THE EVANGELIST TROUBLED
ABOUT MANY THINGS

A STRANGE step had been taken. William Booth, the fiery preacher of revivalism in Lincolnshire, became all at once a humble student in Regent’s Park, surrendering himself to the domination of a Rev. Dr. William Cooke, theologian. From excited prayer-meetings, from furious preachings, and from the popularity and hero-worship of tea-parties, this lion of Lincolnshire suddenly abased himself to the schoolroom, and opened Greek and Latin grammars with a valorous effort to acquire the habitual meekness of a divinity scholar.

But till the last moment he hesitated, and almost at the last moment he threw himself off in a clean contrary direction. In January, 1854, he wrote to Catherine Mumford from Holbeach:

The plot thickens, and I hesitate not to tell you that I fear, and fear much, that I am going wrong. (He speaks of a fresh offer made to him by the Reformers, and then proceeds.) My present intention is to tear myself away from all and everything, and persevere in the path I have chosen. They reckon it down here the maddest, wildest, most premature and hasty step that ever they knew a saved man to take.

To this and another similar letter Catherine Mumford replied in wise and quieting fashion:

I am very sorry to find that you are still perplexed and harassed about the change. I did think that there were conditions weighty enough to satisfy your own mind as to the propriety of the step, and if not I begged you not to act. Even now it is not too late. Stay at Spalding, and risk all. Pray be satisfied in your own mind. Rather lose anything than make yourself miserable.

You reasoned and suffered just so about leaving the Conference, and yet you see it was right now. I never suffered an hour about it, after I once decided, except in the breaking of some tender associations. Nor do I ever expect to suffer. I reasoned the thing out and came to a conclusion, and all the Conference battering I met never caused me a ten minutes’ qualm. You mistake me if you think I do not estimate the trial it must be to you, and the influences, and the circumstances and persons around you.

But remember, dearest, they do not alter realities, and the Reform movement is no home or sphere for you: whereas the principles of the Connexion you love in your very soul. I believe you will be satisfied, when once from under the influence of your Spalding friends.
Anyway, don’t let the controversy hurt your soul. Live near to God by prayer.

That she herself was in no fixed and unshadowed state of peace at this time may be seen from the following letter, which she wrote to him, so far as one can judge, a week or two before his return to London:

Bless you, my precious one, how I long to see you to-night. I have not been at all well since Friday evening, and the weather being very wet and foggy to-day I have not been out. However I have not spent an unprofitable or useless day. I lay in bed till nearly 12 o’clock reading the blessed Bible, and some portions of the Magazine, and praying for thee, with special reference to the subject of thy last letter.

No doubt, the exercises you mention were the result of temptation. I only wonder Satan does not harass you more in this way, seeing what you are doing with his Kingdom. When I used to try and serve God most faithfully and do most I used to suffer untold misery through what I believe now was pure temptation. Oh the agonies I sometimes endured — since I have been more indifferent Satan has let me alone (comparatively), but I intend to provoke him again to open warfare if God spares me, yea, I have begun.

I trust the Lord has delivered thee, and that this has been a day of peace and success. Only mind that the people understand what religion is, and thou need not fear their being excited — there is the most glorious precedent for such results. I believe in revivalism with all my soul. I believe that it is God’s idea of the success of the gospel. Of course you know what I mean by revivalism, the genuine work of the Spirit, and I believe these are such; go on, do all thy duty and leave results with God.

I do wish I could see you to-night; I feel tired and prostrate and my spirit very, very tender; thy sympathizing voice would be sweet indeed, and though tired I could welcome thee home with a smile, and lay my hand on thy head and sympathize with thee in thy weariness. Well, it will soon be if God permits, and we shall indeed be one, one in love. Oh blessed lot and hallowed even as the joy of angels where godliness and love unite two hearts in one. Good-night dearest, I sleep with thy loving letter in my bosom and sometimes dream about thee.

God bless thee. I often think about that night thou wast so late home from the meeting at Mr. Rabbits; thy tenderness of manner to me when thou first came in has never passed away, and my mind seems to go back to it as to a green spot in our intercourse.

The meeting of the long-separated lovers in February, 1854, is not described, but from an autobiographical fragment, written many years afterwards by Catherine Mumford, one gathers that happiness co-existed with fresh difficulties in this reunion which was not destined to be of long duration:

The return of W. to London was to me of course a cause of extreme gratification. We were once more within reach of each other. Personal communion is so much more satisfactory for the interchange of thought and counsel than correspondence. We met at regular intervals.

One of the first things I insisted upon, after our engagement was that stated times should be fixed for our meetings. It was always a point of conscience with me, not in any way to allow any service rendered me to hinder either W. or any one else in the discharge of any higher duty.

We could now compare notes also as to our mutual studies and tasks — the varied plans that we formed for future usefulness. It was no little gratification to me also to know that W. was once more devoting his time to mental development. I had always estimated the
College failure as a calamity.

Perhaps I over-estimated those literary and intellectual opportunities which college supplied — I think I did, in view of what I have learnt since then. Still those were my notions at that time, and I regarded this present arrangement by which W. was once more set down to a regular course of study as a sort of modified compensation.

Taking all things into consideration, therefore, I was wonderfully well satisfied with the present position of affairs, and was very grateful to God for having so far as I could see led us into the path which had every likelihood of terminating in a sphere of as great usefulness and happiness as I could have ever deemed possible.

Still W. was not satisfied. To tell the truth, he was really unhappy, almost as unsettled as ever. The first part of his Spalding life was in some senses the happiest portion of his early career. He was contented, and having known nothing higher, his present position, with its immediate prospects, would have been as Paradise to him compared even with that, but he had tasted of something which in his estimation presented a superior opportunity of usefulness than either this or that. To be fully understood, I must go back a little.

Towards the latter part of his stay in Spalding, he had fallen into a condition of great mental and spiritual depression. The Devil buffeted him sorely. He was a prey to constant temptations, temptations that made his life more or less a misery.

Then the direct results in the shape of conversions that followed his ministry were very small in comparison with what he felt was his privilege to see. He had come in the past to be more or less content with this state of things, but varied circumstances and influences woke him up out of his slumber, and he upbraided himself continually that his work was not more productive.

About this time a very useful preacher visited the Circuit. W. had heard many stories of the results that followed this man’s ministrations. He was by repute a plain, simple preacher, but his word was attended by a power that was very remarkable, sinners by scores being brought to God in connection with it.

The visit of this preacher was looked forward to by W. with considerable interest, he reckoning that he might be able to learn something from him, and resolved to watch him accordingly.

The service arranged for came, and the Preacher, and W. was there to learn what he could from the example. And he did learn; and I have often heard him say that he derived a lesson that made a mark upon his own after life. In this man of God three things were made strikingly apparent in this one service, and they were —

1st. Directness of aim. Every word and movement indicating that he was determined to bring that audience, young and old, into harmony with God, and this was to be done that very night before he parted with them if it was possible.

2nd. Simplicity of method, the simplest words, the plainest illustrations, the most homely and striking facts being used throughout the discourse.

3rd. The most direct dependence upon God for the result.

W. went home that night a wiser man and in his chamber gave himself up afresh, promising God never to be satisfied in any sermon he preached to sinners without seeing some souls at least yield themselves up to the service of God.

That William Booth did not make a good theological student goes without saying. Into the speculations of philosophy he never entered, and for the laborious study of theology it is quite certain that he could never have had a fruitful inclination.

“He might often have been found,” says Commissioner Booth-Tucker, “on his face in an agony of prayer when he ought to have been mastering Greek verbs.” Yet he was conscious in himself of a need for knowledge, and agonized more often than was good for his health over intellectual deficiencies.

Monday—Visited the British Museum. Walked up and down there praying that God would enable me to acquire knowledge to increase my power of usefulness.
The call to active work interrupted his studies: the thought that men and women were perishing of iniquity while he turned the pages of text-books was like a madness in his brain; he spent more hours than was wise for a student in preaching religion to the people of London.

On the very day of his arrival he preached in Brunswick Street Chapel, “when fifteen souls sought salvation.” A month afterwards he was conducting services in Wapping, probably his first acquaintance with East London. He felt, he says in his diary, “much sympathy for the poor, neglected inhabitants of Wapping and its neighbourhood, as I walked down the filthy streets and beheld the wickedness and idleness of its people.”

One conjectures that those poor, neglected inhabitants of Wapping made a more poignant appeal to his soul than the dignity of a theological degree.

In spite of these continued preachings, however, the studies of William Booth progressed satisfactorily. He made a very marked impression on his tutor, whose daughter was converted at a public service conducted by the young student. Whether it was his advance in theological science, or his striking power as a preacher that impressed the tutor, certain it is that Dr. Cooke decided to propose him at the very next Conference as Superintendent of a circuit in London.

This amazing proposition staggered William Booth, and he uttered a heartfelt and most earnest nolo episcopari! He felt himself unfitted for the work of superintending other ministers; he considered himself, and one thinks rightly, far too young for such delicate work; further, his inclinations led him towards more direct and more active fields.

A compromise was accepted. By William Booth’s desire another and an older man was to be proposed as Superintendent, and he himself was to act as that other man’s assistant. This appointment was ratified by the Conference, which also granted the young minister an unusual privilege in permitting him to marry at the end of twelve months.

Ministers of the New Connexion, it must be explained, worked “on probation” for four years, and as a rule no probationer was allowed to marry till the expiration of this testing period. In the case of William Booth, so sure was the Conference of his ability, that this unusual privilege was granted in a welcome that was described as “hearty and unanimous.”

In making this announcement to Catherine Mumford, William Booth wrote that “for some unaccountable reason” he felt no gratitude, adding that the news did not elate him. Catherine Mumford, on the other hand, was full of enthusiasm.

Your letter this morning filled my heart with gratitude and my mouth with praise. I am thankful beyond measure for the favourable reception and kind consideration you have met with from the Conference, and I can only account for your ingratitude on the ground you once gave me, namely, that blessings in possession seem to lose half their value. This is an unfortunate circumstance, but I think in this matter you ought to be grateful, when you look at the past and contemplate the future.

However, I am. This comes to me as the answer of too many prayers, the result of too much self-sacrifice, the end of too much anxiety, and the crowning of too many hopes, not to be appreciated; and my soul does praise God. You may think me enthusiastic. But your position is now fixed as a minister of Christ, and your only concern will be to labour for God and souls.

