FROM-THE-LIBRARYOF
TRINITYCOLLEGETORDNTO
PRESENTED A.D 1282
BY
W.D. Neelands
Memories of a Sister
of
S. Saviour s Priory.
WITH A PREFACE BY
FATHER STANTON,
s, Hotter*.
** II y avait tant de soleil dans ses souvenirs."
Alphomt Daudtt.
A. K. MOWBRAY & CO. LTD.
LONDON : 28 Margaret Street, Oxford Circus, W.
OXFORD : 9 High Street
1912
5
558
FIRST IMPRESSION . . . August 1903.
NEW IMPRESSION . . December 1903, 1904.
EDITION ....
1
I
I DEDICATE THIS BUNDLE OF MEMORIES
WITH AFFECTIONATE REGARD
TO MY OLD FRIEND OF MANY TEARS,
JOHN HENRY SKILBECK,
TREASURER OF S. SAVIOUR S PRIORY ;
AND TO OUR HEWER
BUT EQUALLY TRUE FRIEND
FATHER HOGG,
OUR CHAPLAIN.
Preface.
ON the slopes that lie towards the setting sun many
beautiful flowers are gathered that are to be found
nowhere else, and for those who are watching the
westering of the day towards the evening of life, there
is no contemplation more pleasant than gathering
together the memories of men and things gone by,
" portions and parcels of the past," and holding them
in reverend review.
And if pleasant, most assuredly it is profitable, for
not only does it strengthen the cords of the mind, but
also it makes the old heart beat again, as it did of
yore, when it was young. For life is one and
indivisible, and we live again in those who are gone
before, and they in us.
" He is not dead whose life raises thine on high :
To live in those we leave behind is not to die."
And if they live in us, do not we live and live again
in them now, as our hope is we shall live with them
hereafter ?
"MEMORIES OF A SISTER " is a book after this
manner, going back to the fifties and sixties of the
century that has just passed; it calls up out of the
receding years "old familiar faces," and tells again
the stories of the old struggles, hopes, and fears that
v
we had almost forgotten, but which made up for us
the early experiences of that movement which has
become history for men generally, and for us the story
of what GOD did for us in the days of old. And for
those who are coming on not in the first rank to fall
first, but who share with us the same hopes and
fears, and are fighting the same battle, and feeling the
strain and the heat of conflict it may be as a " drink
of the brook in the way," that they lift up their heads
and look to " that which is beyond."
For surely nothing so strengthens the soul than the
history of GOD S goodness in the past. That is a
holy sanctuary, the lamp of which burns to the very
end, lighting up the unknown future with undying
hope.
Thus much to introduce " MEMORIES OF A SISTER
OF S. SAVIOUR S PRIORY," to its readers from one who
enjoys the privilege of being one of the author s oldest
friends.
A. H. S.
fPropos.
THE following " Memories " are for the most part
reprints of papers published from time to time in The
Orient, the Quarterly Magazine of S. Saviour s Priory,
with a few additions collected from old journals and
letters.
I owe a great debt of thanks for much kindness
from the Rev. E. F. Russell, of S. Alban s, Holborn,
in reading proofs, and aiding me with suggestions for
the first half of the book, which refers chiefly to the
memories of people ; and to the Rev. J. N. Burrows,
of S. Augustine s, Haggerston, for doing the same by
the recollections of East End life.
The whole has of necessity been roughly written in
odds and ends of time, therefore the little book pleads,
"Do not be hard upon me, or judge me critically, but
Prends moy telle quc je suy."
S. SAVIOUR S PRIORY,
HAGGERSTON,
Feast of S. John Baptist, 1903.
Qontents.
PAGE
I
THE FORTIES AND FIFTIES
S. MARGARET S AND DR. NEALE -
S. MARY S, CROWN STREET, SOHO 4 1
SOME MEMORIES OF THIRTY-SEVEN YEAI:S -
THE REV. J. C. CHAMBERS - l6 4
FATHER MACKONOCHIE -
RICHARD FREDERICK LITTLEDALE
THE REV. W. STEWART DARLING, OF TORONTO 207
THE LATE MOTHER OF S. MARGARET S, EAST GRINSTEAD 223
FATHER CHAPMAN 3 43
Two ARTISTS
A SOLDIER-PRIEST -
A MEMORY OF "BROTHER BOB"
MEMORIES OF SOME CONNECTED WITH HAGGERSTON 284
OTHER FRIENDS -
A NIGHT SCHOOL FORTY YEARS AGO
A DAY AT RYE HOUSE
THE BABIES OUTING - 347
OUR ROUGHER NEIGHBOURS 353
THE " BLOKES " SUPPER 374
AN ISHMAELITES SUNDAY EVENING - 3 3 2
SOME GIRLS - - 39
SAVED - 398
JIM ....
