WILLIAM BOOTH TO
CATHERINE MUMFORD

THE reader has already been warned to expect in the letters of William Booth a marked inferiority to the letters of Catherine Mumford. It is probably the greatest tribute to his character, particularly at the time with which we are dealing, that he was loved so earnestly and so beautifully by Catherine Mumford, that she deemed him worthy of the letters which she addressed to him. One must be careful to remember that he was a great man in the making, and that even a great man may be an indifferent letter-writer.

Moreover, as Sainte-Beuve has warned us, things said in conversation become congealed in the process of writing, for paper cannot smile, paper is brutish; and his letters are largely an effort to express himself conversationally.

One realizes, too, that in Catherine Mumford’s hands these letters of the young preacher were warm with the man’s life-blood, were instinct with his attractive character, were living with the magic of his presence; the paper was not brutish, for his hand had pressed it; the paper did actually smile, for his eyes had rested upon it.

To her these troubled and often untidied letters were the utterance of a very real soul — the greatest soul she had encountered —and their feebleness was but the awkward gesture of a giant who has put clown his club to make a love-how of a withy.
She wrote to him on one occasion:

Do I remember? Yes, I remember all that has bound us together. . . . Your words, your looks, your actions, even the most trivial and incidental, come up before me as fresh as life.

The main interest of these letters is the revelation they afford, however crudely, of a man’s struggle with his own soul. William Booth was not born a saint, any more than St. Augustine or St. Francis. He had faults: he had weakness: he had the roots of sin. One discovers in these letters, even when the writer flies off to the religious phraseology of the day for a release from pitiless self-analysis, that he was fighting a very great, a very terrible battle for his soul’s existence.

They do not give one so easily and so movingly the same sense of conflict which one finds in the letters and very honest autobiography of Father Tyrrell; they are entirely devoid of literary charm; they do not deal with the niceties of scholasticism, nor mount into the empyrean of philosophy; nevertheless to one who reads with sympathy, remembering the distance which separated the one from the other, there is something of the same spiritual struggle, the same spiritual agony, in these rough letters of William Booth as flames like a living fire in the writings of Tyrrell.

It will probably come as a revelation to those accustomed to think of William Booth as the white-haired, gentle, and patriarchal head of the Salvation Army, that he had to fight for his faith, that he was often cast down into an abyss of despondency, that his heart cried out from the depths of an exceeding bitterness for the sympathies and consolations and domestic kindness of humanity. And yet reflection should surely convince us that so deep and boundless a love for mankind as that which characterised his life’s work could only have emerged from tempest and peril of shipwreck, could only have come from agony of the heart and through blindness of tears.

That which must chiefly interest the student of this man’s extraordinary career is the immense influence exerted on his spiritual development by the woman he loved; so great and high indeed in this influence, that one may even doubt if his name had ever risen above the level of ordinary preachers but for the constant pressure and the never-lifted consecration of Catherine Mumford’s beautiful spirit.

For the reader of these letters will perceive that not only was William Booth lacking in many graces of the soul, but that he was positively swayed at this time towards dangerous paths.

There was that in his surroundings, if not actually in himself, which tended to make him the mere popular preacher, the practised orator of unctuous phraseology, the seeker of notoriety. He was young, he was romantic-looking, he was poor. To be married to the woman he loved — so that she might talk over his sermons with him, among other things — was a great temptation.

Further, his health was extremely bad, physical effort was sometimes a torture to him, the discomfort of lodgings weighed him down and depressed him in body and soul. He longed for a regular income, however small, for a settled home, however modest. He thought that the unrest of his soul would cease, and that religious quiet would possess his heart, if he could be decently settled in life.

But again and again, all through these most difficult, most crucial, and most formative years of his life, he felt the call of the Spirit, and knew that there was something ahead of him, something beyond a home and domestic comfort, something beyond the affection of friends and the popularity of the Methodist Church, to which he must struggle on, for which he must be prepared to make a sacrifice of every human wish.

His conflict was not of the intellect, but of the very life. He was not troubled about the schools, but about God and his soul. He did not have to wrestle in spirit for a ground on which he might stand firmly and utter a more or less compromising Credo; his conflict was to destroy in himself everything that warred against the will of God. To him there was nothing clearer than the injunction to sell all and forsake all for Christ’s sake; but really to sell all, really to forsake all, this was the cross which pressed him to the ground.

And sometimes when he cried to the heavens for light on his path, the darkness deepened. His hands knocked and beat upon the door, hut it was not opened. He asked and asked again, crying out from the depths of his soul, but no answer was vouchsafed. Through all that time the way was not clear before his feet, and the ground on which he stood was as shifting sand.

Catherine Mumford also experienced these seasons of darkness and silence; but she was living a solitary life, and could patiently wait for the light to shine and the voice from heaven to speak in her heart. William Booth, on the other hand, was preaching to increasing congregations of people, he was declaring the good news, he was offering salvation, he was proclaiming the Kingdom.

