliged to sleep on cold bare floors,
even delicate women not being exempted from such cruel treatment.

At Exeter he found two sailors in gaol, having been fined one shilling
each for some trifling offence, and owing £1 15s. 8d. for fees to the
gaolers and clerk of the peace. When he visited Cardiff he heard a man
had just died in prison after having been there ten years for a debt
of seven pounds. At Plymouth he found that three men had been shut up
in a little dark room only five and a half feet high, so that they
could neither breathe freely nor stand upright.

Hundreds of cases as bad or worse than these did he discover and bring
before public notice.

He gave evidence before the House of Commons of what he had seen. Then
Acts of Parliament were passed, providing that gaolers should be paid
out of the rates, that prisoners who were found not guilty should be
set at liberty at once, that the prisons should be kept clean and
healthy, and the prisoners properly clothed and attended to.

Determined that these Acts should not remain a dead letter, he went
about the country seeing that what Parliament required was actually
carried out.

Not contented with what he had already done, he travelled abroad,
inspecting the prisons of France, Russia, Holland, Switzerland,
Germany, and other countries, in order to see how they compared with
those in Great Britain.

Strange to say, he discovered that in a number of cases they were in
many ways better; and the prisoners, unlike their fellows in Britain,
were generally employed in some useful manner.

When he was in London on one occasion he heard that there had been a
revolt in the military prison in the Savoy. Two of the gaolers had
been killed, and the rioters held possession of the building. Howard
set off for the prison, though he was warned that his life would not
be safe if he ventured inside. Nothing daunted, he went amongst
the prisoners, and soon persuaded them to go back to their cells
peaceably, promising to bring their grievances before the authorities.

At Paris he was unable for a long time to get into that great prison
house which then existed called the Bastille. Try as he would, he
could gain no admittance. One day when he was passing he went to the
gate of the prison, rang the bell and marched in. After passing the
sentry he stopped and took a good look at the building, then he had to
beat a hasty retreat, and narrowly escaped capture; but by that time
he had partly accomplished his object.

When Howard was in Russia the empress sent a message saying she
desired to see him; but he returned an answer that he was devoting
his time to inspecting prisons, and had no leisure for visiting the
palaces of rulers.

At Rome, however, he was prevailed on to go and see the Pope, on
the express understanding that he should not be obliged to kiss his
holiness's toe; and he came away with a very pleasant remembrance of
the Holy Father.

At Vienna the Emperor Joseph II. specially requested an interview.
Howard refused at first to meet the emperor's wishes; but, on the
English ambassador representing good might come of the visit,
Howard went to see his majesty, and remained with him two hours in
conversation, during which time he made the emperor acquainted with
the bad state of some of the Austrian prisons. Once or twice the
emperor was angered by Howard's plainness of speech, but told the
ambassador afterwards that he liked the prison reformer all the better
for his honesty.

Having made up his mind to see the quarantine establishment at
Marseilles, Howard made his way through France, though he was so
feared and disliked by the Government that he was warned if he were
caught in that country he would be thrown into the Bastille.

He disguised himself as a doctor, and after some narrow escapes
arrived at Marseilles and visited the Lazaretto (or place of detention
for the infected), though even Frenchmen were forbidden to do so. He
took drawings of the place, and then went on a tour to many southern
cities. He was at Smyrna while fever was raging with fury, and went
amongst the sick and fever-stricken, fearless of the consequences.

In the course of his travels the ship in which he was a passenger was
attacked by pirates, and John Howard showed himself as brave in actual
battle as he was in fighting abuses; for he loaded the big gun with
which the ship was armed nearly up to the muzzle with nails and
spikes, and fired it into the pirate crew just in time to save himself
and his companions from destruction. The books in which he gave an
account of his experiences were eagerly read by the public, and
produced a profound effect.

His last journey was to Russia. At Cherson he received an urgent
request to visit a lady who had the fever. The place where she lived
was many miles off, and no good horses were to be obtained. But he
was determined not to disappoint her; so he procured a dray horse and
started for his destination on a wintry night, with rain falling in
torrents. As a result of this journey he was stricken down by the
fever, and died 20th January, 1790.

Howard was a very hard worker, and a man of most frugal habits. He was
often up by two o'clock in the morning writing and doing business till
seven, when he breakfasted. He ate no flesh food, and drank no wine
or spirits. He had a great dislike to any fuss being made about him
personally; and, though £1500 was subscribed during his life to erect
a memorial, it was, at his earnest desire, either returned to the
subscribers or spent in assisting poor debtors.

But after his death a memorial was put up in St. Paul's, and quite
recently a monument has been erected at Bedford, where he first began
his labours on behalf of the prisoners.




A HERO OF THE VICTORIA CROSS.


THE STORY OF KAVANAGH.

It was the time of the Indian Mutiny. Lucknow was in the hands of the
rebels. Within the Residency Sir James Outram, Sir Henry Havelock,
and their troops, were fast shut up, around them a vast multitude of
mutineers. But now near at hand was Sir Colin Campbell with the army
of relief.

It was difficult, nay, almost impossible, to get a trusty messenger
through that multitude of fierce and bloodthirsty foes; and yet it was
of the utmost importance that Sir Colin should have some one to tell
him what was passing within the Residency, and show him the best route
by which his troops could approach.

If any man tried to get through and failed, death--or perhaps worse
still, horrible torture--was his certain fate. But there was one man
who determined to do it, or die in the attempt. His name was Kavanagh.
It was so dangerous a matter that when Sir James Outram heard of his
proposal he declared he would not have asked one of his officers
to attempt the passage. But in the end he accepted the offer, and
Kavanagh prepared for the journey.

Dressing himself as a native soldier, and covering his face and hands
with lampblack, he was so altered in appearance that even his friends
failed to recognise him. Thus disguised, and accompanied by a
native spy named Kunoujee Lal to guide him, he set out. The night,
fortunately, was dark and favoured their design. The first thing they
did was to ford the Goomtee, a river about a hundred yards wide, and
four or five feet deep. Taking off their garments they waded across;
but whilst in the water Kavanagh's courage reached a low ebb, and he
wished himself back again. However, they got to the opposite bank in
safety, and crouching up a ditch found a grove of trees, where they
dressed.

Kavanagh's confidence had now returned, and he felt so sure of his
disguise that he even exchanged a few words with a matchlock-man whom
they met. After going on for about half a mile they reached the iron
bridge over the river, and here they were challenged by a native
officer. Kavanagh kept judiciously in the shade whilst the guide
advanced and answered the questions put to him satisfactorily, and
they were allowed to proceed. A little further they passed through a
number of Sepoys, but these let them go by without inquiry. Having
had the good fortune to get unperceived past a sentry who was closely
questioning a native, they came into the principal street of Lucknow,
jostling against the armed rebels, who would have killed them in a
moment had their suspicion been aroused. But no mishap occurred, and
after being challenged by a watchman they at last found themselves to
their great relief out in the open country.

They were now in the best of spirits, and went along for a few miles
in a state of great gladness. Then came a rude shock. They had taken
the wrong direction, and were returning into the midst of the rebels.
It was an awful awakening for Kavanagh. Suppose the spy after all were
playing him false. It seemed an extraordinary mistake to have made.
Happily it was stupidity not treason that had caused the disastrous
loss of time, and the guide was full of sorrow for his error.

There was nothing now to be done but to return as quickly as possible;
but they were for a while in an awkward fix, as they could get no one
to direct them.

A man whom they asked declared he was too old to guide them, another
on being commanded to lead them ran off shouting and alarmed the
village. It was now midnight, so there was no time to be lost. They
made for the canal, into which Kavanagh fell several times, for his
shoes were wet and slippery, and he was footsore and weary. By this
time the shoes he wore had rubbed the skin off his toes and cut into
the flesh above the heels.

About two o'clock in the morning they came across a picket of Sepoys,
and, thinking it safer not to try and avoid them, went up and asked
the way. Having answered the inquiries put to them without exciting
suspicion, they were directed aright.

They now made for Sir Colin's camp, which the spy told him was
situated at a village called Bunnee, about eighteen miles from
Lucknow. The moon had risen by this time, and they could now see their
way clearly. About three o'clock a villager observing them approach
called out a Sepoy guard of twenty-five men, who asked them all kinds
of questions. Kunoujee Lal now got frightened, for the first time; and
threw away the letter he had received, for fear of being taken, but
Kavanagh kept his in his turban. At last they satisfied the guard that
they were poor men travelling to the village of Umroola to inform a
friend of the death of his brother, and they were directed on their
perilous road.

Hardly had they got through one difficulty than they were into
another. For now they found themselves in a swamp, where they waded
for two hours up to their waists in water. This might have proved the
worst accident of all, for in forcing his way through the weeds nearly
all the black was washed off Kavanagh's hands. Had they after this
been seen by the enemy there would have been little chance of either
of them reaching the British lines alive.

Much against the spy's advice, Kavanagh now insisted on a quarter of
an hour's rest, for he was about worn out. After this they passed
between two of the enemy's pickets who, happily for them, had no
sentries thrown out, and reached a grove of trees. Here he asked
Kunoujee Lal to see if there was any one who could tell them where
they were. Before they had gone far, however, they heard with joy
the English challenge, "Who goes there?" They had reached a British
cavalry outpost, and Kavanagh's eyes filled with tears as he shook the
officer's hand. They took him into a tent, gave him some dry clothes
and refreshment; and he thanked God for having preserved him through
the perils of that awful night.

All through the British camp spread the tale of Kavanagh's brave deed;
and the enthusiasm of officers and men alike knew no bounds.

The information he was able to give proved of the greatest assistance;
and a little later he had the honour of conducting Sir James Outram
and Sir Henry Havelock into the presence of Sir Colin Campbell, and
witnessed the meeting of these three great commanders.

When the army of relief forced its way into Lucknow, Kavanagh was
always near the commander-in-chief; and, when at length they drew near
to the besieged, he was one of the first at the Residency, and as he
approached a loud cheer burst forth from his old associates. "It is
Kavanagh!" they shouted. "He is the first to relieve us. Three cheers
for him!"

In consideration of his gallant services he received the Victoria
Cross, and was afterwards made Assistant-Commissioner of Oude.




THE MAN WHO BRAVED THE FLOOD.


THE STORY ON CAPTAIN LENDY'S BRAVE DEED.

In the autumn of 1893 a police force of forty men, under the command
of Captain E.A.W. Lendy, Inspector-General of Police, in Sierra Leone,
was sent to open a road to Koinadugu, which, owing to the war with the
Sofas, had been closed.

It was no easy task to perform. The men had to cut their way through a
dense jungle. This was heavy and tiring work, and, owing to the fact
that for a month past they had been obliged to exist on a small
quantity of rice, they were not in the best condition to undertake
such labour.

However, so as to get the road finished as quickly as possible they
worked from sunrise to sunset. Even the night slid not bring them rest
and peace; for the rain descended in such a manner as to add to the
discomfort of their situation.

On the 4th of November the force arrived at the Sell or Roquelle
river. The stream was eighty yards wide. There was no bridge over it,
but only a creeper rope tied across from bank to bank.

The river was very full, and a swift current was running; two hundred
yards below, the noise of falls sounded a warning note, and it was
known that alligators infested the district.

No wonder, then, that the natives were terrified at the idea of
attempting to swim across.

Yet the river lay between Captain Lendy's force and the food and rest
it needed. So, though owing to the privations the men had endured
their vital powers were at a low ebb, yet, with starvation staring
them in the face they must make the passage--alligators and falls
notwithstanding.

The first to cross were two policemen, who, after a difficult journey,
got safe to the other side.

Then followed a scene of excitement and danger. Private Momo Bangura
and Sergeant Smith were the next pair to start. Hardly had they
reached midstream when Bangura's rifle band, slipping over his arms,
pinned them to his side.

Smith gallantly went to the rescue; but it was difficult enough for
him to get along alone; and, with Bangura to support, he quickly
became exhausted. After shouting for help, he and his companion
disappeared from view beneath the waters.

At once two other men went to Bangura's assistance, giving Smith an
opportunity of looking to his own safety.

But it seemed a hopeless struggle. Worn by their previous exertions,
the men were unable to give any permanent help to Bangura, and were in
their turn dragged under several times in their efforts to afford him
assistance. Indeed, it now seemed that, in spite of all the bravery
shown, Bangura's fate was sealed, if not that of his would-be rescuers
also.

It was a terrible predicament. Four men were struggling in the
seething waters in deadly danger. Too brave and resolute to leave
their comrade-in-arms, too feeble to procure his safety, they were
wearing out their strength in futile though heroic efforts, whilst the
object of their solicitude was at his last gasp.

At this moment their brave commander came to the rescue, and at once
changed the aspect of affairs.

Diving into the stream he soon reached the drowning man; and the
others, released from their burden, were now able to give their
undivided attention to self-preservation.

The supreme moment had arrived. Would Captain Lendy's efforts end as
the others had done? If so, it is probable that all would have found
a watery grave in the Roquelle; for, exhausted though they were, the
three other men were far too fond of their commander to have left him
to perish alone.

It was for a time a stern fight with death. But Lendy was cool, calm,
resourceful. Yard by yard the distance between the further shore was
lessened, notwithstanding the race of the waters toward the falls.
Foot by foot he drew nearer to safety, though the man lay like a log
in the grasp of his rescuer, unable to assist in the struggle that was
going on.

At length the shadow of death was dissipated; for the gallant soldier
managed to land his burden on the further shore, which the others had
already reached.

The end of the stern combat with the waters was particularly
gratifying, as several men had previously lost their lives in crossing
the same river.

The silver medal of the Royal Geographical Society was awarded to
Captain Lendy, and a bronze medal given to his brave followers.

But, alas! Lendy did not live to receive his medal. Ere it could reach
him he had fallen in a night attack which the French made by mistake
upon our forces, supposing them to be natives whom they were seeking
to punish. Ere the error was discovered the loss on both sides was
serious, and in the conflict her Majesty was deprived of the services
of a devoted and faithful servant by the death of heroic Captain
E.A.W. Lendy.

The little block in this page is a reproduction of Momo Bangura's
statement forwarded to the Colonial Office, duly witnessed by his
companions' signatures.

    Pte Momo. Bangurah's Statement.

    My name is Pte Momo Bangurah. I am a private in the Frontier
    Police Force. On the 4th instant I tried to cross over the Seli
    River. I slung my rifle across my shoulder half way across, the
    sling slipped and so I could not use my arms. I sank but Sergeant
    Smith caught me. I dragged him down twice and called out for help.
    Corporal Sambah and Parkins then kept me up but the stream was so
    strong, that we were taken under several times. I thought my last
    moment had come. I remember Captain Lendy seizing me and then I
    forgot everything till I found myself being rubbed on shore. If it
    had not been for Captain Lendy Sergeant Smith Corporals Samba and
    Parkins, I know I should have been drowned and I thank them for
    their assistance.

    (sd) Momo Bangur

    his mark.

    Witnesses

    (sd) Benoni Johnson Sub Inspr. F.P.
     "   R.W. Sawyer Sergt
     "   S. Jenkins Coker Sergt
     "   Emanuel R. Palmer Sergt




A TEMPERANCE LEADER.


THE STORY OF JOSEPH LIVESEY.

The leader of the great temperance movement in England--Joseph
Livesey, of Preston--had a very bad start in life.

He was quite poor; he lost both father and mother from consumption
when he reached his eighth year; he was frail and delicate; his
brothers and sisters all died young; so that he seemed ill fitted to
make any headway in the race of life.

