WHICH NARRATES, AMONG OTHER MATTERS, HOW WILLIAM BOOTH WASHED HIS HANDS IN A WORKMAN’S PAIL BEFORE VISITING KING EDWARD THE SEVENTH

 

EMMA BOOTH-TUCKER’S tragic death in the United States contributed a further and more compassionating sympathy to the affectionate admiration in which General Booth was now held by many millions of people throughout the world. Whether individuals liked his ways or not, here indubitably it was felt, stood an old, sore-buffeted man knocking in .the name of human pity on the door of the world’s prosperity, reminding men, in the midst of his own griefs, of the griefs many and terrible which afflict the poor, the lonely, and the lost.

That such a man should be so violently stricken in his extreme old age, moved the heart of the entire world. But he made not so much a pathetic as a really noble figure in this hour of dreadful desolation, as he rose up to shoulder, with his own burden, the burdens of the million poor, seeking pity for the unpitied, and still preaching his gospel of absolute faith in an inscrutable God, of confident hope in the felicities of an invisible world. He could have said, had he cared, but without any truculence of self-assertion

He did wince and he did cry aloud in the privacy of his own soul, but if in public he referred to those things it was with the one purpose of moving the hearts of men to help the poor and sorrowful; he himself remained, not only unbowed, but unselfish and unembittered.

It cannot too often be said that in these years of suffering, pain, and dangerous popularity William Booth rested much of the weight of his human needs on the love of his son Bramwell. The deep and chivalrous affection which bound the two men together, the Prophet and the Organizer, is all the more interesting from the fact that both were alive to each other’s faults.

But just as Bramwell Booth saw in his father’s soul an excellence that outshone and consumed the trivial defects of an extraordinary temperament, so in Bramwell’s unswerving loyalty, devoted love, and unfailing tenderness the old man beheld a virtue which outweighed the too careful and too critical anxiety in details of organization which sometimes irritated his impetuous nature. They formed together, however, in spite of this great love, no mutual admiration society.

Their relationship in moments of devotion or in hours of sorrow was, it is true, almost feminine in its tender and gracious love; but nothing of this nature ever obtruded itself in business. There, the father would attack, criticise, chaff, and sometimes attempt to drive his son — “You’ll stand arguing with Death,” he would say — while the son, although in perfect good humour, would tell the father with blunt, outspoken faithfulness what he thought of the General’s unwisdoms.

To say that they never had a misunderstanding would perhaps border on exaggeration, but to say that they never once in all the long years of their devoted association seriously differed or ceased for one instant to love each other, is nothing but the plain truth of their very strenuous comradeship in arms. And certainly, as the letters and the journals testify, it was upon Bramwell Booth more than upon any living creature that the old patriarch leaned the heavy burden of his soul, especially in these the last years of his pilgrimage. “You are my Melancthon,” the General would tell him.

We may say that an entirely different narrative might have presented itself to our attention in these culminating years but for the wise and watchful love of the patriarch’s son.

In some of the letters written by Bramwell to his father in 1904 we see how industriously, and with what humility he occasionally gave himself, amidst the immensely difficult work of organizing the international forces of the Salvation Army, to the worrying and inglorious task of turning William Booth’s rough notes for some pamphlet, which he had no time to finish himself, into coherent and printable English. The son tells how he has been sticking “to your last” all day and every day, and how frightened he is of spoiling “good leather.” The modesty and earnestness with which he went about his work is exemplified by the following typical extract:

Doctrine. I made some progress yesterday, but there will be much to do after all my labours. I do not consider that it is exactly my forte —nor have you quite ordered the thing as I would have done. No doubt it is better, but it is more difficult for me. To-day I have not done so well — feel slow and flat and vexed with my ignorance. But I am persevering, and I suppose am, at the very least, improving my own education!

Bramwell very often addressed a humorous reproof to his father in the course of their correspondence. William Booth, for example, writes:

Hanna’s death is a great blow to me; I cannot write about it. The only consolation I have is that God lives. I sent a cable of sympathy to Mrs. Hanna yesterday; I think I shall write her, altho’ I never saw her.