VAL: A MEMORY 43
A PEEP INTO GREEN STREET, BETHNAL GREEN - 44 1
STRAY REMINISCENCES 445
Memories of a Si$ter.
forties and fifties.
IN old days our old boy and girl days it was a custom
with us every evening to draw sketches of what had
occurred during the day. Anything and everything that
happened was drawn. One morning, riding to covert
my uncle pointed out to my cousin a boy home for the
holidays the beautiful effects of the sun shining on the
dew in the ditches. This was heard by the groom be
hind, and when in the course of the day the boy got a
fall, he said, with a grin, " I say, sir, did you see the Jew
in the ditch when you fell in ? " Needless to say, this
was all drawn that night. As we grew up, we sketched
more violently. I remember, especially, the long, cold,
dreary winter of the Crimean war, how in the evenings
we young ones sat round a lamp-lit table in a corner
of the drawing-room, sketching our hardest horses
generally and listening with bated breath to the sad,
murmuring voices of the ladies and the guests, most of
whom had relations out at the war, and who discussed
sadly the news of the morning papers, or that rare
event, a letter, while their fingers plied busily at the
formation of woollen mitts and comforters to be sent
2 Memories of a Sifter.
out to the seat of war. As in those bygone times one s
pencil sketches depicted all the pains and pleasures
of each day, to be referred to with regret or relief, so in
one s life, since certain shadowy memories of the past are
indelibly photographed on one s mind, as sorts of snap
shots here and there along the road side.
One s earliest memories are of a little Cheshire village
on the banks of the Mersey, a small place, where the
cottages were smothered in damson-trees damsels, as the
people called them and where outlying farms stretched
away over a wild Moss, redolent with sweet gale, to
traverse which they had to put flat wooden clogs on the
horses feet, to prevent their sinking in the soft black
peat. A lonely place, utterly cut off from the outer
world ; Cromwell might have been Protector, a Stuart,
or an Orangeman might have reigned, and it was all
the same to the inhabitants. The only means of com
munication with the world was by a steamer, which ran
from Manchester to Liverpool, called the " Old Jack,"
or what was called a " Swift Boat," which was galloped
by relays of horses along the Bridgewater Canal, some
two miles distant. The old church, one of the few
timber and plaster ones remaining, supported on solid
oak pillars garnished with stag s tynes whereon to hang
men s hats, and the Rectory, were on the site of a Pre-
monstratensien Monastery of the thirteenth century, and
stone coffins had been dug up in a field called the Abbey
Croft. There were old men who could tell you how
their fathers had seen Cumberland s troops ford the river
on their way to fight Prince Charlie, and they themselves
forties and fifties. 3
had gruesome tales of a hunting Rector in the beginning
of the last century, who, when the doctors came from
Manchester to exhume bodies from the churchyard, gave
them brandy after their hideous work, and people remem
bered seeing him take funerals with a surplice flung over
his scarlet, and top boots, while his man held his horse
at the gate on hunting days. There were many odd, old
customs, such as the Rush -bearing, when there was
a sort of Wake, and carts decorated with flowers went
about, and people were more or less tipsy. This took
place about the middle of August, and I suppose was a
relic of the festivities on the Feast of the Assumption.
On November ist the wilder young men used to go
about with lanterns at night, one wearing a horse s
skull, which they called " Old Nobs," and went to
the farmers homes for drink or money. I recollect
it coming into our kitchen and prancing about, much
to the delight of the maids. That must have been
the relic of the Soulers, being the eve of All Souls
Day. I was brought up in what is called High
Church views. My father entered keenly into the
Oxford Movement, and was thought a most extreme man
of those days. He preached in a surplice, and used
Gauntlett s Psalter, which I believe was a predecessor
of Helmore s. For myself, I don t think Church
matters ever entered my head. I loved to run wild
about the garden with the dogs, and I cared more
for horses than anything else in the world, a taste
inherited from my mother, who came from the grass
counties, had been taught to ride anything, and as
4 Memoriet of a Sifter.
the expression went " hold on by her eyelids." An
old clergyman has told me since, that when she came
to Cheshire as a bride, her riding was the admiration
of all the country-side. But the old Tractarians were
made of stern stuff, and she and my father did not
think it right that a Parson and his wife should
go galloping about everywhere, added to which,
money grew short, and the keeping of horses an
impossibility.