His grandfather, who adopted him, failed in business; and Joseph
Livesey commenced his career by doing the work of a domestic servant,
as well as toiling at the loom.

"As we were too poor to keep a servant," he says, "and having no
female help except to wash the clothes and occasionally clean up, I
may be said to have been the housekeeper."

But, whilst he was weaving in the cellar where his grandfather and
uncle also worked, he was at the same time gaining knowledge day by
day.

When his pocket money of a penny a week was increased to threepence,
he felt himself on the high road to wealth, and ere long he was the
possessor of a Bible and a grammar, which he set himself to study
whenever he could get a spare moment.

One can scarcely realise the difficulties that lay in the way of a
studious boy in those days. A newspaper cost sevenpence; there were no
national schools or Sunday schools, no penny publications, no penny
postage, no railways, no gas, and no free libraries, and no free
education! Yet so resolute was he in his desire for education that,
though he was not even allowed a candle after the elders went to bed,
he would sit up till late at night reading by the glow of the embers.

It is sad enough to see the number of families that are ruined by
drink at the present time; but in Livesey's early days people suffered
even more from drunkenness than they do now.

The weavers used to keep Monday as a day of leisure; and the
public-houses were crowded from morning till night with men and women,
who drank away their earnings to the last penny.

In the church to which Joseph Livesey belonged the ringers and singers
were hard drinkers, the gravedigger was a drunkard, and the parish
clerk was often intoxicated!

Living amidst so much sin and misery, this frail lad determined to
strive his hardest to assist others. He found Sunday a day of rest and
rejoicing to him "a feast of good things," and became a Sunday-school
teacher and preacher.

So far as worldly matters went he was not at all successful in early
life. Weaving was so badly paid that he tried several other trades,
but only to meet with failure.

At the age of twenty he received a legacy of a few pounds; and soon
after, having saved a little money, married a good and true woman, who
helped him much throughout life.

"Our cottage," says Mr. Livesey in his autobiography, "though small,
was like a palace; for none could excel my Jenny for cleanliness and
order. I renovated the garden, and made it a pleasant place to walk
in. On the loom I was most industrious, working from early in the
morning often till ten, and sometimes later, at night; and she
not only did all the house work, but wound the bobbins for three
weavers--myself, uncle, and grandfather; and yet, with all this
apparently hard lot, these were happy days."

But it was not all sunshine at first. He fell ill, and the doctor
ordered him better living than he had been getting; and where the
money was to come from to get more nourishing food Livesey knew not.

He had been ordered to take some cheese in the forenoon, so he bought
a piece at about eightpence a pound; and as he munched it came this
thought: cheese wholesale cost but fivepence per pound; would it not
be possible to buy a piece wholesale and sell it to his friends, so
that he too might have the benefit of getting it at this low price?

No sooner thought of than done. But, when he had finished weighing out
the cheese to his friends, he found he had made, quite unexpectedly,
a profit of eighteenpence, and that it was more than he could have
gained by a great deal of weaving.

So he changed his trade: weaving gave place to cheese mongering; and,
after some very hard work and persevering efforts, he placed himself
beyond the reach of poverty.

Now came the important moment of his life. One day in settling a
bargain he drank a glass of whisky. It was, he said, the best he ever
drank, because it was the last. For the sensation it produced made him
resolve he would never again taste a drop of intoxicating liquor.

Finding himself the better for this course, he soon tried to get
others to join him. His first convert to _total abstinence_ was a man
named John King; Livesey and he signed together; and on 1st September,
1832, at a meeting held at Preston, seven men--"the Seven Men of
Preston," as they are called--signed the pledge, of which the
following is a facsimile:--

    [Handwritten: We agree to _abstain_ from all Liquors of an
    _Intoxicating Quality_, whether ale porter Wine, or Ardent
    Spirits, except as Medicine.

    John Gratix
    Edw'd Dickinson
    Jno: Broadbelt
    Jno: Smith
    Joseph Livesey
    David Anderson
    Jno: Ring.]

It was a terrible struggle for these men at first. They were laughed
at, they were abused, they were persecuted; but the more people
tried to put them down the harder they fought; and soon hundreds and
thousands had joined their ranks, and the movement spread throughout
the kingdom.

"There is more food in a pennyworth of bread," said Livesey, "than in
a gallon of ale"; and he proved it. He lectured far and wide; and,
though he met with much opposition, facts in the end prevailed.

He was not only a temperance advocate, but an earnest worker for the
good of others in various directions. He visited the sick, and helped
them. When the railways came he started cheap trips to the seaside for
working people, and was never happier than when he was helping the
poor and unfortunate.

Joseph Livesey is a striking example of the benefits to health derived
from teetotalism, as he lived to the good old age of ninety.




A GREAT MISSIONARY EXPLORER.


THE STORY OF DAVID LIVINGSTONE.

It is past ten o'clock at night. A little boy fond of going about the
country in search of plants has returned home. Finding the door of his
father's house locked, and fearing to awaken his parents, he settles
down contentedly on the step to spend the night there. Then a woman's
hand quietly unbolts the door and receives the little wanderer back.
The boy is David Livingstone. Now-a-days we know him as one of the
greatest missionary explorers of our times.

A stern father, a loving mother, both godly and upright people--such
were the parents of David; and he respected and loved them with a true
and constant affection.

The boy was fond of learning--so fond indeed that when he was at
the factory he would keep his book open before him on the spinning
machine. Most people think "one thing at a time" is a very good
maxim--David thought two things at a time was even better.

At home he was ever ready to lend a hand at house work to save his
mother. "If you bar the door, mother," he would say, "I'll wash the
floor;" and wash the floor he did, times without number!

In later life he used to say he was glad he had thus toiled; and that,
if it were possible to begin life again, he would like to go through
just the same hard training.

He got on quickly at lessons, and became, like his father, a total
abstainer for life. He was fond of serious books; and, reading the
lives of Christian missionaries, he began to wish to be one himself.
Ere long he journeyed from Blantyre near Glasgow (where he had been
working as a factory hand) to London, to prepare for going abroad as a
missionary.

His first address was not very promising. He gave out his text, and
then was obliged to confess that his sermon had quite gone out of his
mind.

In the year 1840 David Livingstone, being then just over twenty-seven
years old, went out to South Africa as a missionary. He made his way
up country to the furthest district in which the London Missionary
Society then had a station. There he taught the Hottentots, and his
heart was ere long rejoiced by the change which took place in them.

Before leaving home he had studied medicine, and passed his
examination satisfactorily; and this knowledge of healing he found
most useful. His patients, the poor African blacks, would walk a
hundred miles to seek his advice, and his waggon was followed by a
great crowd of sick folk anxious to be healed.

He studied the language of the tribes amongst whom he was ministering;
and soon the people were able to sing in their own tongue, "There is a
fountain filled with blood," "Jesus shall reign where'er the sun," and
other beautiful hymns which delight the hearts of those in our own
land.

Whilst he was gaining the affection of the natives, he did not forget
his loved ones at home; and out of his scanty salary of about £100 a
year he sent £20 to his parents.

Before he had been long in Africa he had an adventure which nearly
cost him his life. In the parts where he was teaching, the lions were
very troublesome, and would come by night and seize cattle. Sometimes
even they would venture into the gardens and carry off women and
children. So the people got together an expedition to go and hunt the
lions, and Livingstone joined them. After they had been on the track
for some time, and several lions had escaped owing to the fright of
the natives, Livingstone saw one sitting on a rock about thirty yards
off. He took careful aim and fired both barrels of his gun, wounding
it badly.

The people thought it was, dead, and were going towards it, but
Livingstone made them keep back and began reloading. Before he had
finished, the lion sprang upon him, caught him by the shoulder, and
began shaking and tearing him so badly that he was utterly overcome.
Two persons who tried to help him were bitten by the lion. But just
when it looked as if the missionary's life had reached its last day,
the lion suddenly fell down dead from the effect of the bullets which
he had fired into it.

Four years after he had been in Africa he married Mary Moffat, the
missionary's daughter. She was a true helpmate, and in the trials and
difficulties which beset him his way was made clearer and brighter by
this good and loving woman.

[Illustration: LIVINGSTONE ATTACKED BY THE LION]

He could not always take his wife with him, as the districts he
explored were so wild and savage. He ran risks of death by thirst, by
hostile tribes and disease, and went through terrible places where no
woman could have lived. But on many a long and perilous journey
she went with him. "When I took her," writes Livingstone, "on two
occasions to Lake Ngami and far beyond, she endured more than some who
have written large books of travel."

One of Livingstone's first mission stations was Mabotsa, where he
stayed a year, and in that short time gained the love of the people.
When he thought it well to move on farther north the natives offered
to build him a new house, schools, anything he wished if he would only
stay.

But he had made up his mind that it was best to go to fresh districts
rather than stay in places where there were already teachers, and
therefore proceeded forty miles further on to Chonuane. Here he met
with almost immediate success. The chief, Sechele by name, became a
convert and was able in a few weeks to read the Bible. Isaiah was his
favourite book. "He was a fine man, that Isaiah," remarked Sechele;
"he knew how to speak."

This chief would have been willing to help Livingstone to convert his
tribe at a great pace, only his method was not to the missionary's
liking.

"Do you think," said Sechele, "you can make my people believe by
talking to them? I can make them do nothing except by thrashing
them, and if you like I shall call my headman, and with our whips of
rhinoceros hide we will soon make them all believe together!"

Like all missionaries, Livingstone was doomed to suffer
disappointments. Thus after labouring at Kolobeng for ten years the
Boers, annoyed with him for endeavouring to teach them that the
natives should be treated with kindness and consideration, made an
attack on his house when he was absent. They slaughtered a number of
the men and women, carried away 200 children into slavery, and burnt
down the mission station. Livingstone was deeply grieved about the
capture of the children, but as to his own loss he merely says: "The
Boers by taking possession of all my goods have saved me the trouble
of making a will".

Still on, on into the dark continent went Livingstone. Not dark to
him, for he loved the natives and possessed such powers of attraction
that wherever he settled he won their affections.

After taking leave of Sechele he travelled several hundred miles to
the territory of Sebituane.

On the road Livingstone and his family had a terribly anxious time.
The water in the waggons was all but finished, they were passing
through a desert land, their guide had left them. The children were
suffering from thirst; his wife, though not uttering a word of
reproach, was in an agony of anxiety for her little ones, and
Livingstone was fearful lest they should perish in this desert
country. When hope had nearly vanished some of the party who had gone
out searching for water returned with a supply. They were soon after
welcomed by Sebituane, the greatest chief in Central Africa, who gave
them food to eat, soft skins to lie upon, and made much of them.

After the death of Sebituane his son Sekeletu was equally friendly, as
may be gathered from this page of Livingstone's diary, which, by the
kindness of his daughter, Mrs. Bruce, I am permitted to reproduce.

[Illustration: REDUCED FACSIMILE OF A PAGE FROM LIVINGSTONE'S DIARY.
THE ORIGINAL IS WRITTEN ON PAPER 7 INCHES BY 4-3/8 INCHES.]

This entry in his diary was written on the eve of Livingstone's great
journey to the West Coast. Having sent his wife and family to England,
he determined to find a way from the centre of Africa to the West
Coast. It was a forlorn hope; but, says Livingstone, "Cannot the love
of Christ carry the missionary where the slave trade carries the
trader? I shall open up a path to the interior or perish."

On the 11th of November, 1853, he left Linyante, having overcome
Sekeletu's objection to let him go, and arrived at Loando, on the West
Coast, on 31st May, 1854, after a variety of adventures, and being
reduced by fever to a mere skeleton.

The sight of the sea, which gladdened Livingstone's heart, astonished
his native escort beyond description. "We were marching along with our
father," they said, "believing that what the ancients had told us was
true--that the world had no end; but all at once the world said to us,
'I am finished, there is no more of me'."

At Loando friends tried to persuade Livingstone to go to England
by sea, but he had promised Sekeletu to return with the men who
accompanied him on his great journey, and would not be turned from his
purpose. And he arrived at Linyante on the return journey with every
one of the 27 men he had taken with him safe and sound!

After this followed the journey to the East Coast ending at Quilemane.

Besides discovering several large lakes, Livingstone was the first to
see the Falls of the Zambesi, which he named the Victoria Falls,
after her Majesty the Queen. The water at these falls dashes down in
torrents, a sheer depth of 320 feet, the spray rises mountains high
and can be seen many miles away, whilst its sound is like the noise of
thunder.

Numerous were the expeditions he made. In the course of these he
traversed thousands of miles of country before untrodden by the feet
of Europeans. His fame had now spread to the four quarters of the
globe, and he had published several volumes giving an account of his
explorations.

In January, 1873, he started on his last journey. In April, after
suffering intensely from constant illness, he got to a place near Lake
Bemba; and here he told his followers to build a hut for him to die
in. On the 27th April he wrote the last entry in his diary, viz.,
"Knocked up quite, and remain--recover--sent to buy milch cows. We are
on the banks of the Molilamo." When on the 1st May his followers
went into the hut they found the great explorer kneeling by his
bedside--dead.

Great was their grief and great was the sorrow of all in this country
when the news reached Britain of his decease.

But the little factory boy had done such a great work that no place
was good enough for his remains but Westminster Abbey.




FROM FARM LAD TO MERCHANT PRINCE.


THE STORY OF GEORGE MOORE.

George Moore was born in Cumberland in 1807. His father was a small
farmer. He had the misfortune to lose his mother when he was six years
old; but his father was a good and pious man, whose example had a
great effect upon him.

The lad was shrewd and earnest, and showed a power of thinking and
acting for himself.

At one time he worked for his brother in return for his board and
lodging; but wishing to make some money for himself he asked the
neighbouring farmers to give him some extra work to do, for which he
got wages.

By the time he was ten years old he was able to earn as much as
eighteenpence a day, and at twelve years old did the work and earned
the wages of a full-grown man.

He had had but little schooling, and his master was one of those
persons who thought the best way to get learning implanted in a boy's
mind was by forcing it into him at the point of the ruler. He beat his
boys much, but taught them little.

To finish his education his father sent George for one quarter to a
better school. The cost was only eight shillings, but the boy then got
an idea for the first time of the value of learning.

He determined not to return to farm life, believing he could do better
for himself in a town. So at about thirteen years of age George Moore
began his business life as apprentice to a draper at Wigton.

He did not make at all a pleasant or successful start. His work was
very hard. He had to light fires, clean windows, groom horses, and
make himself generally useful. His master was fond of drink, and
George had to get his meals at a public-house. One of his duties was
to serve out spirits to customers who made good purchases.

All things considered, it is perhaps not surprising that he got into
bad habits himself. He began to gamble at cards, sitting up often
nearly all night, and losing or winning considerable sums of money.

At last a change came in a rather unexpected manner. George lodged at
his master's house, and when he went out to play was accustomed to
leave a window unfastened so that he could let himself in without
rousing the household. Somehow or other his master found out this
plan, and determined to put a stop to it. So one night when George had
gone out he nailed down the window, and when the apprentice returned
home in the early hours of the morning he found himself locked out.
Nothing daunted he climbed on to the roof and managed to get in
through his bedroom window.

But he narrowly escaped being discharged, and on thinking the matter
over he saw how great was his folly. So he determined, with God's
help, to give up his evil ways, and was enabled to lead a better life
in future.

As soon as his apprenticeship was up George Moore resolved to try his
fortune in London. At first everything went against him. He tramped
the streets of the city from morn till eve, calling here, there and
everywhere, seeking for employment, and finding no one to give him a
trial. At last he made up his mind to go to America. One day, however,
he received from a Cumberland man engaged in the drapery trade a
request to call upon him. To his intense delight he was engaged,
receiving a salary of thirty pounds a year.