Lord _____: I have nothing more to say about him. We will settle the division of the money when you return. My present difficulty is this very religious receipt . . . but he gave me the money expressly to do as I liked with _____ but he knows nothing about religion — plays golf on Sundays — and it is no use slapping him in the face. When I gave him the University Memo’ just as I was leaving, and saying to him it was a dream, he looked at me very significantly and said he supposed I wanted him to dream too! If he can make £170,000 a year profit he might dream to some purpose, but for Heaven’s sake don’t let us rely on him or on anybody else under the skies for the future.

To which Bramwell replies:

Lord _____. Good. But I do not see that playing golf on Sunday is a great evidence of irreligion! I should think it quite as pious as much Church and Chapel going, and much more charitable to one’s horses, servants, etc. But you have evidently got hold of him! He will improve!

Here is a very characteristic grumble from the father:

_____seems to have no idea of anything like a logical presentation of an argument. I gave him a lesson yesterday morning — quite an easy one, I thought. His answer, covering half a dozen pages, was as far from the mark as you would have expected from a lad of 17 or 18 untaught in reasoning; and the disconcerting part of the business was that he did not seem able to see it.

Why don’t such people read Paley’s Natural Theology instead of the “_____,“ the “ _____,“ and other kinds of rot with which they regale themselves daily, hourly, and more than that?
I should like to know how many hours a week are consumed by a lot of noodles amongst us, who might be something, in the consumption of the stuff produced by _____, _____ & Co.

The Russo-Japanese War enters into the correspondence of father and son. Bramwell writes in March:

Yes, that was an awful affair at Port Arthur, and now it seems quite clear that all was planned. The Japs drew the Russians out of the roadstead by a ruse and then drove them back on mines laid during the night previous in the neighbourhood of the entrance. One is almost inclined to wonder whether the use of these secret methods is not opposed to the principle of real fighting. The 800 people on that ship had no chance of striking a blow for themselves or their cause.

It seems to me that you are in the near region of the explosive bullet and the poisoned spear with this do-you-in-the-dark business of the submarine—torpedo, etc. But what a humiliation it is all evidently felt to be in Russia; and what a forecast of what may happen when that other Kindred Eastern people get well on their feet.

And the old man makes answer:

Japs and Russians. Yes, I think so. When I was a boy it used to be looked upon as mean to slide up to a fellow and hit him in the back. Now it seems to be considered the proper thing to do — but after all it is an old adage that “all’s fair in love or war.” But the more I read and think about it, war seems to me to be the silliest and most devilish system of settling disputes — I wonder whether there is any other world where it is practised at all. As you say, it is indeed an awful humiliation for Russia. She won’t get over it in my time —whatever she may do in yours.

In the following letter we get a good example of the way in which William Booth took a lecture from his son:

Your letter is a very nice, kind one, and has some sound philosophical remarks in it, and a fair share of good practical advice to your Pater, and I have read it with much interest —as well as, I trust, with profit. The only difficulty is that time is wanted to carry it into effect. What can I do?

You say “Go slowly.” My condemnation is that I don’t go fast enough: and yet I feel how just and wise your suggestion is. My whole life, my whole work, my whole circumstances, and my responsibilities are each and all more and more of a paradox to me, but I suppose that is nothing fresh with men who are called to occupy positions of leadership of any kind.

And then he goes on to say:

In the afternoon we had a crowd — Lawyers, Doctors, Generals, and nobody knows who, and I got hold of them like Children.— They all stood up at the finish in recognition.

What a hold I have upon the public mind, and its imagination, as well as upon its approbation! It can only be fostered and helped forward until I shall be like a charm for benefiting the world!

Don’t suppose that I have the slightest idea that this is the result of any desert on my part — it is all an accident — nay, may we not say a Divine Arrangement, or the working out of the Divine principle so aptly described in the words, “He hath put down the mighty from their seats and exalted them of low degree”?

Anyway, my boy, that is how your father regards it: so if you ever quarrel with me, don’t go and say that what I have said shows what a Nabob-spirit I had!

With this denial of a Nabob-spirit, a characteristic phrase, the old man concludes:

Have faith in God. All new movements have their rickety, rackety, jagged periods, when unless there is some strong hand and wise head to control them, they go to pieces, but with these very scarce qualities they will last.