I saw that in all probability you might have to toil the best part of your life and then, after all, have to turn to business for your support. But now, for life you arc to be a teacher of Christ’s glorious gospel, and I am sure the uppermost desire of your soul is that you may be a holy and successful one. May God afresh baptize you with his love, and make you indeed a minister of the Spirit!

Happiness came to William Booth in the almost immediate call to fresh efforts at reviving religious life. He worked industriously in London as assistant pastor with the Rev. P. T. Gilton, but it was only when he was free to lead special services that the whole force of his personality was behind the work. He described Mr. Gilton as “stiff, hard, and cold: making up, in part, for the want of heart and thought in his public performances by what sounded like a sanctimonious wail.”

To William Booth want of heart was the great infidelity, but he held nothing in more abhorrence than a hollow sanctimoniousness. To such a man, therefore, it must have been purgatory to work with Mr. Gilton, and like a holiday to escape from him into the crusading battles of a fighting religion.

One of the calls came from Lincolnshire, and away he raced to that familiar county with all the enthusiasm of his nature to fan the flames of this hopeful fire, and grateful to be unyoked from the measured paces of the cold Superintendent. He wrote to Catherine Mumford with fresh ardour and new conviction of his manifold successes:

My reception has been exceedingly pleasing. Even the children laugh and dance and sing at my coming, and eyes sparkle and tongues falter in uttering my welcome. Yesterday I had heavy work. Chapel crowded. Enthusiasm ran very high. Feeling overpowering, and yet not the crash we expected. My prospects for usefulness seem unbounded. But God knows best, and where He wants me, there He can send me. The people love me to distraction, and are ready to tear me to pieces to have me at their homes. A large party was invited to meet me.

And again:
Yesterday I preached to crowded congregations, and we had a crushing prayer meeting. Some splendid cases. I am more than ever attached to the people. They are thorough-going folks. Just my sort. I love them dearly, and shall stand by them and help them when I can.

I have just taken hold of that sketch you sent me on “Be not deceived,” and am about to make a full sermon upon it. I like it much. It is admirable. I want you to write some short articles for our magazine. Begin one and get it done by the time I come up. It will do you a world of good. I am sure you can do it. I will look them over and send them to the editor.

I want a sermon on the Flood, one on Jonah, and one on the Judgment. Send me some bare thoughts; some clear startling outlines. Nothing moves the people like the terrific. They must have hell-fire flashed before their faces, or they will not move. Last night I preached a sermon on Christ weeping over sinners, and only one came forward, although several confessed to much holy feeling and influence. When I preached about the harvest and the wicked being turned away, numbers came. We must have that kind of truth which will move sinners.

I have written by this post to Dr. Cooke. I tell him that I am in love with no half measures, and I am determined to seek success. I am doing better in my soul. Am resolved to live nearer God, and put confidence in Him. Let us live for Heaven!

To these triumphant letters Catherine Mumford replied with a like enthusiasm:

Bless you! Bless you! Your note has, like joy’s seraphic fingers, touched the deepest chords in my heart, and what I write is but like the trembling echoes of a distant harp. If you were here, I would pour out the full strain into your bosom and press you to my heart. God is too good! I feel happier than I have done for months. You will think me extravagant. Well, bless God. He made me so. Yes, we shall, I believe it, be very happy.

Do I remember? Yes, I remember all that has bound us together. All the bright and happy as well as the clouded and sorrowful of our fellowship. Nothing relating to you, can time or place erase from my memory. Your words, your looks, your actions, even the most trivial and incidental, come up before me as fresh as life. If I meet a child called William, I am more interested in him than in any other. Bless you Keep your spirits up and hope much for the future. God lives and loves us, and we shall be one in Him, loving each other as Christ has loved us.

Thus by communion our delight shall grow!
Thus streams of mingled bliss swell higher as they flow!
Thus angels mix their flames and more divinely glow!
The success of William Booth as a preacher was now so definitely established that the Church to which he had allied himself could not with decency forbid his acceptance of the invitations which began to pour in from many parts of the country.

There were those among the authorities who disliked the method of revivalism; a conservative and orthodox spirit existed in the New Connexion which was distinctly antagonistic to the furious crusades of their young recruit; nevertheless, so importunate were the calls, so manifest the triumph of the revivalist, and so cold and dead and formal was the general life of the Church, that active opposition held its hand, and even criticism bated its breath.

After the visit to Lincolnshire William Booth returned to London, but was soon called to a series of services in Bristol. From Bristol he went to Guernsey, where his efforts seem to have reached a remarkable degree of success.

“Last night,” he writes from there in October, 1854, “I preached my first sermon. The congregation was middling; very respectable, stiff, and quiet. I let off a few heavy guns at the lazy formality so prevalent, and with some effect. They opened their eyes at some of the things I said.” Three days later he says: “My preaching is highly spoken of. The Lord is working. I trust that to-morrow we shall have a crash — a glorious breakdown.”

Still later: “To-night many went away unable to get into the chapel. The aisles were crowded, and up to eleven o’clock it was almost an impossibility to get them up to the communion rail, owing to the crush.”

When he departed from Guernsey numbers of people came down to the pier to wave their adieux to him.
That he was modest and diffident in spite of his popularity as a preacher is clear from his refusal to undertake a visit to the Potteries. The invitation came from the President of the Connexion, who was quartered at Hanley, and whose chapel was said to be “the largest dissenting place of worship in the world.”

Despite his signal success in Guernsey, William Booth declined this call to Staffordshire. He argued that “he was too young, and that he had but recently entered the denomination, that his circuit would suffer by his prolonged absence, and that these irregular services would hinder him in preparing himself for the ordinary pastoral duties of the future.”

In spite of the cogency of these arguments, and their sincerity, he was finally prevailed upon by the urgent pressure of the President and many leading men in London to undertake this fresh labour — a step destined to affect his whole after career.

In the letters which follow the reader will obtain not only a very faithful account of this revival in the Midlands, hut a most remarkable insight into the character of the revivalist. The change in him since his going to Spalding is obvious in every letter, and although he still expresses himself roughly, often without grace of any kind, one is aware of a deeper sincerity, a quieter judgment, and a more exacting conscience.

He is so honest a man that in the midst of a triumphant service of weeping penitents he questions these fervent methods with a self-detachment that is almost intolerable, and writes to Catherine Mumford telling her so. At one moment he is swept away by a feeling of passionate anxiety to reach and save perishing humanity, at the next he is cast down in his own soul, and cries out that he is the very prodigal of Christ.

To his betrothed he shows himself with amazing candour in every word that surges through his mind; he never poses before her; he never pretends; he never acts; whatever his state of soul — there it is for her to see — the man of God seeking for God, the preacher of righteousness himself thirsting for righteousness, the popular and pious young minister imploring the woman he loves to pray for him and help him to dedicate himself anew to the service of Christ.

And with all these cries of a soul not yet set upon its true course, there is a simple, a childlike, and sometimes a most quaint humanity in these letters which make them a veritable autobiography. He discovers that it is his birthday only by writing the date to a letter; clerical collars annoy him, he asks his fiancée to order renewals for his wardrobe; he tells her that cotton buttons get spoilt by washerwomen; he describes how a cabman was not content with half-a-crown, but blustered for three shillings; he narrates his experiences with “globules “and the cold-water cure; he offers to buy his fiancée a silk dress with flounces, and refuses to buy the silk unless she has the flounces; he tells how his linen is wearing out; he describes the fine houses and the fine people with whom he stays; he confesses that he has only fifteen shillings in the world; he tells how he wanted to knock down a young gentleman of seventeen who was rude to his mother.

All these confessions make the man more real and human to the reader; his little controversies with Catherine Mumford incline us to think that on such occasions at least his common sense was wiser than her intellectual sharpness; his gentleness with her under repeated admonishment — particularly when one remembers that he was a dyspeptic — endears him to the reader as a large-hearted and tolerant man. But most of all these letters are interesting, deeply and searchingly interesting, as the revelation of a man’s struggle for spiritual perfection.

They are above everything else the letters of a perfectly moral and a perfectly honest follower of the ideal Christ, who feels in himself the lack of some completing harmony, and who cannot find rest for his soul until his whole spirit is merged and lost in the Divine approval.

BRIDGE STREET, LONGTON,
STAFFORDSHIRE POTTERIES.

MY DEAREST KATIE — Here I am safe lodged amid as many comforts as I can well desire. I had rather a dreary and tedious journey, and when I arrived at Stoke the last train had gone to Longton, so I had 3 miles’ walk through the wind and I have not yet got my bag and things from the Stoke station where I left them. I am staying at the Robinsons’, he is Mr. Proctor’s brother. Mr. Boycot the super. was awaiting my arrival.

I anticipate much real assistance, pleasure, and profit from his co-operation. He appears a very nice man. I thought much about you in the rail — I hope you are well and very happy. I do trust that a future is before us, just such a one as you desire; I am anxious that it should he so. Bless you, my affection for you, I trust, has a good influence on my heart, I think it helps to make me a purer and a better man; I thought so in the carriage yesterday.

I have once more started afresh for the Kingdom of God. I am desirous of making a good impression here and I feel that much may be done out of the pulpit, and I am determined that it shall. I am pretty well in health, and hope to continue so,. . . . I commence work to-night; a good deal of expectation is abroad, large posting bills are all over the town and neighbourhood. I trust much good will be done; I know you will pray for me: I shall be very anxious till to-night. Indeed I have had a very restless night and am very nervous this morning.

I do trust that you will, my dearest, be very happy; take great care of your health this damp weather, and do not on any account be venturesome; always wrap up well when you go out — I will comply with these counsels myself. It is a desolate morning and the most desolate-looking place I think I ever saw, but all will be well and the place will be lovely in my eyes if sinners are converted and Jesus’ grace is made manifest.

Now, my own Kate, do give up your heart entirely to the Lord and let us seek to make our intercourse a means of mutual religious benefit when our love is sanctified and hallowed.

Do not write a long letter to Miss Mackleed; you have not time. Do not write long letters to any one but me; it is not well. It rains very fast and seems to bid fair for a thorough wet day; if so it will injure our congregation much to-night. You may expect a long letter from me with the first news I have to send. Direct to me at J. L. Robinson, Esq., Solicitor, Longton, Staffordshire Potteries. I cannot write, do as I will. So I will conclude, remaining your dear and affectionate
WILLIAM.