George had now got his foot on the first round of the ladder, and made
up his mind to climb higher. So he at once took lessons at a night
school, and worked hard at self-education.

Then he got a better place; but, for a time, had to bear much abuse
from his master, who declared that, although he had come across many
blockheads from Cumberland, George was the stupidest one of all! Still
he bore the reproaches of his employer good-naturedly, and before long
made his mark. He was offered the position of town traveller, and soon
proved himself to be one of the cleverest business men of the time.

Before this, however, George had made up his mind about marriage.
Seeing his master's little daughter come into the shop he was much
struck by her appearance, and remarked that, if he were ever able to
marry, that girl should be his wife. His companions laughed at him
heartily; but, as a matter of fact, he did marry that girl, though she
refused him the first time he asked.

From this it will be seen that George Moore was no ordinary youth; and
before he had been travelling for his firm long, they discovered his
value. So did another firm, which found he was taking away their
business, and offered him £500 a year to travel for them. But George
told them nothing less than a partnership would satisfy him; and as
they were determined to secure his services they gave it him, and at
the age of twenty-three George Moore became junior partner in the
famous house of Groucock & Copestake, to which the name of Moore was
then added.

His fortune was thus early made, and his business life was one
continued series of successes. He had an immense capacity for work,
and boasted that for twelve years he laboured sixteen hours a day.

Yet his energies were not confined to business. After a time, when
he no longer needed to work so hard for himself, he took up various
charitable schemes, and by his intense vigour soon obtained for them
remarkable support. The Commercial Travellers' Schools was one of the
institutions in which he took great interest. These schools were built
at a cost of about £25,000, the greater portion of which he obtained.

In his native county, in his house of business; everywhere George
Moore became famed for his liberal gifts. He spent £15,000 in building
a church in one of the poorest districts of London. He visited Paris
just after the siege to assist in the distribution of the funds
subscribed in England; and to many charitable schemes he subscribed
with a generous hand.

In November, 1876, he was knocked down in the streets of Carlisle by a
runaway horse, and carried into the hospital to die. He had expressed
a wish when he was in good health to be told when he was dying; so his
wife said to him, "We have often talked about heaven. Perhaps Jesus is
going to take you home. You are willing to go with Him, are you not?"

"Yes," he replied; "I fear no evil ... He will never leave me, nor
forsake me."




A MAN WHO ASKED AND RECEIVED.


THE STORY OF GEORGE MÜLLER.

In the year 1805 was born in Prussia George Müller, whose orphanages
at Ashley Down, Bristol, may be regarded as one of the modern wonders
of the world.

His father intended that George should become a minister, but the lad
in his early days showed no signs of a desire to set apart his life
to good works. He had the misfortune to lose his mother when he was
fourteen years old, and though he was confirmed in 1820 no deep
impression had been made by God's grace in his heart.

When he was sixteen he went to Brunswick, and putting up at an hotel
lived expensively, and had to part with his best clothes to pay the
bill. Later on, for leaving an hotel without paying, he was put in
prison, and had to stay there till the money was sent for his release.

He had, indeed, grown so hardened that he could tell lies without
blushing. He pretended to lose some money which had been sent to him,
and his friends gave him more to replace it. He got into debt, and
pawned his clothes in order to procure the means to go to taverns and
places of amusement.

But the hand of God was upon him, and he did not do these things
without suffering in his mind. About this time too he began to study
the Bible earnestly.

At the age of twenty the great change came. He attended a prayer
meeting, and there his eyes became opened, and he saw there was no
hope for him but in Christ. He read the Bible anew, and from that time
commenced leading a _new life_.

When he was about twenty-four years old Müller came over to England,
and settled at Teignmouth as pastor of a small church. He refused to
have any regular salary or to receive pew rents, taking only such
offerings as his congregation wished to give him. Sometimes he had
no money left at all; at others he had only just enough food for one
meal, and knew not where the means were coming from for the next. Yet
he trusted entirely in God, and was never left in want.

After this he went to Bristol, and seeing many poor children uncared
for laid the matter before God; and, believing it to be His will that
he should try to provide some place of rest for these little ones, he
took a house large enough to contain thirty girls.

Rather a remarkable thing happened in connection with the opening of
the Home. The money had been supplied, and preparations had been made
to receive the children, but none sought admission!

Müller cast about in his mind as to why this should be so, and he
discovered that whilst he had asked God for money to open the Home and
for helpers, he had forgotten to pray that the children might be sent;
and to this he attributed such a strange occurrence.

Still, the omission was soon rectified, and the Home ere long teemed
with children.

This was in 1834. From such a small beginning the great Orphan Homes
on Ashley Down sprang. Every need connected with the progress of the
work was made the subject of prayer by George Müller and his earnest
band of workers.

Again and again he has not known where to turn for the next meal for
his orphans; but, as if by a miracle, supplies have been _always_
forthcoming. Though often in great straits Mr. Müller has never asked
for help except of God, and _never_ has that help been denied.

The following extract from his journal will show the trials to which
Mr. Müller has been subjected: "Never were we so reduced in funds as
to-day. There was not a single halfpenny in hand between the matrons
of the three orphan houses. There was a good dinner, and by managing
to help one another by bread, etc., there was a prospect of getting
over the day also; but for none of the houses had we the prospect of
being able to take in bread. When I left the brethren and sisters at
one o'clock after prayer I told them that we must wait for help, and
see how the Lord would deliver us this time." About twenty yards from
his home he met a person interested in the Homes who gave him £20.
This is but a sample of many occasions upon which, having waited upon
God in simple faith, help has arrived at the very hour it has been
needed.

Some paragraphs in Müller's yearly reports read almost like a fairy
story, only they are far more beautiful, being a record of _facts_.
Thus in May, 1892, when the financial year of the institution began,
they had in hand for their School, Bible, Missionary and Tract funds
only £17 8s. 5-1/2 d.

In June of that year a packet was found at Hereford Railway Station
containing eleven sovereigns, addressed to Mr. Müller, with nothing
but these words inside, "From a Cheerful Giver, Bristol, for Jesus'
Sake". In the same month came £100, "from two servants of the Lord
Jesus, who, constrained by the love of Christ, seek to lay up treasure
in Heaven".

A Newcastle man wrote that though finances were low he doubled the sum
usually sent to the institution, "in faith and also with much joy".
A sick missionary in the wilds of Africa sent £44 17s. 5d., being
apparently all the money he possessed.

"Again and again," writes Mr. Müller, "I have had cheques amounting
even to £5000, from individuals whose names I knew not before
receiving their donations."

Other paragraphs in the report read thus: "Received anonymously five
large cheeses; received a box of dessert knives and forks, a cruet, a
silver soup ladle and a silver cup; from Clifton, twelve tons house
coals; from Bedminster, a monster loaf, 200 lbs. in weight, and ten
feet long and twenty-one inches broad".

On 1st August £82 5s. came "from a Christian gentleman in Devon, who
for more than forty-five years has from time to time helped us, though
I have never seen him".

"To-day," writes Müller on 7th September, "our income altogether was
about £300--a plain proof that we do not wait on the Lord in vain; for
every donation we receive is a direct answer to prayer, because we
never ask a single human being for anything." On 29th October Mr.
Müller writes: "For several days very little has come in for the
support of the various objects of the institution. To-day, again, only
about £15 was received by the first four deliveries of letters; at
5:45 I had for the third time that day prayer with my dear wife,
entreating God to help us, and a little after 6 p.m. came a cheque for
£200 by the fifth delivery, from Edinburgh."

A gold chain and watch-key, two gold brooches, and a pair of earrings
were sent to Mr. Müller, with the following comment: "My wife and I
having, through the exceeding riches of God's grace, been brought to
the Lord Jesus, wish to lay aside the perishing gold of the world
for the unsearchable riches of Christ, and send the enclosed for the
support of the orphans".

The above are from a single yearly report--that for 1893. Scores of
similar donations in money and kind are recounted in the same annual
statement. In that year Mr. Müller was able to speak of his conversion
as having taken place nearly sixty-eight years ago. The work has been
wonderfully blessed. In the report mentioned Mr. Müller stated that
the total amount he had received by prayer and faith for the various
objects of his institutions, since 5th March, 1834, had been
£1,309,627; that no fewer than 8727 children had been under his care;
and that he had room at his Homes for 2050 orphans.




A LABOURER IN THE VINEYARD.


THE STORY OF ROBERT MOFFAT.

"Oh, mother! ask what you will, and I shall do it."

So said Robert Moffat as he stood with his mother on the Firth of
Forth waiting for the boat to ferry him across.

He was sixteen years old, and having got a good situation as gardener
in Cheshire was bidding farewell that day to home and parents, and
about to face the world alone.

His mother had begged him to promise to do whatsoever she asked, and
he had hesitated, wishing to know first what it was that she wanted.
At last, however, remembering how good and loving she had always been,
he had consented. Her request was a very simple one, but it was very
far reaching.

"I only ask whether you will read a chapter in the Bible every morning
and another every evening."

"Mother," he replied, "you know I read my Bible."

"I know you do," was her answer; "but you do not read it regularly, or
as a duty you owe to God, its Author."

"Now I shall return home," she observed when his word had been
pledged, "with a happy heart, inasmuch as you have promised to
read the Scriptures daily. O Robert, my son, read much in the New
Testament! Read much in the Gospels--the blessed Gospels! Then you
cannot well go astray. If you pray, the Lord Himself will teach you."

Thus they parted--he starting on his life's journey with her earnest
pleadings ringing in his ears.

Travelling in those days (1813) was so slow that it took him a full
month to get to High Leigh in Cheshire; and on the way he narrowly
escaped being captured by the pressgang and made to serve on a British
man-of-war, which was short of hands. The vessel in which he was going
south was indeed boarded, and one man seized; but Robert says, "I
happened to be in bed, and keep it there as long as they were on
deck".

He kept manfully the promise he had made his mother. Notwithstanding
the difficulty he experienced in his busy life of setting aside the
necessary time for reading two chapters a day from his Bible, he
nevertheless faithfully did it.

At first this practice seemed to bring him trouble. It made him feel
that he was a sinner, but how to get grace he knew not.

Ere long, however, his fears rolled away. He perceived that being
justified by faith he had peace with Christ, and rejoiced in the grace
and power of the Lord.

Some good Wesleyans took an interest in the young gardener, and he
attended their meetings, which he found very helpful.

When a little later on he was offered a much better situation on the
condition that he gave up Methodism he refused it, preferring, as he
says, "his God to white and yellow ore".

One day he went to Warrington, and whilst there saw a placard
announcing a missionary meeting, at which the Rev. William Roby was to
speak. The sight of this reminded him of the descriptions his mother
used to read of mission work in Greenland, and the subject became
fixed in his mind.

A little later he had the opportunity of hearing Mr. Roby, and
determined to call upon him and offer himself for mission work.

So great was his dread of making this call that he asked a companion
to accompany him, and be present at the interview, but could only
induce his friend to wait for him outside.

When he got to Mr. Roby's door his courage failed him; he looked
longingly at his friend and began to retreat. However, his conscience
would not allow him to surrender; and back again he went to the house,
but still feared to knock.

At length after walking up and down the street in a state of painful
indecision he returned and ventured to knock. A terrible moment
followed. He would have given anything to run away, and hoped with all
his heart Mr. Roby would be out.

This, however, was not the case; and, brought face to face with the
mission preacher, he told his story simply and effectively, and Mr.
Roby promised to write to the Missionary Society about him.

At first the offer of his services was declined, but later on it was
accepted; and on 30th September, 1816, he was ordained at Surrey
Chapel. Amongst others set apart at the same time was John Williams,
the martyr of Erromanga.

It was at first proposed that Williams and Moffat should go together
to Polynesia; but Mr. Waugh remarked that "thae twa lads were ower
young to gang together," so they were separated.

At the age of twenty-one Moffat sailed for South Africa. The ship
reached Cape Town, after a voyage of eighty-six days, on 13th January,
1817; and forthwith he started on his career in receipt of a salary of
twenty-five pounds per year.

On his journey into the interior he stopped one evening at a Dutch
farmer's, where he was warmly welcomed, and was requested to conduct
family worship.

Before commencing he asked for the servants. The farmer, roused to
indignation by such a request, said he would call in the dogs and
baboons if Moffat wanted a congregation of that sort!

But the missionary was not to be denied. In reading the Bible he
selected the story of the Syrophoenician woman. Before many minutes
had passed the farmer stopped him, saying he would have the servants
in.

When the service was over the old man said to Moffat, "My friend, you
took a hard hammer, and you have broken a hard head".

[Illustration: MOFFAT PREACHING TO THE BOERS.]

His early missionary efforts were crowned with success. He visited
the renowned chief Afrikaner in Namaqualand. This man had given much
trouble to the Government, and £100 had been offered for his head. He
became, however, sincerely attached to Moffat, and after a time he
went to Cape Town with him. The authorities could hardly believe that
this notorious robber had become so altered; but right glad were they
at the change, and, when Afrikaner returned home, he took with him
numerous presents from the Government.

In December, 1819, Moffat was married to Mary Smith at St. George's
Church, Cape Town. She had been engaged to him before he left England,
and had given up home and parents to go out to Africa and become a
missionary's wife. No truer helper could Moffat have found, for
she loved the work, and experienced great happiness in her life,
notwithstanding all its toils and danger.

Shortly after, Mr. and Mrs. Moffat started for Bechuanaland. They went
through many privations, and suffered much from hunger and thirst; but
the Gospel was preached to the tribes. Moffat in those days was not
only teacher and preacher, but carpenter, smith, cooper, tailor,
shoemaker, miller, baker and gardener!

For some years Moffat laboured without seeing much result. One day he
said to his wife, "This is hard work, Mary". "It _is_ hard work." she
replied; "but you must remember the Gospel has never yet been preached
to them _in their own tongue_."

Moffat had hitherto taught the natives through an interpreter. He now
determined not only to master their language, but to get to know all
about their habits and customs, so as to be able to lay hold of them
more forcibly. He not only preached the Word in their native tongue,
but set up in type and printed the Gospel of St. Luke and some hymns.
Then he followed on with the other Gospels and also the Epistles, till
the entire of the New Testament was translated into their language.

It must not be thought that a missionary's only cares are those
connected with preaching. Far from it. To Mrs. Moffat, who tried to
teach the women to be cleanly in their habits, they would say, "Ra
Mary, your customs may be good enough for you, but we don't see that
they fill the stomach".

The difficulty of getting sufficient food to eat was very real. The
soil in the neighbourhood of the station was light and needed plenty
of water, but the stream which supplied them with the necessary
moisture for their vegetables was diverted from its channel by the
natives, so that the missionary's garden was nearly burnt up by the
hot sun.

On one occasion Mrs. Moffat asked a native woman to move out of her
kitchen, as she wanted to close it before she went to church. For
answer the woman hurled a log of wood at her; and she, fearful lest
her babe should be hurt, departed, leaving the savage woman in
possession of her home.

Whilst Mrs. Moffat had difficulties at home, her husband encountered
many dangers abroad. Once whilst going in search of game he came upon
a tiger, which seemed as if it were preparing to spring upon him. With
the greatest caution he retired slowly from the place, and was just
congratulating himself that he was out of danger when he trod on a
cobra. The reptile twisted itself about Moffat's leg, and was about
to bite him when he managed to level his gun at it and kill it. The
poison of this snake is so deadly that had he been bitten his death
would have almost instantly followed.