As I said, things were very different in those days.
Attire temps, autres m&urs. My grandfather, an old
Peninsula officer, when he taught me riding, wore a high
hat and blue coat with brass buttons, and I a blue plaid
pelisse and large black beaver bonnet. Neither of my
grandmothers, till the time of their death, ever sat other
wise than bolt upright I suppose the result of the back
board in their early days and both always wore thick
stiff black silk gowns, which I should think would have
stood by themselves when taken off. Gold, they pro
nounced goold ; china, chaney ; and an errand was an
arrant. The cloth was removed for dessert, and the
glasses used to look beautiful, reflected on the polished
mahogany.
I have told you my father was a Tractarian, and we
had been taught entirely on High Church lines, but
matters in general were very different. Things which
people now-a-days take as a matter of course, had then
to be fought for, and the pioneers of those days were
hard fighting men. No one would believe the storms
elicited by preaching in a surplice ! " Sacrament
forties and fifties. 5
Sundays" were very few and far between. Etiquette
in many parishes prescribed that the squire, the parson,
and other dignitaries, with their families, should com
municate first, and then the common throng. I
remember once what an uproar there was in a
country village because a farmer s wife went up to
the "First Table." All the gossips said, "They d a
thought the Second Table was good enough for her ! "
The music and hymns were not much. In my father s
church, being High, we used the metrical version of
the Psalms, but his death, when I was nine years old,
sent us away into the ordinary dreariness of church
matters of the day. We sat under the dullest of sermons,
enforced by pointings from a lavender gloved forefinger,
and our hymnody was the " Mitre Collection," the only
one of which I cared for was,
"What hath GOD wrought, let Britain sec,
Freed from the Papal tyranny."
because it brought a bit of history into the dulness of the
Sunday Service, gone through in a square green baize-
lined pew. I believe our church was better than many
others: I remember seeing one in South Wales where the
wood was all rotten, the pew-doors off their hinges, and
great yellow toads crawling in and out of the broken floor
and wood work around the font ; and there was another
church where the men who played the violin, bass, and
other instruments of music, all sat inside the altar-rails,
using the altar itself for a table. Edmund Sedding s
little collection of sketches, called Deformation and
Reformation, published about 1859, showing how things
6 Memories of a Sister.
were, and how they ought to be, gives the best ideas
of the then existent state of churches.
I remember, as a child of ten years old, during a
brief residence in the old-fashioned town of Kettering,
my intense delight at hearing one of the curates, an
evangelical of the evangelicals, preach in a high, shrill
voice on Sunday and Wednesday evenings, out of a
mighty three-decker, gesticulating at every sentence, and
pouring forth denunciations which echoed through the
lofty church. I don t remember what he said, but I
remember how he banged, and how I liked it. Of other
clergy whom I came across in my early days, I don t
recollect much individually. One was a very hard
rider, and I remember my grandfather saying, " He
bumped so high you could stick a quart bottle between
him and the saddle every time he rose in his stirrups."
Young ladies never dreamed of the wider possibilities
open to them now : there were no Ladies Settlements, no
Lady Nurses, no Girton, Newnham, S. Margaret s. They
gardened, sketched, rode, went to archery meetings, and
were just beginning to visit their poor and teach in the
Sunday School. The emancipation of woman had not
yet then arrived. Their horizon was then very borne.
The more advanced of them had crosses on their Prayer
Books, and when they had the opportunity went to daily
Matins, but they were stigmatized as Puseyites. I
remember I was staying away from home in 1858,
when I first began to think seriously of things, buying a
plaster crucifix from an Italian boy who came round
with images, and keeping it hidden in a drawer among my
forties and fifties. 7
handkerchiefs lest any one should spy it out. I remember
after a Confirmation, by the Bishop of Peterborough, in
the same year, going to luncheon to meet him and the
neighbouring clergy. One, who sat next me, a very
admirable man, a good parish worker, and, like all
Irishmen, a capital teller of stories, was saying how one
of the candidates, coming out of All Saints , Northampton,
had picked some one s pocket, and he added, "That
shows ye, doesn t it, what nonsense it is that grace is
given you in Confirmation."