_____ ways are inexcusable — it makes me sick to hear him say “ Let us pray” with such a spread as he does.

Temptation to cultivate a Nabob-spirit came to William Booth in June of this year, when he was informed that King Edward desired to see him at Buckingham Palace. What a change from days gone by, both for Monarch and Preacher! William Booth, let us say, was frankly delighted by this honour, and made no pretence of any other feelings. He enjoyed recognition of this character, and enjoyed it for himself scarcely less than for the Army. The man never pretended.

He wrote and published an account of this Audience, but an account so flat and dull that we shall not add to the number of our pages by its incorporation even in small type. Fortunately he left behind him, however, the rough Notes which he made immediately after the audience, notes from which the dull article was “worked up,” and these notes, because there was no thought of print before his eyes, are as real, as original, and as interesting as the man who made them. The reader, we feel sure, will very much prefer them, disconnected though they are, to the formal account of the interview which was eventually published in The War Cry:

It was a bright morning. The sun was warm, but a gentle north-east wind kept the atmosphere cool.
Left Hadley Wood with the Chief and Colonel Kitching by the 9.45 train. Went straight from King’s Cross to the Strand Hall for further inspection of the building and conference respecting position and height of the speaking-platform.

Found a large number of the 5,200 chairs required for the seating in their places. Was disappointed to find that, notwithstanding the addition of the chairs, there was a considerable ring almost amounting to an echo in the speaking.

After half an hour’s discussion and experiments in talking to Lawley and others, fell back upon the hope that the draperies, matting, and most of all the crowd, would put this difficulty right.

I then washed my hands in a workman’s pail, straightened myself out a little, and, in company with my A.D.C., took a hansom for Buckingham Palace for the interview with the King.

My A.D.C. asked for Lord Knollys, the King’s private secretary, with whom the function was arranged.
Along intricate passages, some of them gorgeously upholstered — pictures of Kings and Queens of the Old Land for generations gone by looking down upon us in every direction, and up various winding flights of carpeted stairs, we were conducted to a simple and plain waiting-room.

A number of interesting water-colour pictures on the wall, among which was one of the city of Buda Pesth and another of a Review in the snow at the Winter Palace, St. Petersburg. On the tables were several very valuable and interesting Indian curios — testimonials, and the like, the presentation, I judged, during the King’s visit to India when Prince of Wales.

We waited here some time. I was afraid there had been some misunderstanding and that we were forgotten. Gentlemen officials, dressed up in most picturesque and showy style, had not seemed very spry from the beginning. Perhaps they did not look upon the General as exactly in his right place in this Palace — so I sent _____ out to see how the land lay.

He returned, saying all was in order, my name having gone up to the King.

So we settled down to possess our souls in patience — which was no very easy matter, seeing that I had always understood that His Majesty was renowned for his punctuality, and here we were, considerably over the 11.30 fixed for the interview — and made a further inspection of the great quadrangle outside, and the fine things within.

However, presently Lord Churchill, who is, I understand, Uncle to our Mrs. Colonel Pepper, entered to conduct me to the Audience Chamber.
One little colloquy as we went up the stairs, and the next moment the door opened and I was in the presence of the King of England, Emperor of India, and I know not what or where beside.

I had only seen the King once before, so far as I can remember, when Prince of Wales, at least 20 years ago, and then it was only a glance in a passing carriage.

I had been instructed by my A.D.C., who had held several conversations with the Secretary, and others, as to the etiquette of the occasion. A certain amount of bowing and salaaming seemed to be inseparable from intercourse with Royalty, and such Royalty as I was to meet to-day.

The simplicity and plain, brotherly intercourse which passed muster at the White House, Washington. in my intercourse, etc, with American President, Colonial Cabinet Ministers, etc., Indian Nabobs, was expected to be out of place, and I was prepared to stand and bow, to wait and follow such formalities as might be called for by Courtly usage or ancient styles.

But all these anticipations not only proved absolutely groundless, but vanished into thin air, and before Lord Churchill had well closed the door behind me, His Majesty had, with extended hand and cheery countenance, made me welcome, pointed me to an easy-chair within a few feet of himself, and told me how glad he was to meet me.
“You are doing a good work — a great work, General Booth.”
I plunged off by expressing my gratitude for the privilege of speaking to His Majesty on the efforts we were making.