Though he was ready to lay down his life for their good, it was long
ere the natives understood how firm a friend he was. At a time of
great drought the native "rain-makers" declared that the bell of the
chapel frightened away the clouds. So a number of people came to the
missionary, and told him they were determined that he must go. But
Moffat was not to be awed by the threats of the warriors. He told them
that they might kill him, but he should certainly not be driven away.
Then the chief and his followers gave up the contest and retired, full
of wonder and admiration at his dauntless determination.

Once, whilst Moffat was away on a visit to a neighbouring tribe, his
wife was aroused in the night by the report that a hostile tribe had
invaded their territory and was close upon them. So Mrs. Moffat had to
prepare for flight, but ere she had finished her preparations the good
news came that the tribe had gone off in another direction. Yet even
then she was in fear for her husband's life. But three weeks later,
after enduring terrible anxiety, her husband returned in safety,
having managed to escape the enemy.

Gradually a great and wonderful change came over the people amongst
whom Robert and Mary Moffat lived. From utter disregard of teaching
they began to exhibit signs of spiritual life, and a number were
baptised and received into the Church.

[Illustration: Letter]

In 1871 Robert and Mary Moffat, after living in Africa for upwards of
half a century, returned home. From the letter to Mr. G. Unwin, which
is here reproduced in facsimile, it will be seen that Robert Moffat's
labours were not even then finished; for up to the last he took the
greatest interest in the missionary cause.

[Illustration: Reduced Facsimile letter from Moffat.]


His useful life came to an end in August, 1883, when he was in his
eighty-eighth year.




"THE LADY WITH THE LAMP."


THE STORY OF FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE.

  "Lo! in that house of misery
  A lady with a lamp I see
  Pass through the glimmering gloom,
  And flit from room to room."

LONGFELLOW.


"She would speak to one and another, and nod and smile to many
more, but she could not do it to all, you know, for we lay there by
hundreds; but we could kiss her shadow as it fell, and lay our heads
on our pillows again, content."

So wrote one of the soldiers from the hospital at Scutari of Florence
Nightingale, the soldier's nurse, and the soldier's friend.

Let us see how it happened that Florence Nightingale was able to do so
much for the British soldiers who fought in the Crimea, and why she
has left her mark on the history of our times.

Miss Nightingale was born in the city of Florence in the year 1820,
and it is from that beautiful Italian town that she derives her
Christian name.

Her father was a good and wealthy man, who took great interest in the
poor; and her mother was ever seeking to do them some kindness.

Thus Florence saw no little of cottage folk. She took them dainties
when they were ailing, and delighted to nurse them when ill.

She loved all dumb animals, and they seemed to know by instinct
that she was their friend. One day she came across her father's old
shepherd, looking as miserable as could be; and, on inquiring the
cause, found that a mischievous boy had thrown a stone at his
favourite dog, which had broken its leg, and he was afraid it would
have to be killed.

Going together to the shepherd's home they found the dog very excited
and angry; but, on Florence speaking to it in her gentle voice, it
came and lay down at her feet, and allowed her to examine the damaged
limb.

Happily, she discovered it was only bruised; and she attended to it so
skilfully that the dog was soon running about in the field again. A
few days later she met the shepherd,--he was simply beaming, for the
dog had recovered and was with him.

When Florence spoke to the man the dog wagged its tail as much as to
say, "I'm mighty glad to see _you_ again"; whereupon the shepherd
remarked: "Do look at the dog, miss, he be so pleased to hear your
voice".

The fact that even her dolls were properly bandaged when their limbs
became broken, or the sawdust began to run out of their bodies, will
show that even then she was a thoughtful, kindly little person.

When she grew up she wished very much to learn how to nurse the sick.

But in those days it was not considered at all a ladylike thing to do;
and, after trying one or two nursing institutions at home, she went
to Germany, and afterwards to Paris, in order to make a study of the
subject, and to get practical experience in cities abroad.

Miss Nightingale thus learnt nursing very thoroughly, and when she
came back to England turned her knowledge to account by taking charge
of an institution in London. By good management, tact and skill, the
institution became a great success; but she was too forgetful of self,
and after a time the hard work told upon her health, and she was
obliged to take a rest from her labours.

The time came when the Russian war broke out and Great Britain and
France sent their armies into the Crimea. Our men fought like heroes.
But it was found out ere many months had passed that those brave
fellows, who were laying down their lives for the sake of their
country, were being so badly nursed when they were sick and wounded
that more were being slain by neglect than by the guns of the enemy.

Then there arose a great cry in Britain; and every one demanded that
something should be done to remedy this state of things. But nobody
knew quite what to do or how to do it, except one woman,--and that
woman was Florence Nightingale.

Mr. Sidney Herbert, the War Minister, was one of the very few people
who knew anything about her great powers of organisation; and happily
he did know how thoroughly fit she was for the task of properly
directing the nursing of the sick soldiers.

So, on the 15th October, 1854, he asked her to go to the Crimea to
take entire charge of the nursing arrangements; and in less than a
week she started with about forty nurses for Scutari, the town where
the great hospital was situated.

All Britain was stirred with admiration at her heroism; for it was
well known how difficult was the task she was undertaking. But the
quiet gentle woman herself feared neither death, disease nor hard
work; the only thing she did not like was the fuss the people made
about her.

Scutari, whither she went, is situated on the eastern side of the
Bosphorus, opposite Constantinople. Thither the sick and wounded
soldiers were being brought by hundreds. It took four or five days to
get them from the field of battle to the hospital, their wounds during
that tame being generally unattended to. When they arrived at Scutari,
it was difficult to land them; after that there was a steep hill up
which they had to be carried to the hospital, so that by the time they
arrived they were generally in a sad condition. But their trials were
not over then. The hospital was dirty and dismal. There was no proper
provision for the supply of suitable food, everything was in dire
disorder, and the poor fellows died of fever in enormous numbers.

But "the lady with the lamp" soon brought about a revolution; and the
soldiers knew to their joy what it was to have proper nursing. No
wonder the men kissed her shadow! Wherever the worst cases were to be
found there was Florence Nightingale. Day and night she watched and
waited, worked and prayed. Her very presence was medicine and food and
light to the soldiers.

Gradually disorder disappeared, and deaths became fewer day by day.
Good nursing; care and cleanliness; nourishing food, and--perhaps
beyond and above all--love and tenderness, wrought wonders. The oath
in the soldier's mouth turned to a prayer at her appearance.

Though the beds extended over a space equal to four miles, yet each
man knew that all that human strength could do to forward his recovery
was being done.

Before her task was finished Miss Nightingale had taken the fever
herself, but her life was mercifully spared.

Since those days, Florence Nightingale has done many kindly and
noble deeds. She has always lived as much out of the public sight as
possible, though her work has rendered her dear to all hearts.

Though she has had much ill health herself, she has been able to
accomplish a splendid life's work, and to advance the study of nursing
in all parts of the globe.




FOR ENGLAND, HOME, AND DUTY.


THE DEATH OF NELSON.

It was the 21st October, 1805. The English fleet had been for many
days lying off the coast of Spain, eagerly waiting for the navies of
France and Spain to leave their shelter in Cadiz harbour. At length,
to his joy, Lord Nelson received the signal that they had put out to
sea; and he now prepared to attack the combined fleet (which consisted
of forty vessels) with his thirty-one ships. Yet, though the enemy
not only had more vessels, but they were larger than his own, Nelson
confidently expected victory, and told Captain Blackwood he would
not be satisfied unless he captured twenty ships. Having made all
arrangements, Nelson went down to his cabin and wrote this prayer:--

"May the great God whom I worship grant to my country, and for the
benefit of Europe in general, a great and glorious victory; and may no
misconduct in any one tarnish it, and may humanity after victory be
the predominant feature in the British fleet! For myself individually,
I commit my life to Him that made me, and may His blessing alight
on my endeavours for serving my country faithfully! To Him I resign
myself, and the just cause which is entrusted to me to defend. Amen.
Amen. Amen."

Before the battle began Nelson made the signal which stirred every
heart in the fleet on that day, and has since remained a watchword of
the nation:--

"England expects every man will do his duty".

It was received with an outburst of cheering.

Nelson wore, as usual, his admiral's frock-coat. On his breast
glittered four stars of the different orders which had been given him.
He was in good spirits, and eager for the fray.

His officers represented to him how desirable it was that he should
keep out of the battle as long as possible; and, knowing the truth of
this, he signalled to the other ships to go in front. Yet his desire
to be in the forefront of the attack was so great that he would not
take in any sail on The Victory, and thus rendered it impossible for
the other vessels to obey his orders.

At ten minutes to twelve the battle began; by four minutes past twelve
fifty men on board Nelson's ship _The Victory_ had been killed or
wounded, and many of her sails shot away.

The fire of the enemy was so heavy that Nelson, smiling, said, "This
is too warm work, Hardy, to last long". Up to that time not a shot had
been fired from _The Victory_; and Nelson declared that never in all
his battles had he seen anything which surpassed the cool courage of
his crew. Then, however, when they had come to close quarters with the
enemy, from both sides of _The Victory_ flashed forth the fire of the
guns, carrying swift destruction among the foe.

[Illustration: Nelson's Tomb in St. Paul's Cathedral.]

The French ship next which they were lying, _The Redoutable_, having
ceased firing her great guns, Nelson twice gave instructions to stop
firing into her, with the humane desire of avoiding unnecessary
slaughter. Strange to say, that from this ship at a quarter past one
was fired a shot which struck him in the left shoulder, and proved
fatal.

Within twenty minutes after the fatal shot had been fired from _The
Redoutable_ that ship was captured, the man who killed Nelson having
himself been shot by a midshipman on board _The Victory_.

When he had been taken down to the cockpit he insisted that the
surgeon should leave him and attend to others; "for," said he, "you
can do nothing for me".

At this time his sufferings were very great, but he was cheered by the
news which they brought him from time to time. At half-past two Hardy
could report "ten ships have struck". An hour later he came with the
news that fourteen or fifteen had struck. "That's well," cried Nelson,
"but I bargained for twenty."

A little later he said, "Kiss me, Hardy". Hardy knelt down, and Nelson
said, "Now I am satisfied. Thank God I have done my duty". After that
it became difficult for him to speak, but he several times repeated
the words, "Thank God I have done my duty". And these were the last
words he uttered before he died. At half-past four o'clock he expired.

Thus Nelson died in the hour of victory. He had won a battle which
once and for all broke the naval power of France and Spain, and
delivered Great Britain from all fear of attack by the great Napoleon.




A WOMAN WHO SUCCEEDED BY FAILURE.


THE STORY OF HARRIET NEWELL.

This is rather an exceptional chapter: for it tells of a very little
life judged by length of days, a very sad life judged by some of
its incidents, a very futile life considered by what it actually
accomplished,--but a very wonderful life regarded in the light of the
results which followed.

Harriet Attwood was born in Massachusetts, America, in the year 1793.

Even in her girlhood she looked forward to assisting in making the
Gospel known in distant lands. Long before any movement sprang up in
America for sending out female missionaries to the heathen, the day
dream of this little girl was to devote herself to the mission cause.

Not that she dreamed away her life in longing, and neglected her
every-day duties. She was remarkable for her intelligence and dutiful
conduct; and from the age of ten felt deep religious convictions, and
was constant in her daily prayers and Bible reading.

Her life was brightened by her belief, and she ever kept in view what
she believed to be her mission in life. "What can I do," she writes,
"that the light of the Gospel may shine upon the heathen? They are
perishing for lack of knowledge, while I enjoy the glorious privileges
of a Christian land."

The means of accomplishing her desire soon came. A young missionary,
named Newell, who was going out to India, asked her to become his
wife.

Her decision was not taken without earnest prayer; and had her parents
opposed her wishes she would have been prepared to give them up, but,
gaining their consent, she accepted Mr. Newell's offer. She was fully
aware that the difficulties in the way would be very great; for up to
that time no female missionary had gone from America to the mission
field.

At first her friends tried in every way to dissuade her from leaving
home, and, as they termed it, "throwing herself away on the heathen".

But her simplicity of belief and earnestness of purpose soon changed
their thoughts on the subject and when, early in the year 1812, Mr.
and Mrs. Newell sailed for Calcutta, many came together to wish them
God-speed on their perilous journey.

On his arrival in Calcutta Mr. Newell, in accordance with the
regulation of the East India Company at that time, reported himself at
the police office; and to his sorrow found that the Company would not
allow any missionaries to work in their dominions!

Here was a disappointing beginning for these earnest young people! At
first it seemed quite probable they would not even be allowed to land;
and though permission was after a time obtained, yet in six weeks they
were told they must go elsewhere, as they would not be permitted to
settle.

A few days later, however, the prospect brightened. "We have obtained
leave," writes Mrs. Newell, "to go to the Isle of France (Mauritius).
We hear that the English Governor there favours missions; that a large
field of usefulness is there opened--18,000 inhabitants ignorant of
Jesus. Is not this the station that Providence has designed for us? A
door is open wide. Shall we not enter and help the glorious work?"

But it was by her influence alone that she was permitted to engage
in the work her heart longed for. On the journey to Mauritius rapid
consumption set in, and day by day she became weaker.

Although she felt at first a natural disappointment that she would not
be allowed to labour in the mission field, she was able to look upward
in her hour of trial and to say: "Tell my friends I never regretted
leaving my native land for the cause of Christ. God has called me away
before we have entered on the work of the mission, but the case of
David affords me comfort. I have it in my heart to do what I can for
the heathen, and I hope God will accept me."

On the 30th November, 1812, at the early age of nineteen, Harriet
Newell passed away.

Might not many a one justly ask, was not her life a failure? And the
answer, based on the experience and results of what her life and death
accomplished, is No--emphatically No!

For her example produced a wave of religious life and missionary
enthusiasm in America, the like of which has hardly ever been known.

The very fact of this whole-hearted girl giving up her life for the
cause of Christ, and the pathos of her untimely end, did more to touch
the hearts of multitudes than perhaps the most apparently successful
accomplishment of her mission would have done.




A MARTYR OF THE SOUTH SEAS.


THE MORNING AND EVENING OF BISHOP PATTESON'S LIFE.

John Coleridge Patteson was born in April, 1827. He was blessed with
an upright and good father, and a loving and gentle mother; and thus
his early training was calculated to make him the earnest Christian
man he afterwards became.

Here is an extract from a letter written from school at the age of
nine, which shows that he had faults and failings to overcome just
like all other boys:--

"My dear papa, I am very sorry for having told so many falsehoods,
which Uncle Frank has told mama of. I am very sorry for having done so
many bad things--I mean falsehoods--and I heartily beg your pardon;
and Uncle Frank says that he thinks if I stay, in a month's time Mr.
Cornish will be able to trust me again.... He told me that if I ever
told another falsehood he should that instant march me into the school
and ask Mr. Cornish to strip and birch me ... but I will not catch the
birching."

And he did not. He was so frank, so ready to see his own faults, that
he was always a favourite. Uncle Frank remarked of him at this same
time: "He wins one's heart in a moment".

Perhaps one ought to call him a Queen's missionary, for her Majesty
saved him from a serious accident in a rather remarkable manner.

In 1838 when the Queen was driving in her carriage the crowd was so
dense that Patteson, then at school at Eton, became entangled in the
wheel of the carriage and would have been thrown underneath and run
over had it not been for the young Queen's quick perception. Seeing
the danger she gave her hand to the boy, who readily seized it, and
was thus able to get on his feet again and avoid the threatened peril.