To him these periods of darkness and silence were infinitely more hard to bear than they could possibly be to Catherine Mumford; and for him the temptation must have been a very terrible one, not to strive any longer, not to expect the extraordinary thing to happen, but to become the popular preacher of a countryside, content with a traditional phraseology, and satisfied with the compliments of the saved.

Catherine Mumford’s influence was the supreme human power that moulded his life; but it is evident, I think, from these poor, simple, crude, and sometimes irritating letters that there was a huge strength, rock-like and original, in the soul of William Booth which could never have fitted into any niche of convenience nor have been shaped into any semblance of smug complacency.

I need not burden the reader’s mind with dreary details of the sectarian conflict to which reference is constantly made throughout the correspondence. It suffices to explain that William Booth at this time was a Minister of the Methodist Reformers in Lincolnshire; that the people to whom he ministered were anxious to keep him, and were ready to provide him with a house, a horse and gig, and a salary sufficient for marriage; that Catherine Mumford disapproved of this step, and pressed her young lover to join the New Connexion of Methodists — a body much better organized and far more widely distributed than the Reformers; and, finally, that while William Booth was drawn very powerfully towards the New Connexion, which promised him a much wider sphere of useful service and a settled career as an ordained minister, his affection for the people in Lincolnshire and his desire for union with Catherine Mumford tempted him sorely to remain among the Reformers.

William Booth to Catherine Mum ford.
1853. (Undated.) 1 o’clock.

MY DEAR DARLING KATE — What would I not give to see you this afternoon, to sit by your side, and tell von my heart’s feelings! Bless you! We shall yet together, I trust in Providence, be spared many precious and happy hours.

Home. This word sounds sweetly to me now. I think I shall rightly prize one when I get it; at home with you; to have a home and it is your presence and your presence only that can make it home to me. Well, then, to some extent you reciprocate these feelings. You cannot entertain them to the same extent that I do. You have a sweet home now, and its quietude and solitude you enjoy and speak lovingly of. I have no home. Mine is a lodging, a study, that is all. I come into it tired and weary, and except there be some letters or news about my yet having a home, it seems a dreary and melancholy place.

Well, we will yet make home brighter to each other and I will try and kiss every tear away, and enhance the enjoyment of every smile and make you as happy as I can.

I have more confidence in the people among whom I am labouring. I believe they will do all they possibly can to make us happy, and I hope to spend a year or two longer here. I have given up hope of our people generally throughout the country amalgamating, and our Circuit seems determined to hang to the whole body, and so I don’t take so desirable an event into my calculations. We must leave our future in the Hands of God. Do not you? Only let us both do the best we can for ourselves and for God and His Church.

RED LION STREET, SPALDING.

MY OWN DEAR KATE — With feelings of very great pleasure I snatch up my pen to write you a line — bless you, I would that I could see you and that I could rest me for a season by your side and tell you all my heart. I think much about you; your eye is ever looking down upon me and beaming into my inmost soul. You are mine and you have my heart, and surely all this ought to constitute rich enjoyment for us both; but I have ever missed the present happiness in seeking and grasping the future.

I want you, your company, your comforting and consoling converse. I want you to hear me, to criticise me, to urge me on. I fed such a desperate sense of loneliness, so oppressive to my spirit. I speak and preach and act, and it is passed over; there is no one with whom I can talk over my performance; to others I cannot mention it for fear of being thought egotistic or seeking for praise, and for some reasons others say little or nothing of it to me; I hear only of it by hints and innuendoes.

I want you, too, to help you, to make you happy, to bring you flowers, to show you my friends, for you to enjoy the sunshine with me and the landscape, and the Sabbath and sweet days; bless you, I was never made to enjoy anything alone. Oh that we could meet only for a time — but we must wait. I shall not write again until after Quarter Day, which is on Monday.

Thursday is Spalding Union School-Feast. A great day here. I would that you were going to be here. The children of all the dissenting schools meet in the Baptist Chapel, where an address is delivered; they then walk to fields where large tents, etc., are erected; they have their plum-pudding and beef, and afterwards play, etc.; then comes the tea and public meeting; the shops close and the whole town and country for miles round turns out, and thus give a public verdict in favour of Sabbath schools.

I spoke at St. Catherine’s School-Feast, although the morning was wet and cloudy. The meeting was a triumphant one, Mr. Shadford in the chair, 150 took tea, besides the children, the people came through rain for miles. After tea, the speaking. Mr. Ryecroft spoke well; he has a delightful way of speaking. I followed him, and succeeded to my satisfaction.

Here is the outline of my speech. Introduced by the anecdote of Galileo, who when tortured by the Inquisition for declaring that the world goes round, denied it when on the rack, but when set at liberty, stamped his foot and said, It does go round, it does move.

