WILLIAM BOOTH AS A
SUCCESSFUL EVANGELIST,
CATHERINE MUMFORD AS A
GUARDIAN ANGEL

IT was not until he got into Lincolnshire that William Booth felt sure of his vocation. The experiment in London had been a failure, as we have seen, and one that rather tended to diminish the young man’s confidence in his calling. He has left a fragment behind him which expresses his disgust for the satisfied and sanctimonious people among whom he had attempted to labour, and alludes briefly to the now pressing crisis in his financial affairs:

But the people would have nothing to do with me. They “did not want a parson.” They reckoned they were all parsons, so that at the end of the three months’ engagement the weekly income came to an end; and indeed I would not have renewed the engagement on any terms. There was nothing for me to do but to sell my furniture and live on the proceeds, which did not supply me for a very long time. I declare to you that at that time I was so fixed as not to know which way to turn.

In my emergency a remarkable way opened for me to enter college and become a Congregational minister. But after long waiting, several examinations, trial sermons, and the like, I was informed that on the completion of my training I should be expected to believe and preach what is known as Calvinism. After reading a book which fully explained the doctrine, I threw it at the wall opposite me, and said I would sooner starve than preach such doctrine, one special feature of which was that only a select few could be saved.

My little stock of money was exhausted. I remember that I gave the last sixpence I had in the world to a poor woman whose daughter lay dying; but within a week I received a letter inviting me to the charge of a Methodist Circuit in Lincolnshire, and from that time my difficulties of that kind became much less serious.

He was encouraged, as we know, by the enthusiasm of Catherine Mumford during this distressing period, but it must have been hard indeed for a young man with his foot on the threshold of a career to find the door of destiny thus shut in his face.

His reception in Spalding was the very reverse of his experience in London. He gives in his unpublished reminiscences a hurried account of this first great experience as a Methodist preacher, which we will quote in this place; but it is really in the letters of Catherine Mumford, which shall follow, that one gets a close, striking, and intimate knowledge of his mind at that period:

The Spalding people welcomed me as though I had been an angel from Heaven, providing me with every earthly blessing within their ability, and proposing that I should stay with them for ever They wanted me to marry right away, offered to furnish me a house, provide me with a horse to enable me more readily to get about the country, and proposed other things that they thought would please me.

With them I spent the happiest eighteen months of my life. Of course my horizon was much more limited in those days than it is now, and consequently required less to fill it.

Although I was only twenty-three years of age and Lincolnshire was one of the counties that had been most privileged with able Methodist preaching for half a century, and I had to immediately follow in Spalding a somewhat renowned minister, God helped me very wonderfully to make myself at home, and become a power amongst the people.

I felt some nervousness when on my first November Sunday I was confronted by such a large congregation as greeted me. In the morning I had very little liberty; but good was done, as I afterwards learned. In the afternoon we had a Prayer- or After-meeting, at which one young woman wept bitterly. I urged her to come to the communion-rails at night. She did so, and the Lord saved her.

She afterwards sent me a letter thanking me for urging her to come. In the evening I had great liberty in preaching, and fourteen men and women came to the communion-rail; many, if not all, finding the Saviour.

On the Monday I preached there again. Four came forward, three of whom professed to find Salvation. I exerted myself very much, felt very deeply, and prayed very earnestly over an old man who had been a backslider for seven years. He wept bitterly, and prayed to the Lord to save him, “if He could wash a heart as black as Hell.”

By exerting myself so much I made myself ill, and was confined to the house during the rest of the week. My host and hostess were very kind to me.

The next Sunday I started from home rather unwell. I had to go to Donnington, some miles away, in the morning and evening, and to Swineshead Bridge in the afternoon.

But at night God helped me to preach in such a way that many came out, and fourteen names were taken of those who really seemed satisfactory. It was indeed a melting, moving time.

I was kneeling, talking to a penitent, when some one touched me on the shoulder and said, “Here is a lady who has come to seek the Saviour, and now she has come to hear you, and she wants Salvation too.” The Lord had mercy upon her, and she went away rejoicing.

At Swineshead Bridge—the name gives some idea of the utterly rural character of the population — I was to preach on three successive evenings, in the hope of promoting a Revival there. Many things seemed to be against the project, but the Lord was for us. Two people came out on the Monday evening, and God saved them both. This raised our faith and cheered our spirits, especially as we knew that several more souls were in distress.

On the Tuesday the congregation was better. The news had spread that the Lord was saving, and that seldom fails to bring a crowd wherever it may be. That evening the word was with power, and six souls cried for mercy. At the earnest solicitation of the people I decided to stay the remainder of the week, and urged them to pray earnestly, with the result that many sought and found Salvation, and the little Society was nearly doubled.

On the Saturday, just as I started home on the omnibus, a plain, unsophisticated Christian man came and said, “O sir, let me have hold of your hand.” When he had seized it between both his, with tears streaming down his face, he said, “Glory be to God that ever you came here. My wife before her conversion was a cruel persecutor, and a sharp thorn in my side. She would go home from the Prayer-Meeting before me, and as full of the Devil as possible; she would oppose and revile me; but now, sir, she is just the contrary, and my house, instead of being a little Hell has become a little Paradise.”

This was only one of a number of cases in which husbands rejoiced over wives, and wives over husbands, for whom they had long prayed.

I shall always remember with pleasure the week I spent at Swineshead Bridge, because I prayed more and preached with more of the spirit of expectation and faith, and then saw more success than in any previous week of my life. I dwell upon it as, perhaps, the week which most effectually settled my conviction for ever, that it was God’s purpose by my using the simplest means to bring souls into liberty, and to break into the cold and formal state of things to which so many of His people only too readily settle down.

The letters which now follow are of considerable importance in the study of William Booth’s development. They reveal his excitement in his work, his pleasure in his own power, the self-satisfaction of a young enthusiast conscious of growing popularity; and they also reveal his determination to adopt revival methods, his misgiving as to Catherine Mumford’s feelings in this matter, his own tolerance of those who follow other ways.

One may say at this juncture that while William Booth never lost faith in the rousing methods of revivalism, he never once claimed for such methods a universal adoption by the Church. He recognized from the first, and held to the last, that there are two distinct fields of religious activity — the field of aggressive evangelism and the pastoral field.

It will be seen from these letters that Catherine Mumford’s influence was exerted at the very beginning of their engagement on the side of a deeper and truer spirituality that William Booth had then visualised; one of her letters, indeed, deserves to live, and probably will live, as one of the beautiful documents in the literature of mysticism; at the same time one must keep in mind that William Booth eventually carried the day with her, and won her over completely to the side of a demonstrative and aggressive propaganda, which she purified and exalted as the years went on.

William Booth to Catherine Mumford.

RED LION STREET, SPALDING,
Thursday, Nov. 17.
MY DEAREST EARTHLY TREASURE — Bless you a thousand times for your very kind letter just received; it has done my heart good. I have thought about you much and very affectionately the last few days. . . . I should have written you yesterday, but was so unwell that I could not.. . . I do not doubt our future oneness with regard to revivalism and about all things.

I have such faith in our powers of utterance that we shall be able to make plain to each other what we mean, and our love to each other, that when we can be brought to see truth held by the other we shall rejoice to adopt it.

And although now I do not doubt I could bear with extravagancies in a preacher or a prayer-meeting which you would condemn ... I do not blame you, so wait until the time comes, and we shall yet, I do not doubt, see with the same eyes. . . . The great difference between a man known as a faithful preacher nowadays and one of the John Smith, Wm. Bramwell, James Caughey, David Stoner, Ralph Walter. and Richard Poole school is, I think, in this — the one deals out the plain truth as do Mr. Thomas, Mr. Gamble, Mr. Brown, Luke Tyerman, and others in nice suitable language with considerable thought, prayer, and earnestness — and faithfulness too— but there it ends so far as you can see; but the other school preach similar pointed truth, urging more especially salvation by faith, just now, and then direct calling on sinners to lay down the weapons of rebellion, and give up their hearts to God now, following all up with a prayer-meeting and penitent-forms, benches, or pews. . . . I do not condemn any — I leave every man to follow out the bent of his own inclination and to act up to the teaching of God’s Spirit — but I know which God owns the most. I believe that with Mr. Thomas’s talent, if he would follow such measures he might soon have his chapel crowded and hundreds converted to God.

I do not speak censoriously. I have not the tact and the talent that thousands have, and yet under their ministry how little do we see done; what I have of head or heart or lip shall be consecrated and sacred to this service. . .

The great plan of Salvation is, ceasing from making efforts to make unto yourself a righteous character, and sinking helpless into the arms of Christ and accepting Full Salvation, a pure heart, and all the blessings of the New Covenant by faith. I see that I have erred here. I have promised and promised, and bowed and bowed, and always failed; whereas now I go to Him and say, I am nothing, Thou art my all in all. Try this. Will you, darling? — Don’t begin at the outside and aim at patching up this rent and that rent in your life, but go to Jesus and take the blessings of a pure heart at His hand, and say,

‘Tis done, Thou dost this moment save,
With full salvation bless,
Redemption through Thy Blood I have
And spotless love and peace.

Read one or two of John Wesley’s sermons now and then. You shall have some more books when we meet again all well. May the Lord bless you. Read over again the Life of Mrs. Fletcher. Farewell. I want to see you very much. I have thought about you very tenderly since I have been ill. Oh how I wanted your hand on my aching head. . .

I had to have brandy twice, was really ill, thought much of you. Got better and went and preached, and came home and made a hearty dinner of goose, etc., etc. Mr. Molesworth lives in a very nice house, built by himself, wooden, and beautifully furnished. He is a large farmer and a man of some property, has a large family remarkably well behaved, and for whom he keeps a Governess in the house.

From his house I walked on to Holbeach, where I found that I was announced to preach, and notwithstanding my weakness I had to do so: the congregation was large and respectable. I had great liberty in preaching from Christ having overcome the world. In the morning I had again to take brandy twice, and then I preached with some pleasure from Paul not being ashamed of the Gospel; afterwards was hurled away by a gentleman, by name Mr. George Brown, to Holbeach Marsh, some eight miles away; he took me in his gig.