He was a boy who, when he had done wrong, always blamed himself--not
any one else. Thus, when he was twelve, having spent a good deal of
his time one term at Eton enjoying cricket and boating, he found his
tutor was not at all satisfied with his progress. "I am ashamed to
say," he remarked in writing home, "that I can offer not the slightest
excuse: my conduct on this occasion has been very bad. I expect a
severe reproof from you, and pray do not send me any money. But from
this time I am determined I will not lose a moment."

In 1841 came the first indication of what his future career might be.

Bishop Selwyn of New Zealand was preaching, and the boy says of the
sermon: "It was beautiful when he talked of his going out to found a
church, and then to die neglected and forgotten".

How deep had been the influence on his mind of his mother's example
may be gathered from the letter he wrote at the time of her death in
1842, when he was fifteen years old: "It is a very dreadful loss for
us all, but we have been taught by that dear mother who has now been
taken from us that it is not fit to grieve for those who die in the
Lord, 'for they rest from their labours'.... She said once, 'I wonder
I wish to leave you, my dearest John, and the children and this sweet
place, but yet I do wish it'; so lovely was her faith."

In 1854 Bishop Selwyn returned to England. During the time that had
elapsed since his previous visit, Patteson had been ordained. The
bishop stayed with his father a few days, and during that time the
feelings which the boy of fourteen had experienced were revived in
the man of twenty-seven; and with his father's consent John Coleridge
Patteson entered upon his life work, sailing with Bishop Selwyn for
the South Seas in March, 1855.

There he laboured with such energy and success that in 1861 he was
consecrated bishop. Many thousands of miles were traversed by him in
the mission ship _The Southern Cross_, visiting the numerous islands
of the Pacific known as Polynesia or Melanesia.

Of the dangers that abounded he knew ample to try his courage. On
arriving at Erromanga (the scene of Williams' martyrdom) on one
occasion he found that Mr. Gordon, the missionary, and his wife had
recently both been treacherously slain by the natives. At another
island, as he returned to the boat, he saw one of the natives draw a
bow with the apparent intention of shooting him, and then unbend it at
the entreaty of his comrades. "But," remarks the bishop in recording
this, "we must try to effect more frequent landings."

And thus full of faith he laboured on, telling the people of these
scattered islands, which besprinkle the southern ocean like stars in
the milky way, of the love of Christ.

He was still ready to condemn himself just as he did in his early
days. From Norfolk Island, in 1870, he wrote to his sister when he was
holding an ordination: "At such times as these, when one is specially
engaged in solemn work, there is much heart searching; and I cannot
tell you how my conscience accuses me of such systematic selfishness
during many long years--I mean I see how I was all along making self
the centre, and neglecting all kinds of duties--social and others--in
consequence".

He was much grieved by the accounts which reached him of the terrible
war which was being fought between France and Germany in 1870. "What
can I say," he writes, "to my Melanesians about it? Do these nations
believe in the gospel of peace and goodwill? Is the sermon on the
mount a reality or not?"

Yet he had troubles closer at home than this even. The trading ships
were coming in numbers to the islands, and carrying off the natives
either by guile or by force to Fiji and other places where labourers
were wanted.

Notwithstanding the anxieties which beset him on this account, the
good bishop continued to work as hard as ever, and very happy he was
about his people.

On Christmas Eve, 1870, he writes: "Seven new communicants to-morrow
morning. And all things, God be praised, happy and peaceful about us."
He wrote of the large "family" of 145 Melanesian natives he had around
him; at another time he spoke of his sleeping on a table with some
twelve or more fellows about him; and people coming and going all day
long both in and out of school hours!

In August, 1871, he baptised 248 persons, twenty-five of them adults,
all in a little more than a month, and he rejoiced in the thought that
a blessed change was going on in the hearts of these people.

He had never experienced such cheering success before, and, though his
friends were endeavouring to persuade him to take rest and change for
his health's sake, he determined to labour on while there was so much
need for his exertion and such blessed results followed.

The desire to believe on the part of some of his people was very
touching. One of them said to him: "I don't know how to pray properly,
but I and my wife say, 'God make our hearts light--take away the
darkness. We believe that You love us because You sent Jesus to become
a man and die for us; but we can't understand it all. Make us fit to
be baptised.'"

Some, of course, were not so enlightened as that. After the kidnapping
traders had been harrying the islands, one of the chiefs said that, if
the bishop would only bring a man-of-war and get him vengeance on his
adversaries, he would be exalted like his Father above.

There was indeed serious cause for the anger of the natives. One of
them related how he had been out to a vessel with his companions,
and a white man had come down into the canoe and presently upset it,
seizing him by the belt. Happily this broke, and he swam under the
side of the canoe and finally got on shore, but the other three were
killed--their heads were cut off and taken on board, and their bodies
thrown to the sharks. The assailants were men-stealers, who killed
ruthlessly that they might present heads to the chiefs.

Five natives from the same island were also killed or carried off,
and thus when the bishop visited them they were in a state of sullen
wrath.

On the 20th of September, 1871, Bishop Patteson came to Nukapu. The
island is difficult of approach at low water, and the little ship,
_The Southern Cross_, could not get close in. So the bishop went off
to the shore in a boat and got into one of the canoes, leaving his
four pupils to await his return. They saw him land, and he was then
lost to sight.

About half an hour later the natives in the canoes, without the least
warning, began shooting their arrows at the poor fellows in the boat,
and ere it could be taken out of bowshot one of them was pierced with
six arrows, and two of the others were also wounded.

They were full of fears about the bishop, and, notwithstanding the
danger, determined to seek for him. They had no arms except one pistol
which the mate possessed.

As they made their way towards shore a canoe drifted out, and lying in
it, wrapped in a native mat, was the body of Bishop Patteson.

A sweet calm smile was on his face, a palm leaf was fastened upon his
breast, and upon the body were five wounds--the exact number of the
natives who had been kidnapped or killed.

So the good bishop died for the misdeeds of others. The natives but
followed their traditions in exacting blood for blood, and their poor
dark minds could not distinguish between the good and the bad white
men.

Two of those who were with the bishop in the boat, and had received
arrow wounds, died within a week, after much suffering.

One of them, Mr. Atkins, writing of the occurrence on the day of the
martyrdom, says:--

"It would be selfish to wish him back. He has gone to his rest, dying,
as he lived, in the Master's service. It seems a shocking way to
die; but I can say from experience it is far more to hear of than to
suffer. There is no sign of fear or pain on his face, just the look
that he used to have when asleep, patient and a little wearied. What
his mission will do without him, God only knows who has taken him
away."

Three days after, in celebrating the Holy Communion, Mr. Atkins
stumbled in his speech, and then he and his companions knew the poison
in his system was working. "Stephen and I," he said, "are going to
follow the bishop. Don't grieve about it ... It is very good because
God would have it so, because He only looks after us, and He
understands about us, and now He wills to take us too and _it is
well_."




"K.G. AND COSTER."


SOME ANECDOTES ABOUT LORD SHAFTESBURY.

"And where shall we write to?" asked one of the costermongers.

"Address your letter to me at Grosvenor Square," replied Lord
Shaftesbury, "and it will probably reach me; but, if after my name you
put 'K.G. and Coster,' there will be no doubt that I shall get it!"

This conversation took place at the conclusion of a meeting which
had been held by the costermongers. They had met to talk about their
grievances, and Lord Shaftesbury had attended the gathering and
promised to help them, telling them to write to him if they required
further assistance.

The noble Knight of the Garter was not only interested in the
costermongers themselves, but in their animals too.

At one time the costers had used their donkeys and ponies shamefully,
had overworked and underfed them; but gradually they were made to see
how much better it was to treat their animals well. With a good Sunday
rest and proper treatment, the donkeys would go thirty miles a day
comfortably; without it, they could not do more than half.

So, as Lord Shaftesbury had been kind to the costers and taken such
interest in their pursuits, they invited him to a special meeting, at
which they presented him with a splendid donkey.

Over a thousand costers with their friends were there, when the
donkey, profusely decorated with ribbons, was led to the platform.
Lord Shaftesbury vacated the chair and made way for the new arrival;
and then, putting his arm round the animal's neck, returned thanks in
a short speech in which he said:--

"When I have passed away from this life I desire to have no more said
of me than that I have done my duty, as the poor donkey has done
his--with patience and unmurmuring resignation".

The donkey was then led down the steps of the platform, and Lord
Shaftesbury remarked, "I hope the reporters of the press will state
that, the donkey having vacated the chair, the place was taken by Lord
Shaftesbury".

Let us turn for a moment to the beginning of his life, and see how it
was that Lord Shaftesbury was induced to devote himself so heartily to
the good of the poor and oppressed.

Maria Mills, his old nurse, had not a little to do with this. She was
one of those simple-minded humble Christians who, all unknowingly,
plant in many minds the good seed which grows up and brings forth much
fruit.

[Illustration: Lord Shaftesbury inspecting the Costers' Donkeys.]

She was very fond of the little boy, and would tell him the "sweet
story of old" in so attractive a manner that a deep impression was
made upon his heart. The prayers she taught him in childhood he not
only used in his youth, but even in old age the words were often upon
his lips.

When he was a schoolboy at Harrow came the turning point in his life.

He saw four or five drunken men carrying a coffin containing the
remains of a companion; and such was their state of intoxication that
they dropped it, and then broke out into foul language.

The effect this had upon the youth was so great that he resolved to
devote his life to helping the poor and friendless.

There was plenty of work for him to do. Children in factories and
mines required to be protected from the cruelties to which they were
subjected; chimney sweeps needed to be guarded from the dangers
to which they were exposed; the hours of labour in factories were
excessive; thieves required to be shown a way of escape from their
wretched life; ragged schools and other institutions needed support.

These and numerous other matters kept Lord Shaftesbury hard at
work during the entire of his long life, and by his help many wise
alterations were made in the laws of the country.

"Do what is right and trust to Providence for the rest," was his
motto; and he stuck to it always.

Lord Shaftesbury brought before Parliament a scheme for assisting
young thieves to emigrate; and the grown-up burglars and vagabonds,
seeing how much in earnest he was, invited him to a meeting. To this
he went without a moment's hesitation.

The door was guarded by a detachment of thieves, who watched to see
that none but those of their class went in.

Lord Shaftesbury was in the chair, and the meeting commenced with
prayer. There were present over two hundred burglars and criminals of
the worst kind, besides a great number of other bad characters.

First of all the chairman gave an address; then some of the thieves
followed, telling quite plainly and simply how they spent their lives.

When Lord Shaftesbury urged them to give up their old lives of sin one
of them said, "We must steal or we shall die".

The city missionary, who was present, urged them to pray, as God could
help them.

"But," said one of the men, "my Lord and gentlemen of the jury (!),
prayer is very good, but it won't fill an empty stomach."

It was, indeed, a difficult problem how best to aid the poor fellows;
but Lord Shaftesbury solved it. As a result of the conference three
hundred thieves went abroad to Canada to begin life anew, or were put
into the way of earning an honest living.

One of the subjects which occupied a great deal of Lord Shaftesbury's
attention was the condition of the young in coal mines and factories.

At that date children began to work in mines at the age of four or
five, and large numbers of girls and boys were labouring in the pits
by the time they were eight. For twelve or fourteen hours a day these
poor little toilers had to sit in the mines, opening and shutting trap
doors as the coal was pushed along in barrows. All alone, with no one
to speak to, sitting in a damp, stifling atmosphere, the poor children
had to stay day after day; and if they went to sleep they got well
beaten. Rats and mice were their only companions, and Sunday was the
only day on which they were gladdened by the daylight.

It was a shocking state of existence, nor did it grow better as the
children got older.

Then they had to drag heavy loads along the floors of the mine. When
the passages were narrow the boys and girls had a girdle fastened
round their waists, a chain was fixed to this, and passed between
their legs and hooked to the carriage. Then, crawling on hands and
knees through the filth and mire, they pulled these trucks as cattle
would drag them, whilst their backs were bruised and wounded by
knocking against the low roof.

Girls and women were made to carry heavy weights of coal. Children
stood ankle deep in water, pumping hour after hour, and their work was
sometimes prolonged for thirty-six hours continuously; so that it
was no wonder the children died early, that they suffered much from
disease, and led cheerless, wretched lives.

Against such cruelties Lord Shaftesbury was constantly warring; and
his warfare was not in vain.

Quite as badly off were the little chimney sweeps. Boys were
kidnapped, and sold to cruel masters, who forced them to climb high
chimneys filled with soot and smoke. If they refused, a fire was
perhaps lighted below, and they would thus be forced to ascend. The
consequence was that many terrible accidents happened, resulting in
the deaths of these poor little fellows, whilst numbers died early
from disease.

Lord Shaftesbury roused the country to a sense of the wrong that was
being done to the chimney sweeps, and Bills were passed in Parliament
for their protection.

Not only children, but men and women also, needed to be defended from
wrong and overwork.

Lord Shaftesbury visited the factories to see how the labourers were
actually treated; and this is one of the things that came under his
notice.

A young woman whilst working in a mill at Stockport was caught by the
machinery and badly injured. When the accident happened she had not
completed her week's work, so eighteenpence was deducted from her
wages!

Horrified at such treatment Lord Shaftesbury brought an action against
the owners of the factory, and obtained £100 for the woman.

For shorter hours and better treatment of factory hands the earl
struggled in and out of Parliament; and, though the battle was long
and fierce, it ended in victory.

Such labour took up much time, and brought many expenses to the good
earl. It brought him, too, plenty of enemies; for most of his life was
devoted to striving to make the rich and selfish do justice to the
poor and downcast.

He not only gave his time, but his money too; and oftentimes, though
the eldest son of an earl, and later an earl himself, he hardly knew
where to turn for the means to keep his schemes going.

One day a lady called on him, and, telling a piteous tale of a Polish
refugee, asked him for help. Lord Shaftesbury had to confess he had no
money he could give; then he suddenly remembered he had five pounds in
the library: he fetched the bank note, which formed his nest egg, and
presented it to her.

One of Lord Shaftesbury's greatest works was the promotion of ragged
schools.

To these schools, established in the poorest neighbourhoods of the
metropolis, came the street arabs, the poor and abandoned, and
received kindness and teaching, which comforted and civilised them.
The outcasts who slept in doorways, under arches, and in all kinds of
horrible and unhealthy places, were the objects of this good man's
care; and ways were found of benefiting and starting afresh hundreds
of lads who would otherwise have become thieves or vagabonds in the
great city.

When he was over eighty years old he was still striving for the good
of others. So much was his heart in the work that he remarked on one
occasion: "When I feel age creeping on me, and know I must soon die--I
hope it is not wrong to say it--but I cannot bear to leave the world
with all the misery in it".

The dawn came for him in October, 1885, when in his eighty-fifth year
this veteran leader was called to his rest.

For convenience I have spoken of him throughout as Lord Shaftesbury;
but it may be well to mention that till he was fifty years old he was
known as Lord Ashley. Through the death of his father he became Earl
of Shaftesbury in 1851.




A STATESMAN WHO HAD NO ENEMIES.


THE STORY OF W.H. SMITH.

It is always well to remember that the man who serves his country as
a good citizen, as a soldier, as a statesman, or in any other walk
of life, deserves our admiration as much as the missionary or the
minister of the Gospel--each and all such are servants of the great
King.

By far the greater portion of our lives is spent at the desk or the
counter, in the office, shop, or field; so that it is of the first
importance we should keep the strictest watch on our actions in our
work as well as in our leisure moments.

