PURITAN LOVE-LETTERS

UNFORTUNATELY, the love-letters of William Booth and Catherine Mumford are difficult to arrange in time sequence, since the dates are in many cases altogether omitted or mentioned only as the day and the month on which they were written; moreover, these documents suffered in the confusion which befell other papers, owing to the migratory life of the writers, and a consecutive dialogue is not to be made of those that are available.

Nevertheless, these letters which follow, like beads on a string, are all connected on the single thread of the lovers’ supreme difficulty. They can be read without any bother as to dates, and one is so interested in the narrative, so amused by the quaint style of the two writers, so charmed, and in some instances so exalted, by the beauty of the romance, that one steps over each hiatus scarcely conscious that a break has occurred.

The letters are so spontaneous, so unconscious of publication, so intimate and yet so public, that they may be given in their fulness and with scarcely the interposition of a single comment. The reader will remember that Catherine Mumford’s education was superior to William Booth’s, and will, perhaps, perceive a somewhat exaggerated evidence of this superiority in the letters; he may also detect a stronger and a more able personality in her love-letters, a greater vigour of mind, a much keener perception, and certainly a profounder spirituality.

It is important, however, to bear in mind that from the very first Catherine Mumford recognized in William Booth a man of destiny, a man of extraordinary power, and of almost matchless enthusiasm. She looked up to him as to a superior force; she realized that he was one whose character would grow with life, whose power would increase with exercise; if she is superior to him in her letters, if she advises him, reproves him, instructs him, and even drives him, still it is always as one who merely sees further into futurity, and knows as a mother knows the strength into which her child will grow. Catherine Mumford lived to be called “the Mother of the Salvation Army”; she was also the mother of the man who married her.

Bergsonism has here a most admirable example of its thesis that the intellect is merely a weapon forged by life for its use, that life itself is superior to mental accomplishment. One must also consider that while Catherine Mumford had leisure on her hands, and rather laid herself out at this time as a letter-writer, William Booth, even in 1852, was a man incessantly and exhaustively engaged in work which seemed to him infinitely more urgent than the writing of love-letters. His love-story is only a part of his life-story, and his life-story is as much a psychological study of development along one single line of human activity as an epic of religious enthusiasm.

Here follow letters which cover the greater part of 1852, prior to William Booth’s departure for Spalding, and which are chiefly concerned with the struggle of these two souls to know the will of God in their desperate situation:

William Booth to Catherine Mum ford.

MY DEAR FRIEND — I promised you a line. I write. I know no more than I knew yesterday. I offered as you know full well then and there to make the engagement. You declined on what without doubt are good grounds, but still I cannot do more. . . . You know the inmost feelings of my heart, and I can say no more than I have not, as I could have wished, seen anything striking to intimate the will of God.

If my circumstances had not been so benighted I might not have desired this, but I feel the importance of the affair, if I feel nothing else.

Now understand me. As I said yesterday, I offer now a step in the dark. I will promise you anything you wish for your own dear sake, but mind, my feelings are still the same. But the tie shall be as sacred as though made under the influence of sunnier feelings and in prospect of brighter days. You can write me your mind. I do not wish to trouble you for a long letter. Put down in a line what you think.

If you decline as yesterday, I ask the favour of being allowed to keep as secret as my Bible and as full to me of inspiration, and as sacred as my soul’s inmost feelings, the notes I already have in your writing. As you wish you can keep or burn mine. I could almost trust you with the keeping of the Title Deeds of my soul’s salvation, so highly do I esteem your character. Perhaps I write wildly. Excuse me. I began calm.

After this is ended, this awful controversy,1 1 shall call on you again. If you accept what I have stated, I will come Saturday. If not, I shall call as a friend in the course of a few days and show you how I bear the matter. If it be of man, if it be wrong, it will pass forgotten away. If it be of God He will still bring it to pass.

All I fear is your suffering and your mother’s condemnation. But I cannot help it. Believe every word I have here said. If you accept, we are henceforth and for ever one. If you decline, the matter must be forgotten. I leave you in the hands of my
God.— I am, Yours, etc., WILLIAM BOOTH.

Miss C. Mumford.

William Booth to Catherine Mumford.

WALWORTH.
(Undated.)

MY DEAR FRIEND — You may perhaps deem me to be taking another step in the wrong direction, but I must, after the very abrupt manner in which we parted last evening, say a word. I believe that you think me sincere, and I have only one fear, that is, that you will make yourself ill. If you do, and I hear of it, it will drive me into delirium.

My mind is made up. My hopes are set on things below of the same nature as things above. My heart prays that His will may be done on earth as it is done in Heaven. .
How clear and distinct in answer to prayer did God make the path of Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher. With then-i it was not the impulse of passion, but the clear unmistakable teaching of Providence.

I would that it should be so in our experience. Be assured that your reasoning on the subject is not forgotten. I remember your every word. But hear me again and I will be silent.