LONGTON, Jany. 5th, 1855.
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS KATE — I expected a line from you this morning and felt somewhat disappointed at its non-arrival, but I anticipate this pleasure to-morrow. I hope you are very well and very, very happy. Bless you, I am more so than for some time of late for one or two reasons, first our union is more perfect.— our feelings more reciprocal and hearty, and my love for you more calm and tender.

My thoughts stray to you much when alone, and after times of excitement and effort I fall back upon you in thought and imagination as I shall do in reality in the future, for repose and peace and happiness.

This is the most dreary and unsightly place I ever was in; the weather being gloomy and rainy does not at all add to its pleasing effect. The work of God at present is heavy, very heavy. I did not preach with pleasure to myself nor with much influence last evening, as I thought; the congregations are very good, the chapel is very large, we have had 8 penitents, none very important, altho’ some I trust satisfactory cases.

We must pray on — our dependence is upon God.
I forgot to say that a second source of joy to me was that I feel that I have begun to live afresh. You will rejoice my dearest in this and you will join me in the like consecration. Oh, how much we owe to Him! — shall we not render up the entire service of heart and life?

If anything strikes you in the course of your reading or meditation likely to be useful to me put it down on paper kept on purpose and then tell me of it when we meet.

LONGTON, Monday, Jany. 8th.
MY DEAREST AND PRECIOUS LOVE — I have been out until just now, 4 o’clock, with the preachers — I must find out some plan to avoid going out except for service, tho’ it be at the risk of giving offence. I refuse many invitations — I am desirous of standing well with the preachers and have therefore been to see them. I snatch a moment for you, and will send you a long letter at my first opportunity. Yesterday was a grand day — at night I suppose 50 or 60 penitents. Large congregations and deep interest.

Mr. Ridgeway came over in the afternoon to see me. He is a fine man; quite the gentleman and Christian. I am to stay with him and to be according to his promise “as happy as a prince.” They are making great preparations at the Hanley Chapel and expecting great things. I trust a good work has begun; but will send you more particulars in my next.

I trust my dearest that your cold is much better, I am very sorry for you. I often think about you, and think about you as you wish. Pray for me — I do for you. Oh to live better, more to the purpose!

P.S.— This note is only an excuse, you shall have if possible a letter to-morrow. Love to your dear mother. Take plenty of Cayenne for your throat.
LONGTON, Jany. 10, 1855
.
MY DEAREST LOVE — Your very kind and affectionate letter came to hand this morning — I should have written yesterday had I had time. I am glad your throat is better altho’ I have more faith in the Cayenne than in the globules. I think you should have persevered with the former, but as you will; only do what you can to prevent as well as to cure. I think my health continues as good as when I left London — I am taking all possible care of myself.

The friends are very kind and anxious to promote my well-being in every way they can. I hope you are very happy; bless you; I think much about you and should much like your presence and society here. I care less perhaps than ever about other company and prefer quietness and solitude, or yourself, to visiting or talking to others. I am determined to carry this idea out in practice if possible in the future.

The revival is progressing with mighty power and influence. Several very interesting cases have transpired — and some important persons have been converted. We are working more by rule and with more order than I have ever attempted before. We had two persons in the vestry, one a grey-headed old member and the other a young man converted on Sunday, a clerk of Mr. Robinson’s; these take the names of the persons who find salvation in a book ruled on purpose in columns headed, “Name” “Address.”

Whether a member before, if so of what class or church? Whether they will meet in society with us, if so in what class? Whether they prefer any other church, if so which? Whether married or single, and other remarks. Then one or two persons are stationed around the communion rail who take the persons into the vestry, and thus you see we are doing what we can and as well as we can. We have taken down about 140 names and a great number of persons are under deep conviction.

The congregation last night was very large and we are expecting the chapel crowded to-night. I am very sorry that many of the more respectable of the seat-holders keep aloof — it is an important matter when the head of a family not only refuses to come but exerts his influence to keep others away likewise. It is so with many, I fear, here. Mr. Boycot came to see me last night and told me of one family in the chapel all of whom, father, mother, sons, and daughters (young men and young women) were under deep conviction. But they went away resisting, at least undecided, I hope to come back again and find mercy. . .

CAULDON HALL, STAFFORDSHIRE,
Jan. 13th, 1855.
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS CATHERINE — I have just received something like certain information that my destination is to be the Staffordshire district for the next month at least, very probably up to Conference. I hasten to apprise you of this. Letters have been received from Messrs. Bates and Rabbits consenting to this arrangement. Mr. Downs, a very popular man among the Reformers, has recently joined our Ministry, and he is coming to supply for me this month. He has been described to me as being very efficient and therefore I trust my London friends will be satisfied; there can be no question but my Superintendent will be content if not rejoiced.

Now I shall want you, dearest, in the course of next week to go over to Mr. Jones, look over the room and put away all my papers. I will send you my key and you must send me the manuscripts I mention.

Monday morning.— Yours came to hand and was read with great pleasure; I am pleased you are better and that you are getting on comfortably. Do not, my own dear Love, in any way pine about my absence: I am grieved that you should. I think that, all things considered, it will be as well if I am away a little longer. And we shall soon meet, all well, on different terms.

Yesterday I took the pulpit in this immense chapel — the congregation this morning was very good, probably 1,500 people; at night the place was full, over 2,500 were present. It was an imposing sight when all rose up to sing. What a responsibility to have to preach to them. The Lord helped me to say a few words. In preaching both morning and evening I was much blessed. At night we took the names of 24 persons who professed to find peace; it was not so great a number as I had hoped for — but I trust the success will increase as the work advances.

I am middling in health; quite as well, if not better, than when I left London. I will put some salt in my water before I sponge. I am living right, and I want to do so, God help me. Pray for me. My continuance away from London will only be, as you intimate, just as the work of God needs it; for instance, if a good work progresses I shall stay in Hanley a fortnight and then go back to Longton for a little time — with a little rest between.

If you go to the Tea Meeting, stay all night at Mr. Love’s and in the morning you can clear away all the papers and wrap the cap in a parcel, and stow them away somewhere. Wrap up Thomas’s books; you will find them in a cupboard under the other books; I should like to keep them clean, etc.

I will send you word if I want anything. I am in need of shirts the worst of anything. But we shall see.
Now, my own sweet Kate, do be happy. I shall see you again very soon, a month or 5 weeks at the farthest, because I shall come up at the opening of the Haliwell Mount Chapel —40 reformers with 100 Sunday scholars offered to join us and worship in it. Farewell. Heaven bless you with every mercy and all the grace you need. .

Enclosure:
From “The Staffordshire Sentinel.”
“Zion Chapel, Longton. A series of revival services have been held in the above-named place of worship. On Wednesday 3rd the Rev. Wm. Booth of London preached and continued the services each evening until 10th. The effect of the Revd. gentleman’s preaching was truly astonishing; his view of the Christian religion was clear, his delivery powerful, melting his audience to tears; a hallowed influence pervaded the assemblies congregated to hear him during his stay in Longton.

The effect of his eloquence tells amazingly. He reminds his hearers of J. B. Gough; with every argument he carries conviction to the heart. His glowing language, his startling incidents, his appeals to the judgment of his hearers are of no ordinary character, and the impression made upon his auditory will not be readily effaced and the happy results of his labours is an accession of about 150 members to the church.”

P.S.— Do not show or read this to any one except your mother — of course I do not believe or assent for one minute to the truthfulness of these remarks made by an unknown friend — I should think from the inaccuracy of the date and number some outside hearer or member of another Church wrote it.

CAULDON PLACE, SHELTON, STAFFORDSHIRE,
Jany. 16th, ‘55.
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS KATIE — The work is progressing most satisfactorily; last night I had, Mr. Ridgeway says, 2,000 persons to hear me preach, and the Lord helped me to preach and afterwards we took down 40 names — I have a splendid band of assistants. Some of the finest working men I ever met with in a prayer meeting in my life. The Revd. A. Lyn, the father of Mr. Lyn who was with me at Mr. Cooke’s has just been in; he is a blessed man, a second Charles Richardson; he has come over to spend a night or two.

Mr. Lyn’s son likewise came in this morning to stay over to-night, so we shall have plenty of help. You must pray for me, my dearest, and God grant you may yourself be refreshed and blessed. I thought about you much last night. After the toil and anxiety and excitement of the day is over, I generally go to sleep thinking about you and calling your image up to my recollections. Bless you, I hope to have a letter from you tomorrow. The work is proceeding with mighty power at Longton, about 40 have been converted since I left, and they are expecting my return, and I have no doubt if I do a very glorious work will be the result.

CAULDON PLACE, SHELTON, STAFFORDSHIRE,
Janv. 17. 1855.
MY OWN SWEET CATHERINE — So you are not very well, or you were too busy going to this tea meeting, or you had some other very good and very sufficient and very satisfactory excuse for not writing to your own dear William yesterday. Well, a note will come to-morrow and be very welcome.

The congregation was very glorious last night and, although I did not preach with my usual pleasure, amid as I thought power, a good influence pervaded the meeting and we finished up with the best prayer meeting we have yet had and swelled the numbers up to about 110 on the three nights. Mr. Lyn and his father were with us; were much pleased and worked very hard. We had about the average Sunday night congregation and if the weather clears up we shall have more to-night, but it is now snowing very fast. I am still, through the boundless mercy of God, very well in health, better than I have been for some time.

I send you, my dear Kate, a despatch pretty often because I know you are interested in the campaign. This is certainly a great work and of sufficient importance to stop the mouth of all gainsayers. Praise God, the preachers work gloriously, the President is a sweet man and is very much pleased. Mr. Ridgeway works hard and comes leading them up, brokenhearted, in a way sufficient to melt a heart of stone.

A respectable woman met me this morning in deep distress; she was coming to see me; she could not rest; we went home with her; Mr. Lyn, junior, and Mr. Gutteridge were with me; prayed with her, etc. and she found peace directly. Praise God for ever and ever. I am happy, very happy. My heart is right, I trust, with respect to tracing all the power back to God. I want to give Him all the praise. Bless you, I hope you are well and happy. Write me all about your soul and feelings towards me. I love you and I trust we shall be very happy together.