“I am interested in such work — have always been. — You will know something of my efforts for the Hospitals.”

I interposed, “Yes, Lord Carrington had, when presiding for me on board the Scot Steamer, interested the Officers. etc., with the recital of some of His Majesty’s experiences in Slumdom.”
He smiled and said, “Ah, yes, Lord Carrington is an old friend of mine.”

I resumed my recital in reply to a question, etc.
“Yes, I know — and I know that you have had great difficulties.”

He asked me how the work commenced.
I made a little sketch of our beginnings.
The indifference, almost antipathy, of the classes whom we sought to benefit — from ordinary Christian operations.

“Yes,” he said, “I could well understand that.”
I described how this led us to go to the people with our processions and street preachings, and drums and Contrivances which had been styled Harlequinades. Then I went on to show how the people would come to the Theatres, etc., who would not go to the sacred places.

I remarked how the work spread; and when I came to the Continent he interposed. . . . He had been hearing and reading about the Army results in Denmark. I said, “Yes, the Royalties of Denmark were friends — almost every member of the Royal family subscribing to our operations out there.”
His remarks on Socialism? No!

Again and again reference was made to the Army being in favour of order.

I told him the story of the prisoner from _____. The story of the Canadian prisoner.

The remark of Sir William Laurier that we were the people who did the work.

I strove to show that in every country we worked in harmony with the ruling powers, no matter what the particular character of the different Governments might be. I instanced my interview with the Chicago pressmen.

Top

“Yes, yes,” said he, helping me out with the quotation, “Render unto Caesar,” etc.
I then. as an extreme, mentioned Bobrikoff, of Finland.

“Oh,’’ said he, with a burst of indignation, “what a cruel wretch! His own people said so.”“Your Congress . . . going to have a great time.” Yes, etc. We have had many difficulties [in Germany]. “In which way ?

I described the fears of the Police. But all that was changed now. Then I described my visit to Cologne. The Burgomaster, etc.

The Hall, the finest in Europe. Placed at my service, etc. The Station-Master and his “white gloves,” and welcome by the crowd.

THE KING.

1. King’s geniality—humanness. Sympathy. Here was the author of Anglo-French Cordiality arrangement. Here was the advocate of Anglo-American — Anglo-Italian — and it won’t surprise me if here is not the man who will bridge the wide gulf which has so long kept the Russians and the British apart.

2. His liberal notions as to religious liberty. He would have all men free to follow such religious creeds and customs as they preferred.
He enumerated specially the Hindoo and Mahometan faiths. I could see that his mind wandered away to his great Indian Empire. I did not understand him to mean that all creeds, etc., were of a like truth and importance in his estimation, but that he was an inheritor and exponent of the beliefs and motives of his predecessor William III., who seems to have fought and suffered because he would not allow the religionists of his day to tear one another to pieces.

3. During the conversation he made a remark or two which I do not feel at liberty to repeat, which seems to show his abhorrence of all and everything cruel in the enforcement of authority. He is not the stuff that tyrants are made of.

I thought as he talked that there was sadness, and looking back I can see the probability of the truth of what was whispered at the time of the pain he experienced over the South African War and his desire for its termination, although at some seeming sacrifice of . . . on the part of England.

In imagination I can hear him say — End the agony, although the flag is lowered a trifle — she will survive it, and wave all the more gloriously, etc.

4. And yet, at every turn you could see and hear the representative of law and order. To nothing did he more frequently refer than to those aspects of our work which showed them opposed to the lax notions with regard to law that prevail up amid down the world.

ODDMENTS.

I was so taken back with the unexpected character that seemed at a glance to stand revealed before me.

I had never stopped to enquire, and I had not had any opportunity to observe — I knew really nothing of his public or private life beyond some of the chatter of the press and irresponsible gossip.

I had come to expect a selfish, sensuous personage, popular because lending himself to the recreations, etc. — showy functions — a change from the quiet role his Queen Mother had played — unwilling to pose as treading in the shoes of Albert the Good.
And all at once the embodiment of a simple genial English gentleman was sprung upon me.