But the Tractarian leaven was working, slowly but
surely, and there was an universal feeling of awakening all
around. A most wonderful episode was the story of the
heroic deeds of the little band of Priests at S. Saviour s,
Leeds, during the cholera visitation of 1849-50. In
the following year I saw Canon Beckett, the only one of
the company remaining, after the others joined the
Roman Communion. He was a guest at Arley, a
tall, thin, pale, closely shaven man, in a long coat
touching his heels, and, child as I was, his devout,
saintly appearance left a never-to-be-forgotten impres
sion on my mind. Indeed, I am afraid the things
I did forget were my manners, for I was so intent
staring at him, and listening to him speak, that
I fell into a grip, out of which he had to pull
me. Sisterhoods were just making their first trial,
and I recollect hearing a good deal about Miss
Sellon and her work at Devonport ; but I still repeat I
took no interest in these things until the year 1857.
Something suddenly seemed to come into my heart that
8 Memories of a Sister.
put everything in a different light before me. I can tell
the very day, February 23rd ; and the very place I was
out on the Mere in a boat with my cousins, pulling up
weeds. I had heard about a wonderful Mission being
carried on by a certain Rev. Henry Collins, a young
enthusiastic Priest, in an out of the way part of London,
among the roughest and the most sinful people at the
London Docks. It all seemed to appeal to me at once.
I wrote off at once to the Mission for two tracts of Mr.
Collins I had seen advertised. I had heard so much of
the lives of him and his companions, which sounded like
the stories of mediaeval saints, how they lived together in
great poverty such great poverty that sometimes they
had only bread for their dinner. Their clothes were
ragged and patched, for they spent every penny they had
upon their poor. A benevolent lady sent Henry Collins a
violet velvet sermon case, after the fashion of the day.
This was no use to him, who only preached extempore, so
he mended a gap in his clothes with it. I never saw
him in his mission work, but I believe there was a
special love and earnestness in him which went straight
to the hearts of the poor souls among whom he
laboured. Anyhow, though I never saw him then, he
influenced me inexpressibly, and this was accentuated by
a letter of thanks he wrote when my brothers and I had
given up some expedition and sent the money to him for
his Mission. Like so many enthusiasts of that day, Mr.
Collins and his little band were chilled and repressed
by the coldness of Church authorities, and joined the
Roman Communion. He became a Cistercian monk,
forties and fifties. 9
and years after he came to see me in Haggerston, and ask
if he could not consummate what he had begun, and get
me to follow him to Rome. But that could never be.
He is chiefly given to literature now, and edits quaint
and curious old books for the Ascetic Library, and he has
written a most lovely and helpful book, called Heaven
Opened.
Among the men of the day who helped on the Church
upward movement to a very great extent, was Mr.
Rowland Egerton Warburton, of Arley, Cheshire. " The
Squire," as the late Bishop Wilberforce used to call him.
And a veritable ideal squire he was, seeming, as Lord
Halifax once said of him, to be a perfect combination of a
good churchman, a good landlord, a keen sportsman, and a
man of literary tastes. In the thirties, and early forties,
when Keble, Pusey, and Newman tried to pull the
Church out of the depths into which she had sunk, when
laymen, as a rule, took very little part in Church matters,
the young squire of Arley flung himself with the keenest
interest into the Tractarian Movement. When he rebuilt
the Hall, he attached a beautiful chapel to it. And in days
when daily prayer was scarcely heard of, all the house
hold assembled within its walls, and a surpliced choir
chanted choral Matins. Never was the squire missing
from his place, and on hunting mornings he always
appeared in scarlet and buckskins. Right on in his old
age, so long as he was able to get about, in spite of the
blindness which came upon him during the last twenty
years of his life, it was touching to see him kneeling still
as he had done for past years, and when at last he was
io Memories of a Sister.
no longer able to get about, he was carried downstairs
and wheeled in a chair into chapel. He was one of
the first members of the English Church Union. It is
rarely so many different qualities have been united
in one man as they were in him. A man of the most
refined and elegant tastes, whatever he touched he im
proved and ennobled, and more than that, he had the gift
of leaving his own special mark upon it. His love for
and knowledge of architecture and archaeology are visible
in his own home of Arley Hall, and in the many model
farms and cottages built scattered over his estate, both at
Aston, Warburton, and Great Budworth. He always
built them of red brick ; he used to say he loved the
harmony of red brick breaking the background of green
trees. Some of these in Great Budworth have timbered
upper stories, filled in with plaster, on which are traced
the artistic designs of his son, the present Master of
Arley. A great desire of his heart was accomplished a
few years ago, and that was, a new church at Warburton,
as the old one one of the very few churches in England
of timber and plaster was too far from the village, and
otherwise unsuitable for the people. He placed over the
doorway the figure of S. Werburga, the patroness of
Chester, looking southward over the wooded plains of
fertile Cheshire.