Well, 1st, that the world moves, progress the sign of the times, 1st on its physical surface — Agriculture, produce, flowers, animals, all improving Arts and Sciences. Stage-coaches gone — now the age of engines, telegraphs, etc. It moves,— morally, socially, and politically. Benevolent Institutions are rapidly rising, although the Pope is still in Rome and Napoleon 3rd in Paris and the slave-driver still cracks his infernal whip, yet liberty is abroad, men are thinking. Hungarian mother is instilling into her babe’s mind hatred to Austria, etc., etc.

Uncle Tom. has been written and is being read everywhere, and though they, the tyrants of the earth, are shutting off the steam and fastening down the escape-valve and sitting on it to keep it down, yet the boiler may, nay will, burst and they will be caught up to meet one another in the air! You remember the last idea is stolen from Uncle Tom. The world moves. Spiritually, men are marching, etc. The Italians are calling for Bibles. A revolution fraught with the most glorious prospects to Christianity is proceeding in China, etc., etc.

2nd proposition. That all progress past, present, and future the result of education. Men have educated, cultivated the land, the wheat, the flower, the animals — men have educated brass, iron, steel, etc., until they have made engines to grind, to carry, to draw, etc., etc. Mind has been educated, or we should have been Druids at this day, etc., etc.

Spiritually likewise — Martyrs, etc. Are we to stay here? No, a thousand angel forms are beckoning us onwards. Our work, the regeneration of our world, and therefore the world must be educated. And to be educated the world must have a teacher; who is it to be?

3rd proposition. Is England, the Anglo-Saxon mind, the schoolmaster for the world, for this adapted? I embrace all who are English, America of course to some extent. She has lessons of freedom to teach the slave-driver; of the Kingship of Christ and the supremacy of the Bible to teach Popes, priests, and Cardinals; of political liberty to teach the spoilers of Hungary and Poland and Italy; lessons of the cross of salvation by faith in Christ alone to teach Universal Man.

For this work England adapted by her power, her fame, and her commercial relations, and to thoroughly qualify her she must be thoroughly educated. Not merely mentally, not merely morally, but religiously educated; and she cannot be religiously educated but by the instrumentality of Sunday Schools, etc. But I am filling up my letter with what will interest you little; however, it went well. That is, as I thought.

I do hope you understood me to say in my last, bless you, that should I find in you any irritability more than I have discovered as yet, that I will bear with it and love you none the less; bless you; do not say any more on such subjects. I am more than ever satisfied with you—mentally, morally, and spiritually. Oh it is that I am irritable and will want bearing with, but, bless you, I will be all, all, all, all you wish. Bless you, I love you dearly. My soul loves you. Cling to the music. Music, oh it will move me to almost anything. It can either calm or arouse me. You shall have all my temporal endowments can procure to make you happy.

CAULDON PLACE, HANLEY, STAFFORDSHIRE.

MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS SWEET—With very great pleasure I sit down to write to you. I am expecting to hear from you to-morrow, and I trust I shall hear very good news as it respects your health and happiness. I think I am better in health than I was when I came down here — I have commenced washing my chest well with cold water every morning and then rubbing well, and I fancy I have benefited much by this course. I hope to persevere with it.

The friends manifest much anxiety about my health, not too much, I do not think. I have taken two raw eggs in my tea of a morning and two in my tea at evening, and I think this, with milk and oatmeal in an evening, has likewise been beneficial. As a set-off against this I have worked very hard; we had the chapel very full last night, the largest congregation by far I have ever preached to. We did not leave until 20 minutes to 12, took down 50 names, making upwards of 200 during the 9 days. I stayed in Longton; I am now at Hanley resting for two days. I commence on Sunday in this chapel, famous for its size and its New Connexion reminiscences. . .

You will be surprised when I tell you that my stay down here is very likely to be prolonged until March, perhaps until Conference. It is proposed to send a preacher in my place to London — and a correspondence is being carried on with Messrs. Bates, Gillon, Rabbits, and Cooke to that effect — I do not know how it will terminate — I trust in all these things we shall be guided by the Lord.

Certainly the work at Longton was very great and the influence very mighty, and if I could have stayed we cannot tell where it would have stayed. I do hope you are well, my dearest. My expenses to Longton were about £5 :0:0; they gave me £5:0:0. I have had to purchase some things in consequence of my longer stay, etc. I wish you were here; I have just spoken to Mr. Mills relative to our marriage after next Conference and I do not anticipate any difficulty; in fact, I shall very impatiently hear of any, if I hear at all — but there will be none.

I hope you are doing what you can at the music, and likewise at your books. Bless you, I often think about you and the future and our home and our family, if God should spare us and trust us with any. I hope we shall have grace to say in all things and in all circumstances, Thy will be done.