CAULDON HALL,
Jan. 18, 1855.
MY DEAREST CATHERINE — I must have returned the charge you so often prefer against me, that of not having answered my two or three letters, only that you make so good and so satisfactory an excuse. I mean you did not notice in yours all the contents of mine. However, I thank you for all that you say, so kind and so loving. I am sorry you were not satisfied with the tea meeting or with the friends; I would not go again, were I you, under any circumstances, at least not except I am there.

I am glad you have Miss Bates with you. I am surprised you should spend a morning at Mrs. Love’s doing so much like the man who locked up, with a patent lock that nobody could pick, his money in a small cash box, and the thieves carried box and money together away. You have wrapped up my papers and put them in the bottom cupboard where any one can open them, etc. But I will write to Mrs. Love and ask her to put them in my box under my bed and there they will be safe from the eye of Bro. D. if he should wish to pry. I do not know him at all and therefore I am anxious to be right. Bless you, you did what you thought best, and that will always satisfy me. I receive twice or thrice per week long and kind letters from Mr. Bates.

I hope you will have done with that shield soon, surely you have worn it long enough; I shall make no pledges of residence to any one. I do not know where or what my future path will be except that it will be that of an Evangelist. I count my improved health and my strengthened chest as indication added to many others that this is my path.

I am washing my chest or rather bathing it with salt and cold water every morning altho’ the ground is covered with snow.

But now to my Despatch. Last night the congregation was very good altho’ the night was unfavourable — near 2,000 I suppose were present, not quite perhaps — but it was a large congregation. The word was with power and point. Lot’s wife. A good prayer meeting until half past 10 or later —and 40 names taken down, making near 160 during this week.

For all this we cannot be sufficiently thankful. The cases were of a higher order last night. Many very fine young men and many very respectable females. One old and fine leader told me that his son and daughter had found the Lord for whom he had been praying many many years.

Another grey-headed man said his daughter and daughter-in-law had found the Lord for whom he had been praying near 28 years. Let us give God all the praise. I trust that amid all this I am kept right. I feel much for other ministers while they are cordial, but if they speak against the work or against its results, then I feel something very near akin to anger rise within my poor deceptive heart.

May God in mercy keep me right. Pray for me, my darling, and I will if spared do all I can to make thee as happy as God wills. I trust I shall have some better news to tell you with respect to my mother’s property; I have got another gleam of hope. Farewell. I pray for you — and often, nay always, at night resign myself after the toils and anxieties of the day to thoughts about your own sweet self.

CAULDON HALL, SHELTON,
Monday, January 22, ‘55.
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS CATHERINE, . . . I should have written on Saturday, but going to Longton in the morning I had but time for two other letters which ought to have been posted before. My engagements are now settled for the next 5 weeks so that you may know when to expect me and I can know when to expect to see you. I finish here at Hanley on Wednesday of this week.

Thursday, Friday, and Saturday I go home to Nottingham. On Sunday and the week following I preach at Bursiem, the following week at Newcastle on Trent, a place about 2 or 3 miles from here—on the following week I am at Longton again, and the following fortnight I am at Mossley, a large place beyond Manchester — from thence I come to London — when after resting awhile and taking part in the opening of the New Chapel I go (by leave of my London friends) to Tipton in the Dudley East Circuit, then on to Gateshead and Newcastle-on-Tyne, then to Bradford in Yorkshire, and then home again by Conference to you.
Yesterday was a remarkable day.

In the morning the congregation was very good, at night that large chapel was crowded; it was an imposing sight. I suppose there were 3,000 persons present, some from a distance, some Independent Wesleyans, Church people, Primitives, many infidels and indifferents. God helped me to preach with a little power and in the prayer meeting we took down 50 names, many good cases. I should much have liked you to have been there.

Altho’ I exerted myself very much and stayed at the prayer meeting for some time I am very well to-day; my chest is a little sore, but nothing in comparison with what it was sometimes in London. For this I cannot be sufficiently thankful.

I am anxious to see you, I want to talk many things over. Especially about money matters — I feel how possible it is to be led wrong, already Satan harasses me much on the subject, and it must not be. I must preserve my disinterestedness and put my confidence in God.

CAULDON PLACE,
Jany. 23, 1855.
MY DEAREST LOVE, . . . I am sorry for your mother’s sake that Mrs. Harthorne is going away, but perhaps some one else may come. Do not doubt the good providence of God. Bless you I trust that your anxieties on this subject will end and that you will in all other things likewise be happy. I do not think it wise or well to anticipate any perfect state of bliss on earth. This is at best a changing and unsatisfactory world. And our wisest and happiest course is to lay up treasure in Heaven.

The work continues; last night the congregation was very large and I preached with some liberty and power and afterwards a number of very clear and satisfactory conversions took place. Near 140 names were taken. I am somewhat tired and fatigued this morning, but a good walk will set me up again.

Give my kind love to your dear mother. The newspapers and preachers continue to say very flattering things concerning my ability. Mr. Donald, a very much respected preacher in our denomination, came over last week from Mossley, first to hear me and then if he approved to invite me there; he told Mr. McAndy that I have a stronger mind than Mr. Caughey; but of course he was thoroughly mistaken. I am satisfied that I have a far lower estimate of my ability than those around me.

Farewell. Write me again at your leisure. I must say I like the “you” and “your” on paper better than “thee” and “thou” and “thine.” I think your writing improves.
Six days after having expressed his disapproval of thou “and “thee,” William Booth writes the following impulsive letter to Catherine Mumford, a letter as valuable and significant perhaps as any in the series:

WATERLOO ROAD, BURSLEM,
Jany. 29th, ‘55.

MY DEAREST, MY OWN PRECIOUS LOVE — What a time it seems since I heard from thee. What a time since I wrote to thee — and thou shalt have the first fruits of my pen and I send thee the offering of a loving heart, a heart that never loved thee as it loves thee now. Thou art precious to my inmost soul and I will not only enshrine thee there but guard and watch over and protect thy image from harm or injury.

I have this last day or two unceasingly carried thee with me, in my inmost thoughts and even when surrounded by crowds and listening to the voices of hundreds, I have seemed only to live for God and thee. Heaven grant that this sweet dream, nay, reality of love and fond affection, may be perpetuated for ever. Oh to see thee and press thy hand and clasp thee to my heart; and this shall soon be — till then, God protect and care for thy welfare.

Other things continue bright and cheerful. I left my mother better in health and more comfortable and happy in mind. Mary and Emma are likewise better. I arrived here in Burslem about 9 o’clock on Saturday, after a very cold and wearisome journey. I found a hearty welcome from the friends where I am now staying and they do all they can to make me happy. It is a very nice town, containing about 1,500 inhabitants.

The chapel is a very unique and comfortable one, rather small, will hold about 800 persons. I never preached to a congregation so packed in my life as it was last night, and I suppose hundreds went away unable to obtain admission; all up the pulpit stairs, in the aisles, in the communion rails, in fact wherever there was standing room. I preached with a little liberty and some power and about 40 names were taken down during the progress of the prayer meeting.

The Love Feast in the afternoon was a very interesting one on the whole; it was the best beginning I have as yet been privileged to have. I suppose I am to travel until Conference, if my Circuit will agree to accept of a supply. I come to London all well on the 4th of March and stay 3 weeks. I hope they will be the happiest three weeks in my life so far.

Why not? we belong to God. Jesus is our Saviour, His Blood is our Salvation, and we belong to each other — as fully as we can do, until the last link has been put to our union. Have we not perfectly each other’s love? Oh bless you, my darling, on my bosom your head shall rest — yes rest. I reciprocate all your fond expressions and I assure you that you are in my heart.

Did you receive all my letters last week? Did you receive one with some postage stamps enclosed? Direct to me at Mr. Hawley’s, Waterloo Road, Burslem, Staffordshire. Oh my dearest, let us trust in God. I hope to do something for this poor perishing world, and I do want you to give me your full heart’s sympathy to aid me to realize the big desires that have existence in my breast.

“You will.” You say, “I will,” even as you read, and you shall be mine, mine fully. I will love you as few are loved and watch over you as few are watched over, and we will live for each other and every sinew and every nerve shall be strained to save thousands and tens of thousands of perishing souls.

Amid crowds and toils and anxieties and excitements I will carry you in my arms, nay, enshrined in my soul, and when we meet I will look the love I cannot speak. Farewell; never more fondly did I press an epistle to my lips before posting than I do this, because I know it will meet thy gaze. God bless you — remember me as your own—and love me as you were wont to do in days gone by.

P.S.— The editor of one of our local papers has announced that a sketch of one of my sermons and an article on the services will appear in next week’s issue. What thinkest thou of that, my love? I was told that he was there two nights. It matters not. I hope God will help me to stand the storm when it comes and I trust He will keep me right amid His sunshine.

Wilt thou pray for me? Dr. Crofts speaks kindly of my essay.

WATERLOO ROAD, BURSLEM,
Jany. 30, ‘55.
MY OWN SWEET AND PRECIOUS TREASURE, . . . I have been talking to you, breathing your name, musing on your love to me and your kindness, and thinking how much I should love to see you and to press you to my fond and anxious heart.

Oh Catherine, I do love thee. Thou art indeed my treasure, the hope and the stay of my soul. I mean so far as earthly things should be dear. I do not love thee more. No, I may love thee very much before I love thee more than is consistent with my love to Him who is my Redeemer and my God. Him first, thou next. Bless thee we are one, and He shall be our all in all. Didst thou get my letter of yesterday? Didst thou read it over and reciprocate every fond expression? Art thou not mine, and am I not thine? Yes! Yes! The darkness has passed and the day of unclouded affection has dawned, and we have woke up to the deep joy of loving and of being loved.

My health is very good. I am strong. I was much more tired with going home than had I stayed here and preached. My Mother is well; there is no news about the property. I will take the globules for thy dear sake. My chest is remarkably well and I believe you will be surprised at the improvement. My leaving London again is to be laid before the Circuit and I shall do as they wish.

You talk about my popularity; dearest, believe me, I care about pleasing God and thee and saving sinners. In seeking the salvation of souls popularity has come. It will not alter my future course; not an atom. I mean to do right and to do my duty, all my duty. What I alluded to about money I will say when we meet; it is not worth while to waste time to put it on paper.

Don’t talk about my forgiving you; send me word that you fully and freely and for ever forgive me all the past, and that in the future we shall be first each other’s and then fully the Lord’s. Farewell, my own sweet love — Bless you; pray for me. You are lonely without me, and I am lonely without thee. Oh how I wanted thee last night to go home to. No one else can understand me.