One of the most successful men in commerce and politics of the century
was Mr. W.H. Smith. Strange to say, the desires of his early days were
entirely opposed to business life. At the age of sixteen he greatly
desired to proceed to one of the universities, and prepare for
becoming a clergyman, but his parents being opposed to such a step he
gave up the idea in deference to their wishes.

It was a great disappointment to him to do this--yet he was able to
write, "It is my duty to acknowledge an overruling and directing
Providence in all the very minutest things, by being in whatever state
I am therewith content. My conclusion is, then, that I am at present
pursuing the path of duty, however imperfectly; wherever it may lead,
or what it may become, I know not."

Thus did William Henry Smith see the door of the Church closed upon
him with no vain regrets, but in a spirit of submission to his
father's wishes. Writing of these days many years later, when as
a Minister of the Crown he was in attendance upon her Majesty at
Balmoral, he says: "I thought my life was aimless, purposeless, and I
wanted something else to do; but events compelled me to what promised
to be a dull life and a useless one: the result is that few men have
had more interesting work to do".

In his earlier years W.H. Smith made a list of subjects for daily
prayer, embracing repentance, faith, love, grace to help, gratitude,
power to pray, constant direction in all things, a right understanding
of the Bible, deliverance from besetting sin, constancy in God's
service, relatives and friends, missionaries, pardon for all ignorance
and sin in prayer, etc., etc.; and it was one of the characteristics
of his nature that he felt prayer both in youth and age to be _a
necessity_.

It was a busy life in which Smith was launched at the commencement of
his career.

His father had already laid the foundation of the newsagency business
which is now of world-wide fame. Every week-day morning, summer and
winter, throughout the year, sunshine or rain, fog or snow, father
and son left their home for the business house in the Strand, at four
o'clock. Sometimes, indeed, the younger man was at his post as early
as three o'clock in the morning; and from the time he arrived at the
place of business there was constant work to be done. It was difficult
and anxious work too, and the constant strain told upon the young
man's health.

The collection and distribution of newspapers, which formed then the
chief part of the business of W.H. Smith & Son, was one that needed
the closest attention and the most untiring energy.

"First on the road" was old Mr. Smith's motto; and he carried it out.

Smith's carts were in attendance at all the great newspaper offices,
ready to carry off printed sheets to the Strand house for sorting and
packing; and thence they sped swiftly through the streets in the early
morning to catch the first trains for the country. Occasionally _The
Times_, which was the last printed journal, did not arrive at the
station till the final moment. The whistle would have sounded, the
doors would have all been locked, the guard would have given his
warning signal, when in would come at hurricane speed Smith's cart
bearing its load of "Thunderers". Ready hands would seize the papers,
and the last packet would perchance be thrown in as the train was
already steaming out of the station.

A great deal of the forwarding of newspapers was in those days done by
coaches. To catch these with the later papers, Smith had light carts
with fast horses. If the coaches had started, Smith's carts would
pursue for many miles, till they caught up the coaches at one of their
stopping places.

At the death of William IV. Smith made gigantic efforts to distribute
the papers early, and he got them into the country many hours before
the ordinary mails would have taken them. He even hired a special ship
to carry over the papers to Ireland, so that they reached Belfast on
the same day. By such means the fame of Smith grew rapidly, and the
business vastly increased. When Mr. W.H. Smith became a partner in
1846, at the age of twenty-one, it was valued at over £80,000.

But wear and tear and the anxieties of business life had made old Mr.
Smith often quick-tempered, and difficult to please; and the coming of
Mr. "W.H." into the business was hailed with pleasure by the workmen:
he was so full of tact and sympathy; and sometimes, when his father
had raised a storm of ill-feeling by some hasty expressions, he was
able to bring peace and calm by his pleasant and genial manner.

Yet he was every inch a man of business, and even more clear-headed
and far-seeing than the senior partner, his father.

It was he who commenced the railway bookstall business.

Every one knows the familiar look of Smith's bookstalls, with their
energetic clerks, and their armies of pushing newsboys, and perchance
think they were born with the railways and have grown up with them.

But such is not the case. It was not till about 1850 that Mr.
W.H. Smith secured the entire bookstall rights on the London and
North-Western Railway, much against his father's advice. The vast
improvement in the selection of books and the service of papers,
however, induced other companies to desire to have a similar
arrangement, till the chief portion of all the English railways came
to be girdled by Smith's bookstalls.

From this date the business advanced with giant strides. Managers and
clerks had to be engaged, the latter in large numbers. Here the genius
of Smith as a judge of character was abundantly shown. He came to a
determination almost at a glance, and seldom erred in his judgment.

In 1868 he was returned to Parliament, and in 1874 Mr. Disraeli
selected him for a place in his Ministry. A year later he was made
First Lord of the Admiralty. How serviceable he had been in the former
post may be judged by the remark made by Sir Stafford Northcote when
he lost Smith's assistance on his promotion to the higher position: "I
am troubled to know what to do without my right hand. I don't think he
made a slip in the whole three years."

Writing to his wife when he was appointed First Lord of the Admiralty,
Mr. Smith says: "My patent has come to-day, and I have taken my
seat at the Board, who address me as 'Sir' in every sentence. It is
strange, and makes me shy at first; and I have to do what I hardly
like--to send for them, not to go to them; but I am told they expect
me, as their chief, to require respect."

He often wrote to his wife whilst the debates were going on in the
House of Commons. "Here I am, sitting listening to Arthur Balfour, who
is answering Mr. J. Morley," he writes; "and I have ears for him and
thoughts for my dear ones at home."

"Remember me in your prayers" is a request he often makes to his wife
and children. In 1886 the Rt. Hon. W. H. Smith became leader of the
House of Commons, and had thus reached one of the highest positions
any Englishman can occupy. "Old Morality" was the nickname by which he
was known; and this term is one of great honour. No man ever gained
higher respect from all parties, and no man was ever more fully
trusted by the people at large. Thus though Mr. Smith never entered
the Church, and perchance missed a bishopric, yet he was a good
citizen of the world and a humble Christian, devoting his best
energies to the service of his Queen and country.




"GREATER THAN AN ARCHBISHOP."


ANECDOTES ABOUT THE REV. CHARLES SIMEON.

"As to Simeon," wrote Macaulay, "if you knew what his authority and
influence were, and how they extended from Cambridge to the most
remote corners of England, you would allow that his real sway over the
Church was far greater than that of any primate."

There is little recorded of Simeon's early life to indicate the
character of the future leader of men; for, to "jump over half a
dozen chairs in succession, and snuff a candle with his feet," is an
ordinary schoolboy accomplishment. Yet there is one incident which
shows he could be in earnest in religious matters, even at that date.

Whilst he was at Eton, in 1776, a national fast-day was appointed on
account of the war with America, which was then in progress. Simeon,
feeling that, if any one had displeased God more than others, it was
certainly he, spent the day in prayer and fasting. So great was
the ridicule, however, which followed, that he gave up his serious
thoughts for the time, though it is related that he kept an alms-box,
into which he put money whenever his conscience accused him of
wrong-doing.

It was rather a favourite habit of his to punish himself by fines for
bad behaviour. Later on in life, when he found it difficult to rise
early in the morning, he resolved to give the servant half a crown
every time he played the part of the sluggard. One morning he found
himself reasoning in his own mind, whilst enjoying a warm, comfortable
bed, that, after all, half-crowns were very acceptable to the poor
woman who received them. But he made up his mind to put an end, once
and for all, to such suggestions from the tempter; and resolved
accordingly that, if he got up late again, he would throw a guinea
into the Cam. He did it too. The next time he rose late he walked down
to the river, and threw a hard-earned guinea into the water. It was
worth while, nevertheless; for he never had to punish himself again
for the same fault.

The turning point in his life came soon after his arrival at
Cambridge.

The provost sent him a message to say that he would be required to
partake of the Holy Communion at mid-term, then about three weeks
distant.

The thought of so solemn an occasion weighed heavily on his mind. He
at once set about reading devotional manuals, and sorrowed earnestly
for his past sins. So heavy, indeed, lay the burden of sin upon him
that he envied the very dogs, wishing that he could change places with
them.

For three months this state of feeling continued. But in Passion Week
the thought came to him that God had provided an Offering for him, on
whose head he could lay his sins, just as the Jewish high priest laid
the sins of the people on the head of the scapegoat. He saw dimly at
first that his sins could be, and were intended to be, transferred to
Christ; and he determined to lay them upon the Saviour, and be rid of
them.

On Wednesday hope dawned in his heart; on Thursday it increased; on
Friday and Saturday it grew and developed; and on Easter Day, 1778, he
awoke with the words on his lips:--

"Jesus Christ is risen to-day, Hallelujah!" and, better still, written
once and for ever in his heart.

In his twentieth year he had experienced that deep conviction known as
conversion.

Like every true convert, Simeon, having found the way himself, now
endeavoured to help others to realise the same blessed hope.

His intimate friends were told of the new joy that had come to him: he
instructed the women who worked at the colleges, and when he went home
induced his relatives to commence family prayers.

Though the light had dawned upon him he was nevertheless full
of faults. He dressed showily, went to races, spent his Sundays
carelessly.

But gradually these habits were overcome, and he grew in holiness,
becoming watchful of his conduct, praying more fervently, living
nearer to Christ.

In 1782 Simeon was ordained deacon in Ely Cathedral, and shortly after
became honorary curate to Mr. Atkinson, vicar of St. Edward's Church,
near King's College. He was already a marked man on account of
his earnest life. He visited the parishioners as Mr. Atkinson's
substitute, and was soon received with pleasure by them.

The church became so full that the people could hardly find room. It
is related that even the clerk's desk was invaded, and that when Mr.
Atkinson returned after a holiday the clerk met him with the following
strange welcome:--

"Oh, sir, I am so glad you are come: Now we shall have some room!"

On the very first Sunday he took duty he showed the metal of which he
was made; for, in going home after service, he heard voices high
in dispute in one of the houses he passed. Straightway he went in,
reproved the couple who were at strife, and knelt down to pray. Peace
was restored, and Simeon's character for earnestness was confirmed.

Now came an eventful period in this good man's life. The minister of
Trinity Church, Cambridge, having died, Simeon was appointed by the
bishop.

The parishioners, however, desired to have as minister the curate;
and, as it was impossible to gratify their wish, they made matters as
unpleasant as possible for Simeon.

The pew doors were nearly all kept locked, so that the space left for
the congregation was much reduced.

On the first Sunday there was practically no congregation; but later
on people could not resist his influence, and the church began to
fill. To provide places for those who came, Simeon had seats placed in
various parts of the building. The churchwardens, however, threw them
out into the church-yard!

It was an uncomfortable beginning; but Simeon persevered. He began
a course of Sunday evening lectures, to which the people flocked in
crowds; but the churchwardens locked the church doors and carried off
the keys.

Besides beings rude and unmannerly, that was distinctly illegal; but
Simeon put up with the affront for the sake of peace.

When necessary he could be firm. The young men threw stones at the
church windows and broke them. On one occasion Simeon discovered the
offender, and obliged him to read a public confession of his fault.

The church was crowded. The young man read the paper which Simeon had
prepared for him, but did so in a voice low and partially inaudible.
Then Simeon himself, taking the paper from him, read the apology in
such tones that none could fail to hear.

The young men were impressed, and the congregation listened to the
sermon that followed with more than usual attention.

He was of all men the most humble; yet this did not prevent his
speaking honestly and openly when he considered by so doing he could
be of service. Thus a friend once asked him, after having preached a
showy sermon with which he himself was remarkably satisfied, "How did
I speak this evening?"

"Why, my dear brother," said Simeon, "I am sure you will pardon me;
you know it is all love, my brother--but, indeed, it was just as if
you were knocking on a warming-pan--tin, tin, tin, tin, without any
intermission!"

Once a party of undergraduates laid an ambush for Simeon, intending to
assault him. He, however, by accident happened to go home that night
another way.

Not only had he to put up with active but also with much passive
opposition. But he went on in faith and charity, till his enemies
became his friends--his friends, his ardent and reverent admirers.

We must pass over without further comment a life of humility, love,
and holiness--a life full of good works at home, and ardently
interested in missions abroad.

In 1831, when Simeon was seventy-two years old, he preached his last
sermon before the university. The place was crowded. The heads
of houses, the doctors, the masters of art, the bachelors, the
undergraduates, the townsmen, all crowded to hear the venerable
preacher. They hung on his words and listened with the deepest
reverence.

His closing days were singularly bright and happy. Three weeks before
his death a friend, seeing him look more than usually calm and
peaceful, asked him what he was thinking of.

"I don't think now," he answered brightly; "I enjoy."

At another time his friends, believing the end was at hand, gathered
round him.

"You want to see," he remarked, "what is called a dying scene. That I
abhor.... I wish to be alone with my God, the lowest of the low."

One evening those watching beside him thought he was unconscious, his
eyes having been closed for some hours. But suddenly he remarked:--

"If you want to know what I am doing, go and look in the first chapter
of Ephesians from the third to the fourteenth verse; there you will
see what I am enjoying now."

On Sunday, 13th November, just as the bells of St. Mary's were calling
together the worshippers to service he passed away. He had accepted
an invitation to preach a course of four sermons, and would have
delivered the second of the course on that very afternoon. I am
permitted, by the kindness of the Rev. H.C.G. Moule, from whose
delightful biography the foregoing sketch has been compiled, to
reproduce a page from this address.

"Who would ever have thought I should behold such a day as this?"
wrote Simeon. "My parish sweetly harmonious, my whole works
stereotyping in twenty-one volumes, and my ministry not altogether
inefficient at the age of seventy-three.... But I love the valley of
humiliation."

In that last sentence, perhaps, lies the secret of the man's
far-reaching and undying influence.




A SOLDIER MISSIONARY.


THE STORY OF HEDLEY VICARS.

It was the 22nd March, 1855, just outside Sebastopol. The night was
dark and gusty. Close to the Russian entrenchments was an advanced
post of the British forces, commanded by Captain Hedley Vicars.
Fifteen thousand Russians under cover of the gloom had come out
from Sebastopol and driven our French allies out of their advanced
trenches. Then a portion of this force stealthily advanced, seeking to
take the British by surprise.

The first to discover the presence of the enemy was Hedley Vicars.
With great judgment he made his men lie down till the Russians were
within twenty paces. Then, springing to his feet, he shouted:--

"Now, 97th, on your pins and charge!"

His force was about 200, that of the enemy nearly 2000! Wounded in the
breast at the first onset, he still led the charge. "Men of the 97th,
follow me!" rang out his voice above the din of battle, and leaping
the parapet of the entrenchment he charged the enemy down the ravine.
"This way, 97th!" was his last command--still at the head of his
men. His sword had already dealt with two of the foe, and was again
uplifted, when a musket shot, fired at close quarters, severed an
artery; and the work on earth of this gallant man was over.

Hedley Vicars was a true soldier and earnest Christian. The last words
he wrote, penned the night before he died, were: "I spent the evening
with Cay. I read Isaiah, xli.; and he prayed. We walked together
during the day, and exchanged our thoughts about Jesus."

He spent a busy time in the Crimea, doing plenty of hard work in the
trenches; and when off duty engaged in hospital visiting, tract and
book distributing, attending prayer meetings and mission services,
constant in his Bible reading, and always endeavouring to do good to
others.

Here is an entry from his diary on the 4th March, 1855: "Sunday. Had
Divine service in camp. We afterwards met together in a tent. All
present. Then sat on a regimental board, after which I went to the
Guards' camp for Cay; and we then went, laden with tracts, books and
prayers, to the remaining hospitals of the Second Division, where we
distributed all we had. Had service in our hospital tent on my return,
and prayed with one of the sick, particularly, who asked me to do
so... I spoke to him of and directed him to 'look to Jesus' the
Saviour. Service in the tent again in the evening. ... Oh, what a
happy day this has been!... I must now conclude, as I must get ready
for the trenches."