I found his home quite a nice house, a large family of very nice and apparently well-educated children, a resident Governess (a young lady who is leaving in a deep decline), and everything first rate. I made an excellent dinner, and away we went to preach; service held in a large kitchen, which was quite full, about 60 or 70 present. I suppose the Conference get about 6 or 7, so that there is little fear of our getting the chapel. I had a little liberty.

Here I met Mr. Jonathan Longhatton, reported to me as the most shrewd and talented preacher and speaker in the Circuit. He gave me a hearty welcome, and assured me how glad he should be to see me at his house, and told me that, as a man of experience, I must take port wine, that he could tell by my voice and appearance that it would do me good. My health is of first importance. What do you say, dearest? After shaking hands, away we went in the gig again, and after a cold, bleak ride I reached Holbeach, took tea with Mr. Peet, and preached on “This is indeed the Christ” to a large and attentive congregation with great pleasure to myself.

Supper with Mr. Peet, who is a man of property, perhaps as rich as any man in the Circuit; afterwards returned to what is my present home, Mr. Ryecroft, a local preacher of whom I have spoken to you before as being so beloved and popular.

So that by the time I reach Spalding on Friday, after being absent seven days, I shall have preached, “all well,” 10 instead of 6 sermons.

But I mean on another plan to keep them to their word, at least after this week. And now, my dearest, will you contrive to get my things off this week? There are very few clothes worth sending. . . . I think, when I get some money, to write to Yorkshire and get my old friend Mr. Scholes to make and send me a piece of cloth. But if you will, get them sent off and directed to me at
Mr. Green’s,

Baker,
Red Lion Street,
Spalding, Lincolnshire, where your next letter must also be directed. I have left orders that should they get there before me they are to be paid for and taken in.
Be assured of my continued affections and purest intentions, and that if your health and my circumstances would warrant it, our wedding. instead of January. ’54, should be January, ‘53.

With my love to your dearest mother, father, and Mr. M ____ I remain, my darling.— yours as ever and for ever, WILLIAM.

To MY DEAREST LOVE—My position here is likely to be just to my own mind.

The letters of Catherine Mumford, which now follow, show how she watched the popular young preacher from afar, and how in the midst of her satisfaction at his opening success she was profoundly troubled about his ultimate destiny. These letters can be read as a single document, and fortunately they not only give one a most intimate impression of the writer, hut show very clearly the manner of man to whom they were written.

Some of these letters seem to me as beautiful love-letters as any in the world, reaching at times heights of religious inspiration hardly to he matched in the literature of the saints, and sounding so unmistakable a note of truth and purity of aim that they do not suffer in the least from an occasional use of the now outworn vocabulary of Methodist fervour.

London,
December 17, ‘52.
MY BELOVED WILLIAM — I think your depreciatory remarks on the character of your epistles were much out of place at the commencement of the very kind and beautiful letter I received this morning. If any one who did not know me had seen me walk about the parlour dissolved in tears, after its perusal, they would have thought I had received some very distressing intelligence, but they were tears of gladness and gratitude for the goodness of God. Oh how my soul praises Him for the favourable aspect of your affairs!

I think the issue of the committee-meeting most satisfactory. I did not expect more than £65, and your position being defined so exactly according to your own views, and their not desiring so many sermons as you supposed, is over and above anything I had ever hoped; let us praise the Lord and be encouraged.
Of the kindness of the people, I cannot speak: I can only feel its value and pray for an hundredfold return of it to their own bosoms.

I think the status you have taken amongst them is superior to my anticipations; mind, my Love, that you sustain it as a man and gentleman of manners, and kindness will not fail to do it. “As superiority of mind, or something not to be defined, first rivets the attention, so manners, decent and polite, the same we practised at first sight, must save it from declension.”

As a preacher, study will not only enable you to maintain your present status, but attain a higher. You promise me to do what you can; if you do that, I have no fear. You desire me to do all I can for myself. I will, my Love, for your dear sake, if I had no other motive my love for you would be quite sufficient to stimulate me to exertion.

I am sorry to hear that Mr. Hanks did not call to see you or invite you there; I am surprised at it; it is very much unlike him; but I fear he has perhaps fallen in some way which has injured his character, and so feels ashamed for fear you should hear it; but, my Love, don’t on that account shun him; try to restore him. I feel deeply for him; he is a good-hearted man, and when engaged in the service of God a zealous, consistent Christian; but he has been overtaken in a fault, and perhaps little cared for.

If you act judiciously I think you may be made a blessing to him. I will not forget to pray that you may. Perhaps he fears to encounter you, anticipating some close conversation on soul matters; I am sure it is not because he is near or wanting in esteem for us; at least I think so.

You ask me, my Love, to tell you whether I forgive you for thinking, or rather for telling me your thoughts, about that one deficiency which spoiled your earthly paradise the other night? Will you forgive me if I answer that it would have required a far greater exercise of my pardoning mercy if you had asked me to forgive you for not thinking about it?

I think you have acted very wisely, as well as most honourably, in letting your desires as to marrying be known; I have been thinking, if the Lord should indeed favour us with opportunity as soon as next year, I should like it to take place on my birthday, January 17, 1854.

You will smile, and no wonder, but you know me, therefore I am not afraid of being misunderstood. What you say about insuring your life I highly approve, and shall estimate such act as another proof of your practical affection for myself.. . .--- Yours in tenderest and most enduring affection, C.
December 27, ‘52.

MY DEAREST WILLIAM — As I did not feel in writing-tune either yesterday or on Xmas day, I will this evening give you a sketch of our Christmas enjoyments. Father dined at home, and though our number was so small we enjoyed ourselves very well. Your representation on the wall seemed to look down on our sensual gratification with awful gravity, manifesting an indifference to the good things of this life not at all characteristic of the original.

I thought about you very much during the day. I could not but contrast my feelings with those of last year. Then my anxieties and affections were centred in objects whose love and care I had experienced through many changing years. Then I knew no love but that of a child, a sister, a friend, and I thought that love deep, sincere, fervent; perhaps it was, nay, I know it was; but since then a stranger, unknown, unseen till within the last short year, has strangely drawn around him the finest tendrils of my heart, and awakened a new absorbing affection which seems, as it were, to eclipse what I before deemed the intensity of love.

Then my anxieties were almost confined to home; now this same stranger, like a magnet, draws them after him in all his wanderings, so that they are seldom at home. What a change in one short year; can you solve the mystery? Can you find the reason?

But I am forgetting to detail the day’s pleasures, etc. After dinner we all went a walk, talked about you, my dear brother; the changes which have taken place in a few years; the changes which will probably take place in a few more, etc.

My dear father seemed kinder and more comfortable than usual; he is still a teetotaler and is abstaining altogether from the pipe; there is a change for the better in many respects; don’t forget him, my Love, at the Throne of Grace. Help me and my dear mother to pray for him. Oh, surely the Lord will save him, surely He will not visit our unfaithfulness upon us in this way. My soul’s cry is, “Lord, if thou must chastise, any way but this,” it would be bitter anguish to mourn as they who have no hope, and yet how little I have thought about it lately.

Oh for a Christ-like sympathy for souls such as I used to feel, when I have sat up half the night to pray for them. My dearest Love, this is the secret of success, the weapon before which the very strongholds of hell must give way. Oh let us try to get it again, let us make up our minds to win souls whatever else we leave undone.

But to return again. We spent a very pleasant evening together. I lay on the sofa working a little watch-pocket for the use of that stranger I have been speaking of, which I hope he will use for my sake even though he may be provided with one already. I hope he will [? not think I] murdered time; it did not take me long. My dear mother and myself enjoyed a good season in prayer and then retired to rest. . .

Wednesday night.— My dearest Love, I received your very kind and welcome letter yesterday morning, and should have written immediately only that I knew you would not be at Spalding before Friday. I have felt very anxious about your health since hearing you were so poorly.

I could not sleep last night for thinking about you. I do hope you are better. I fear, my Love. you are not sufficiently careful as to diet; do exercise self-denial when such things are before you as you have any reason to fear will disagree with you.

The enclosed prescription I got Mr. Davis to copy for you; it is an excellent one, given me by Mr. Franks . . . If you are not quite recovered I hope you will get it. I have lost faith in brandy; where persons are not accustomed to it, it may act beneficially for the time, but it produces a reaction by irritation of the membrane of the stomach, whereas the mixture never fails in my case, and I have been much troubled.

You ask my opinion about your taking port wine. I need not say how willing, nay, anxious I am that you should have anything and everything which would tend to promote your health and happiness, but so thoroughly am I convinced that port wine would do neither, that I should hear of your taking it with unfeigned grief.

You must not listen, my dear, to the advice of every one claiming to be experienced; persons really experienced and judicious in many things not infrequently entertain notions the most fallacious on this subject. I have had it recommended to me scores of times by such individuals, but such recommendations have always gone for nothing, because I have felt that, however much my superiors such persons might be in other respects, on that subject I was the best informed.

I have even argued the point with Mr. Stevens, and I am sure set him completely fast for arguments to defend alcohol even as a medicine. I am fully and for ever settled on the physical side of the question; I believe you are on the moral and religious, but I have never thought you were on the physical.

Now, my dearest, it is absolutely necessary, in order to save you from being influenced by other people’s false notions, that you should have a settled, intelligent conviction on the subject, and in order that you may get this I have been at the trouble almost to unpack your box, which was beautifully packed, to get out Bachus, in which you will find several green marks and likewise some pencillings in three or four sections, which I hope you will read.

To read all the book would take too much time, or else it would do you good, but the chapters I have marked will give you a pretty concise view of that part of the subject you most need. I do hope you will read it if you sit up an hour later every night till you have done so — that is, when you retire at ten — and I would not advise this for anything less important. I believe the perusal will fully satisfy you; but if it should not, send me word and I will get, if it is to be got in London, a work by Dr. Lees, admitted to be the best work ever written on the question.