No one else can sympathize with me; thy bosom is my earthly heaven, next to the joy of my work and my Heavenly Master. Thou art my joy, and thy soul is my paradise. Farewell. The 3rd of March will soon be here.
P.S.— I kiss this letter many times.
Thou shalt have another pen when I come up.

In the following letter one obtains not only a description of religious excitement by William Booth, but the interesting and striking confession of a revivalist’s misgiving in the midst of a meeting:

BURSLEY, Feby. 1, 1855
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS LOVE — I just scribble you a line. How can I help doing so? I want to tell you a few thoughts of which my heart is full. I said little or nothing yesterday as to the work here, and I want to tell you what passed through my mind respecting it last night.

Monday evening was a very heavy and painful one. We had two meetings after the sermon, one in the chapel and one in the school room We took down 25 names, altho’ it was one of the most confused meetings I ever was in. Tuesday and Wednesday evenings were the most triumphant I ever witnessed under any circumstances. We confined the meeting to the chapel.

Last night twice or thrice I became alarmed, the excitement was almost overwhelming; I feared for the people. I feared lest we should not be able to keep the reins of the meeting. The cries of distress were thrilling, piercing, running, as one gentleman expressed it, through you to your finger ends. Some were violent, commenced shrieking, clapping the forms, etc.; these I stopped directly; in fact all the more violent I stopped as soon as I could.

If I doubted, as in two instances, sincerity, I stopped them authoritatively; if I had confidence in them I poured on the balm of Jesus’ salvation and the sweet promises of His Word, and they soon turned their tears and wailings into joy.

Amid all this I could not help but reason, Is it right? Is this the best way? Perhaps I was severely tempted to believe it all a delusion? Perhaps it was my own unbelief, but it was strange that these thoughts should be passing in my breast while I stood upon the form, the calmest and at times the most unmoved in all that dense assembly, directing and controlling every movement of the meeting so far as such a number of excited beings could be controlled and guided.

The people are more ignorant here than in other places I have visited, many who come are backsliders, and they wring their hands, and strike their breasts, and beat the communion rail enough to melt and break hearts of stone.

To-night we shall have a crash and no mistake. The place is literally packed, sitting and standing every night.

And how art thou, my love, my sweet one, my hope? When I enter my chamber, oh how it seems to bring me into communion with thy spirit. Solitude and silence has this effect. And thou dost think about me. Bless thee, I am thine and thou art mine, and we are one. Farewell. My heart yearns for thy sweet companionship; to have thee to love and to talk to and to sympathize with. I want more of the love of Heaven and more of the love of earth, thy love, love to thee.

My health is wonderfully good considering my continued exertion and the protracted excitement, and I am going tomorrow to the home of a very nice gentleman where I shall rest two days — and get strong again to labour. I am much better than when in London — in health. I do hope that I shall be able to surprise you with my health. Take care of thyself my precious for MY SAKE.

Give my love to mother. Get me two good shirts and two night shirts, 1 yard and 3/4 long at least, ready to send next week when I send you word. Farewell. Heaven bless and care for thee.

P.S.— I intended to post this letter yesterday — I reached the post office -- and then found that it was not scaled, intended doing it with wafer at Mr. Ridgeway’s, forgot it, made sure I had posted it until I found it in my pocket to-day. Bless you, I am very sorry, but post it now. I will write you, all well, tomorrow. We had a triumphant night last night. Good-bye.

CLAYTON, NEWCASTLE, STAFFORDSHIRE,
Feby. 5, 1855
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS LOVE —. . . I am sorry that things are not so sunny with your Mamma as one could wish, but we must hope for better and brighter days. I do not know how my mother and sister would have lived had I not stepped in just as I did; for Mary has been unable to get any work for a long time. I left them £5:0:0, and I am reduced to about 15/- only that I expect something — a little, from Burslem. I want a coat when I can raise the money. But enough, I did not intend writing this rubbish.

Your letters are not quite so long as they used to be, but you are busy. I am sure I am very much delighted to hear of your industry, your improved health, and that you have adopted the cold water plan. I have very great faith in it. I have what they call a medical rubber. A towel made on purpose. Almost as rough as though made of horsehair. I came from Nottingham with a dreadful pain at the bottom of my back — was very bad for two days — I bathed it once, with cold water and salt, and rubbed it, and I never felt it again. I am not so well to-day. My chest is sore with yesterday’s exertions, I intend being more careful to-night.

Yesterday was more successful than ever as a beginning. Altho’ it rained in torrents, the chapel was crowded, many went away unable to obtain admission. We registered during the prayer meeting 40 names. What think you of the newspaper report? We often laugh about his likening me to a Jew.

. . . Pray for me, my darling — that I may be labouring for Him. For His glory — conscientiously trying to do His will—help me to do as much as I can—be my guardian angel — watch over me and prompt to benevolent effort for the good of others.

NEWCASTLE, STAFFORDSHIRE,
Feby. 8, 1855
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS LOVE — Your very kind and thoughtful letter is to hand this morning. It really is a credit to both your head and your heart. I did not write yesterday or the day preceding because of circumstances and am sorry for it. I fully intended yesterday but was awkwardly and unexpectedly kept away from home and was very low and desponding all the day. I am better mentally and physically to-day. I intend, all well, resting an entire week in London. I commence the revival services at the new place on the second Sunday.

I thank you for your remarks on the strictures contained in the newspapers: they are very judicious. I do hear from time to time of political affairs. I think my duty is to leave London after a three or four weeks’ stay there. The people are pulling me almost to pieces down here. I have letters from Leeds, Dewsbury, and Bristol the last two days.

A meeting is held to-day in London to decide whether Mr. Downs is to be accepted as a supply for me till Conference or whether I shall be retained after my return; to the decision of that meeting I shall calmly submit. You shall not on any consideration be parted from me when your own heart dictates the path of duty to be with me. I have confidence in thy judgment and in thy love for the great work of saving souls. I have no fear, neither has Mr. Mills on this subject.

And when thou art, should God see it best to bless us with offspring, when thou art thus detained thou shalt have a little paradise in some central spot and my mother shall live with us, should God spare us and spare her and Emma.

Top

And then our winter income will procure us all the blessings that we need. Fear not this residence: thou canst make excursions with me, and thou wilt have confidence in those thou leavest for a season in charge of our loved ones and our home for a season. Should we have no children, we will travel together. I never think of anything else in my joy, and thou shalt be my guardian angel.

I am doing nothing mentally. I intend doing something by and by. I improve my sermons as I preach them. My health is better, my chest stronger. I drink a deal of Linseed Tea. Didst thou ever try it? Do not fear about being separated. If you can go I shall not go without you. Besides, where I have been once many homes at once offer for a second visit.

Here I am overwhelmed with kindness. The work progresses very favourably. Chapels crowded every night — riveted attention perhaps for an hour and a quarter’s sermon and then mighty prayer meetings such as you never saw. Last night 67 names were taken.I adhere to the cold water bathing of my chest and shoulders and back. I do not retire much before 12 on an average -- sleep well, rise about 1/2 past 8, breakfast and walk till dinner -- afterwards do my correspondence, read a little and prepare for night, leaving the prayer meeting about 10 -- last night they did not leave the chapel until 1/4 to 12. I have not seen Kossuth’s speeches. I was so glad to hear about your improved health, you cannot think how overjoyed I am at the prospect of your being well.

We will talk more and arrive at some definite opinions and rules for the government of our future lives with respect to money; the controversy becomes an unpleasant and unprofitable one to me. I have no fear of getting sufficient for existing wants; it will be with respect to laying up for the future.

And now, my dearest, I thank you from my inmost heart for all your kind words and love. Do not say I have not tried to answer your letters. I do try. I will try more in the future. You must make some little allowance for my circumstances. Give my best love to your dear mamma. Take great care of your health. I will make the night shirts do. I shall try to manage now until I come to town if I can. If I want them I will write again. Have you two shirts? I want them worse; mine are all in tatters.

Bless you, farewell. Look forward to the future with a trusting and hopeful soul.

CLAYTON, NEWCASTLE,
Feby. 9, 1855.
DEAREST CATHERINE — How art thou getting on and what art thou doing? I sit here nearly alone and I hail the solitude with delight, in a snug, warm, and handsomely furnished room — with every earthly comfort and all I desire but thee; how I should love to have thee to help me to enjoy a quiet evening; but it must not be and I must quietly resign myself to my lot; if spared we shall soon pass some happy, happy, happy hours together.

By God’s help I will calmly wait, and with His blessing I will enjoy the present and not be always living only for the future. There is much in the present; I have a great deal in my work that others would give worlds for; I have many kind friends; I have every earthly luxury and attention, and then I have thee, and a hope, a real and certain hope, of HEAVEN.

LONGTON, Feby. 12, 1855
MY VERY DEAR LOVE — What art thou doing, I wonder just now? Perhaps thinking about me. I do hope my two last letters have come to hand, and I do trust that thou art very happy. How is it with thee in spiritual matters? I do hope better and brighter. I awoke very happy this morning. I am truly a child of many mercies; how good God is to me! Oh, my dearest, help me to praise Him.

Yesterday was a day of great anxiety. I knew expectation was very high and I had comparatively new and untried sermons to preach. At night the chapel was densely crowded, packed. I suppose 2,200 persons were present — the gallery is an immense one and the people seem right upon you. I was very much impressed with a sense of my weakness and insignificance to accomplish any thing good except divinely assisted, and God did graciously help me to preach a little from “Why will ye die?”

We had a tolerably good prayer meeting; 38 professed to find peace — some good cases, a sad lack of efficient help. The congregation was very respectable and intelligent, some of the leading secularists were present, and seemed very attentive and solemn, and I hope God will impress the truth upon their minds. I shall have to preach new sermons the next two or three nights, and therefore anticipate much anxiety.

The friends at Newcastle were very kind and expressed an earnest wish to have the pleasure of seeing you the next time I visit them. I have some thought of selecting Newcastle as a place of residence. It is central — a nice little town; in it are many intelligent warm-hearted and loving friends; the scenery around it is of a romantic and pleasing character; our cause is the leading dissenting interest in the place, and altogether I was pleased with it, and I have seen a nice little house that I think would suit us well. Mr. Dixon the gentleman with whom I stayed, made me a present of £2 for my mother. That was very kind, was it not? They gave me £3 for my week’s services — and every luxury that heart could desire besides to promote my health and comfort.