[Illustration: HEDLEY VICARS LEADING THE 97TH.]

On 12th January he wrote: "I have just returned from a night in the
trenches, having come off the sick list yesterday morning. Last Sunday
I was unable to leave my tent, but I had happy communion with Jesus
in my solitude, and derived much pleasure from the fourteenth and
fifteenth of St. John. How true is the peace of mind that cleaving to
Christ brings to a man! There is nothing like it in this world."

Such was Hedley Vicars--a bright, loving, faithful Christian. He knew
what it was to be without peace; for having got into debt when he was
first in the army, and knowing the distress it caused his family at
home, his mind was so troubled that he wrote to his mother: "Oh, what
agony I have endured! What sleepless nights I have passed since the
perusal of that letter! The review of my past life, especially the
retrospect of the last two years, has at last quite startled me, and
at the same time disgusted me." And again: "Oh, that I had the last
two years allotted to me to live over again!"

His mother's letters stirred him to sorrow for past faults and desires
to live a new life. The sudden death of his fellow-officer, Lieut.
Bindon, made him realise the uncertainty of earthly things.

In November, 1851, whilst at Halifax, Nova Scotia, he was awaiting the
return of a brother-officer to his room, and idly turning over the
leaves of a Bible that was upon the table. He caught sight of the
words, "The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin".
The message went home. That night he hardly slept. With the morning
came LIGHT AND LIFE. Like Christian in the _Pilgrim's Progress_ he
looked to the cross, and his burden rolled away.

Feeling keenly his own weakness he bought a large Bible, and placed it
open on the table in his sitting-room, determined that an open Bible
in the future should be his colours. "It was to speak for me," he
said, "before I was strong enough to speak for myself." The usual
result followed. His friends did not like his "new colours". One
accused him of "turning Methodist," and departed; another warned him
not to become a hypocrite, and remarked, "Bad as you were, I never
thought you would come to this, old fellow!" So for a time he was
nearly deserted.

But he had got that which was better than any ordinary friendships.
Though he often came under the fire of jeers and taunts--more trying
to most men than the rifle bullets of the enemy--he experienced a new
joy which increased and deepened.

Later on he would spend four or five hours daily in Bible reading,
meditation and prayer, so that whereas he had written a few months
earlier: "Oh! dear mother, I wish I felt more what I write!" he
was now daily becoming more earnest, patient and watchful, and was
gradually putting on the whole armour of God.

And so, during those three short years that intervened between his
call to grace and his death at the early age of thirty, he did the
work of a lifetime; and of him it can be truly said (as of many
another alluded to in this book) that "he being dead yet speaketh".




THE LASS THAT LOVED THE SAILORS.


THE STORY OF AGNES WESTON.

"I was obliged to go to church, but I was determined not to listen,
and oftentimes when the preacher gave out the text I have stopped my
ears and shut my eyes that I might neither see nor hear."

Thus writes Agnes Weston of the days of her girlhood. There was
therefore a time in the life of this devoted woman when there seemed
no prospect of her doing good to any one--to say nothing of the great
work she has accomplished in giving a helping hand to our sailors in
every part of the world.

However, she got out of this Slough of Despond, and having become
convinced of God's love she told the good story to the sick in
hospitals, to soldiers and sailors without number, and has done more
for the good of Jack Tar afloat and ashore than perhaps any other man
or woman.

Her public work commenced at the Bath United Hospital, where in 1868
she visited the patients. These looked forward so eagerly to her
helpful conversation that in course of time it was arranged she should
give a short Gospel address in each of the men's wards once a week.

One day a man who had met with a terrible accident was brought into
the hospital whilst she was there. His case was hopeless, and Miss
Weston asked that she might be allowed to speak to him. She whispered
to him the text, "God so loved the world"; and, though he gave no sign
of taking it in, yet presently, when she repeated it, big tears rolled
down his face. The word of comfort had reached him.

Another day she came across a poor fellow with both legs broken; and
after a little earnest talk he said, "I've been a bad fellow, but I'll
trust Him".

Others she found who had been already influenced by Miss Marsh; and so
her task of teaching was made easier.

At the Sunday school she showed so great a genius for taming unruly
boys that the curate handed over to her the very worst of the youths,
that she might "lick them into shape".

Ere long the boys' class developed into a class for working men, which
grew and grew till it reached an average attendance of a hundred.

After that followed temperance work. This is how Miss Weston came to
sign the pledge.

She was working hard at meetings for the promotion of the temperance
cause when a desperate drunkard, a chimney sweep by trade, came to her
at one of the meetings and was going to sign the pledge.

Pausing suddenly he remarked, "If you please, Miss Weston, be you a
teetotaler?"

"No," she replied; "I only take a glass of wine occasionally, of
course in strict moderation." Laying down the pen he remarked he
thought he'd do the same. So after this Miss Weston became an
out-and-out teetotaler, duly pledged.

She had some experience of good work in the army before she took to
the navy. The 2nd Somerset Militia assembled every year for drill;
and for their benefit coffee and reading rooms were started and
entertainments arranged, Miss Weston taking an active part in their
promotion. The soldiers' Bible class which she conducted was well
attended; and altogether, as one of the officers remarked, "the men
were not like the same fellows" after they had been brought under her
influence.

The way Agnes Weston was first introduced to the sailors was singular.
She had written to a soldier on board the troopship _Crocodile_, and
he showed the letter to a sailor friend, who remarked: "That is good:
we poor fellows have no friend. Do you think she would write to me?"

"I am sure she will," replied the soldier; "I will write and ask her."

The good news that there was a kind friend willing to write to them
gradually spread; and sailor after sailor wrote to Miss Weston, and
their correspondence grew so large that at length she had to print her
letters.

Even in the first year she printed 500 copies a month of her letters
("little bluebacks" the sailors called them, on account of the colour
of their cover); but before many years had passed as many as 21,000 a
month were printed and circulated.

Then the sailor boys wanted a letter all to themselves, saying they
could not fully understand the men's bluebacks. Miss Weston could not
refuse; so she printed them a letter too; and many a reply she had
from the boys, telling her of their trials and difficulties, and the
help her letters had been to them.

Before Miss Weston had been long at work she thought it would be
useful if she went on board the vessels, and had a chat about
temperance with the men.

But there was a good deal of difficulty in the way to begin with. A
man would have been allowed readily enough, but a _woman_ to invade
her Majesty's ships,--it was not to be thought of!

At length Admiral Sir King Hall became interested in the subject. He
determined to hear what Miss Weston had to say to the men, and, if he
was satisfied that her teaching would benefit them, to assist her in
her object. He got together a meeting of dockyard workmen, and asked
her to speak to them.

So pleased was he with her address that the word went abroad to all
the ships in the harbour: "Don't be afraid to let Miss Weston come on
board and speak to your ship's company. I'll stand security for her."

She had some grand audiences on the ships, those she addressed
sometimes numbering as many as 500.

One day when she went out to the _Vanguard_ that vessel was getting up
steam ready to go away, having received sudden orders to put out to
sea. But, when the captain heard Miss Weston was there to keep an
appointment, he put out the accommodation ladder, took her on board,
had the notice piped that she had come to give an address; and soon
a crowd of sailors was swarming round her in the upper deck battery,
standing, sitting, lying, kneeling--all earnestly listening.

Then the pledge book was brought out and placed on one of the big
guns, and about forty signed.

On H.M.S. _Topaze_ the grog tub was used as a table for signing the
pledge book, one sailor remarking (to the tub): "Sixty odd nails in
your coffin to-day, old fellow! If they all hold firm I would not give
much for your life."

At the present day on board every ship in the service there is a
branch of the Royal Navy Temperance Society, and thus our sailors are
being encouraged to become sober as well as gallant men.

Having seen to Jack's welfare afloat, the next thing was to look after
him on shore; for though the song says:--

  If love's the best of all that can a man befall;
  Then Jack's the king of all--for they all love Jack;

yet as a matter of fact there are always sharks on the look-out to
cheat and rob Jack whenever he has money in his pocket.

Miss Weston took counsel with some officers in the service, and
engaged a room for meetings at Devonport. The first Sunday one boy
alone came, and next Sunday not a solitary lad made his appearance; so
Miss Wintz, in whose house she was staying, offered a kitchen as more
homely, and tea and cake as an attraction. Soon the audience reached
a dozen; then all the chairs were filled, and very soon the meetings
became so large that the kitchen would not contain all who came; and
then a bigger building was provided.

Of course money was needed to enable Miss Weston to develop her scheme
to such an extent. But she just asked in the right way; and before
long, from one source and another, a sum of nearly £6000 was
subscribed, which bought and fitted up a Sailors' Institute and Rest.

Great was the rejoicing of Jack ashore to have a place where he could
thoroughly enjoy himself without fear of being plundered or getting
drunk. In fact, so great was the enthusiasm that, the night before the
house was to be opened, three sailors presented themselves, and said
they had asked for special leave to be ashore that night, that they
might be the first to sleep in the building.

It turned out that they were the right sort of jacks; for, when the
attendant went round to see if all was safe for the night, he found
the three seated together, one of them reading aloud the Bible.

Not only has this home prospered, but similar homes have been founded
in other places. In Portsmouth Miss Weston's Sailors' Rest is one of
the most noted buildings in the town; whilst the principle that Jack,
who fights our battles at sea, and keeps our country prosperous by his
labours aboard ship, needs to be made happy when he is ashore is far
more fully acknowledged than it used to be.

Miss Weston's homes are as bright almost as the sunshine. Cheap and
good food, tea and coffee both hot and fresh, plenty of light, lots of
periodicals and games; and, for those who wish it, short meetings for
prayer and praise.

There is a great deal more to tell about Miss Weston, but my space
is short; those, however, who wish to know more will find plenty of
information in the little book called _Our Blue Jackets_.




A GREAT COMMANDER ON A FAMOUS BATTLEFIELD


THE DUKE OF WELLINGTON AT WATERLOO.

It was on Sunday, 18th June, 1815, that the famous battle of Waterloo
was fought. The British army of 67,600 men and the French army of
72,000 lay on the open field the night before that memorable struggle.
It had been a wet and stormy night; at dawn the rain was falling
heavily, the ground was saturated, and the troops in the rival armies
were thoroughly drenched. About nine o'clock it cleared up, but on
account of the rainfall no movement was made by the French till
towards twelve o'clock.

On the night of the 17th the Duke of Wellington made every portion of
his army take up the position it was to occupy on the following day.
He slept a few hours at the village of Waterloo and rose early in the
morning to write letters, giving orders what was to be done in case
the battle was lost: although he felt sure of winning.

Before leaving the village he saw to the preparation of hospitals for
the wounded, and to the arrangements made for the distribution of
the reserves of ammunition. Then mounting his favourite charger,
Copenhagen, he rode to the positions where his men were posted, and
made a careful and thorough inspection. The farm house of Hougoumont,
where some of the most furious fighting of the day took place,
received his special attention.

Having thus done all that a commander could do to ensure the success
of the day, he rode back to the high ground from which he could
command a full view of the battle, and with a face calm and serene
waited for the French attack.

It was this serenity which had so great an effect on his troops. They
knew their great commander, and had confidence in him, and this aided
them during that eventful day in holding their positions with that
stubborn courage which destroyed all the hopes of the Emperor
Napoleon.

At Waterloo for the first time the two greatest commanders of the age
met face to face. Here across the valley they watched each other in
stern anticipation as the church bells called worshippers together for
prayer.

At about half-past eleven Napoleon's troops advanced to the attack;
and from this time till six or seven o'clock a series of terrific
charges continued to be made by the French, resisted and defeated by
the steady bravery of the British and Germans.

The duke was often in the thick of the fight, and in so great danger
that his staff advised him for the good of the army to withdraw to a
somewhat safer position. Passing one of the squares of grenadiers a
shell fell among them, and the duke waited to see the result. Several
soldiers were blown to pieces by the bursting of the shell, but
Wellington seemed quite unmoved either by the terrible sight or his
own danger.

All day long the duke was cool as if he had been riding among his men
in Hyde Park. Wherever he went a murmur of "Silence! stand to your
front!" was heard, and at his presence men grew steady as on parade.

Again and again commanders told him of the fearful havoc made in the
ranks of their brigades, and asked either for support or to be allowed
to withdraw their men. They generally received this answer, "It is
impossible; you must hold the ground to the last man".

When asked by some of his staff what they should do if he fell, he
gave the same answer, "My plan is simply to stand my ground here to
the last man".

The duke seemed to bear a charmed life. Every member of his staff but
one was during the day either killed or wounded, whilst he escaped
unhurt. Wherever the danger seemed greatest there was the duke to be
found inspiriting his men, restraining them, or putting fresh heart
into them.

"Hard pounding this, gentlemen!" he remarked to a battalion on which
the French shells were falling with destructive fury; "but we will try
who can pound the longest." "Wait a little longer, my lads," was the
duke's reply to the murmur which reached him from some of his troops
who had suffered heavily from the French fire and were anxious to
charge, "and you shall have your wish."

Once when the fire was concentrated on the spot where he was with
his staff he told them to separate a little, so as to afford a less
conspicuous mark for the enemy.

At another time, when some German troops hesitated to advance against
the French, the duke put himself at their head.

When Napoleon's Old Guard was advancing up the hill, the only sight
they could see was the duke and a few mounted officers, till a voice
was heard, "Up, guards, and at them!" And the best men in the whole
French army, the pick of the bravest of the brave, fell back before
the onset of the British guards.

At about eight o'clock the duke gave the joyful signal for an advance
all along the line. For nearly nine hours the British had been stormed
at with shot and shell, had been charged again and again, and had
stood firm though impatient. Now they received the signal with a
fierce delight, and dashed forward against the enemy with a fury which
nothing could resist.

The duke was amongst the first to advance, and spoke joyously to the
men as he rode along. The bullets were whistling around him, and one
of his staff ventured to point out to him the terrible danger he
was running. "Never mind," said the duke, "let them fire away: the
battle's won, and my life is of no consequence now."

About 15,000 men out of Wellington's army were killed or wounded on
the day of this great battle. But Europe was saved.

The duke, who appeared so calm and unmoved in battle, thus wrote just
afterwards, when the excitement of the conflict was over: "My heart
is broken at the terrible loss I have sustained in my old friends and
companions and my poor soldiers. Believe me, nothing except a battle
lost can be half so melancholy as a battle won."




A PRINCE OF PREACHERS.


THE STORY OF JOHN WESLEY.

"I do intend to be more particularly careful of the soul of this child
that Thou hast so mercifully provided for than ever I have been, that
I may do my endeavour to instil into his mind the principles of Thy
true religion and virtue. Lord, give me grace to do it sincerely and
prudently, and bless my attempts with good success!"

Thus wrote Susanna Wesley of her son John. The child had been nearly
burned to death when he was about six years old in a fire that broke
out at the Rectory of Epworth, where John and Charles Wesley and a
large family were born.

Mrs. Wesley devoted herself to the training of her children, taught
them to cry softly even when they were a year old, and conquered their
wills even earlier than that. Her one great object was so to prepare
her little ones for the journey of life that they might be God's
children both in this world and the next. To that end she devoted all
her endeavours.

Is it wonderful that, with her example before their eyes and her
fervent prayers to help them, the Wesleys made a mark upon the world?