It is a subject on which I am most anxious that you should he thorouah. I abominate that hackneyed but monstrously inconsistent tale — a teetotaler in principle, but obliged to take a little for my stomach’s sake. Such teetotalers aid the progress of intemperance more than all the drunkards in the land, and there are abundance of them amongst Methodist preachers.

They seem a class of men the right performance of whose duties seems to require pretty liberal assistance from the bottle; the fact is notorious, and doubtless the fault is chiefly with the people, who foolishly consider it a kindness to put the bottle to their neighbour’s mouth as frequently as he will receive it; but I believe my dear William will steadfastly resist such foolish advisers as Mr. L., and firmly adhere to his principles till he has some better reason to abandon them.

I dare take the responsibility (and I have more reason to feel its weight than any other being) of advising you to abandon the idea of taking wine altogether. I have far more hope for your health because you abstain from stimulating drinks than I should have if you took them; to one of your temperament they would especially prove hurtful and destructive. Be careful to abstain from all things which you know to injure your health, and I have no doubt you will get strong. I have often heard you say this would be the case if you acted judiciously.

Oh my Love, take every care of yourself, get everything needful, but flee the detestable drink as you would a serpent; be a teetotaler in principle and practice; and in this respect by example, by precept, train up your sons, if you have any, in the way in which they should go.
I am glad you feel the importance of the training of children, there is no subject on which I have felt and still feel more acutely.

I have often looked on a little child and felt my whole frame affected by the consideration that it were possible for me some time to become a mother; the awful weight of responsibility wrapped up in that beautiful word has often caused my spirit to sink within me.

Oh if I did not fully intend, and ardently hope, to train my own (if ever blessed with any) differently to the way in which most are trained, I would pray every day, most earnestly, that I might never have any. Oh the miserable homes that might be happy; the lacerated hearts which might bound with joy; the blighted flowers which might have bloomed on earth and expanded in heaven, but for the wretched, foolish, wicked indifference of parents.

My dear, I hope you do not consider the arduous but glorious work of training the intellectual and moral nature of the child solely the duty of the mother. Remember the father is, and must be, in every well-regulated family, the head of his household. Think for a few moments what is implied in being their head, their ruler, their shepherd, their tender parent. Oh my Love, you have need to prepare, head and heart, for the right performance of the momentous relationships you desire to realize.

As soon as you can afford it, buy Abbot’s Mother at Home, price 1s., and lend it to some of the mothers you come in contact with; never mind the silent reproof conveyed by the loan, it will do good. And, oh, if the book were made the instrument of rescuing one poor little darling from the miserable consequences of domestic misrule, it would amply repay the unpleasantness of any little pique taken at its presentation; and besides, it is as much your duty to reprove as to exhort.

Good-night, I must conclude to-morrow, when I hope to receive another letter with good news respecting your health.

Sunday night, January 16, ‘53.

MY DEAREST WILLIAM — I am now closing the last day of my 23rd year. I have been reflecting on the circumstances and experiences of my past life, on its sins, sorrows, joys, and mercies, and my soul is deeply moved by the retrospect; for though my short course has been marked by no very extraordinary outward events, I cannot but think that the discipline of soul through which I have passed has been peculiar and calculated to fit me for usefulness in the cause of God.

I feel truly ashamed (now that clearer light seems to shine on the path in which the Lord has led me) of my continual murmurings and discontent because of the circumstances in which He has permitted me to be cast; I have spent hours in bitter grief and useless regret because of the disadvantages under which I have laboured.

I have often charged God foolishly and wished I had been born with a mind content to feed on the empty husks in which I have seen others take so much delight, rather than be conscious of the possession of powers which must lay dormant and talents uncultivated, and desires and hopes which could never be realized.

I have been ready to demand of the Lord why He made me thus, and deprived me of the means of that culture and improvement which He had so lavishly bestowed upon others who neither valued nor used them. Thus has my foolish and wicked heart often been ready to enter into judgment with the Almighty, not considering the superiority of the gifts He has bestowed to those which I coveted.

Truly I have laboured under many disadvantages and have often thought my lot on that account very hard, but now I see and acknowledge the goodness of God in having made up for them by the bestowment of that, without which all the advantages in the world would have availed me nothing, and above all by the impartation of the light and influence of His Holy Spirit which has attended me from earliest infancy, and often excited in my childish heart thoughts, struggles, hopes, and fears of no ordinary nature; though such struggles were hid in the penetralia of my own spirit and unknown to any mortal.

Showers of tears, and scores of prayers were poured out by me, when a very little girl, at the feet of Jesus, and when not more than twelve I passed through such an ordeal of fiery temptation for about the space of three months as but to reflect on makes my soul recoil within me; at that early age I frequently watered my couch with my tears, and the billows of the Almighty seemed to go over me.

Many a time my whole frame has trembled under the foul attacks of the adversary, and his attacks were so subtle and of such a nature, that I could not then, on pain of death, have revealed them to any one; so I endured alone and unaided by any earthly friend these fearful conflicts of soul; the effects of which soon became manifest in pale cheeks and failure of health and spirits, though the true cause was unknown.

But the storm passed, and my mind regained in a great measure its former vivacity, my soul found some repose in Christ, which alas! soon became disturbed and was ultimately lost, the fitfulness of childish feeling, the changes and enjoyments of youth and the absence of those helps I so much needed, induced seasons of indifference, and I frequently grieved the Holy Spirit by relapsing into sin; but the wondrous goodness of my God endured with much long-suffering my waywardness and indecision, till at length I was roused to deep and lasting concern to become in all things conformed to His will (for I regarded conformity to the will of God as true religion even from childhood).

Alas! how the admission condemns me, but so it was, and I earnestly sought till I found a sense of His favour and this conformity to His blessed will; and after that happy change I have often told you how much I enjoyed His presence, and how I went on for some time from strength to strength, being more than conqueror over sin and Satan who continued to wage with me a distressing warfare.

Oh if I had followed on in the same glorious path how different would have been my feelings to-night, but alas! I left my first love and wandered from the side of my Saviour; and you know the consequences. My soul is now like the temple deserted; bereft of the abiding manifestation of God’s presence; receiving only now and then a transitory ray, a short and flickering illumination; but I am tired of living thus, my soul pants, yea even fainteth again to behold the brightness of His glory, to abide in the sunshine of His smile. In Him I have found solid peace, in Him I am resolved to find it again, and oh, glorious possibility, I may regain what I have lost, yea with abundant increase. . .

The desires of a whole life to be consecrated to the service of God seem revived in my soul. I feel sometimes as though I could do or stiffer anything to glorify Him who has been so wondrously merciful to me.

I have besought Him most earnestly to cut short His work and hide me in the grave if He sees that my future life would not glorify Him more than the past has done. I was formed for His glory and Created for “His praise,” and if the end of my existence be not secured of what value is life? — I would rather forego its momentary joys than live any longer to dishonour my God, even if I believed death were annihilation; but I will hope in the mercy I have slighted, I will trust to the grace I have abused, for strength to love the Lord my God with all my heart and to walk in all His ordinances and statutes blameless.

I have enjoyed a precious season in prayer to-night, such liberty to ask, such a melting soul I have not for a long time experienced; I did not forget you, my dearest; no, I pleaded hard and earnestly for your complete consecration to God; nothing but this, my dear William, will do for either you or me.

Others may trim and oscillate between the broad and narrow path, but for us there is but one straight, narrow, shining path of perfect devotedness, and if we walk not in it, we are undone. I hope, my Love, you are determined to be altogether a man of God, nothing less will secure your safety or usefulness. God is not glorified so much by preaching, or teaching, or anything else, as by holy living. You acknowledge the possibility of going round the circuit and satisfying the people, without winning souls to God, to peace, and heaven.

Yes, my Love, it is awfully possible, and especially in your case; but to live a holy life without winning souls is just as impossible. Oh be determined to know nothing amongst men but Christ, seek nothing amongst then but His exaltation, His mediatorial renown; God has graciously given you the desire of your heart in opening your way to the ministry of His gospel, and that in a sphere exactly suited to your predilection and views of truth.

He has given you a wide and promising vineyard to keep and water for Him, but remember, my Love, His eye is ever on you, He is trying your heart. He is proving you not now in the furnace of affliction and adversity, but in the sunshine of prosperity, in a path paved with kindness and dangerously slippery.

Oh watch! — watch the motions of your heart, scrutinize your motives, analyse your desires and aims, and keep your eye single, get your heart filled afresh with the love of God and of souls, and aim only at the glory of God, and then He will honour you with abundant success; you shall not labour in vain, nor spend your strength for nought.

But, my dearest, if you fail to give Him all the glory, if self be mixed up with your efforts; if an unsanctified ambition fire your heart, He will, because He loves you, try you and prove you with another discipline, more painful, but less dangerous.

Monday, February 7, ‘53.

MY DEAREST LOVE—I am glad you wrote me on Saturday, for I had not received a letter since Wednesday till this morning, and should have felt very uneasy if it had not arrived. I dreamed the other night that you had hurt your foot in getting out of a gig, and were laid up through it, so he careful what you are about.

I want to find in you my earthly all; I expect to do so; I feel too deeply to be able to write on this subject; whenever I try my tears blind me; you think I “underestimate your love”; why my dearest, do you think so? Tell me why.

Perhaps I write too fully all my fears and thoughts and hopes about the future, but oh, I feel the importance of the relationship we are to sustain to each other, and I do want us both to be prepared to fill it with as much happiness to each other, and glory to God, and good to others, as it is possible.

Be assured, my Love, I have confidence in you, I believe what you say, but you know, William, I shall give up my all to you, my happiness, my life, my pride, and perhaps to some extent my eternal destiny, and is it unnatural for me sometimes to express a little anxiety! But believe me, my own dear Love, I have confidence in your professions, and I never for one moment doubted the honourableness of your intentions.

As to the time of our union, I am surprised you think it will be practicable so soon, and I cannot think it is in any way necessary in order to prevent your being unfaithful, notwithstanding all the temptations to which you are exposed.