I hope to get two thorough good nights’ rest and to be strong and well by Sunday. Remember me kindly to mother and father. Write me a long loving letter; you have plenty of time. Pray for me and I will pray that you may have in your soul and around your path every blessing. And that in my arms you may find your earthly heaven. I am anxious that it should be so — nay, it shall be so.— With my heart’s fondest and truest love. . .
P.S.— I want to make a sermon on “The Flood”; if anything strikes you on the subject, note it down.

RED LION STREET, SPALDING,
Saturday, 9 o’clock.

MY OWN DEAR KATE—Yours has just come to hand. Thank you for all your kind sweet counsellings, but I cannot for a moment only, much more for 4 years, think of consenting to such an arrangement. No, my present expectations are these.

I stay with this Circuit, and should it intend to amalgamate, I marry. Then it, viz, the Circuit, will recommend me to the Conference as a travelling preacher and stipulate as one of the conditions of the union, which amalgamation will be highly advantageous to them, that I be received into full Connexion at once. That will be the plan, I have no doubt, .should this Circuit agree to unite. If not, we must wait and then decide on a course of action.

I tell you honestly that I do not intend anything of the kind as going 4 years’ probationist with them; I have been probationing long enough. If they had a Training Institution it would be a different thing. I differ in opinion with you respecting probation. I believe it to be an excellent rule. That is in the abstract.

But you see it applies and is intended to apply to young men of 18, 19, 20, and 21. I am, to my shame I tell it, 24. However, I have told you enough, I hope, to quiet every fear, every feeling of pain or anxiety in your bosom. Be at peace with yourself and with God’s providential hand.

Of course, as a young man, if I go I must go as a young man, and submit to the rules of young men. But even now if I were married it does not follow as a necessary result that I should be refused. So that we have everything to hope and nothing to fear. . .

I am very poorly. My face is swelled and hard. Some ladies were joking me last night, sending me home for my wife to make me some gruel, etc. lf you were here to tell me it was bad and would soon be better, etc., etc., it would not be half so painful; it makes me peevish. Kate, I am very impatient. I hear you say, “Ah, William, I know that very well!” I love you. I want to see you, etc., etc.

My love to your Mother. I hope she is better. Keep your spirits up; mine are good for the future. Praise God for opening this door. Remember, although I have declined this invitation of Mr. Cooke’s, I have not shut the door. Four years, only think. I hope Heaven has much happiness, sweet, united, shared happiness in store for us before four years have fled away. Not but that if there were some College or great advantages I would think of it; but there are not.

RED LION STREET, SPALDING,
Thursday.

MY OWN SWEET CATHERINE — I have felt very sweetly towards you, my dearest, ever since I received your last kind letter. That letter did me real good, and yet I know not that it was more kind than usual; at all events it was more cheerful and cheering, and it breathed a spirit of confidence that did me good and, depend upon it, I have felt brighter and more tenderly towards you ever since it came to hand. I am very anxious to hear from and about you.

We have had several very bad cases of cholera down here near Holbeach, and I hear from the papers that it is worse again in London, and I do hope that you are taking all the care of yourself you can. I am pretty well in health. I am careful with fruit, indeed I am not tempted to eat any but pears, and although a lady sent me a basket the other night I never eat above 3 or 4 at a time, and should not think they would hurt me.

I hope you continue improving in your health; send me exact word. I am doing a little at study, but not so much as I should like to do. I should almost like to get away by myself for a time so as to be able to devote all my time to close reading and thinking. I know not what to do about leaving. I cannot tell you whether or not it would be wise. We shall see.

Give my very kind love to your dear Mother and also remember me to Miss Smith, if she has returned. I hope she will recover both her health and her spirits. I hope indeed that she will be able to forget that fellow who deceived her so painfully; may the Lord forgive him, it is hard work for me to do so.

I have received yours this morning; the above I wrote last night. I am pleased with your letter. But as undecided as ever with regard to leaving here. If I do leave at Christmas I should very much like to have the intervening six months to myself and go to Cotton End or into the house with some minister. I am gaining a little more love for study and feeling daily my own deficiency. But I know not what to do.

If I thought the New Connexion was prosperous it would alter the matter; but I am afraid not. I know all that Mr. R. says, and I have weighed it well, but I should think they have not one sphere of usefulness anything like the one I occupy in its adaptability to suit me. I tell you I know I am very superficial; you know I am — at least I know it; no one can make me think otherwise, because it is the truth, and here I have opportunities of getting matter that I should not among them, coming not so often before one congregation, but that is not all.

However, I cannot argue the matter any further; we must leave it awhile. I am one hour all but decided to go, and then when I think again I am decided the opposite. I am very pleased you went to see Mr. R., I hope you will go again.

The next seven months make no difference to my ministerial status, so that it does not matter whether I go or not till June. I am sorry you took cold; I do hope you take care of yourself. It gives me great pain to hear of your continued delicate state of health.

HOLBEACH,
Monday morning.