As a landlord his whole heart was centred in the im
provement of his estate and the well-being of his
tenantry. He instituted the Arley Wakes on the 8th
September, the annual anniversary of the dedication of
the chapel, when the tenants met to enjoy the old
TSlje yortiet and fifties. n
fashion of English sports and pastimes ; and his May
Day festivities were highly commended by the late
Rev. W. J. E. Bennett, in his Letters to my Children. All
these were going on, we must remember, long before it was
the custom to think of helping to brighten the lives of
our poorer friends, as, I am thankful to say, it is in the
present day. He was a keen sportsman, a daring rider
" little Rowley the steeplechase rider," as he is described
m a local song of some sixty years ago and his own well-
known volume of Hunting Songs may well claim him the
title of Poet Laureate of the Hunting Field. He was
gifted with a most intense sense of humour, thoroughly
enjoying the point of a joke, and always seeing the
humorous side of everything. He was a man of letters,
well versed in literature, as may be seen from his library,
among which are several rare and choice editions. And
who can speak enough as to the purity of the noble
Christian life which shone forth in the sacred inner circle
of his own family? His kindliness, his thoughtfulness
for all, in little and great ways, his loving sympathy
who, with whom he ever came in contact, but has felt
all these ?
His patience during the seventeen long years of his
blindness was most beautiful, and the deprivation of
sight to one so keenly interested in seeing and doing must
have been, indeed, a very heavy cross ! Over the fire
place of the gallery at Arley he had inscribed, "Hope
confidently ; do valiantly ; wait patiently" and these words
seem to have been the key-note of his whole life ; and
when the hoping of youth and the doing of manhood were
ia Memories of a Sifter.
past and over, and the shadows of evening gathered
around, he waited in uncomplaining patience till the day
that the LORD should restore his sight, when his first
vision was that of the King in His Beauty !
It was at Arley that I first met the Rev. Charles Gutch,
afterwards Vicar of S. Cyprian s, Marylebone. In 1854
he temporarily took the chaplaincy there, and I re
member at Christmas his bringing the choir boys in
their white surplices, with lighted candles in their hands,
to sing Dr. Neale s carols in the hall. He prepared me
for Confirmation. I then lost sight of him for three
years, till, as I said, Mr. Collins influence induced
me to think of becoming a Sister, and my choice would
have been with Miss Neale s Sisterhood of the Holy
Cross at Wapping. But Mr. Gutch, whose opinion was
asked on the subject, objected that I was too young
for such a work, and suggested my trying S. Margaret s,
East Grinstead.
A Community in the heart of the country, was the last
thing I naturally desired. Since I had been touched by
religion I had studied Butler s Lives of S. Francis Xavier
and S. Charles Borromeo, and only longed for Mission
work to emulate those saints, and to feel I was a fellow-
labourer of the Priests at S. George s Mission. However,
Tout vient a qui sait attend. I went to S. Margaret s,
and the very year I went, Dr. Neale undertook London
mission work, and I was one of those sent there.
S. Margaret $ and 2>r. ffeale. 13
5". Margaret s and S)r. ffeale.
EAST Grinstead is in the most picturesque part of
Sussex, within touch of Tunbridge Wells, Redhill, and
Brighton, and within an easy distance of London. The
town stands high, and the church tower is a land
mark for all the country round. Sackville College, an
old foundation of the De la Warr family, stands on an
eminence eastward of the town. It was built some time
about the seventeenth century, a quaint, beautiful
building, consisting of a large hall, rooms for a warden,
and a chapel, which occupy nearly three sides of a
quadrangle ; the fourth is for the reception of old
people, who are called brethren and sisters. In the
early forties it was a ^leepy, old-fashioned place,
deeply impregnated as were most old country towns
at that time with its own conservative prejudices,
manners, and customs. " Do as our fathers did,"
whether for good or for ill, was the prevalent feeling.
Into this place, some time early in the forties, John
Mason Neale was instituted as Warden of Sackville
College. Young, ardent, enthusiastic, large-hearted,
full of sympathy, a poet, a scholar, a student, and, to
crown all, gifted with intense energy of purpose, never,
to our judgment, did man seem more utterly out of
place than was this young Priest, in the midst of these
14 Memories of a Sifter.
surroundings. To our judgment it seems so, but GOD S
ways are not as our ways
" He moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform."