You have often told me that your love was founded on the deepest esteem of your soul, that I have the preference of your judgment and soul, and that your love for me was conceived in the entire absence of passion; this being the case, and feeling some confidence in my own ability to sustain this esteem, I am not so anxious as I otherwise should be about the temptations you meet with, though I am thankful to hear they are no temptation to you, “praise the Lord, oh my soul.”

You know my heart, my dear William, and have formed your own estimate of my character, your choice was not made hastily nor without much rational calculation and earnest prayer, and I am persuaded your good sense and Christian principle will shield you in all circumstances; you have a right to expect grace where grace is needful to preserve you, because you have not run into temptation by concealing your engagement; you have acted honourably, and God will bless you.

Always speak when there is a necessity, and you will save yourself from the snare of the fowler. You need not fear your own heart because of Mr. C., your character and his are quite opposite. I believe Miss Smith has been sincere and truthful in her statements of all the facts.

But, notwithstanding my confidence in you, I am willing to come and help you as soon as all things are equal; in this I am sure, as in other things, I am ready to consider your happiness, but you must have a home before then Whenever I come, I doubt not I shall love the people, and feel an interest in the circuit second only to yourself, and I hope to be very useful in it.

I must get more religion, and then all will be well. I must get self destroyed, and then the Lord may trust me to do good without endangering my own soul. I am glad to hear you say you love me best when you love Jesus most; it is a good sign; such love cannot be displeasing to Him; I hope we shall be able to love him in each other, and each other in Him, and that the nearer our assimilation to Him, the nearer will be our assimilation to each other. Glorious possibility, it may be so; let us both resolve that it shall.

I intended to write only one sheet, but somehow I cannot get into the way of writing short letters, so much crowds up to say, that I cannot help it. Write me two as long as you can this week. Read over my last again, and think what there is which it would give me pleasure to hear you respond to. . . Believe me, my dearest Love, yours in “unclouded love.”

(In February 16, ‘53.)

MY DEAREST LOVE — I have read your letter again since writing the enclosed and have opened the envelope to send you another line.

You tell me that after three months’ absence your heart turns to me with more constancy than at first, and that you look forward to a union as the consummation of earthly bliss, etc., etc., and then add, “but you must believe this and rest satisfied on it.”

My dear, be assured I do always believe whatever you say; you seem to think me of a jealous, suspicious nature; William, I am not so. You say, “What will become of us in the future if you cannot trust and thoroughly rest on confidence in me?” My dearest, I can do so, if you do not give me any reason to distrust.

I would never call myself by your name, if I did not feel this confidence; I tell you that I repose in you with all my heart; and it is only my distress when anything you write forces into my mind a doubt; not of your honourable intentions, I never did feel one doubt on that subject; not of your esteem, I never doubted that; not of your truthfulness, candour, and sincerity, I never doubted either; but of what cuts deepest of all, of your deepest and tenderest love. I never was tempted to doubt anything but this, and that only when I thought you deficient in manifesting it.

Now tell me whether you acquit me of groundless, mean suspicion; and if I have unconsciously given you pain, even though it has been to relieve my own, do you forgive me? and in imagination clasp me to your bosom and tell me all is well? Tell me on Monday whether it is so, don’t forget.

Catherine Mum ford to William Booth.
Friday afternoon (February, 1853).

MY BELOVED WILLIAM — Your very kind note rejoiced my heart exceedingly this morning. I was dressing when it was brought me, and I had just been thinking how ill I looked, hut after reading it I could see a sensible improvement in my countenance; it struck me as I looked in the glass to complete my toilet, how true that a “glad heart maketh the face to shine.”

I have been reading the Proverbs of Solomon in bed in the morning, and I never before was so struck with their practical wisdom; they will never wear out, they are applicable to all times, with very few exceptions. I wish you would read a chapter a day carefully and thoughtfully till you are through them; do, it will please me and do you good. Bless you, my dearest, your scrap cheered my soul and made all within me rejoice; such struggles and such conquests convince me of the reality and depth of your affection more deeply than anything else could possibly do.

Oh, yes, this is an evidence of love, which I highly appreciate; self-sacrifice is the touchstone of affection, it proveth the reality of love. Yes, I believe now that you love me, and besides, your affection is purer and more elevated for such triumphs.

Oh, bless the Lord, I do rejoice. Do not think this mere expression. Oh, I feel it, I do indeed rejoice in it. . . . I was thinking this morning about a few words you said when here, about marrying; I have often thought of them, I think they were spoken thoughtlessly; I think you would not thoughtfully utter them.

Suppose, dearest, we never expected to realize any further union than we do already, would you not marry for companionship, social and domestic joys, communion of heart and mind, and the bliss of being loved and of loving? Tell me next time. I feel that these are the highest and strongest and paramount objects with me; I would marry for these alone, and so I believe you would, though you said differently, but you did not stop to think.

I feel better satisfied with your letters than I ever did before, they seem warmer and transparent, and I think we shall both be gainers by writing oftener, especially if we try to enrich every letter by at least one sentiment or thought worth writing. I mean independent of news, etc., etc.

I am about the same in health as when I wrote last, the relaxation came on before I had finished that last note; but I would not say so, because I knew it would trouble you, but it is better again to-day. I saw Mr. H. yesterday; he scolded me for going because it was foggy, but thought me better. I am to go on Tuesday.

Let us hope in God; pray for me. I will remember two o’clock, don’t you forget it. This is your quarterly meeting; I have been thinking much about you, and praying for direction. I do not wish you to wait four years now; since you were here I have felt convinced that your well-being forbids it; otherwise I would be willing to purchase future certainty and comfort at such a price; but if you could not have less than £6o, and Mr. R.’s £10 would be £70, on which I fear not to venture for the first three or four years, and then you might get more than £6o. I fear to advise you.

I want you to do right, not that I think it would be wrong to join them,— oh, no; their Constitution, etc., etc., and your own position, would be more in unison with your views of the truth.

Sunday evening, March 20, ‘53.
MY OWN DEAR WILLIAM —

I had no intention to write this when I began, but it is out of the abundance of my heart. Oh, my Love, I have felt acutely about you, I mean your soul. I rejoice exceedingly to hear how time Lord is blessing your labours, but as I stand at a distance and contemplate the scene of action and all the circumstances attending it, I tremble with apprehension for the object most beloved and nearest (except, I trust, the glory of God and the honour of my Redeemer) my heart.

I know how possible it is to preach and pray and sing, and even shout, while the heart is not right with God. I know how popularity and prosperity have a tendency to elate and exalt self, if the heart is not humble before God.

I know how Satan takes advantage of these things to work out the destruction (if possible) of one whom the Lord uses to pull down the strongholds of his kingdom, and all these considerations make me tremble, and weep, and pray for you, my dearest Love, that you may be able to overcome all his devices, and having done all, to stand, not in your own strength but in humble dependence on Him who workcth “all in all.”

Allow me, dearest, to caution you against indulging ambition to be either a revivalist or anything else; try to get into that happy frame of mind to be satisfied if Christ be exalted, even if it be only by compelling you to lie at the foot of the Cross and look upon Him. If your happiness of soul comes to depend on the excitement of active service, what! if God should lay His hand upon you and give you the cup of suffering instead of labour! Nothing but a heart in unison with His, and a will perfectly subdued, can then give peace.

Watch against mere animal excitement in your revival services. I don’t use the term in the sense in which anti-revivalists would use it, but only in the sense which Finney himself would use it; remember Caughey’s silent, soft, heavenly carriage; he did not shout, there was no necessity; he had a more potent weapon at command than noise.

I never did like noise and confusion, only so far as I believed it to be the natural expression of deep anxiety wrought by the Holy Ghost; such as the cries of the jailor, etc., etc.; of such noise, produced by such agency, the more the better.

But, my Love, I do think noise made by the preacher and the Christians in the church is productive of evil only. As to that Isaac Marsden, he might be sincere, but exceedingly injudicious and violent; I would nut attend one of his prayer meetings on any account. I don’t believe the Gospel needs such roaring and foaming to make it effective, and to some minds it would make it appear ridiculous, and bar them against its reception for ever.

There was nothing of this kind in that most powerful sermon ever preached by Peter on the day of Pentecost; the noise was made by the people pricked to the heart, and was the effect of that plain, powerful, but calm and reasonable appeal to their consciences, and not of Peter’s own creating.

This is in my opinion the natural order of a revival. I should not have troubled you with my views on the subject (indeed I think you know them pretty fully; if not, you will find them exactly in Finney’s Lectures on Revivals, which I consider the most beautiful and common-sense work on the subject I ever read), only that you have been wondering how I shall enter into it with you.

My dear, I trust, as far as I have ability and grace, I shall he ready to strengthen your hands in the glorious work, by taking under my care to enlighten and guard and feed the lambs brought in under your ministry. I believe in instantaneous conversion as firmly as you do; at the same time I believe that half of what is called conversion is nothing of the kind, and there is no calculating the evil results of deception in a matter so momentous.

Great caution is necessary in dealing with inquirers, especially the young. My own brother was much injured through injudicious treatment in this respect. He went one Sunday evening to hear Mr. Richardson at Vauxhall. He was quite unconcerned when he went, but was much wrought upon under the sermon and induced to go to the communion rail, where he professed to find peace.

There certainly was a change in him for a short time, but, alas! there was no foundation, and in a week or two the fair blossoms faded, and though he continued to meet in class, his conduct was far worse than it had ever been before, he was more impatient of restraint and reproof, in fact his heart was closed against conviction by the vain idea that he was converted.

I only tell you this to illustrate what I mean, and not in any way to speak ill of my dear brother. Poor boy, he was young and ignorant in spiritual things, and therefore easily deceived; I hope and pray that the Spirit of God will become his instructor, and reveal to him the true state of his heart, and the broad and deep

Top

requirements of His law. I have told you his case as one instance out of scores of a similar kind, to caution you against pressing a confession of faith in Christ before the mind is thoroughly enlightened and the soul fully broken down.