MY OWN DEAR CATHERINE — I have expected a line from you, but have not received one. I expected it because I think you promised it in your last, not because I wish you to send me more than one letter a week, but I do want to hear you say you are thoroughly happy, that you are satisfied with the pianoforte, and that you are well.

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Praise God, the sun shines. My heart feels freer. My conscience and my will are living in sweeter harmony. My prospects are brighter. My confidence in you, in your good heart, and in your large soul and in your thoughtfulness, is very strong. My faith in my own affection for you is firmer and more unswerving. Why should we not both sing and rejoice and praise the Lord?

I can plainly see, my dearest, that our influence over each other will be immense. I tremble when I think how much apparently during my last visit, I exercised over you. Oh, my heart must be thoroughly Christ’s.
I have a speech to make for a Stone-laying and I must do it. Mr. Jonathan Rowbotham lays the Stone, and I am expecting to follow with a speech.

I am sure I don’t know what it is yet to be. It will be one source of my great pleasure and profit when we can talk over our feelings about truths and subjects, and doubtless it will be to you also. Remember, you promised to try and write something for the Magazine. I will be contented when you have tried, whether you succeed or not. I do not fear your succeeding.

HOLBEACH,
Monday morning.

MY OWN DEAR KATE—Somewhat tired I sit me down to write you my Monday’s epistle. I preached at Holbeach yesterday twice, and at Holbeach Hurn in the afternoon. Good congregations all the day. In the afternoon I went with a local preacher planned to be at the Hurn. He was unwell, so I took compassion on him and preached for him. His brother lent us his gig, and I drove him and his brother’s daughter there for the night.

At night I preached from “The harvest is past and the summer is ended,” etc. A hard time, for though I had some little liberty in talking there was a hard feeling, in the prayer-meeting, no visible good was done. I have heard that Mr. Molesworth’s governess, for whom I told you I felt concerned, has got salvation. I hope it is true. . .

I am still whirling about the country. To-night I go back to Spalding. Tuesday to Pinchbeck. Wednesday to Suttleton. Thursday a special sermon at Boston. May the Lord save and bless the people! Oh, my dear Kate, let us live to God. I wish all this writing was at an end, and that you were here, mine, in my arms. And yet I cannot help having fears and doubts about the future. How I wish the Reformers would amalgamate with the New Connexion or with the Association and that all this agitation were ended.

But I know what I want. I know what I must have. But I don’t know how — at least it seems as though I don’t know how — to get it. I want more inward power and life in my own soul. I fully believe if I had this I should prosper in my work. I might do so much more by the fireside (of the people) if I were living closer to God, but my best efforts and desires — I fear my motives — are not so pure as they ought to be. Oh, that God may save and bless me.

But I am always running before to find doubts and fears; mine has always been a restless and dissatisfied life, and I am fearful that it will continue so until I get safe into heaven.

Believe me, Your dearest friend, and that nearest my heart you dwell.

RED LION STREET, SPALDING.

MY DEAREST KATE—I did not write yesterday because full of anxiety and care, and I am not much better to-day. I hope you are well and happy in the love of Jesus, God’s well-beloved Son. Although cast down and low-spirited I must say that God has been blessing me of late and watering my soul from on high.

I am determined to get more religion, to cleave to Christ, and to conquer through Him all temptation. I had a glorious triumph on Friday and it has been better with me ever since.

Mr. Poole, the revivalist, is with us, and I like him much. He is rather dark and heavy, I should think, in his preaching; but he arouses the people; he has aroused me, and that is just what we want. In this respect I care not what people say about “alarming preachers.” God has blessed my intercourse with him, hearing him tell about salvation has been a blessing to my soul. I am living near to the Throne of Grace. Help me to watch and pray. And let us seek His present, full, and free salvation.

Mr. Poole is dissatisfied with things as they are and meditates going to America and joining the Methodist Episcopal Church, and I should almost like to go with him; he gives a deplorable account of the deadness, stiffness, and formality of the New Connexion, although not exactly indisposed to join it if he could be taken into full Connexion, having a wife and five children. He is a very valuable man, just fitted to stir up a slumbering church.

However, I think of offering myself to the New Connexion. Ought I to do it now or wait a few months? If they are low and yet right, we ought to go arid try to raise them. I hope Poole will go. He is a blessed man, and yet it is more his peculiar ability and fire than his sanctified soul; here is a great difference between him and Caughey. But he prayed magnificently and with mighty power last night at the School Meeting.

Bless you, be happy. We must live to God. He will guide us. I am afraid of doing wrong, and acting hastily. It puts me past study and everything else.

I love you very much and I am sure very tenderly. Take care of yourself; if I leave at Christmas I shall come up and see you. They tell me here I am going from a rising prosperous church to a sinking one; it is not out yet; I know what the people will say when they hear; but I care not for that. I must do right.

Oh that God would in mercy gain your father.

SPALDING,
September, 1853.