No attempt to pose as an intellectual philanthropist, much less religious; indeed, no attempt to pose at all: anything more natural could not be imagined; who cared for the poor, was not ashamed to say he was pleased to meet a man who for sixty years had made their interests the study and labour of his life.

In some still rougher notes we get one or two strokes of personality missing from the above:

The King referred to the interest he had always felt in the poor, referring specially to his efforts in connexion with Hospital work.

His Majesty asked me how I came to commence the movement.

I replied that I had long been engaged in aggressive action for the masses of the people. But my trouble was that the people reached by my efforts were mostly belonging to the Church class.
And then, I said, in those days, as still, there appeared to be two worlds:

The Church/Religious world and the worldly world, etc.

His abhorrence of Atheism.

His geniality at parting.

As I rose and stood before him I said, “I suppose I may tell my people that your Majesty —“
Here he interrupted me.

“Tell them,” he said, “that I have been delighted to meet their distinguished leader.”

But I wanted a word or two further than this, and I went on, “And I may say that your Majesty watches our work with interest?”

“Yes, yes,” he said, in the most emphatic manner.

“And regards its success as important to the well-being of the Empire?”

“Certainly, certainly.” he rejoined, and then we shook hands, I am not sure if it was not twice over. By this time we were both gone past all questions of “behaviour “ and as I held his hand I said “God bless your Majesty. I shall pray for you.”

He bowed and smiled adieu.

Whereupon I looked for the door of departure.

There were two, and I was not sure of the one I had to leave by, and made for the wrong one.

This is your way,” he said cheerily. Whereupon I bowed myself out rather clumsily, I am afraid, through the right one, and was at once received by one of the Guards-in-waiting and conducted to the Waiting-room where my A.D.C. was no little relieved and pleased to find how satisfactory the interview had been.

The King almost rivalled Cecil Rhodes in his inquisitiveness, only being much more familiar with it. I suppose his lofty position gave him a kind of right to enquire into all and everything about people and places that may interest him.

He asked me whether I was a native of London.
About my business before I become a minister.
And at parting asked my age, and complimented me on the manner I carried my years.

I spoke of my wife being a partner in the commencement of the work — the labouring at the West-End, and obtaining means to help me to assist the poor at the East-End.

This interview with the King, which seemed to put the seal of public approval on the Salvation Army’s work, furnished a very considerable send-off for the International Congress of that year, and for the General’s autumn campaign. This campaign was made in the form of a motor-tour from one end of the Kingdom to the other, and was the first of its kind.

It happened that I accompanied General Booth for the first few days of this adventure, and I can recall vividly enough the scenes through which we then passed — villages and towns beflagged, the countryside lined with spectators, the fluttering of handkerchiefs, the flash of smiles, the rumble of cheers, and the spectacle of black crowds surrounding every building in which the General spoke.

But more vividly than this I recall the moment when William Booth stood at Land’s End, looking down from the sun-scorched cliff on the ledge of streaming rocks below, over which an almost purple sea was breaking sluggishly into waves of green and white. The General had motored from Penzance Station straight to this spot that he might begin his tour in very truth from the southernmost extremity of the Kingdom. No service was to be held, no speech was to be delivered, and the public were entirely unaware of this picturesque arrangement in his programme.

Consequently, he was accompanied only by a few Officers, friends, and representatives of the Press. He seemed nervous and tired. He looked about him almost as though he wanted to escape from his bodyguard, and then inviting me to his side, he walked slowly forward to the slope of the cliff, spoke to me of Wesley in a somewhat disconnected way — at any rate, entirely without his usual directness — and then placing his arm over my shoulder, he recited, looking down at the ledge of rocks, that hymn of Wesley’s which begins:

The weariness of the old man made a more instant appeal than anything he said. One felt an infinite pity for him, and this feeling arose from the impression he made of unwillingness to be a chief figure, as though he shrank from publicity, as though he were ashamed of notoriety, as though he wanted to creep away and be a simple man of whom nothing was expected.

He said something about his love for nature, and spoke of his desire for peace and quiet; but it was his manner more than his words which made the effect of this impression really pathetic. At the end of this rumination he returned to his alert and smiling bodyguard like a prisoner going back to his captors, and bade them “get on with the programme.”