Read Finney’s directions for the treatment of penitents; they are excellent, the best part of the work; if you are not well acquainted with them be sure to read them. They are in his Lectures on Revivals, and don’t forget to recommend James’s Anxious Enquirer to young penitents; it is worth its weight (nay, far more than that) in gold.

I know you will rightly estimate what I have written; don’t think that I consider your danger greater than my own would be if placed in your circumstances; alas, I of all beings should be most in danger of being vainglorious and self-sufficient, and perhaps it is because I feel this that I am so anxious about you.

However, tell me, my Love, in your next all about your soul’s secret experience; tell me whether you attend faithfully to private prayer, and how you feel when alone with God. This is the surest test by which to judge of your state, and you never needed it more frequently than now; the harass and turmoil of business might be less congenial, but depend on it, my dear, it was not more dangerous to your soul’s true interest.

It was not more necessary to watch and pray then than it is now. If you get yours quite right with God and keep it so, nothing can hinder you from being a useful man, and I believe God will signally own you as His servant; but if you keep back anything from God, if you suffer self to share the glory, He will frustrate your designs and spoil your happiness.

Do, my Love, get all condemnation cleared away, and be able to look straight to the Throne for your encouragement and reward, and then all you can desire while your heart is partially carnal will then be given you, though not valued for its own sake; like Solomon, who, when he desired simply and singly wisdom, heavenly wisdom, gained both riches and honour and glory as an overplus.

God is so good. If we could only see Him as He is, we should desire nothing beside Him either in earth or heaven. Oh, let us pray and watch to get our eyes fully opened to behold His beauty, and singly fixed on His glory. Oh, it is a glorious state to be in:

The bliss of those who fully dwell,
Fully in Him believe,
Is more than angel tongues can tell,
Or angel minds conceive.

I know it is, and I hope yet again to experience it, “then will I teach transgressors His ways” (His ways of marvellous mercy, truth, love, and faithfulness towards sinful man), “I will declare His faithfulness, and sinners shall be converted to Him.”

BRIXTON, March 30, ‘53.

MY DEAREST WILLIAM — Your letter came to hand about an hour since, and I can attend to nothing till I have written you a line in reply. I never was more surprised in my life than on reading it to find the aspect my last seemed to wear in your eyes.

I am sure, dearest, the state of your own mind makes all the difference to your interpretation of my letters. You should not read mine as you would a stranger’s, you should bear in mind what I am, and what a sentiment means when dictated by Love and a deep and absorbing desire that you should appear in the eyes of others as a man of God “thoroughly furnished to every good work,” and in the sight of God as one pure and upright in heart seeking only His glory.

I was not when I wrote “dreadfully put about and harassed in my mind,” but the Spirit of God had been operating powerfully upon my heart, and I felt afresh awakened to the superiority and importance of spiritual things, and of course as I felt it for myself I felt it for you; but I think I spoke tenderly and carefully; as to scolding, I never felt less like it than when I wrote that letter, for my whole soul was melted into tenderness and self-abasement.

Do read it again the first opportunity and then read yours which I have enclosed; not, my Love, in a spirit of retaliation, but only that you may read it now your mind is calmer. You could not possibly construe what I said as against revivals, or even in depreciation of them, when I so carefully guarded my words, and I don’t know why you cannot understand it, I think it was plain enough.

But I see you are dreadfully harassed, and most deeply do I sympathize with you; indeed, for me to be happy while I think you are not so is impossible; though I was not unhappy last week. I rejoiced with you in your prosperity; but at the same time I know even that was dangerous, and expressed the anxiety I felt, thinking you would rightly understand me, but I perceive you cannot bear it; well, dearest, scold me if you like, blame me or what else you will, but faithful as well as loving I must ever be; my conscience compels me, and the more I love you the more I feel it a duty.

As to my estimate of you, surely you don’t feel a fear that it is too low, while I am willing to give my happiness to so great an extent into your keeping; then don’t call it scolding or seem hurt when I give you a gentle caution and try to excite you to more heart consecration to your Father and mine, while at the same time I confess to you my own unfaithfulness and deplore my want of love to the Saviour, and with all sincerity declare the consciousness I have of my own unfitness thus to stimulate you.

When you seem to think me officious or bitter or unnecessarily anxious, it makes it doubly painful and cuts to my very soul. As to our being separated in the sphere of our action in the Church, I can only say I never dreamed of such a thing. I hope for perfect unity and fellowship in all plans, and least of all should 1 think of separation in the Church of God.

Monday evening, June 13, ‘53.

MY OWN DEAR WILLIAM — I sincerely thank you for your kind note of Saturday, it did me good this morning. I like it better than either of last week’s, there is more soul in it, and only one fault, viz, being too short. But I know your time is precious, and therefore will not complain.

Bless you, I am glad you so fully reciprocate the sentiments in my last, it rejoices my soul and fills me with hope to hear you say so, but I am sorry you do not write a little more in answer to my letters. I do not mean, dearest, that you should notice everything; that would be a task my love would not impose; but some things I often wish you would take up and write a few words in the way of answer; you can easily guess what they are.

You promised me to write a line sometimes in pencil after retiring for the night, or when walking by the wayside. Do sometimes, there’s a dear. A stray thought, especially when tender and heavenly, will be to me a gem of great value. Do not interpret this as finding fault; it is not; it is only a gentle remembrance. I know how your time is occupied and your mind also, and do most fully appreciate your kindness in writing so often.

The unexpected knock of the postman always excites feelings of the tenderest affection towards you, and causes me to bless you with increased fervency of soul, so true is Tupper’s proverb, “A letter timely writ is as a rivet to the chain of affection, and a letter untimely delayed is as rust to the solder.”

I was very glad to hear you got on so well at the School feast; you ask me for some ideas for speeches on such occasions. I am sure I can send you nothing worth having, and besides I do not know the style of speaking acceptable; I suppose the design, importance, and results of Sabbath School teaching form the principal topics, and I am sure you know far more on these subjects than I do.

My soul feels deeply enough the vast importance of good moral culture for the youthful mind, but from the specimens I have seen of Sunday Schools, I fear they are to a great extent ineffective; but I hope I have not seen fair specimens; I don’t think I have.

However, it seems to me that the Church generally wants pressing home upon its conscience the responsibility resting upon it with regard to the rising generation; it should be made to feel this one fact, that of all spheres of labour this is the most important, of all interests at home or abroad this is the most momentous; of all its efforts for the extension of Christianity and the glory of God, this promises the largest amount of success, because the present generation is passing away and will inevitably pass away without being thoroughly impregnated with Divine truth, and whether the next will come upon the stage of action either so impregnated or not, it rests with the Church to determine.

Fifty years hence where will be the men and women who are now the adult population of our world? Almost without exception swept off one by one; like the flowers in Autumn, they will have ceased to live and move and think, their influence will have died with them, and but a few eminent names will survive the wreck; but the children who now hang upon the breast and prattle on the knee will then be the living, reasoning, influential men and women of the world, and the parents of future generations; destined perhaps in the providence of God to wield a mightier influence for good or evil than any which have preceded them since the ocean of human life rolled over our earth; how transcendently important then is it to train up these young beings (the fountains of so much future influence and power) in the right way, how important to impart early (before the storms of iniquity beat on their defenceless souls and render them impervious to holy impressions) right principles of action, light for the conscience, food for the soul, and knowledge for the mind.

I feel this too deeply to express half what I feel, if I could do so I could make a speech myself, but my views on this subject are too large to be conveyed in words. I never look at a little child but I feel unutterable things: What is he? What will he become, and what might he be? What eternal destiny awaits the immortal jewel lodged in that beautiful little casket? What influences will gather round it in this life’s pilgrimage? What friends will aid it? What foes try to ruin it? are questions my soul shrinks from answering even to itself.

Wednesday evening, June, ‘53.

MY BELOVED WILLIAM — . . . I am glad you, my Love, are from under their dominion. Depend upon it that is an iron rule which stifles conscience and binds the soul; poor, nay, noble Kilham had courage to resist it, but in doing so he proved its strength and endured its inflictions.

Many men have not such courage, and doubtless many amongst them, even their best men, are bowed down in spirit and sorely oppressed, not daring to open their mouths. While such powerful, organized bodies exist with so many of the elements of pure despotism in their constitution, it may be expedient and even necessary for other large and more liberally Constituted bodies to exist in order to compete with them and present their complete ascendancy if this be God’s method; the amalgamation of the splits of Methodism must be desirable, but it wants deep consideration Be cautious, my Love, let no personal benefit weigh an atom with you.

First be fully persuaded in your own mind that such a step would be for the good of man and the glory of God, and then work for it with all the skill and caution necessary, but if not fully persuaded and yet not satisfied to remain in your present position amongst the Reformers, then consider whether you had better seek for yourself alone (leaving the movement out of the question) admission amongst them, think over their rules and learn as much as possible about the way in which they are carried out, and lay the matter continually and earnestly before God, for it is an important matter to submit yourself to a conference of any kind; doubtless it would be to our temporal comfort; I feel this, but that is secondary.

Be fully satisfied it is your way, and then we can rejoice in our prosperity without any misgivings as to the path of duty.

Bless you a thousand times, I only want to see you happy and useful, and I care not where or how, provided it be according to God’s will. You will excuse all this advice, etc. I did not think of writing thus, but the subject agitates my heart and so I could not but give it utterance. Those thoughtfully expressed words about preferring to go back to business to staying with the Reformers have made me feel anxious, not because I wish you to remain in your present position, nor because it may defer our union, no, only because I fear you should get wrong, though I very much question whether the movement is exactly your sphere.

You must consider the law of your own mind. Do pray very earnestly about it, seek specially and solemnly God’s guidance; search your heart before Him in secret, be determined, bring your soul to it in spite of all obstacles, and I am sure He will direct you. I have begun to pray about it regularly.

As to business, I believe you may just as faithfully serve God in it as in the Ministry; whichever is your right place there you can best serve Him, and He knows which is; and more, He can in defiance of circumstances put you in it. Oh that He may thus graciously fix the bounds of your habitation and choose our inheritance for us; do not take any steps in order to marry which you would not take if you did not know me.