MY DARLING CATHERINE — Your very affectionate letter with all its counselling and interrogatories has just come to hand and I have read it over with very great care. I assure you my heart dictates this with much affection for you and the tenderest concern for your interests.

I am very sorry you do not like Mr. Rabbits’ style of sermon. I am afraid that you will often have to mourn in the future for your dear Mr. Thomas.

I should like very much to see you. I do not know what you would think of Mr. Poole. He is very extravagant, but very powerful. His great theme is salvation by faith, present, free, and full. I yearn to see good done. I rather imagine that our ideas may not be alike upon revival matters. Many precious souls have professed to find the Lord this week under Mr. Poole’s preaching. .

I am seeking purity of heart. Seek it with me. You believe in it, that Jesus’ Blood can cleanse and keep clean, and it is by faith. Oh, God is striving with my soul. I do want to give myself up to Him. Lord help me.
Mr. Smith is going to Cotton End. I am sorry. Lord save him from deadness and formality.

I wish you would get Finney’s Lectures, the Lives of Bramwell, Stoner, and John Smith. I do not now wonder whether I ought to have gone to Cotton End. I have very little sympathy with the spirit of Congregationalism...

The great doubt I have and which has staggered me for some time with regard to joining the New Connexion, is my being so superficial, but I must work harder. Be happy; 1 love you dearly. Praise God with me that He is saving me. You have often prayed for it, now believe for yourself also and God will purify your heart by faith. . .
My health continues good. My spirits are better, and if I have a good week next week in my ministrations, I shall be on the mountain top; but whether up there in the region of rejoicing or not, a settled peace is my birthright. He bought it for me. He has proposed it to me, offers it only on one simple condition — believing faith. Lord, I do believe.

‘Tis done. Thou dost this moment save,
Redemption through Thy Blood I have,
And spotless love and peace.
Whether we eat or drink,
we will do it to the glory of God.

MY DEAREST KATE — I am exceedingly full of business this morning, just snatch a moment to add another word or two to the scrap I wrote yesterday. I intend using some of the leading ideas you gave rue in your last at a school-feast to-night, that is if I can get the outline filled up.

Bless you, I do hope your health is better. You must get well. I do hope and trust that Dr. Franks knows what he is doing. I am resting pretty quietly about the future. Not that I have any more confidence in the future. No. But I have more confidence in this Circuit and the hold I have got on its affections.

And I am hoping that it will amalgamate and take me, take us, along with it. The weather is beautiful and the country charming. I am comforting myself with the idea that it is the last summer we shall spend apart. I do trust that God in His good pleasure will bring or allow this to be brought about.

Several sudden deaths have occurred lately; they make me feel solemn. You must this time excuse me scrawling so and I will learn better. I love you, my dearest; my heart is and has been of late very full of tender affection for you. Oh for perfect unitedness; I think if we are allowed by Heaven to be united outwardly, we shall be united inwardly. Oh I am sure I shall count it my highest enjoyment to see you happy.

RED LION STREET, SPALDING.
(Undated.)

MY DEAREST LOVE — Yours is just to hand. I am thankful you received the money safely. I am sorry, very sorry, to hear of your continued ill health. Of course it is very painful, while I feel tolerably well myself, while everyone around me makes merry and looks well, that you continue prostrate. And yet for some reason I do not feel your symptoms are anything like serious, that is, I have no fear of your recovery. I will pray that it may be speedy. Oh, that I may be enabled to say from my heart, God’s will be done.

Now to answer your letter. In the first placer I must toll you that the sermon on Sunday morning did execution. No sermon of mine has attracted such notice here. But unfortunately the weather was most stormy, so that I had but half a congregation. At night I preached from the “Water of Life,” John iv. 14. A precious time I had and felt the greatest liberty.

Last night, fair night. I preached from “Unto you which believe He is precious.” Many said I should have no people, it being Fair time, but I had the place full and a sweet time. It was precious to my own soul.
Yesterday I should have written but was so occupied. I really had not the time.

Mr. Shadford disapproved of my having laid out so much money on that piano. He says he wants to see me do well and does not want to see me in poverty all the way through life, and he thinks a comfortable position is only to be gained as he has gained his, by strict economy. I haze my own views.

Your happiness, your well-being, and the getting all the comfort you can out of money, those are my mottoes at present. How can I make the money go the furthest to promote your blessedness and thereby my own — ours, ours? Give my love to your dear mother and thank her for me for her kindness to you.

RED LION STREET.

MY OWN DARLING KATIE — Oh how I wished yesterday evening that I had wings to fly to you to hide my head in your bosom and listen to your sweet comforting voice. I am sure I scarce have ever yearned for your presence more than last night. But I am always wanting by night and by day. And the time, I suppose, will come all well when I shall have my desire and have you always with me.