John Wesley--"the brand plucked out of the burning," as he termed
himself--when a boy was remarkable for his piety. At eight his father
admitted him to the Holy Communion. He had thus early learned the
lesson of self-control; for his mother tells us that having smallpox
at this age he bore his disease bravely, "like a man and indeed like
a Christian, without any complaint, though he seemed angry at the
smallpox when they were sore, as we guessed by his looking sourly at
them".

At the age of ten John Wesley went to Charterhouse School. For a long
time after he got there he had little to live on but dry bread, as the
elder boys had a habit of taking the little boys' meat; but so far
from this hurting him he said, in after life, that he thought it was
good for his health!

Although he was not at school remarkable for the piety he had shown
earlier, yet he never gave up reading his Bible daily and saying his
prayers morning and evening.

At the age of twenty-two he began to think of entering the ministry,
and wrote to his parents about it. He also commenced to regulate the
whole tone of his life. "I set apart," he writes, "an hour or two a
day for religious retirement; I communicated every week; I watched
against all sin, whether in word or deed. I began to aim at and pray
for inward holiness." In September, 1725, when he had just passed his
twenty-second year, he was ordained.

Thirteen years later John Wesley began that series of journeys to all
parts of the kingdom for the purpose of preaching the Gospel, which
continued for over half a century.

In that time it is said that he travelled 225,000 miles, and preached
more than 40,000 sermons--an average of more than two for every day of
the year.

As to the numbers who flocked to hear some of his addresses they can
best be realised by those who have attended an international football
match, when 20,000 persons are actually assembled in one field, or
at a review, when a like number of people are together. It seems
impossible to realise that one voice could reach such a multitude;
yet it is a fact that some of John Wesley's open-air congregations
consisted of over 20,000 persons.

Those were the early days of Methodism, when Whitefield and Wesley
were preaching the Gospel, and giving it a new meaning to the
multitude.

Here is Wesley's record of one day's work: "May, 1747, Sunday, 10.--I
preached at Astbury at five, and at seven proclaimed at Congleton
Cross Jesus Christ our wisdom and righteousness and sanctification and
redemption. It rained most of the time that I was speaking; but that
did not hinder abundance of people from quietly attending. Between
twelve and one I preached near Macclesfield, and in the evening at
Woodly-green."

His addresses were so fervent that they acted at times like an
electric shock. Some would drop down as if thunderstruck, others would
cry aloud, whilst others again would have convulsions.

People did not understand such a state of things. Bishop Butler,
author of the _Analogy of Religion_, was ill pleased at a style of
preaching so different from that to which the people of the day were
accustomed; and told Wesley so.

But the mission of John Wesley was to rouse the masses. This he
did, though at great peril to his own life; for his preaching often
produced strong opposition.

Thus in June, 1743, at Wednesbury the mob assembled at the house where
he was staying, and shouted "Bring out the minister; we will have the
minister!" But Wesley was not a bit frightend. He asked that their
captain might be brought in to him, and after a little talk the man
who came in like a lion went out like a lamb.

Then Wesley went out to the angry crowd, and standing on a chair
asked, "What do you want with me?"

"We want you to go with us to the justice!" cried some.

"That I will, with all my heart," he replied.

Then he spoke a few words to them; and the people shouted: "The
gentleman is an honest gentleman, and we will spill our blood in his
defence".

But they changed their minds later on; for they met a Walsall crowd on
their way, who attacked Wesley savagely, and those who had been loud
in their promises to protect him--fled!

Left to the mercy of the rable, he was dragged to Walsall. One man
hit him in the mouth with such force that the blood streamed from the
wound; another struck him on the breast; a third seized him and tried
to pull him down.

"Are you willing," cried Wesley, "to hear me?"

"No, no!" they answered; "knock out his brains, down with him, kill
him at once!"

"What evil," asked Wesley, "have I done? Which of you all have I
wronged by word or deed?" Then he began to pray; and one of the
ringleaders said to him:--

"Sir, I will spend my life for you; follow me, and no one shall hurt a
hair of your head."

Others took his part also--one, fortunately, being a prizefighter.

Wesley thus describes the finish of this remarkable adventure:--

"A little before ten o'clock God brought me safe to Wednesbury, having
lost only one flap of my waistcoat, and a little skin from one of my
hands. From the beginning to the end I found the same presence of mind
as if I had been sitting in my own study. But I took no thought from
one moment to another; only once it came into my mind that, if they
should throw me into the river, it would spoil the papers that were in
my pocket. For myself I did not doubt but I should swim across, having
but a thin coat and a light pair of shoes."

At Pensford the rabble made a bull savage, and then tried to make it
attack his congregation; at Whitechapel they drove cows among the
listeners and threw stones, one of which hit Wesley between the eyes;
but after he had wiped away the blood he went on with his address,
telling the people that "God hath not given us the spirit of fear".

At St. Ives in Cornwall there was a great uproar, but Wesley went
amongst the mob and brought the chief mischiefmaker out. Strange to
say, the preacher received but one blow, and then he reasoned the case
out with the agitator, and the man undertook to quiet his companions.

Thus Wesley went fearlessly from place to place. He visited Ireland
forty-two times, as well as Scotland and Wales. When he was
eighty-four he crossed over to the Channel Islands in stormy weather;
and there "high and low, rich and poor, received the Word gladly".

He always went on horseback till quite late in life, when his friends
persuaded him to have a chaise. No weather could stop him from keeping
his engagements. In 1743 he set out from Epworth to Grimsby; but was
told at the ferry he could not cross the Trent owing to the storm.

But he was determined his Grimsby congregation should not be
disappointed; and he so worked on the boatmen's feelings that they
took him over even at the risk of their lives.

At Bristol, in 1772, he was told that highwaymen were on the road,
and had robbed all the coaches that passed, some just previously. But
Wesley felt no uneasiness, "knowing," as he writes, "that God would
take care of us; and He did so, for before we came to the spot all the
highwaymen were taken, and so we went on unmolested, and came safe to
Bristol".

This immense labour had no ill effect upon his health. In June, 1786,
when he was entering his eighty-fourth year, he writes: "I am a wonder
to myself. It is now twelve years since I have felt such a sensation
as weariness. I am never tired either with writing, preaching, or
travelling."

When Wesley was on his death-bed he wrote to Wilberforce cheering him
in his struggle against the slave trade.

"Unless God has raised you up for this very thing," writes Wesley,
"you will be worn out by the opposition of men and devils, but if God
be for you who can be against you?... Go on in the name of God and in
the power of His might till even American slavery, the vilest that
ever saw the sun, shall vanish away before it."

Wesley died, at the ripe age of eighty-eight, in the year 1791. He had
saved no money, so had none to leave behind; but he was one of those
"poor" persons who "make many rich".

Amongst his few small gifts and bequests was "£6 to be divided among
the six poor men named by the assistant who shall carry my body to the
grave; for I particularly desire that there be no hearse, no coach, no
escutcheon, no pomp".




SOME CHILDREN OF THE KINGDOM.


Shortly after Mwanga, King of Uganda, came to the throne, reports were
made to that weak-minded monarch that Mr. Mackay, the missionary, was
sending messages to Usoga, a neighbouring State, to collect an army
for the purpose of invading Uganda. His mind having thus become
inflamed with suspicion, he was ready to believe anything against the
missionaries, or to invent something if necessary. Thus he complained
that his pages, who received instruction from the missionaries, had
adopted Jesus as their King, and regarded himself as little better
than a brother.

Not long after, six boys were sent to prison; and, though every effort
was made to obtain their release, it was for a time of no avail. At
length three were given up, and three were ordered to be executed.

These latter were first tortured, then their arms were cut off;
afterwards they were placed on a scaffold, under which a fire was
made, and burned to death.

As they were passing through their agony, they were laughed at by the
people, who asked them if Jesus Christ could do anything to help them.

But the boys were undaunted; and, in spite of all their pain and
suffering, sang hymns of praise till their tongues could utter no
more. This was one of their hymns:--

  Daily, daily, sing to Jesus,
  Sing my soul His praises due,
  All He does deserves our praises,
  And our deep devotion too.

Little wonder that Mr. Mackay should write: "Our hearts are
breaking". Yet what a triumph! One of the executioners, struck by
the extraordinary fortitude of the lads, and their evident faith in
another life, came and asked that he might also be taught to pray.
This martyrdom did not daunt the other Christians. Though Mwanga
threatened to burn alive any who frequented the mission premises, or
adopted the Christian faith, they continued to come; and the lads at
the Court kept their teachers constantly informed of everything that
was going on. Indeed, when the king's prime minister began to make
investigation, he found the place so honey-combed by Christianity that
he had to cease his inquisition, for fear of implicating chiefs, and
upsetting society generally.




A BOY HERO.


THE STORY OF JOHN CLINTON.

  Lives of great men all remind us
  We should make our lives sublime,
  And departing leave behind us
  Footprints on the sands of time.

So sang Longfellow! Yet how difficult is it for most men and women to
make their lives sublime, and how much more difficult for a child of
ten years! Still it is possible.

John Clinton was born on the 17th January, 1884, at Greek Street,
Soho. His father is a respectable carman, who, a year after little
Johnnie's birth, moved to 4 Church Terrace, Waterloo Road, Lambeth.
When three years old he was sent to the parish schools of St. John's,
Waterloo Road (Miss Towers being the mistress). While a scholar there
he met with a severe accident on the 27th January, 1890. Playing with
other children in the Waterloo Road, a heavy iron gate fell on him
and fractured his skull terribly. He was taken to the St. Thomas's
Hospital, where he remained for thirteen weeks. At first the doctors
said he would not get over it, then that if he got over it he would be
an idiot; but finally their surgical skill and careful nursing were
rewarded, and he came out well in every respect, except for an awful
scar along one side of his head. In due time he moved into the Boys'
School at St. John's, Waterloo Road (Mr. Davey, headmaster). In July,
1893, a tiny child was playing in the middle of Stamford Street when a
hansom cab came dashing along over the smooth wood paving. Little John
Clinton darted out and gave the child a violent push, at the risk of
being run over himself, and got the little one to the side of the road
in safety. A big brother of the child, not understanding what had
happened, gave John Clinton a blow on the nose for interfering with
the child, whose life John Clinton had saved. The blow was the cause
of this act of bravery becoming known, and the big brother afterwards
apologised for his hasty conduct. How many accidents to children are
caused by the lamentable absence of open spaces and playgrounds! 460
persons are yearly killed in the streets of London and over 2000
injured there, many of them being children playing in the only place
they have to play in.

On Sunday, 26th February, 1893, Johnnie was at home minding the baby.
During his temporary absence from the room the baby set itself on
fire. When he came back and saw the flames, instead of wasting time
calling for help, he rolled the baby on the floor, and succeeded in
putting the flames out. The curtain nearest the cot had also taken
fire. Johnnie then, though badly burnt, pulled the curtains, valance,
and all down on to the floor, and beat out the flames with his hands
and feet. The brave little fellow seriously hurt himself, but saved
the baby's life, and prevented the buildings catching fire, crowded as
they are with other families.

The family then moved to Walworth, 51 Brandon Street, and the boy
attended the schools of St. John's, Walworth (Mr. Ward, headmaster).
On the 18th July, 1894, he came home from school, had his tea, and
about 5:30 p.m. went out with a companion, Campbell Mortimer, to the
foreshore near London Bridge. Here the two boys took off their shoes
and stockings, and commenced paddling in the stream. Little Mortimer,
unfortunately, got out of his depth, and the tide running strongly he
disappeared in the muddy water. Directly the boy came to the surface,
John Clinton sprang at him, seized him, and, though Mortimer was the
heavier lad of the two, succeeded in landing him safely. In pushing
the boy on shore, John Clinton slipped back, and, being exhausted with
his exertions, the tide caught him and he disappeared beneath the
surface, and was carried down stream a few yards under the pier. The
river police dragged for him, and the lightermen did all they could
for some considerable time, but without success. After fifteen
minutes' fruitless search, a lighterman suggested that the boy must be
under the pier. He rowed his boat to the other end of the stage, and
there saw the boy's hand upright in the water. He soon got the body
out, but life was extinct, and the doctor could only pronounce him
to be dead. Thus died John Clinton, a boy of whom London ought to
be proud, giving his life for his friend. He was buried in a common
grave, at Manor Park Cemetery, after a funeral service in St. John's
Church, Walworth.

[_For the above account I am indebted to the Rev. Arthur W. Jephson,
M.A., Vicar of St. John's, Walworth_.]




POSTSCRIPT.


For those who desire to learn more of the characters mentioned in this
work let me mention a few volumes. In _Heroes of Every-day Life_ Miss
Laura Lane has told briefly the story of Alice Ayres and other humble
heroes and heroines whose deeds should not be forgotten. Further
particulars of the careers of Sir Colin Campbell, John Cassell,
General Gordon, Sir Henry Havelock, Joseph Livesey, David Livingstone,
Robert Moffat, George Moore, Florence Nightingale, Lord Shaftesbury,
Agnes Weston, and other men and women whose example has benefited the
country, will be found in an attractive series of books issued under
the title of _The World's Workers_. Mr. Archibald Forbes' _Life of Sir
Henry Havelock_ is one of the most fascinating works of its kind; the
Rev. H.C.G. Moule's _Life of the Rev. Charles Simeon_ is delightfully
written and full of interest, and the Rev. J.H. Overton's _Life of
Wesley_ gives an admirable picture in brief of the great revival
preacher. Further particulars of the great and good Father Dainien can
be gathered from Mr. Edward Clifford's work; of Elizabeth Gilbert,
from the Life by Frances Martin; and of George Müller, from the
shilling autobiography he has written, which is worthy of the deepest
attention. John Howard's life has been well told by Mr. Hepworth
Dixon, Lord Shaftesbury's by Mr. Edwin Hodder, and Mr. Glaisher's
career is set forth at large in _Travels in the Air_. Perhaps the
largest and best collection of narratives of noble lives is contained
in Mr. Edwin Hodder's _Heroes of Britain in Peace and War_, now issued
in two cheap volumes; from this many facts have been gathered. In _The
Memorials of Captain Hedley Vicars_ will be found a thoughtful
picture of that devoted life; whilst in _The Life and Work of James
Hannington_, by E.C. Dawson, a graphic narrative is given of the
martyr bishop of Central Africa. _Ismailia_ affords a vivid picture of
Sir Samuel Baker's life in the Soudan, and few books will give greater
pleasure to the reader than General Butler's _Life of General Gordon_.
A Life of Mr. W.H. Smith, by Sir H. Maxwell, has been recently
published in popular form. _The Lives of Robert and Mary Moffat_, by
J.S. Moffat, will afford much enjoyment, as will Miss Yonge's _Life of
Bishop Patteson_.


[Illustration: THE END]




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  Last Days of Palmyra.
  Washington Irving's Sketchbook.
  The Talisman.
  Rienzi.
  Old Curiosity Shop.
  Heart of Midlothian.
  Last Days of Pompeii.
  American Humor.
  Sketches by Boz.
  Macauley's Lays and Essays.

* Books marked thus are in 2 Vols.

Biographical Dictionary, Cassell's New. 7s. 6d.

Birds' Nests, Eggs, and Egg-Collecting. By R. KEARTON. Illustrated
with 16 Coloured Plates. 5s.

Breech-Loader, The, and How to Use It. By W.W. GREENER. Illustrated.
New and enlarged edition. 2s 6d.

British Ballads. With Several Hundred Original Illustrations. Complete
in Two Vols., cloth, 15s. Half morocco, _price on application_.

British Battles on Land and Sea. By JAMES GRANT. With about 600