I hope Mr. L. does not think that I am in a hurry to be married, and have unsettled your mind because you say, he thinks we want to get married. Much as I feel this separation and absence I am willing, nay, desirous to endure it as long as the Lord wills, and that I feel it so much is the fault of my heart (if it is a fault) and not of my judgment.

I shall swell this to the usual length; I often think of the Frenchman’s apology for a long letter, viz. “excuse the length of this, I have not time to make it shorter.” I feel it is most appropriate to me, for to prune and digest mine would take far longer than to write them as I do.

Thursday afternoon.— My dearest Love, in reading over the preceding, it struck me that you might gather from it some objection on my part to your entering the New Connexion, therefore I refer to the subject again to assure you that I have not; I only wish you to act as your judgment and conscience dictate without reference to marrying; do not think of that otherwise than as God would approve; I mean, do not let your desire towards it cause you to take any step your conscience does not fully approve.

Of course if you see a thing to be right, then there is no harm in considering its temporal advantages, but I need not attempt to instruct you, neither need I fear the integrity of your motives. I should like to see your letter to The Times if it is inserted. How is it signed? Send me word.

I hope you are studying; you do not mention it. Be determined to make the most of every moment; do not let trifles interrupt your study hours and attention. Do, my Love, work hard for yourself so that you may make many rich. Remember time flies, a moment at a time. Oh let us use the moments. I am doing so, and consequently am progressing, at least a little, according to my ability. I am much encouraged about the music.

Wednesday evening, June, ‘53.

MY OWN DEAR LOVE — Oh how I should like to see you tonight and hear you speak to me in tones of sweet affection and encouragement. You will be sorry to hear that I have felt very low to-day and yesterday; the principal cause of this depression is a deep and painful sense of my own unfitness to enter upon the duties and responsibilities of life; I feel my weakness and deficiencies most bitterly, and have shed some bitter tears because of it.

I have confidence in you as to battling with the trials of life, or I think I should sink into despair, for I feel I am not fit for the world; but you will be my defence and shield, my prop and succour, will you not, dearest? You will bear with my weaknesses and faults, hush my fears, strengthen my hopes and efforts, and try to enter into the indefinable emotions of my sensitive heart. I shall at least have one being in the world able to sympathize with my soul’s feelings and to understand the peculiarities of my mind and heart.

Oh how sweet! and that being holding the most endearing of relationships, bound to me by the tenderest ties; bless you, I think I need not fear the depth of your sympathy, the strength or durability of your affection; if I did fear either I should be most unhappy, but I do not; I believe you capable of more than I once did; I think we shall be one in heart and soul, and oh this is everything; in body we shall have continually and painfully to part, but in spirit we may always be united.

I think a great deal about your being out so much, I do hope your present unsettled and whirlabout life will not beget a distaste for pure domestic home bliss, and oh I do trust, that before we have a home Providence will make it possible for you to be more in it. Bless you, I feel indescribable things to-night, my soul is so full I cannot write at all collectedly.

Oh, if I could but pour it into your ear; it does seem hard just now to be parted. I feel as though I could fly to you, my whole soul is drawn towards you, if I could explain what I feel, and how I feel, and why I feel, and all I feel, I am sure you would sympathize with me and clasp me more tenderly to your heart than ever you did before.

I say this because I know, that although perhaps I feel too deeply, and too keenly, yet the class of feelings and their causes and objects are pleasing to God, they are not selfish but purest benevolence, but oh, they are painful in the extreme.

Pray for me. I will not write thus, perhaps it grieves you, though I hope not. Do not call it sentimentalism, dearest, it is the only reality of life; what are all the so-called realities of this world when compared with one pure affection, one refined emotion of one human soul?

Their reality fades like the bubble on the wave; soul, and spiritual things are the only realities we have to do with, and all relating to them are to us of paramount importance. Let us estimate everything according to its influence on each other’s mind and heart; to inflict bodily suffering were a kindness compared with distress of mind and those who can feel deepest themselves will be most chary of the feelings of those they love.

May the Lord give us grace to study each other, and love as He has enjoined. I often wonder whether others feel on these subjects as I do; if they did, surely there would be more happy unions. I scarce ever realize the happiness, for thinking of the duties and responsibilities of married life; I am so anxious to be a good wife and mother, and cannot think of the joy of being either.

Never mind, dearest, my heart will not be the less sensible of the joy when it comes, and perhaps better prepared for it. Oh for grace to do my duty to you in all respects, and to those whom God may give us, and to the Church, and to the world, and to myself, and thus doing it in all the relations of life to serve my God in serving His chosen ones, the service He Himself has required.

Monday night, June, ‘53.

MY OWN DEAR WILLIAM — How I should like to see you tonight and tell you lots of feelings, thoughts, hopes, and fears which would take too much time and patience to write; patience is a thing I am very deficient in. Oh for more of it. I have felt exceedingly irritable to-day, the music has tried me almost beyond endurance.

I could freely abandon it and never touch it more. I fear the result will never repay the time and labour. Once to-day I raised my eyes from the music and through some bitter tears looked at your likeness, and said to myself, “William, I do this for thee.”

Yes, all the other motives would fail to urge me forward; for no other being could I endure the drudgery, but you like it, it will make home a happier place to you, it will help to raise our souls to heaven, so I will persevere in my arduous undertaking; it is an arduous one, everybody considers it so.

Miss . . . never knew any one begin to learn after they were grown up, but I will for your dear sake go on. Measure my love for you by this standard; think of three and four hours a day, self-denying toil, especially trying to one whose nerves have been shattered and whose powers of application and endurance weakened by long and wearing pain, and then say whether the love that prompts it is a trifle; but I know you estimate my affection. I am quite happy on that subject now.

Bless you. I do hope we shall be dear to each other as the apple of an eye. If I thought that you soberly think what you say about my having no faults and infirmities to bear with, I should indeed be unhappy, and begin to think I had unintentionally given you a false view of my character. Believe me, dearest (and I know myself better than any one else knows me), I have as many as will require a great deal of grace, deep affection and much patience to endure, so set about cultivating these virtues as quickly and effectually as possible.

Tuesday afternoon.— Thank you, darling, for the kind words contained in yours this morning; I had been thinking that I had written too passionately last night and that I ought to restrain the tide of feeling more than I do in writing to you; but no, now you write so affectionately I will let it root on and push out, just as it will, without seeking to cool or restrain it, so that you may know of what I am made.

Bless you, you have no reason to fear about true conjugal bliss if your love is only deep and fervent; I think I have a soul capable of enjoying and yielding as much as most; but remember I have its almost invariable failings, capable of deepest feeling on one subject as well as another, therefore liable to anger as well as love. But I told you enough of this last night, and though I have no new thoughts to send you would feel disappointed on Wednesday morning if there was no letter, and perhaps anxious about the fate of your Saturday’s note.

July 18, ‘53.

You ask me about Miss M. She is a simple-hearted, pretty, pleasant girl; I suppose well educated; can play very nicely. I like her very much as far as she goes; I appreciate true simplicity and sincerity of character wherever I find it, and I think she possesses it. She is not in the least intellectual, quite ordinary in capacity and not very ladylike in manners, though she has been at school four years; but character is everything. I like her character far, far better than Mr. Hale’s sisters who are more polished.

You will not misunderstand me when I say that I never yet met with a female friend able to understand or appreciate my views and feelings on the great subjects which appear to me the only realities of life; all whom I know seem to live in a different world; they look not at the future, they seem to be shut up in the present little paltry things of everyday life; I am grieved that it is so; the mothers of humanity want different training; surely the day is dawning; I believe it is; may it rapidly progress. I often have wished I had one able to sympathize with my views and reciprocate them, but now I have you I do not mind so much.

I am delighted; it makes me happy to hear you speak as you do about home. Yes, if you will seek home, love home, be happy at home, I will spend my energies in trying to make it a more than ordinary one; it shall, if my ability can do it, be a spot sunny and bright, pure and calm, refined and tender, a fit school in which to train immortal spirits for a holy and glorious heaven; a fit resting-place for a spirit pressed and anxious about public duties; but Oh, I know it is easy to talk, I feel how liable I am to fall short; but it is well to purpose right, to aim high, to hope much; yes, we will make home to each other the brightest spot on earth, we will be tender, thoughtful, loving, and forbearing, will we not? yes, we will.

Tuesday night, August 2, ‘53.

MY OWN DEAR LOVE — I wept tears of gratitude and joy this morning over your kind note. Oh how my soul praised God for His preserving mercy; bless you, how I should like to nurse you, and press your poor bruised face to mine.
These accidents make me feel very anxious; surely, surely, they are not going to be frequent occurrences. You were not to blame this time, as you had no warning beforehand, but my Love, never venture behind that horse again; it is wonderful if you have escaped serious injury, but I hardly feel satisfied on that subject; I do hope you have been to a doctor.

After such a violent shaking you ought to have some suitable medicine. Now if you have not been to one, be sure and do so. I hope you will rest till you are well, it tries me sadly to think of you taking your appointments in that state; I think the local preachers must be rather inhuman if they are not willing to supply for you in such a case, and you really are imprudent if you do not let them, if they are willing; but I trust you are better quite, by this time.

I should have written to-day if I had not posted one yesterday. I mistook Thursday for Tuesday in Saturday’s letter, and thought you would be home on Tuesday. I hope the letter came before you left home this morning. I have felt very tenderly about you all day. Oh what a mercy you were not killed or some of your limbs broken; if you had been killed as scores have been in a similar way, how would it have been with your soul? I have thought much about the temptation you mentioned in the scrap on Saturday, about the reality of spiritual things, you said it was something more than temptation.

No! it is not, neither is it peculiar to you; it is common to all. I have had it presented, as almost every other which Satan has in his hellish treasury, but I think he has plied that with as little effect as any.