It must be remembered that he had spent the night in the train, and that he was setting forth on this motor-campaign after all the labour of the International Congress — labour that entailed not only a great deal of public speaking but an immense amount of actual business which required the most intense application, together with the tact of a statesman.

But something of this same weariness was noticeable at every meeting which the present writer attended. The General’s voice for those first few days of the campaign was without strength and without ring. He walked to and fro on the platforms, waved his arms about, and said many bold and arresting things; but for the most part he spoke like a man in a hurry, a man who had said the same thing many times before and was tired of it, and his voice throughout was hoarse, nasal, and without power.

At this time of his life he was extremely thin, the colour of his face like ivory, his hair and beard white as snow. The dark eyes still glittered, but behind a dulling glaze, as lamps shine in a fog. His energy and vivacity seemed to be straining on a leash. He was like one striving to make his body do what the spirit wanted it to do, pushing it, beating it, because he had been so long accustomed to its instant obedience.

He saved himself up for this effort at the end of his lectures. He began with a quick, almost a breathless, history of the Army; then he told a number of humorous stories — such as that of the ostler badgered into tardy conversion by a persistent Salvationist, who exclaimed as he surrendered in the end, “Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, hold this ‘oss while I get on” — and, finally, while his audience were still laughing in the utmost good humour, he plunged, with bewildering suddenness, into a passionate appeal for sympathy and support, claiming for the drunkards and hopeless of the world, and for all who are unhappy and estranged from God, the active compassion of mankind.

And for myself I was tempted to feel that these appeals. which lasted some five or six minutes, were the flickering of the great light in his soul, which could no longer, because of the body’s weakness, flame up and sweep an audience into enthusiasm. It seemed to me during those few days that people everywhere regarded him with very great affection and very great indulgence, hailing him rather as the veteran returned from far-off and almost forgotten battles, than as a conquering knight, setting forth on a new crusade.

The crowds which greeted him everywhere seemed to me rather to be taking farewell of him than giving him a welcome. But the wonderful old man lived for eight years after this first motor-tour, and during those eight years did a giant’s work, his spirit again and again flaming up into an energy which recalled his middle age.

He motored on this journey a distance of 1,250 miles, he addressed 105 meetings. The effect upon him, after the almost superhuman demands of the International Congress, was one of great physical exhaustion. Where the enthusiasm was very considerable, as it was in the North, he speaks of it as “this hurricane,” and declares himself to be oppressed by the thought of his unworthiness to receive such amazing tokens of affection. But in spite of this he set out for a Continental tour in the autumn.

He had interviews during this year with a retired bookmaker named George Herring, and also with Mr. C. Arthur Pearson, the publisher, who took an interest in the General’s scheme for providing Shelters in advance of an expected bad winter. That his shrewdness and humour remained unaffected by the advance of age may be seen, we think, in the following extracts from his journal:

At eleven something _____ gave an interview to a representative of The Daily Telegraph on the subject of the poverty of the coming winter. As usual, I had an interesting talk; at least I think so, as far as my side of the conversation went; but whether anything will come out in paper of any use to either Army or the starving people is quite another question. After such talks I always have a wretched feeling arising from the thought that I have said something better unsaid, which can be twisted to bear some unfavourable aspect. I cannot ever be balancing my words so that they shall be incapable of being misunderstood.

I am billeted with a Sir Frederick Eldridge. Fine house and grounds, and received in a very friendly manner. My simple habits are a little bewildering to him. On being informed by Colonel W —that I do not take flesh meat, or smoke, or drink, he exclaimed, “Good Heavens, has the General no vices?”

. . . the Soldier’s Meeting . . . had a real hard and bad time. . . . For one thing, sitting right at my elbow a parson and his wife. How they got in I could not find out, but they certainly crippled my power to set forth the weaknesses and shortcomings of my dear people.

The Mayor, Martin Hope Sutton , presiding. He is a fine-looking man — a local magnate and a rich seed-merchant. His father had the reputation for being a Christian man of the P.B. type. I could never interest him in the S.A. beyond a sovereign or two. He was afraid that we were being carried away from religion by our Social Schemes.