The District Meeting yesterday was a poor affair. Got myself a little insulted; a large Meeting yesterday, it is true, at night. Spoke with some considerable liberty and was well received. Came home more than ever out of love with the Movement generally, and more in love than ever with my own Circuit, and half resolved to write off directly and offer myself to the New Connexion.

But I must learn to wait. Mr. Stafford, Mr. Hardy, Mr. Brown, and others from our Circuit strongly pressed a motion in favour of amalgamation with the New Connexion, but it was lost. I supported it of course very warmly. I am thankful our people are so unanimous on the matter.

It is a good sign for the future and augurs success for my plans and schemes. There were men there, and there are many Gazes and Hazledines and Burts and others whom the New Connexion would do better without than with. But, however, no more on that score. You will post your letter to me on Thursday.

You will not ,forget a few ideas for a school--speech. I have one on Friday at Holbeach, a public meeting at Suttleton on Monday. Hanks and his wife were at Boston last night. I believe he is a new man; he has given over smoking. He is very anxious about the cause. They intend building a chapel directly. I wish them well.

And now, my better angel, I hope you are well and happy. Bless you, I looked over a heap of music at the booksellers this morning to try and find something to send you but could not find anything I liked. I reciprocate all the sweet feelings you gave expression to in your last, and I do most earnestly hope to be able to enter into your feelings and to help in every sense of the word to make you happy. Give my love to your dear mother. Whatever you do, take care of your health.

The alternation of high spirits and dejection in these letters is characteristic of the writer’s temperament, but it may in great measure be explained by the alternation of health and sickness. William Booth suffered throughout his life from an extreme form of dyspepsia, so extreme, indeed, that he was obliged at last to study every morsel of food that entered his body.

The seeds of this exhausting and irritating complaint were sown in youth, when he starved himself, worked like a slave, and devoted every hour of his leisure to the excitements of street-preaching; during the early years of his ministry as a Methodist preacher the complaint manifested itself so unmistakably that only zeal and courage of an unusual order could have supported him in his work.

The following fragment of a letter is interesting and surprising. In boyhood William Booth had loved fishing; after conversion he had regarded that sport as a form of wickedness; but here he is, as a Methodist preacher, indulging in the more muscular and, as some people would say, the much more cruel sport of shooting. Not only this, but the Old Adam is so strong in him that he takes pride in recounting his prowess to the woman he loves. Unhappily no reply to this letter from Catherine Mumford is to be found. One thinks that she smiled on reading it, and then sat down to write a very solemn sermon to her youthful lover.

HOLBEACH.

I received your kind note this morning. I have seen The Times: there is nothing in it respecting either the amalgamation or the letter. I am going on to St. Catherine’s this afternoon. My face is a little better. Go to the Concert by all means; I should be angry if you did not. The day is very fine but exceedingly hot. My head aches a little and I still continue, as the effects of my last week’s cold, stiff and weary.

I did last Monday (yesterday week) what I never did before — ventured to fire off a gun! The first three or four shots were failures; afterwards I was declared to be quite a marksman. Yesterday again I went out for an hour or two’s shooting. And they pronounced me a dead shot! Now do not go and scold me about it, and thus frighten my conscience until I cannot enjoy it. I am pleased you liked my letter. I hope it will do you good. You shall hear from me again.

P.S. --. Heaven bless you.

The letters which follow were written at the beginning of 1854, and show that William Booth has at last made up his mind to leave Lincolnshire and return to London.

RED LION STREET,
New Year’s Eve.

MY DEAREST PRECIOUS CATHERINE — Your very sweet letter — almost the most cheering and blessed you have ever sent me — came safe to hand this morning; after a long walk, right welcome it was, and be assured that it shall for once be answered, though not to-night — it is 8 o’clock and I have to be at Chapel by 10. But while writing other letters I must just drop a line to you, and yours shall he responded to on Monday all well.

Be assured I am pleased much, very much, with your revived and soul-cheering experience. May your path in this matter be as that of the just, shining more and more unto the perfect day. My heart reciprocates all you say about our future.

Nay, I am thankful, if you will allow me to say so, that we are not to be married yet, as I wish to make myself more worthy and more adapted to you — and better fitted to make you happy before the consummation takes place.

I cannot quite so confidently as you rejoice in my proposed new step; there is a dark cloud . . . but I have good hopes of its dispersion. It is so many and so very kind friends I am leaving — forsaking of my own choice, and a sphere which is so adapted for me, in which God has so owned and blessed me, and for one so different, so cold, so cramped, of which I am assured on every hand, on authority which I cannot dispute, that makes me sad and thoughtful, if not fearful, lest the step should he wrong.

You see, my dearest love, you sit thoroughly on the outside, you are not acquainted with the practised working of the thing — you study the theory — I have long since been satisfied with the theoretical part of the new Connexion, but the practical working of it is another matter; and when a number of grey-headed men who tell me that they are fearful for my own sake, that they say so because they love me, that they fear I am stepping out of the order of Providence, I cannot but listen. .