1. Such a matter never could be arranged without in some way transpiring, which would, I conceive, injure my usefulness.

2. It never could be without inducing me to occupy time, every moment of which ought to be taken up with study.

3. I have no present probability of making my circumstances such that I can ask you to share my home.

4. I should feel such a powerful earthly bond taking up my feelings and drawing off my heart from entire and complete devotion to God.

5. God has of late been satisfying me with Himself, and I should fear setting up or creating another god, especially seeing that He has placed me in a position that my heart has so long desired and given me every comfort I wish.

6. Moreover, when I ponder over the salvation He has been working out for me, saving me from peculiar temptations to which I have been prone — and the darkness that hangs around me, etc., I feel an involuntary shudder creep over me at the thought of an engagement.

I need not say the high place your character and disposition have in my esteem. I need not say how I regret, for your sake, that I ever set foot in your home. I need not say that the high estimation your mother has for you led her, I conceive, to take a prejudicial view of my conduct and to make remarks which were unmerited and unjust, and calculated to wrong my soul.

But it is over now. I am resigned to the will of God. I shall endeavour to pursue the path of duty.
In the meantime, let us give ourselves to God, fix our affections all on Christ, and seek to do His will. Your kindness to me I need not refer to. I have indeed been grateful for it, and felt indeed how undeserved it was.

May God bless and prosper you temporally and spiritually, and may He make His will known and evident so that you may see it and understand it.

Whatever you do, try to save men, to bless the world, and to preach Christ. . . . With many prayers,— I remain, your sincere and affectionate friend,
WILLIAM BOOTH.
Miss Mumford.

William Booth to Catherine Mum ford.

WALFORD.
MY DEAR FRIEND — Yours has just come to hand. My mother’s note preceded it, imploring me to do nothing rashly, fearing my accustomed impetuosity, my feeling gaining the mastery over the calm teaching of reason; as a matter of course, she is aware that she cannot further than this advise me, not knowing you personally; she assures me that she has laid the matter before God as requested, and that the only impression

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on her mind in answer to such a prayer is, that ere such an important step be taken I should consider long, reminding me in conclusion that once a long time back she spoke wisely to me on the same subject but at the same time declaring that she will acquiesce in any decision at which I may arrive; this is all I could possibly expect, all I desire at her hands.

I need not recapitulate my doubts, only that every day seems to blacken them and make them more worthy of consideration;

I need not say here how highly I judge of you and how high in my estimation your virtuous soul I rank; I need not say that I have deemed and still do deem every, even the minutest, of your actions and words spotless and without blemish, that is, in my eyes;

I need not tell you that I mean Christ and a union in Heaven, and that my resolutions are unbroken to live and live only for the salvation of souls and the glory of God;

I need not urge you to a more earnest searching out for the beauties and loveliness of the character of Jesus; I need not exhort you to entire consecration to His service and His constant hallowed communion; I would to God that my intercourse with Him was as perfect and my resemblance to His image was as divine as your own.

I will to-day more earnestly than ever pray that you may find your all in all in Him. I say nothing decisive because I know nothing; I have neither advanced nor retrograded from the position I occupied when last we met.

I intend, all well, visiting near Binfield this afternoon. Mr. Nye preaches there, I understand, to-night. I shall not be there, or else I might, I suppose, have had the pleasure of shaking hands with you. But we have a committee at Walworth. I trust you will have a good night’s rest; I am grieved to hear that you are poorly.

My health is good, tolerably so. I bore the fatigue of Sunday quite as well as I could have expected.
With my love to your dear mother — that is, if you communicate this letter; I do not see why you should not.— I remain, affectionately yours in the Love of the risen, interceding, atoning, sacrificial, ever-prevailing Lamb of God,
WILLIAM BOOTH.

Miss Catherine Mumford.

Catherine Mumford to William Booth.

BRIXTON,
Tuesday night, May 11, ‘52.
MY DEAR FRIEND — I have been spreading your letter before the Lord and earnestly pleading for a manifestation of His will to your mind in some way or other, and now I would say a few words of comfort and encouragement. My heart feels for you far beyond what I can express. Oh that I knew how to comfort you in an indirect way.

You do grieve me by saying, “you fear you have blocked up every way of being a blessing to me.” I tell you it is not so; your kindness and character will ever give weight to your advice and teaching, and create a sympathy with your prayers which cannot fail to benefit me. If you wish to avoid giving me pain don’t condemn yourself. I feel sure God does not condemn you. and if you could look into my heart you would see how far I am from such a feeling. Don’t pore over the past. Let it all go. Your desire is to do the will of God, and He will guide you. Never mind who frowns, if God smiles.

Though you are surrounded by a host of foes He is able to deliver and He will deliver, only trust in Him and don’t be afraid; the darkness and gloom that hangs about your path shall all flee away. When you are tried you shall come forth as gold! The words gloom, melancholy, and despair lacerate my heart. Don’t give way to such feelings for a moment. God loves you. He will sustain you.