His son, the Mayor, in opening the meeting, intimated that he inherited his father’s fears . . . but, as the Mayor, he felt it to be his duty to encourage every effort honestly put forth for the benefit of his fellow-townsmen. It was that feeling that brought him there. . . . He then proceeded to say a few very kind things of me personally, and then I made my speech.

The Theatre was crowded in every corner — the audience was sympathetic, and I sailed away for an hour and a half carrying everything before me.
When I sat down the Mayor whispered, “You have removed all my prejudices. I shall give you a hundred a year.” He afterwards got up and told the audience the same thing, and in a frank and manly manner, to the satisfaction of all concerned, at least all the friends of the Army who happened to be present.

In the afternoon met Adolf Beck, who wanted to thank me for the interest my people had taken in his affairs. He has been imprisoned twice, each time falsely, as the result of mistaken identity.

He wants me now to agitate for the S.A. having the work of dealing with the religion of the criminal, and the establishment of a Criminal Court of Appeal, and came to solicit my co-operation with him in this agitation. He appeared to me to be a sincere man, altho’ a little elated with his sudden transformation from a supposed convict to a national hero.

Then there is a reference to “my motherless grandchildren” brought home from America by Commissioner Booth-Tucker:

Dear Motee is very dear to me — bringing back her mother’s form. . . . She is a clever, affectionate, promising child, already very useful on and off the platform, altho’ only just 13 years old.

There is this characteristic lament in a letter to Bramwell from The Hague:

I should think we had 10,000 people or more at the station. The Police kept excellent order, pushing and punching the people like cattle, and I drove off in a closed carriage by a side-road to the elegant Hall and the swell audience; the people for whom we profess to live were outside. This is a strange arrangement, and must seem so to the angels and the . . .

A matter that gave the General great pleasure was conveyed to him, in a letter from Falmouth, by a Salvationist to one of the Commissioners at Headquarters:

This is the story of the gentleman so influenced by the General at Falmouth, which you asked me to write and send you.

I noticed these people in that meeting, and managed a few days later to find out who they were. When I called (collecting), the wife, Mrs. Ayerst Ingram, told me the touching story. I should explain first that both were artists; his pictures exhibiting yearly at the Royal Academy, and socially they were among the first people in Falmouth.

When they came out they were much moved. He said, “What a man! what a message! My dear, can you tell me what I am doing with my life?” His wife replied, “Dear, I was just asking myself the same question.” Then after a further pause she said, “I’ve got it. Collecting old furniture!” He said, “I’ll come to a full stop with all that, and, God helping me, I’ll live for an object.”

In a very short time he had decided that he would work amongst the fisher lads of Falmouth. He went down among them, brought them into some place, and told them of his intention. He next went around to all his swell friends, the elite of Falmouth, and told them what General Booth had been the means of doing for him, and through him, he hoped, for these boys.

I afterwards got this story from some of these people themselves; they had been, alas! too indifferent to come to hear the General themselves, but hearing their friend’s account of how he himself had been revolutionized, they much regretted that they had not allowed themselves to come. Some of them told me so, personally; they were Robert Fox — the richest man in Faimouth; General Aylmer, and H. S. Tuke, A.R.A., whose pictures command hundreds of pounds, an agnostic, but who was so impressed that he tried to arrange that I should spend a night with him on the streets, watching our soup distribution.

This work had even caught on, and some of his friends were assisting him with these lads who were quite untouched by the Army or any good people in any way, and whose only happy hunting-ground was the streets, and whose companionship was chiefly girls, swelling the general evil of -Cornwall.

Of course this gentleman, as did all his friends there, subscribed to me.

When last month — a year after — I returned, I found this work had grown into a large and successful Working Boys’ Club, with a membership of 160 and an average attendance at each of the Sunday meetings of 100.

The streets and dark lanes of Falmouth have been practically cleared of its Social evil. The Prince of Wales and the Bishop of Stepney, amongst other notabilities, have talked about the Club, and the latter specially advises Mr. Ingram, who, be it remembered, loses no opportunity of telling everybody that General Booth should have the credit for any good the Club is doing!

I ought to have said that a threefold pledge is extracted from every boy who would join the Club:

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