I always find it best to appeal at once to my consciousness; I know the religion of Jesus is a reality just as I know I live, and breathe, and think, because my consciousness testifies it, and that is a more powerful thing than Satan’s intellect or logic; it disarms him at once; on other subjects reasoning with him has been my bane, but on this I never reason, I refer him to times and things gone by and my conscience says that was real; if not let me have over again the blissful delusion; but I know it was real, for it bore me up on the threshold of eternity, and made death my friend, there is nothing like the light of eternity to show us what is real and what is not.

Now, my dear, how did you feel when that accident seemed to poise you between life and death, time and eternity? Where did Satan hide himself just then? Did he come with his foul suggestions about the delusion or mystery of godliness? I think not, he would take care to keep out of that track when your consciousness was fully awake.

Oh, my Love, watch! Satan is a subtle foe, he knows just the temptations most suited to hinder your usefulness, and he knows that just in proportion to your own personal faith in, and experience of, the glorious gospel, will be your success in preaching it to others; he knows (none better) that it is the preacher who can say “I testify that which I do know and have seen and handled of the word of life,” which is mighty through God to the pulling down of his strongholds. It is such men he fears and hates, and pursues; hut it is such whom his Vanquisher loves, trusts, and upholds.

Oh, dearest, be you one of them, be the champion of real godliness, cost what it may, know in your own soul the mighty power of the grace of God, and then you will preach it with awful influence, and abundant success; it is real, more real than all beside, the mightiest power in this wonderful universe; true, the mystery of godliness is great, but it is given to the real followers of Jesus “to know the mysteries of the Kingdom” as far as is needful for them; but Satan makes so much ado about the mysteries of grace, as though mystery were peculiar to it, when all nature is enveloped in mystery; and what can be more mysterious than “thought,”— what is thought, memory, emotion?

How does thought arise? How does memory store up, and hide, and years after pour forth its awful or pleasing treasures? Who can explain these common operations of the mind, and what in the Bible is more mysterious? — and yet I am as conscious that I think and remember as that I live and breathe. All is mystery around me, above me, below me, within me, before me, but yet I believe, act, plan, live, according to what I can understand, and must be content to wait the solution of these mysteries at some future enlargement and enlightenment of my faculties.

All men do this, as to the natural world; they acknowledge their ignorance, but yet believe in it and act upon it, as though they perfectly understood every law and operation and tendency; then if mystery is so common in this material world, how absurd of Satan to urge it as an objection to the reality of a system which professes for its object the perfecting of what is confessedly in itself the most mysterious of all mysteries, viz, the human soul?

If the gospel were less mysterious, it would lack one of the characters of the Divine signature; if it were less simple and comprehensible it would lack adaptation to its great object. Oh then, let us hug it to our bosoms, and exult in its glorious simplicity in dealing with us; and reverence and bow down before its profundity in all that relates to its infinite Author; let us, my Love, experience what it holds forth, and though Satan may gnash upon us with his teeth he cannot hurt us. Let us get a firmer footing upon this rock, and we shall have a real foundation to stand upon when all that is unreal is passing away.

But I forget to whom I write; you know all this better than I do; you are not ignorant of Satan’s devices, nor of the armour best adapted to meet him in; nevertheless, what I say may help you by way of “stirring up your mind.”

May the Lord own it to this end, if it be not beneath His notice. I should not have said that. Nothing is too insignificant for His attention and blessing if prompted by a pure motive, bless His holy name He loves to use weak instruments to baffle the designs of His proud foe, and perhaps He may deign to use this; whether or not, I had no idea of writing thus when I began; I have been quite led off, and all I intended to say is left unsaid.

Friday noon, August 5, ‘53.

MY OWN DEAR WILLIAM — You will be surprised to receive a great budget like this, after receiving two letters this week long enough for a fortnight’s epistles; well, I cannot refrain from sending you the enclosed pamphlet though I know you could get one in your book parcel for less than the postage will cost, but I cannot bear to let you remain a day without it. Allow me to introduce the subject of it, whom I have heard and seen, and for raising up of whom my soul magnifies the Lord.

First then, read the little handbill enclosed containing a letter from Mr. Gough’s pastor, read it every word, and believe me it falls far short of the reality; when you have read it, turn to the last three pages, or rather the 44th page of the pamphlet, and read the pen and ink sketch of him, and depend upon it, it is below the reality — as a description.

When you have read it begin the sketch of his life and I know you cannot help reading it all, be sure to read it at once — and then lend it, and when you have your book parcel order some to sell. I never read anything with such intense interest in my life, it is true; its subject is a living man and a Christian, and I have heard him for myself.

I was at the Hall last night, and although it was the third oration the body of the Hall was very full, and the platform above half full, at 2S. 6d. a ticket. I did not intend going again, but I really cannot stay away, so I am going, all well, to-night to the Whittington Club; talk of eloquence and oratory! I never heard any before in comparison with this. I thought I must have come out, it almost overpowered me. I have witnessed much enthusiasm in that Hall, but nothing to equal it last night, kept up through the whole address.

Oh in some parts it was awful; my father sat next to me, he kept turning so pale and his hands and the muscles of his face were in most sensible emotion; his description of the gradual process of intemperance could only have been given by one who had experienced it; it was truly awful, but oh splendid in the extreme and true, as God is true.

His eloquence is irresistible; the people seemed spellbound while his graphic passages lasted, and then one, loud, prolonged shout and cheer gave him breathing time. He spoke most powerfully on the mighty influence of woman, and told some telling anecdotes on the subject, he appealed to the young ladies present with earnestness which I trust sank into many hearts, and what he said to young men is beyond eulogium, nay, I will give over; I am mortified that I cannot give you any idea of it, and oh it is all accompanied by such genuine self-abasement and Christian feeling that no one could help being electrified; but it is useless me writing, I am so excited. I have been to three or four places this morning to get persons to go to-night who I know are going down to destruction through drink.

Praise the Lord, all have received me kindly and three are going. One of them is the poor man I told you about, he has just been here for a ticket I bought him last night, and is going! Praise the Lord with me; he tells me that he has not tasted a drop since I first spoke to him, and that he begins to feel better, and indeed his parched lips and palsied limbs begin to assume a more healthful appearance, but oh the struggle is fearful.

Mr. Gough described it last night, as next to hell itself, but the Lord is able to keep him from falling, and I have confidence in Him, and I intend to work more in this good Cause.

Oh how I praised God last night for raising up this man; I believe his visit will be a blessed epoch in the history of the cause in this country. The Secretary said the committee were determined to keep him longer than his intention; if so, he will most likely visit the principal towns, if he stays much longer I do hope you will hear him.

Oh I praised God for giving me to see the importance of abstaining from the accursed stuff, and I praised Him too for enabling me to keep my early resolution to give my affections to no man who was not of the same mind; bless the Lord that we both see alike here, and I shall be able to train up our children perfect Samsons. Oh do all you can in this cause, speak to moderate drinking professors; those clogs on the wheel of the temperance chariot destined to triumph in its march round our world in spite of their indifference and opposition.

Get some copies of this pamphlet and distribute them either with or without being paid; if the people will not buy them, lend them or give them away, make them read it.

And now, how are you? Do not think that in this excitement I have felt no concern about you. I have very much. Even last night in the Hall, I felt anxious about your poor bruised body and I do hope you are quite restored. Oh I did wish you were with me last night, you would have been enraptured; if he stays in London you must come.

P.S.— Read every word of the pamphlet.

Monday afternoon, 15.8.’53.

MY LOVE — Your very kind note did not come to hand till after one o’clock. You make me smile about your dreams; and did you really feel so bad at the thoughts of losing me?

Well I do not think you have any reason to fear losing me in any way which would imply dishonour or breach of faith on my part, and I suppose it must have been some such phantom to be worse than death. Dreams are strange things; I often have some very exhausting and unpleasant ones, and especially since I have been so unwell.

But I am not superstitious about dreams; they are generally the effect of physical derangement, I think. However, supposing Satan had power to terrify the imagination during sleep, he cannot harm us by dreams, and I defy him to separate thee and me by any such means; while you are pure and true, according to my standard of truth and purity, nothing, nor any being can come between us. Oh, it does me good to hear how you used Saturday.

Well, go on and you will reap a rich reward. The knowledge of such effort will make me happier than thousands of gold and silver. I want you to be a man and a Christian, and then I am satisfied, but short of that I never could be. I might hide my discontent, but it would eat out the vitals of my affection and leave me either to make you miserable or die in the attempt to act a false part. I have such views of what you should be, and I have always had such views of what the man must be to whom I gave myself, that it would be bitterer than gall to find myself bound to one in mind and head manifestly unworthy.

Oh, I always prayed against it, and I believe the Lord will guide me. Bless you, I have confidence in you, I will have confidence, and I will be thoroughly happy about you, and then my health will improve, I trust.

We now have as significant a letter as any in the series, a letter of Catherine Mumford’s, breathing the deepest spirituality and revealing the mystical element in her nature — that element which beautified and sanctified her revivalism, and rendered her one of the great figures in religious history. If throughout all her other letters one can see the mother in her heart bending with solicitude over the life of her lover, in this letter one can hear the very beating of the wings of his guardian angel.

Thursday afternoon, December1, ‘53

MY OWN DEAR WILLIAM — I experienced great pleasure in the perusal of your Saturday’s letter, especially as you referred to my remarks about my thoughts respecting our future oneness of sympathy and feeling; you cannot appreciate the pleasure it gives me after writing a sheet or two out of the fulness of my heart, to receive a response to the particular subject on which I write.

I never knew that you loved me because of my capacity for deep feeling; on the contrary, I have often felt discouraged from writing all I felt by the idea that you would count it extravagant enthusiasm, or wild sentimentalism. . . .

Your Tuesday’s notes arrived safe, and I was rejoiced by both to hear of the continued prosperity of the work, though sorry you were so worn out; I fear the effect of all this excitement and exertion upon your health, and though I would not hinder your usefulness, I would caution you against an injudicious prodigality of your strength.

Remember a long life of steady, consistent, holy labour will produce twice as much fruit as one shortened and destroyed by spasmodic and extravagant exertions; be careful and sparing of your strength when and where exertion is unnecessary.