The thought that I should increase your perplexity and cause you any suffering is almost intolerable. Oh that we had never seen each other. Do try to forget me, so far as the remembrance would injure your usefulness or spoil your peace. If I have no alternative but to oppose the will of God or trample on the desolations of my own heart, my choice is made. “Thy will be done” is my constant cry.

I care not for myself, but oh if I cause you to err I shall never be happy again. Don’t, I beseech you, take any step without some evidence satisfactory to your own mind of the will of God; think nothing about me; I will resist to the uttermost. “I can do all things through Christ strengthening me.” I do continually pray for you; surely God must answer our prayers when He sees it is our one desire to do His will. Let us expect an answer; perhaps our faith is deficient. . . . — Yours affectionately,
CATHERINE.

Catherine Mum ford to William Booth.

BRIXTON,
May 13, ‘52.
MY DEAR FRIEND — I have read and re-read your note, and I fear you did not fully understand my difficulty. It was not circumstances; I thought I had fully satisfied you on that point. I thought you felt sure that a bright prospect could not allure me nor a dark one affright me, if we are only one in heart.

My difficulty, my only reason for wishing to defer the engagement was, that you might feel satisfied in your own mind that the step is right. To cause you to err would cost me far more suffering than anything else. I have deeply pondered over all your words at our last interview, especially the objections which you so honourably confessed had influenced your mind, and I dare not enter into so solemn an engagement till you can assure me that you feel I am in every way suited to make you happy and that you are satisfied the step is not opposed to the will of God.

You say if your circumstances were not so blighted you could not desire so striking an indication of God’s will. I answer if you are satisfied of His will irrespective of circumstances, let circumstances go, and let us be one, come what will; hut if there is anything in me which you fear, anything you think would mar your completest happiness, banish the thought of an union for ever, and let us regard each other as true and tried friends; but if you feel satisfied on these two points — first, that the step is not opposed to the will of God, and, secondly, that I am calculated to make you happy, come on Saturday evening, and on our knees before God let us give ourselves afresh to Him and to each other for His sake, consecrate our whole selves to His service for Hint to live and die.

When this is done what have we to do with the future? — we and all our concerns are in His hands, under His all-wise and gracious providence.

I wish you could see into my heart for a moment; I cannot transfer to paper my absorbing desire that the will of God may be done in this matter. I dare no more say I decline, or I accept (except on the before mentioned grounds) than I dare take my destiny into my own hands, the cry of my inmost soul is, Thy will be done.

If you come on Saturday I shall presume that you are satisfied on these two points, and that henceforth we are one; in the meantime I shall not cease to pray that God may guide you aright. May He bless you, and if He sees that I am not such an one as you need to be an helpmate for you, may He enable you to forget me. . .

William Booth to Catherine Mum ford.

WALWORTH, June 24.
(Probably 1852.)

MY OWN DEAR CATHERINE—. . . I feel uncommonly tired and weary this morning. My head aches, and I feel altogether out of order. I walked home from Greenwich last night. I ought to have ridden. 1 preached there with much liberty and trust some profit to the people, though the congregation was not so good as the week before, some of the leading friends having gone to some fête in the neighbourhood. . .

Let us love Him better for the love we bear each other, and seek in all things perfect and unimpaired conformity to all His will and work. I hope when you can that you will resume your reading, and I trust in better spirits and with a firmer trust in the Hand that feeds the ravens.

William Booth to Catherine Mum ford.
Monday morning.

MY OWN LOVING KATE — It has just occurred to my mind that I did not leave you a correct address of that poor girl and lest you should be prevented from your benevolent undertaking I post this to inform you. If you leave the omnibus at the Obelisk, at the cud of the London and at the foot of the Waterloo and Blackfriars’ Roads, you will be but a few yards from your destination, which is No. 3 or 4 Duke Street, next door to a Plumber and Glazier’s shop; it is up two flights of stairs; take with you a smelling-bottle; a widow woman, who lives in the room as you enter from the street, if you ask her for the poor girl of the name of “Leach,” will show you her room, I doubt not. Speak pointedly to all you see of the family; mention my name.

My love to you, all my heart. I may or may not see you this evening. I write this on purpose that you may have the direction to that poor dying girl. Pray for me, oh to be willing to take any path which may promise most the diffusion of righteousness and the glory of God. Oh let us give ourselves afresh and entirely to Him; never was such a sacrifice as this needed as now; I would make my choice under the influence of deep piety and devotion, and I shall not err.

My love to your dear mother. I love not only you, but her better than ever before.

I pray for your entire consecration, and believe me,— Yours in the closest alliance of united soul, spirit, and body, for time and for eternity, for earth and for Heaven, for sorrow and for joy, for ever and for ever. Amen. WILLIAM.

Chapter 13

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