And this highly wrought, highly gifted young man,
seemingly utterly wasted and thrown away in this
bucolic entourage, was to kindle a light which, by GOD S
grace, has shone far and wide, and the grandchildren of
those townspeople who set their faces as a flint against
the Warden of the College, and the Founder of S.
Margaret s, now love the institution which he had
created, and reverence his memory through whose
means it was created.
Now let us look back to the setting of the little germ
which was in a few years to grow, thrive, and bear such
fruit.
Running round the gable of the Warden s house,
outside the college, is a flagged path, which commands
a view of the whole countryside. Below the town lies
a green belt of pasture-land, beyond which the great
brown ridges of Ashdown Forest sweep the southern
horizon, and on clear days the distant purple of Crow-
borough Beacon is visible. Away eastward, a richly
wooded green country stretches away till it melts into
the blue distances of Reigate and Dorking. Beautiful
as this lovely view is to look at, scattered over the vast
area, buried in the woods and out of the way wilds,
were innumerable hamlets and isolated cottages, badly
built, badly drained, far from human help and resource,
when fever or any illness attacked the inmates. Day
S. Margaret s and 2)r. ffeale. 15
after day, as he paced, as his custom was, up and down
this terrace, and looked out over the fair scene, his heart
burned within him at the thought of all the miseries of
these wretched cottages hidden away among the wilds.
Scholar, student, poetically imaginative man though he
was, he was not one to simply sigh and sympathize, and
then let things take their course. He no sooner felt an
existent evil than he tried to find a remedy for it. And
so it came to pass that GOD put it into his heart to try
and form a Sisterhood, whose special object should be to
go out into these poor cottages, to live with, and nurse
the sufferers under their own roof. It seemed a wild
idea, a hopelessly impracticable one. People were stiffer,
and more set in their own special grooves than now-a-
days, and society was more aghast at any departure
from routine. Besides, the Bishop had inhibited him for
having a Bible with a cross on the cover, and a cross and
candlesticks on the Communion Table in the College
Chapel. Did the very idea not seem utterly hopeless
that he, an inhibited Priest, should start a Sisterhood ?
But his motto then, and all through his life, was :
" What is Possible may be done ; what is Impossible
must be done."
Here is his own account of the origin of S. Margaret s,
taken from a pamphlet he put out some few years later :
" Sackville College, in East Grinstead, stands on very
high ground on the eastern edge of the town, itself a
city set upon a hill, and overlooks a vast, and, for the
most part, wild extent of country. From the Surrey
Hills, . . . round by Tunbridge Wells, ... to Crow-
1 6 Memories of a Sister.
borough Beacon . . . and so right over to Ashdown
Forest. . . . Ashdown Forest, once the iron mart of
England, now, the trees recklessly felled for timber, a
wild waste of heath and down, is, ecclesiastically
speaking, dreary and frightful beyond most wilds.
The parishes of East Grinstead, Hartfield, Withyham,
Rotherfield, Buxted, Ardingley, West Hoathby, and one
or two chapelries abut upon it, but can hardly be said to
penetrate it. Scattered farms, lonely groups of two or
three houses in an isolated green, ellenge cottages,
charcoal burners huts, places four or five miles and
that of the worst lanes from any church : how are the
poor inhabitants to be attended to in this world, and
prepared for the next ?
" That question constantly repeated itself at every
look from the study window of Sackville College, which
commanded that view. The residing clergy, let their
activity be what it might, could not penetrate those wild,
far off cottages. Something like a body of preaching
friars was needed for the task : could they be found,
and, if not, what would come nearer to them ?
" In the winter of 1854-5 two f n ^ s friends offered
themselves to the Warden of Sackville College, to engage
in any work of mercy, and to devote their lives to it.
He explained to them the plan which he contemplated,
and which will be presently set down at length, and it
was determined, with GOD S help, to commence a Sister
hood on the principles there laid down.
" A few weeks later the daughter of the venerable
Rector of Rotherfield, who had devoted her life to parish
S. Margaret s and 3)r. ffeale. 17
work, offered her services, so far as the attendance
necessary for her father would then permit it ; it being
understood, with his full and cheerful acquiescence, that
whenever it should please GOD to call him to Himself,
his daughter s partial offer should be changed into the
devotion of her whole life.