A gentleman of the name of Bailey who keeps his carriage and pair, and who lives in a little paradise about two miles out of Longton, would very much like us to spend a month to rest at his house next summer; but I mean to visit Paris, Switzerland, and the Rhine, if at all practicable — but we shall see.

My present popularity almost frightens me. I am alarmed as to the maintaining of it. You understand me, I mean the carrying out of the work of God. My sermon yesterday morning was a perfect failure. But God can, and I firmly believe, God will work. And now my love, I shall if spared soon see you and again we can sit and talk about everything.

OLDHAM, Feby. 21, ‘55.
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS CATHERINE—. Bless you, how I do wish for an interview — to see and love you. I am very low in spirits — very; the work does not progress to my satisfaction, the congregations are not very good and the cases not of a very encouraging character. My heart yearns for something more glorious and effective; here I am surrounded by a dense population of I should think 80,000 people, and yet our congregation last night was only about 300; but that is better than preaching to 20 or 30, the average week night congregation here.
Pray for me, my dearest Love; oh to live nearer to God!

I am rapidly making the acquaintance of the preachers of the Connexion. Many of them come to hear me at different times and places; I am afraid I am not making that impression with respect to my piety that I ought to do. Oh to live close to God! My soul pants for something deeper, realler, more hallowed, in my soul’s experience. If I fail it will be here. My dear, my own dear, write to me, all about your heart, all about your health; tell me you love me with satisfaction, that is if it be so.

Oh for an uninterrupted future of harmony and confidence — when it will be one of bliss and peace. I will try and serve God better, I want Him more in my heart motives, in my soul’s thinking and desires. To look at men and things and duties from a place close to His throne. The Lord help me. Let us live for each other individually and together as one; let us labour and toil for Him.

M0SSLEY.
Monday, Feby. 26, 1855
MY DEAREST AND PRECIOUS CATHERINE—I suppose that the storm must have had some influence on the delay that has occurred in the delivery of the letters. Your two last announcing your painful illness were not put into my hands until yesterday after the morning’s service. My last ought to have reached you on Saturday, and I was anxiously expecting an answer before I wrote again.

Oh, had I but known I would have employed Saturday evening in writing consolation to you so far as I could have done so, I am indeed sorry to hear of your illness. I had feared it. I had often done so. Something has often whispered that I was counting too much on my visit to town; but you will be better by then, I trust. But why not call a doctor at once? I have not much faith in them, but still I would not have delayed a moment — especially when you were so ill. It must have been very sudden. Whatever could have been the cause?

But you will be better, and as you gain strength I trust you will be less the subject of these painful attacks. Bless you, I should much like to see you, and to have your company. I doubt not you feel the same. I shall (all well) be with you soon, and then I will sit by your side and we will talk all things over. If you have not answered my last letter do not trouble to do so. Never fear on my account, anything. All you have to do is to take care of yourself.

This attack seems very mysterious — just as we were cherishing such hopes of the future and of your ability to travel, etc.— this comes in and brings food to me for more anxiety respecting the future. Well, we must leave it with the Lord for the present.

This last week has been one of the most anxious, nervous, and desponding weeks I ever turned over in my life. Yesterday was a very heavy day — very few, if any, understand me. Congregations here were very poor yesterday, the cause is dreadfully low. Only eight cases at night. It would take me a month to raise the place. If you were with me I think then I could plod on for a month or six weeks and more, and move the town.

I was very unwell yesterday but am much better this morning. I was very uncomfortable in my house last week. I am just as much the contrary this. I never was more cared for than here; if ever you come to Mossley I have no doubt that this will be your home, and you will find every luxury and comfort that heart can desire and I shall be with you, and I am sure altho’ I distrust myself more than you distrust me, yet I am sure that I shall be anxious to make you as happy as you desire.

To tell you that I love you seems cold; you know it, I know it,—you are mine, we are linked together, already united, already one. Bless you a thousand times, send me a line to tell me all is well in your heart towards me — I prayed for you last night, yes I pray for you as my Catherine, as my own Kate. And every cloud will pass away and we shall yet be helps to one another and unitedly a blessing to the world.

Remember me kindly to your mother and father. We shall soon meet — that is, if you send me word that you repose confidence in me — and you do, I believe it, your last letters tell me that you do. We shall soon meet — Oh this uncertain world, how oft has it deceived me! I suspect it at every turn. There is nothing certain but uncertainty and let me say something else, thy love to me. Yes, that is certain, unchanging. Bless you, count me your own — oh, to come and see thee, and that is so near at hand, and thou wilt be a little better, able to take a little walk in the sunshine.

Cheer up—look not beyond to-day, at least not beyond our meeting. We will part but little while I am in London. I do not know where my salary is to come from while in town. But never mind, I shall get over that. Do not trouble to write much — only one line to tell me your heart is right with inc. I will write you every day. If the letters don’t come to hand blame the post, not your own in love’s closest and most tender bonds.

LONGTON, March 24, 1855.
MY DEAREST AND ONLY LOVE—I am safely arrived and most comfortably accommodated. I thought much ahout thee during my journey, and if you were here I should have nothing more to hope for, so far as earth is concerned. I am very anxious, of course, about the services: how can I be otherwise when so much expectation is aroused and I feel so inadequately prepared and qualified to satisfy it? But I must, I will, trust in God.

I had a very cold ride the first part of my journey. My portmanteau acts well. The cabman charged me 3/- and blustered and stormed because I wanted to give him 2/6. The friends are all pleased to see me.
LONGTON, March 26, ‘55.

MY DEAREST CATHERINE — Bless you! I trust you received mine this morning written on Saturday. Should you not receive my letters regularly during this visit, wait awhile patiently and attribute the failure to the post, not to any wilful neglect of mine, for I intend writing as often as you desire.

On the whole, I had a good day yesterday considering that the sermons were new for this special work. In the morning I preached from “Pulling them out of the fire “—the first time of preaching. I think it will make an effective discourse. I tried to the utmost of my ability to deepen the desire of the Christians present for the salvation of their fellowmen. At night from Blind Bartjmeus, with several new illustrations: I had much liberty.

The chapel by six o’clock was packed to suffocation, many, very many, were sent away unable to get inside the door The walls and ceiling were thoroughly saturated by the perspiration, so much so that the water dropped from above and ran down the walls. We had a few good cases; about twenty; not so many as I expected, but a good commencement.

Oh, it would do your soul good to hear the people talk of the good work that is going on, of the great and glorious changes that have taken place. Expectation is every way running very high and the leaders and members now are prepared to expect the greatest things. I was tired of course last night and wished much for your company at home, and then the day would have seemed delightfully complete.

Write me when you receive this and enclose in your note the elastic out of the collar I wore on Saturday, I have come away without one and cannot wear these all rounds. I have got a horrid pen and you must excuse this scrawl. Give my very kind love to your mother. Write me a loving letter —I am anxious to hear about you. Think of me as being fully and entirely your own faithfully and for ever. Yes, we are one.

P.S.— My ink is awfully thick and this pen of thine will hardly make a mark.

CAULDON PLACE, STAFFORDSHIRE POTTERIES,
March 28, 1855
MY DEAREST AND PRECIOUS CATHERINE — Bless you! If I could but have you in a snug home all to ourselves it would be very pleasant and happy.
I am sorry that my appetite and digestion have failed me again, directly on leaving London. I believe that the beer agreed with me wonderfully — I am as different as possible; I believe that bitter ale or porter would be very beneficial in this respect — but, do not fear, I will stick to the pledge.

Send me word how you make the beer, and I will try and get some made next week. I hope you are happy; send me all particulars about your health. I am staying at Mr. Ridgeway’s; he is very kind and cordial.

Remember me as being all your own faithfully, yes faithfully yours. Pray for me. Oh I want more religion, love to God and love to man.

OLDBURY, near BIRMINGHAM,
March 31/55.
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS LOVE — I am once more located in a new abode. The sweet, long, trusting, and very tender epistle came to hand this morning. I should have written yesterday, but really was not alone scarce five minutes of the day. You may expect me to be more regular now. I have announced to the lady where I am staying now that I do not go out at all to visit, and I intend sticking to it.

I am sorry to have competition two days next week; Mr. Gough lectures on Monday and Tuesday. The note you sent me from the Insurance Society is not satisfactory in fixing me to pay £7:18:9; they have put me down, if I am not mistaken, £1:0:0 more than the printed form states. I have not a printed book with me, but I think it was £2:6:0 per £100; but I left the card at your house. I have written by this post to the secretary and then you shall, when he answers, have further information.

The chapels have without exception been very full during the week. And I trust some considerable good has been done. I am a little better to-day; I shall have some horehound beer made. Thou need not send the horehound; if thou had sent me word how to direct for it to be made, that is what I want; we can get any quantity of horehound here.

Bless thee, thy letter did me good. It seemed so trusting and hopeful. I have gathered some little encouragement concerning myself during the week. Mr. Ridgeway has made me a present of the case for my papers; it is just the thing I wanted. Did not I tell thee? When wilt thou believe in my knowledge of human nature? It would have cost me at least 10/- or more. It was very kind of him. I am very much pleased with Pearson and with Blair, and I hope to report some favourable if not considerable progress in study next week.

OLDBURY, April 2, ‘55.
MY DEAREST AND ONLY LOVE — I am writing April, thou seest. How quickly is time flying away. Oh, how important the moments, how seldom we think so, and how far less seldom we act as if they were. Well, I mean this month to be a better one for labour and results than the last, mentally, morally, and spiritually, by God’s blessing. Amen!

And how are you? I have been thinking about you and your future, if spared you will soon write yourself another name. Bless you, I trust thou wilt be happy. You will be pleased to hear that I am very much better. I obtained the Quinine mixture on Saturday night. I was so very unwell —and I am taking it twice a day instead of three times; I drank a mug of strong horehound tea yesterday, and it is astonishing now much better I am, although I had a heavy day yesterday.

The congregations were very good. At night the Chapel was packed, aisles and everywhere; a very respectable gathering. I preached in the morning with great liberty and power, and at night I had a comfortable time to myself; the people wept very much. We had not the amount of good done I expected. The friends took down sixteen names.

I am sorry, and I said so from the pulpit, that our services clashed with Mr. Gough’s coming. Three of the most respectable and influential persons in the society are publicans! ! ! ! It is positively true! All apparently more than usually nice, good-hearted people. I am very sorry — very, very sorry. I hope to raise the religious feelings so high as to make them all ashamed of the infernal traffic and thus leave it.