I have thought much about the New Connexion, and I am sorry you propose being decided by what the quarterly meeting may do, because I do not see what that has to do with the future.

I think, dearest, if you would sit down deliberately and take both sides of the question into consideration, and in the fear of God decide according to your best judgment, you would save yourself much unnecessary anxiety and vacillation.

Decide independent of the quarterly meeting; it is for the future you are to think and act, not for the present; then decide for the future, uninfluenced by the present, trusting in God to clear the way and fit you for the position, if the step be agreeable to His will. If our prospects fail here, our path being blocked up, and the interests of our family demand it, I will brave all the trials of the voyage and the climate and cheerfully accompany you across the Atlantic, because then I should feel

“Well, we tried the only path conscientiously open to us in our native land and it failed; therefore if evil befall us we shall be sustained by the belief that it is in the path of duty and in the order of Providence”; whereas if we fail to try this door and our prospects darken, I shall always think we missed our way.

I was truly sorry to hear of the ground which Satan has chosen from which to attack you; I appreciate your confidence in opening your heart to me as I know you would not to another in the world, and as a “faithful friend is the medicine of life, and he who fears the Lord shall find one,” I must try to help you to search your heart and encourage you to look for the victory over self which your Saviour has promised you.

You ask if such feelings as you refer to are not evidences of a bad heart. I answer, they are evidences of a partially unsanctified one; and, my Love, just in proportion to your satisfaction in the simple fact of God being glorified and souls being saved, by any instrument whatsoever, just so far is your eye single and your motive pure in your own individual efforts.

Try yourself, dearest, by this standard rather than by your feelings in the excitement of a prayer meeting when you are the principal agent. I speak with all tenderness, and as the beloved of my soul I tell you, that I see ambition to be your chief mental besetment, not a besetment if rightly directed and sanctified, but which unsanctified and “warped to an idol object” will make your life a martyrdom, a lingering self-crucifixion.

Ambition even to save souls may not be sanctified; but ambition simply to glorify God, the soul sunk down, rather risen up, to the one sublime idea of glorifying God, must be sanctified. A mind fastened on this one object will take pleasure in infirmities even (such as want of talent, etc., etc.), that the power of Christ may rest upon it, “being willing to be thought a fool” if by such means the wisdom of Christ may be manifested and glorified. This, dearest, is, in my opinion, full consecration to God, this is being like Christ, and religion in all its stages, I see more than ever to be, assimilation to Him, more or less perfect.

Look at the life of Christ, analyze His conversations with the Jews, and what object does He ever seem to keep uppermost, what was His chief aim, but to “glorify His Father,” and so I conceive the bliss of Heaven consists in the realization of that one object, the glory of God. . .

Try, dearest, to get the ambition of your soul fixed on the glory of your God, and it will bear you up to one of Heaven’s high thrones, and enrich your brow with one of its unfading crowns; get low at the foot of the cross, and lie there till God’s glory becomes all and in all to your soul; tell the Lord you want to feel willing to crawl as it were, behind every other Christian, so far as the estimation of man goes, if by this means you can best promote His glory; tell Him that you don’t want talent and popularity if you can glorify Him better without them.

Tell Him your will and desire is to be holy, leaving Him to choose your employment and position, and ask Him for the inward baptism of the Holy Ghost, that what you already desire may become the actual delight of your life.

Oh my dear William, depend upon it, it is not talent or learning (however estimable as instruments), nor might nor power, but “My Spirit, saith the Lord.” It is a soul spending itself simply for this one end which God will honour and which He always has honoured since He first spoke to man; and just in proportion as other motives operate will He cause disappointment and vexation of spirit.

The present state of the Church proves this; the Church has got machinery enough, talent of the first order, numbers, organizations, money, etc., etc., etc., and God seems to be standing aloof looking on and saying “You are trying to do My work in your own strength and in your own way, trying to build up systems and teach men’s intellects, and please your own fancies, instead of ever remembering My word ‘without Me ye can do nothing,’ and taking hold of the strength and grace I hold out to you and going forth for My glory only to save mankind.”

This appears to me to be exactly the present position of the Church, God’s glory is lost sight of, and man is set up in His place and worshipped; surely, then, God is just and true in withholding His Spirit till His Church learns her own weakness.

I believe it is with ministers a revival must begin, their self-sufficiency must be destroyed before God can use them, their motives must be pure before He will honour them. An unholy ministry is the greatest curse of the Church; I don’t mean an immoral or outwardly unrighteous ministry, but one unholy in soul, polluted in motive.

Talk of a stiff formal people, a cold do-nothing people, a worldly, proud people; where there is a devoted, faithful, holy minister, I don’t believe it; there never was such an anomaly lasted long. On the other hand, call up a faithful, devoted, holy man who seeks only God’s glory, and be he talented or not, there you find a prosperous, active, living Church. When I heard Baptist Noel I was much disappointed as to talent, but not for a moment at a loss for the secret of his universal popularity and extensive usefulness; the Spirit of Jesus beamed through every feature of his countenance, and vibrated in every tone of his voice.

Anybody who had read the life of Christ, converted or not, could not but feel that the man who spake was a “follower, for his speech betrayed him”; there stood an embodiment of the religion of Jesus Christ, and as it always has been and always will be, everybody felt its power.

There was no oratory, no eloquence, and but little originality; so that considering my disappointment, having heard so much about him and not knowing the secret I should have wondered why I felt so much, such a sense of solemnity and tenderness, as though God were nearer than usual, if I had not understood something of the meaning of that word “if a man love Me, I will love him, and My Father and I will come to him, and we will make our abode with him.”

Oh, my Love, this is it; get these Heavenly Guests, and they will do their own work, their very presence will constitute your strength and ability to every good and holy work. God can use such men as these without giving His glory to another, people can see as it were through the man’s own self, right to the embodied Jesus in his heart; and hence God gets the glory of His own work, and His strength is made manifest in weakness.

Oh, I feel that if God should ask me — What shall I do for thee? I would answer without a moment’s delay, “Give me grace to cry in all life’s conflicts and changes and temptations and in death’s final struggle as my Saviour did, ‘Father, glorify Thyself,’” though He knew that to do so would expose Him to contempt, and shame, and suffering, such as had never been conceived, except by His own omniscient mind. Oh, I shall never forget one season in my life when the Divine glory eclipsed my spiritual vision and seemed to enrapture my soul with its lustre.

Oh how truly dignified did any employments appear which could glorify God. I saw how rapidly the highest Archangel would dart from his starry throne down to this mean earth to remove a stone out of the pathway of a little child if such an act would glorify God, and oh I felt it the highest privilege of my being to be able to do it. I wish I could make you feel just as I then felt; but Jesus can, and He will if you ask Him. It was in secret communion with Him I realized the glorious vision, and if you wait for it, and cry as Moses did “show me Thy glory”

He will come, and oh the comfort and the light which such a vision leaves, truly it lasts many days; even in the darkest moments of my subsequent experience I have traced its glimmer, and I believe Hell itself could not obliterate the views then given me on this subject. But oh how it tortures me to think it was given in vain, or nearly so. In vain! No, perhaps not, I still live, and bless God it may yet prove “not in vain.”

Pray for me, pray for me, and let us give ourselves to the promotion of God’s glory, and let us ever remember that God is glorified in the full consecration of what we have, be it small or great; He desires not the increase of five talents for the loan of one, but a full, perfect consecration of that one to His own honour, and whoever renders this,

He pronounced as hearty a Well done upon, as upon him who has received ten. I have often erred here, I will try to remember in future that all I have is all He wants; you remember it too, dearest, and be not anxious because you have not as much talent as this or that man, but only to have what you have fully sanctified, and you will realize the end of your existence as fully and glorify God as much in your sphere as Gabriel does in his; begin and pray for grace to “glory in tribulation and in weakness,” that “the power and the excellency may be seen to be of God.”

Be willing to endure the thorn of felt insufficiency, and even inferiority to others, if His grace be only sufficient to make you useful in His vineyard. I believe it matters little whether we are employed in gathering the sheaves, or gleaning the straggling ears after the reaper; it is the state of the soul which fixes the value of the employment, not the employment itself to glorify God is enough, in small or great things, according as the measure of ability and opportunity is ours. Let us try to fix our eye on this and aim at it alone.

But I have dwelt too long on this subject. I hope what I have said will be made a blessing to you, if so tell me for I have written it in great weakness, at intervals during the last two or three days, sitting in my easy chair with a dreadful cough tearing me almost to pieces, but I find to write takes off the restlessness and weariness always attendant on recovery from severe illness. Read it sometimes during the week, and may God own even this weak instrumentality dedicated to His glory.

There are one or two more points in your last week’s letters but I must leave them, except what you say about Mr. and Mrs. Shadford’s kindness making it most difficult to leave. Certainly it must make it more painful to leave them as friends, but it must not operate as a servile feeling of obligation to interfere with your obedience to the dictates of judgment and reason; such an effect would make you unworthy of such friendship; for I cannot for a moment think that such an effect was sought; if so, that altogether alters the character of the act, the motive being double; but no, I believe it was an expression of pure friendship, and as such you must regard it and not allow a sense of obligation to shackle you. But I need not mention such a thing, I trust it is as far beneath you as me.

It is impossible to read this letter without admiration and without a feeling of deep reverence for the young and delicate woman who wrote it; but the chief impression it makes is concerned rather with the man to whom it was written.

One perceives that an influence of the sweetest, purest, and most mystical character is at work, with all the quiet confidence of spiritual strength, on a nature primitive, headstrong, unruly, self-satisfied, and yet self-tortured by doubts — a nature capable of greatness but susceptible also of ruin and failure.

One sees that the mothering of William Booth has begun; that the embrace of a milder and a purer spirit is beginning to enfold itself about his life; that he is conscious of an inferiority which she supplies, and she in him of a superiority which she studies to enhance.
Something of the storm through which he himself was passing at this period of his life may be seen in the letters which compose the next chapter.

Chapter 14

Contents