" Things being in this state, a circular was pretty
widely distributed in the spring of 1855. It was received
with very considerable favour ; contributions flowed in,
if not lavishly, at least sufficiently to warrant the com
mencement of actual operations, and on February i5th,
1855, one of the future Sisters went for her training in
Westminster Hospital.
" Till the end of 1855 the Sisters did not live in com
munity. One was accommodated in Sackville College,
i the others in various ways at Rotherfield ; and a second
Sister having been trained in Westminster Hospital in
the May and June of 1855, in the July of that year the
operations of the Sisterhood began."
Such is the Founder s account of the beginning, and
wild venture it was. He himself was an inhibited
(Priest, the Sisters were ladies of limited means, their
friends were few, and their endowment nil. But it was
begun with perfect faith, earnest zeal, and entire trust in
I GOD. It makes one think of the foundations of Stephen
[arding at Molesme, of the seraphic Francis at Assisi,
of Teresa de Jesus at Avila. In 1856 Miss Elizabeth
le began a small Sisterhood at S. Georges-in-the-
st, which has since developed into the Holy Cross
immunity. An Orphanage which she had at Brighton
js Memories of a Sister.
was then removed to East Grinstead, and taken over by
S. Margaret s Sisters. In the November of 1857, on
the occasion of the funeral of one of the Sisters, a Miss
Scobell, the brutal and ghastly affair called the Lewes
Riots took place. The Sisters were assaulted by the
mob in the churchyard, and in the darkness of the
autumn afternoon were nearly pulled to pieces, and
they, with Dr. Neale, had to be escorted to the railway
station by the police. A Sister who was present on the
occasion has since described to me the scene as one
hideous beyond words to express.
And this brings us up to 1858, when my own connec
tion with the Community began.
From childhood upwards Dr. Neale s Stones of the
Saints had always appealed to one most specially ; there
was something so realistic, so life-like about them, they
seemed to bridge over time, and make you feel fellows
with the saints and martyrs. In the early part of 1858
a volume of Sermons on the Canticles appeared, which
were a most fascinating departure from the beaten track
of sermons, but not till the preliminary correspondence
with Dr. Neale in re my going to S. Margaret s, did we
know that they were his. I remember they were
published by Painter, and favourably reviewed in the
Union, which was the forerunner of the present Church
Times, and there were many speculations as to the
authorship. He also sent me a little book, compiled by
himself from mediaeval sources, called Hours of tht
Passion, which I have loved specially from that day to;
this ; there is something so quaint, and old world, and
S. Margaret s and 2)r. JVeale. 19
marvellously devotional about it. My mother wrote to
Dr. Neale about my wish to become a Sister, as I was
only eighteen at the time, and he sent the following
reply :
" SACKVILLE COLLEGE,
"August 19, 1858..
" MY DEAR MADAM,
" Will the Thursday in next week be too early
for you ? If you come that day, , besides the Sisters
in the Orphanage, who are fixtures (but with whom your
daughter s daily life would not be spent) and the Mother,
one of our Sisters will be at home whom I should most
gladly see with a fresh comer, she is so very gentle and
so very good. All the others are out nursing, and if we
wait much longer she may be so also. I can only most
earnestly pray that her coming may be blessed to her
and to us. If you knew how it pains me, conscious as I
am of my own miserable failures and mistakes, to be
written to, or thought of, as in your letter, you would
have spoken differently. But I will not shrink from
your trust, when our LORD is so present to help. And
now I will add one line for your daughter.
" Believe me, yours most truly,
"J. M. NEALE."
" P.S. Friday the Mother wishes to be the day for
your daughter to come, so let it be Friday."
Oddly enough, everything I have begun all through
my life has been begun on a Friday !
The Sister whom Dr. Neale specially mentioned as
ishing me to know was our late dear Mother, then
20 Memories of a Sifter.
Sister Alice. Here is his letter, enclosed in my mother s,
for me :
" SACKVILLE COLLEGE,
"August 19, 1858.
" MY DEAR MlSS ,
" I need not tell you with what deep interest
I read your letter, and trust it may be GOD S answer to
our earnest and repeated prayer for more help, and I
shall make you the subject of special prayer, that you
may be led to take the step that is best for you, that you
may become a true and brave Sister in our dear LORD S
work. You can hardly understand yet what is the
closeness of the tie that binds those who are righting
this hard battle in common I trust you may soon
learn it.