I am reading Blair, Pearson, and Dick very carefully. The weather is very beautiful. Take care of thy dear self. We shall soon meet. Write me always particulars about your health. Do not attempt too much, as is thy custom as well as mine. I mean physically as well as mentally. I am glad Miss Tasker has called. She is a good creature, I think. Let her do some sewing for you. Pay her what she charges or more if you think it is worth it.

SMETHWICK, nr. BIRMINGHAM,
April 4, ‘55.
MY OWN PRECIOUS CATHERINE—Thy sweet note came to hand this morning. I trust that by this time thou art much better. Thou should wrap up well when going out, put thy shawl on, and then I think the East Wind would not get to thy chest. I am better in health but not very first-rate in spirits. Several things perplex me.

The service last night was not so successful, altho’ the congregation far exceeded my expectation; we had four or five very good cases, but we ought to have had more. I am very dissatisfied with the state of my heart towards the Lord. I have too much of self wrought up with all I do. The Lord help me.

The persons I named to you who keep public-houses and are members of society here have been to hear Gough once if not both nights. I trust he has done them good. You would be surprised if you were here to find how differently the traffic is looked upon to what it is in other places. It seems to be a settled and deep-rooted conviction that ale or beer is as much a necessary of life to the miners and furnacemen as bread or meat.

And these publicans would tell you that they act on this principle; they do not open on the Sabbath, neither do they allow drunkenness on their premises, etc. These are the arguments with which I suppose they justify the business to themselves.

SMETHWICK, BIRMINGHAM,
April 6, ‘55.
MY OWN DEAR AND MOST PRECIOUS LOVE — What a time it seems since I saw you. I do hope that cold has left you by this and that you are enjoying your walks, solitary though they be, in the mild spring weather. I had a very nice ramble this morning. I have not read much this week, but I have sat too close and worked too hard; I found that out yesterday.

To-day I am doing nothing but this, and a long letter to Mr. Bates, and a little of Pearson and Dick to-night, and perhaps a page or two of a sermon. I don’t preach to-night. Mr. Bates wrote me again a letter as long as the one you have [concerning Insurance]. He has seen the Doctor, but he won’t alter — he has written to the Directors at Edinburgh and he recommends me, should they not alter, to submit. It is a shame.

We have had a good week on the whole, some of the cases very satisfactory. We have taken down about eighty names, many more persons are under conviction, and I trust they will be gathered in. I go to Bradford to-morrow. I suppose it is about 140 miles. I shall ride first-class. My head has been very bad; I don’t know when worse lately than yesterday. The doctor in London says I have too much nervous energy for my muscle.

Therefore rest and exercise, as Dr. Collinette of Guernsey said, are the only things that will benefit me. My digestion is considerably better. You will say I am talking a deal about myself. Well, I can talk to thee, And my thoughts run on this just now — I don’t care what any of them say, doctors or not, I believe I have a rational hope (without accident) of living thirty years longer.— Believe me to remain, yours very faithfully and tenderly, WILLIAM.

BRADFORD,
April 10, ‘55.
MY DEAREST AND DARLING CATHERINE — In heading this letter I have just discovered that it is my birthday. I am to-day 26. Oh the importance of employing this fleeting time. Oh, my Catherine, what must I do? I am almost in despair with myself, and yet I am afraid if I were to study more it would be at once injurious to my health. I am preaching hard and therefore must be content. Bless you; I should like much to see you.

I am not very comfortable in my home — a miserably mismanaged family, possessing a respectable income if not wealth, yet here is very little domestic happiness. Snarling and snapping at one another; an indulgent mother and a quiet father.

Oh, it is almost more sometimes than my patience can bear; and I am inclined when I hear a youth of 17 tell his mother he will not do something, to tell him if he were my son, and said so to his mother, I would knock him down.

Well, thank God, I never got so far in all my waywardness and ingratitude to a fond and indulgent mother. And yet we have a beautiful house, furniture, etc. Happiness doth not consist in the many things which a man possesseth.

BRADFORD April 12, ‘55.
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS LOVE — I have been thinking much about thee the last two days. And I doubt not thou hast been thinking about me too.
Your letter and contents came to hand yesterday. I continue the cold-water bathing every morning. The remarks on Woman’s position I will read again before I answer.

From the first reading I cannot see anything in them to lead me for one moment to think of altering my opinion. You combat a great deal that I hold as firmly as you do — viz, her equality, her perfect equality, as a whole — as a being. But as to concede that she is man’s equal, or capable of becoming man’s equal, in intellectual attainments or prowess — I must say that is contradicted by experience in the world and my honest conviction.

You know, my dear, I acknowledge the superiority of your sex in very many things — in others I believe her inferior. Vice versa with man.

I would not stop a woman preaching on any account. I would not encourage one to begin. You should preach if you felt moved thereto: felt equal to the task. I would not stay you if I had power to do so. Altho’, I should not like it. It is easy for you to say my views are the result of prejudice; perhaps they are. I am for the world’s salvation; I will quarrel with no means that promises help.

BRADFORD,
April 16, ‘55.
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS KATE— . . . I am yours, wilful, impulsive, and fitful as I am, I am yours in an affection enduring and tender and faithful. And I am indulging in fond hopes that we shall be very happy together.

I hope to have an industrious week. I have changed residence as you will see, and am now very comfortable, have a delightfully pleasant bedroom, and all my wants carefully and thoughtfully supplied.
This is my first entry into Yorkshire, and of course I was unknown but by report among my own people. I stand now on more favourable ground, and if I can find material I have no doubt in after days, if spared, to see something very glorious indeed.

Care of B. J. PROCTOR, Esq..
15 REGENT TERRACE, NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE,
April 21, ‘55.
MY DEAREST AND PRECIOUS KATIE — I have just arrived, taken tea, and sit down to write to you a hasty note. So far as I can judge I am domiciled very comfortably indeed. Whom do you think I saw in the station at Leeds, just as I was taking my place in the carriage for the North? “ Luke Tyerman.”

I went and spoke to him and he appeared very cordial. He is stationed at Newcastle. He invited me to go and see him; he was going to Bradford to preach to-morrow. I hear he has been very ill, but is now much better. David Hay is stationed at Bradford; I did not see him while there.

Bless you, it has been a splendid day and I have had a splendid ride — oh what beautiful and diversified scenery have we passed through, flying more than anything else — rushing, screaming, panting on, ON, ON, 40 miles an hour sometimes, then stopping, and then on again, until we reached Newcastle; and I wanted you with me. I want you to see all that’s beautiful and share all that is truly blessed and sweet and precious.

I am full of hope for this place. I have no doubt but it will be hard work to make an impression, but it can be done, it must be done; God help us and it shall be done. The preacher is a very hearty man, and I doubt not but we shall have a very cordial co-operation. Good-bye. I must be off.

15 REGENT TERRACE, NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE,
April 23, ‘55.
MY OWN DEAR CATHERINE — I wonder how you are getting on. I should much like to see and have a talk with you this very fine morning. I am just going down to Tynemouth with Dr. Candelet, one of our preachers, to have another fond look at “old ocean.” I wish thou wast here and going with us. . .

The people are shrewd, intelligent, and cold here, proverbially so. From all I can gather the cause of religion is very low, all sects alike involved in a cold, frozen apathy. The chapel in which I am preaching is a very good one. Will hold about 1,200, and we had it near full last night. The best congregation that has been in it for many a year. Wm. Martin was here a fortnight ago, preached in it twice on Easter Sunday, and on the following Monday gave another edition of the London speech.

But, after all, I suppose I had double the number of people to hear me to what he had. The Reformers here are very unsettled; I suppose both the preachers would come to us if they could. Altho’ we had so large a crowd last night, for lack of earnest co-workers the prayer-meeting was comparatively a failure. 12 persons came forward. Many stayed under deep conviction, but I could not get any one to look about the chapel and bring the penitents up. I was very much annoyed and wished myself anywhere else, and told the ladies so. Oh it is indeed hard work. On the whole, the commencement is very encouraging.

Write me full particulars of what you are doing. I am much better in health. I go from hence to Manchester. You will be surprised when I tell you the Bradford friends gave me £5:0:0 for my fortnight’s toil — out of which my travelling expenses were £1:6:3. I shall not get much here. Never mind, this is not my chief aim or anything near it. No; I can say that the great ruling anxiety of my mind is the salvation of sinners and the glory of God. My time is gone. Good-bye. Bless you a thousand times.

NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE,
April 28, ‘55.
MY DEAR KATE, MY OWN TRUE LOVE — Your very kind note is just to hand. Bless you; I do indeed thank you for all your kind counsel and will once more try again. I have indeed this week been low. I should not like to continue this work if I am to be as I have been for the last 3 weeks. My mental machinery has been a source of great anxiety, and other things have pressed upon me with a painful assiduity. However, it is no use talking about it; we will try again.

I am at present more than ever uncertain as to any step about the future. If I say anything to Conference about myself it will be to request a Circuit, but to leave it with them. If I had more general knowledge, love for study and material for the pulpit, I should not hesitate a moment, because all fears about my health are removed; but a consciousness of my emptiness, my incapacity to sustain a position of such vast importance, presses on me until it unfits my mind for anything. A year’s pause might remedy this to some extent.

As yet we have nothing done here; all looks discouraging, and I dread Manchester. I have however started afresh in the work of gathering knowledge, and hope to report proficiency. I cannot but be surprised at the want of any aspiring emotion so apparent in many of our ministers; they are nothing and seem content. I deplore this, and yet if I was like them I should be very much happier!

May 1, 1855.
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS LOVE — May, that brings sunny days, soft breezes, and opening flowers, comes in cold and bleak with us. I was in hopes, especially for thy dear sake, that we were about to have some calm and continued summer weather.

Perhaps, however, it may be finer with you in the South than with us in the far North. I am all alone — far away from almost any one who understands me or can sympathize with me. And yet I am not unhappy. Oh, that I could learn yet more fully than I have yet learned to lean chiefly on God. Oh how much am I the creature of circumstances. Last night in preaching I was almost as much shut up, if not quite so, as when you heard me the last time at Brunswick Chapel. I felt right when I went to the Chapel, familiar with my subject and desiring success, and praying for it, too. The congregation was good, and all were well prepared; but I failed. However, we had 23 very good cases afterwards, several young men who promise great usefulness. . .