But I did not intend to touch this subject — I must go and risk everything— I just wanted to send you a waft of love and pure and ardent affection, and to kiss this sheet and envelope and send them to meet your lips on Monday morning. . .

1854.
RED LION STREET, HOLBEACH.

MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS KATE — I write you a line in great haste. I am at a distance from the post office and have daily doubts as to whether I shall be able to post this in time before I go away this evening. I hope you received mine this morning posted on Saturday evening. I accidentally spied the ribbon at Mr. Handy’s and thought it would make you a nice pair of strings to your black velvet bonnet; it just suited my taste and I thought you should see for once what my taste was.

I received a note on Saturday from Mr. Rabbits, stating that it was agreed that I should go and live with Mr. Cooke, according to my request. I know you will be pleased with this arrangement; of course I shall, for bringing me within reach of you, and we must have fixed rules, etc., etc.— I do hope the Lord will bless my coming up to town.

We had a very good day at Holbeach on Sunday, 9 or 10 souls found the Lord at night — some very interesting cases. Last night at Holbeach Hurn we had two come to seek the Lord and had a very good meeting — and I hope we shall have more to-night. To God be all the praise. I will bring that extract from the Public Good with me when I come; I think it meets my views — I still have to contend with much argument and many regrets; all the people look upon me as one madly leaving the path of Providence with my eyes wide open.

Truly, if my way is not plain and my ministry successful when I reach my new sphere, there is bitter misery and very painful regrets for me.

But we will hope for the best. I hope much. Be happy; I talk about you and think about you. The friends consider you have a hand in the matter; I am very vexed and sorry that they do; it is my work and I had rather they thought me capable of doing it myself. Do not trouble yourself about the money for the piano, I shall manage until I come up for money and they will pay then — sell the table, if you can. However, I would not trouble about that— never mind it, on second thoughts.

It is probable I shall be in London about the third day of February, and being as I am coming so near you, and as we shall have abundant opportunities fur communication and counsel, I had better name that time to Mr. Cooke, had I not?

Send me word. I hope you are happy and that your health is rapidly improving. You must get better every day now and that as quickly as possible. I do hope the step is right and it will be owned of the Lord. Oh for a nearer assumption to Christian character — I must thoroughly commence life anew.

Give my love to your dear mother. I sighed out your name in Spalding pulpit just as the clock struck the hour of midnight — and prayed for your happiness and prosperity during the coming year. Write me a line directed home to reach there on Friday. Bless you, I have strong faith that we shall yet be very happy. Oh I know I love you, highly esteem and love you, and I know you love me. Oh we will try and make each other happy.

RED LION STREET, SPALDING,
Jan. 6, ‘54

MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS KATE — It does indeed seem a long time since I had the pleasure of hearing from you. I do not desire you to write oftener than once a week; at the same time your letters are always very welcome.

I am sure I long very much for your company, for your society, and your help. I have felt very much the unpleasantness of being compelled to wait so long before we could be united since we parted. But however the step is taken and it must be endured with as good a grace as possible. You will be pleased to hear that I have written to Mr. Cooke asking to come up to London and to live and study with him until Conference, and that I have received a letter this morning stating that he will see Mr. Rabbits and the other friends and endeavour to make arrangements for my doing so. It will be very pleasant and we must make it profitable our being so near one another once more. If it can be brought about! I am very anxious to get away from here now as quickly as possible — some whom I deemed my fastest friends are very displeased and vexed with me, and my position becomes daily to my feelings more painful. I hope it is for the best. I think it is. My mind is much more composed about it than it was, and I hope, if I come to London, to spend a very profitable six months.

NEW NORTH ROAD, LONDON.
(Undated. Probably one of the first letters after joining the New Connexion.)

MY DEAREST CATHERINE — (After references to meetings) — And now I want to tell you:

1. That you must write to me oftener than once a week. You have nothing to do and I am overwhelmed with business and care, and I cannot exist now on one letter per week.

2. I am well in health and have no fear or feeling about cholera. When I say I am well, I mean I am very much better. My appetite is good and my digestion is improved.

3. Why did you not send me Mr. Macland’s address? I have found him an apartment. They are keeping it and cannot find him. It was foolish of your mother to send the letter and address to Burnham. I should like much to see you. I have wanted you this last day or two much. I am for Bristol on Saturday and the following week. You will get down about the same time. In my Monday’s note I said that the “Bridal Waltz” was 4s. Shall I buy it? I have no notion of giving so much for the Devil’s music, but your will shall be done.

I had a good night on Sunday, and am expecting great things at Bristol. The friends are very kind and Mr. Bates is in excellent spirits about things and quite in favour now of my views. In fact, we have some very encouraging facts before us.

Believe me, my dearest, to be — Your affectionate, constant, and tender WILLIAM.

Chapter 15

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