HOOD’S BUILDINGS, WINDMILL HILLS,
GATESHEAD-ON-TYNE.
May 2, ‘55.
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS LOVE — Thy long loving letter is to hand this morning. Now do let me try and answer it; after the gentle chiding it contains I will try and do better. The scrap you sent me I read, then burned; no answer to it; I must let deeds speak and not words. I might truthfully have signed yesterday’s letter as you wish — I feel on the subject as you do. I read the article on It will never do to be idle; it is original, striking, and correct, and did me good. I am working a little. Bless you; for your sake I will persevere.

Yesterday was an industrious one; went to chapel well prepared to preach — a good and attentive congregation awaiting me, and I again failed most decidedly, and yet we had some precious cases of conversion.

The work is very genuine and satisfactory. I find the great difference in the North is not, as I was taught to expect, in the non-impressibility of the people, but in the formality and death-slumber of the professing Christians, and the hindrance to the spread of the salvation of the Cross is in the influence of a cold, systematic theology and a stiff theoretical development of the truth. I am looking for a successful meeting to-night.

I am happier in my own soul, more composed and trusting with regard to the future, than I have been for some time. I hope I have started in the true path of progress. . .

GATESHEAD,
May 4, 1855.
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS LOVE — How art thou?
Oh I have been thinking about thee much this last day or two. I am better in health of body and mind and soul. Once more I have to report that we finished up with a perfect triumph. What can we say to it but bow and wonder and adore?

Last night the chapel was full. The prayer-meeting crowded —densely crowded. Forty names were taken, many of them most interesting cases, and there were numbers, vast numbers, under very deep Conviction; and then in forming our estimate of this work we must bear in mind that this is the North —where the people are proverbially unimpressible, intelligent, and difficult to move.

That the church was in a deplorable low state, so much so, nay more so, for many of the office-bearers were absolutely opposed to my coming. Therefore, all these difficulties have had to be met; prejudice and coldness to be removed; and it has been done, triumphantly done, and all combine to say that they cannot remember a work like it in any of the churches of the town. Wesleyans, Reformers, Primitives, and New Connexion men have all worked together, knelt at the same Communion-rail, and side by side fought the common foe, and as the result 160 names have been taken.

What can we say to this but that it is the Lord’s doing and marvellous in our eyes? With facts like these before our minds, retreat from this path seems impossible, and once more bright visions of future increased usefulness are flitting before my eyes. If the results here had been gained in twelve months’ labour I should have been hailed on every hand as a most successful minister; but because they have been gained in a fortnight I know many will question and doubt; but I cannot but see why they should not be as permanent as if gathered in or brought about by a more tedious and lengthened process.

25 HYDE GROVE, SHAKESPEARE STREET,
MANCHESTER,
May 11, 1855.
MY DEAREST, MY PRECIOUS CATHERINE — I intended writing to you yesterday, but was occupied the earlier part of the day in answering a letter of 8 pages received from a Unitarian gentleman of Gateshead, who came to hear me preach there, and took exception to being classed with infidels, etc., and pronounced worthy of the same condemnation and exposed to the same eternal woe.

Several vexatious little circumstances prevented me writing, or rather getting a letter posted, during the after part of the day. I rather expected a line from you this morning, looked anxiously for the postman, but he passed our gate to my great disappointment. I should very much like to see you, and had you been anywhere within reach, say 50 miles, this morning would certainly have found me by your side or with your own dear self in my arms. It seerneth a long, long time since I left London; I can hardly believe it is only six weeks.

My struggle here in Manchester is a lonesome one. I hardly know how to estimate the work. I am looking onwards as patiently as I can towards Sunday and next week. The respectable connected with the Chapel come very little, and yet we have had a few good cases, among others the two daughters of the lady with whom I am staying: one the eldest, a beautiful, blithe creature, the other young, about 14, but intelligent; their father was a minister amongst us, and has been now some two years in Heaven.

The mother, of course, is much rejoiced, and they all are very kind and thoughtful for my comfort. I think that, with one exception, Manchester would suit us well as a residence, and for aught I know that may be no hindrance at all. Of course we should have to live out of town. The omnibuses are very nice ones, as large again as those in London, and far more comfortable than a cab. You could ride in them without being incommoded, and if we could find a nice home near one of our chapels — that is the difficulty I refer to — then I think Manchester would suit us well.

But we shall see. I had rather take a Circuit for a time, but the difficulties in that path increase; invitations, pressing and urgent ones, continue to reach me, and those who at the commencement of the work appeared distant and suspicious are now inquiring for my services. . . . I have seen a tin-box that will do capitally to hold your bonnet when travelling, and that and a portmanteau, I should think, would serve you well. I think much about you and trust you are happy and still improving in health. .

25 HYDE GROVE, SHAKESPEARE STREET,
MANCHESTER,
May 13, ‘55.
MY DEAREST KATE— Bless thee, thy letter is just to hand. I have to go away to Macclesfield to meet the preachers about my next three weeks’ arrangements. They are pulling me to pieces — it is one heavy item I have to pay for my popularity.

I suppose we must be married, as you say, the week ending the 16th; but more of it in my next. We are getting on pretty well. They want me to stay next week over, and the President wants me to go to York.
Do as you think best about everything. Get whatever you want. I will write tomorrow. I am working hard. Am reading a little. Making a sermon on Bring forth fruits meet for repentance.

I hope you will improve in health now. I am engaged up to Sunday 3rd. The postponement will suit me well, as it will enable me to comply with one or two important and pressing invitations.

25 HYDE GROVE, SHAKESPEARE STREET,
MANCHESTER,
22, ‘55.
MY DEAREST CATHERINE — Bless you. I shall soon, all well, change my address and call you my dearest Wife. It is astonishing how of late that name has gathered unto it in my estimation charms and sweetness which it lacked before. I intended writing you a long letter, but shall not have time. I think if it be that we cannot be married at Brunswick Chapel we will let Mr. Thomas marry us at his own chapel. I should like it much if it can be done without giving offence to Mr. C., seeing that we have discussed the matter.

Write me per return how much black silk you will want for a flounced dress and whether you would prefer that to a satinet or satinture — I intend having a first-rate one. If I buy it without your letter I shall get black silk and 16 yards.

I am very low spirited this morning. We are not getting on very well — not near so well as I expected. How are you? Are you happy? Write me all particulars about yourself. I am looking up; have been praying for you. You need not have any fear of my being over elated; I have almost as little self-confidence as ever. I wish I had more, I should preach far better. Look up, all will yet be well. I shall soon call you fully mine, and we shall be happy.

25 HYDE GROVE, SHAKESPEARE STREET,
MANCHESTER,
May 24, ‘55.
MY DEAREST CATHERINE — Your very kind letter came to hand this morning. My head aches very bad indeed, and I am very glad of a day or two’s rest. You must not expect me to say much; in fact, I am tired of this mode of communication, we seem so felicitous in misunderstanding one another. Just by way of calming your fears I will say that I do not think that there is the smallest danger of popularity making either fop or fool of me. If I am not very much mistaken it has made me a wiser and a soberer man. I think the former part of your letter censorious and needlessly severe; the latter, as I say above, is as kind as usual and therefore acceptable.

I leave here to-morrow for Burslem So your next must be directed to me, care of Mr. Hawley, Waterloo Road, Burslem, Staffordshire. I am annoyed with the letter of Mr. Woodhouse relative to my essay; send me the strictures enclosed in your next. They asked me to write an essay on the characteristics of an Apostolic Ministry, and then find fault because I have not made excuses for and drawn pictures of the do-nothings of the present day. I shall write him a note on the subject.

Wait awhile and we will, if spared, try and do something. Yes, we will. God help us to be one and to labour for Him. What a poor magazine your letter is in. I am literally ashamed of it as the organ of our denomination. The revival movement shall have an organ, and if the Magazine won’t take it up some other newspaper shall.

We finished up pretty well last night. It has been a hard struggle for me, how hard no earthly being knows. I have made many friends in Manchester, among others the Mr. Shuttleworth, once Editor of the Magazine, whose “Birthday Thoughts” are in the present one: he was opposed to the thing before he knew and heard me. None have applauded me more sincerely and intelligently than Mr. Hulme. I expect he will be president of the Conference.

You must excuse this scrawl. I have several more letters to write, and I ought to be out of doors. Write me a line tomorrow directed to Burslem. I am not sure whether I shall get the black silk. Without flounces I don’t like them, and I don’t want to cross your wish.
P.S.— I wish I could come and see you to-day. I am satisfied all this gloom and mists would be dispersed. But it will be over soon, and if spared all will be well.

CONFERENCE, SHEFFIELD,
June I, ‘55.
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS LOVE — I hope you received my letter posted from hence yesterday. I understand that the Conference almost unanimously resolved that I be devoted to my present sphere of labour throughout the next year. I am to have £100 for the year and my travelling expenses. This, of course, is an advance of £30 or £40 on the young man’s salary.

My labours are to be under the direction of the Annual Conference. I think so far the matter seems providential, and is to my mind satisfactory. The preachers and friends are very cordial — and, bless you, I do hope we shall be very happy. I am tolerably well in health, and hope with a week or two’s relaxation to be first-rate. York, Chester, Ashton. and many other places are desiring my services. I do not know all particulars, but I shall obtain them and tell thee all things with my own lips on Saturday week.

I have told Mr. Bates that I shall spend the week prior to our marriage at his house, if he will very kindly invite me. I hope you are well: do not go about at all while this weather lasts. I have had to pay £5:5:0 for my Beneficent Fund Subscription — but I suppose they are to give me £6:0:0 for my last London service — so one will cover the other. I like the appearance of the Conference much. The preachers and laymen work well together. I heard the charge last night by Dr. Crofts.

I hope my essay is at least as good a thing as that. Mr. Cooke is very cordial. I am going to dine with him. I shall hear what he says about our affairs, I have no doubt all will be perfectly plain. I will enclose you what passes between us after dinner. I am staying with Mr. Bates. I am indulging fond hopes — I fear not but that we shall be happy. I am sure I love you, and I need not say that I shall do all that a loving and willing heart can prompt me to hush my every fear and make thee blissful and joyous.

GREAT ALFRED STREET, NOTTINGHAM,
June 5, ’55
MY DEAREST AND MOST PRECIOUS KATE — Thy kind note is