" Before you come, I want you to be prepared for the
difficulty and irksomeness of your work at first. It
must be so : obedience to fixed rules, when we have not
been used to them, is a very great trial at the com
mencement, and we think, Why am I to be perpetually
teased with them ? You know very well what all the
Saints have taught us about this obedience, and that
without suffering we must not hope to be able to do any
great thing for GOD.
" And now, the Sisters have a right, have they not ?
to ask for your prayers. You will soon join them in the
difficult battle, to fight together, and you must help each
other ; may GOD give you grace to overcome each sin !
" Yours most faithfully in CHRIST,
"J. M. NEALE."
S. Margaret s and 2)r. ffeale. 21
And so I set out to try my life there. I had never
been so far south before, and was much struck by the
prettily wooded country through which we passed. Dr.
Neale met us at the station, and under his escort we
walked up to S. Margaret s, in the glory of a golden
summer evening. A funny little home it was, standing
endwise to the road, approached by a flight of brick
steps, shut in by a door from the causeway outside.
Inside, a tiny hall, screened from the staircase by a red
baize curtain ; in the left the door opened into the
Mother s room, which looked across the road on to the
churchyard an ecclesiastical-looking room, with texts
and plainly framed prints on the coloured walls, for it
was before the days of the plenitude of photography.
The furniture was all of plain deal, stained dark brown,
and cocoa-nut matting on the floor. Here Dr. Neale left
us, and I was escorted to my room. This was one of four
cubicles in what had, I believe, been an upper workshop
annexed to the house, and of which a lower workshop
served as the Oratory. I was perfectly fascinated with
the little dormitory, with its buff-coloured plaster walls
and partitions of dark stained wood, its little iron
bedstead, wooden table with washing apparatus, and
rough red earthenware pan for more extensive ablutions,
and heavy stool, with four knotted wooden legs.
The refectory, a sort of semi-underground shed, took
my fancy greatly. It was as plain as plain could be,
with brick walls and floor and trestle tables. Joining on
to S. Margaret s was the Orphanage, where a blue-
frocked, white-capped, rosy little crew was presided over
22 Memories of a Sifter.
by two of the Sisters. The Oratory, which connected
S. Margaret s and the Orphanage, was a sweet little
place, originally built, I believe, for a workshop. Long
and narrow, with dark wooden desks on each side for
the Sisters, and a sort of pare, shut off with wooden rails
for the orphans. In this little Oratory the greater part
of those marvellous sermons on the Religious life the
publication of which was such an addition to the treasury
of the Church s literature were given. Both in them,
and in all his writings, it seemed, as it were, as if the
gates of heaven were opened and revealed the company
therein, with whom we could intermix, and feel the
Saints to be real personal friends, and not a dry kalendar
of names. The first Sunday he asked me to go and see
Sackville College, and I remember walking with him on
the flagged terrace which ran round it, while he put
before me some of the duties of a Sister s life. Before
us, stretched far away range after range of blue down
towards Crowborough heights to the right, and a fair
and wooded country between us and Reigate on the left.
Behind were the gray and crumbling walls of the ancient
college, over which scrambled tangled vines in all the
glory of their summer foliage.
" You have read the Penny Post, have you not ? " said
he. I had. The Penny Post was then in its zenith as a
Church organ. " You remember the story of Gill s ||
Lap?" Yes; I did. "Well," pointing over the southern
downs, pale in the mist of the August afternoon, " you
see that little dark clump over there, that is Gill s
Lap."
S. Margaret s and S)r. ffeale. 23
One had read the story of Gill s Lap\ but never dreamed
one would so shortly be standing side by side with the
author having the identical spot pointed out to one, any
more than when, as a little child, one had read and loved
the Forty Martyrs of Sebaste, one would have thought that
from the lips of the author one would have been taught
that science of the Saints which enabled them to brave
the cold and bitterness of that March night for the sake
of the glory which should be revealed.
Dr. Neale s Bible Classes to the Sisters were most
marvellous. He walked up and down the little Oratory,
with his Bible in his hand, reading, explaining, asking
questions, giving the key to the wonderful, mystical
interpretation of the Old Testament, with quotations
from the mediaeval writers bearing on each subject, so
that one saw CHRIST, and CHRIST only, in every chapter
from Genesis to Revelation. The first class I ever heard
him give was the first evening I was at S. Margaret s,
and it was on one of the chapters of Joshua. As a rule,
when it was possible, he came over to say Lauds and
Matins for the Sisters, and in the saying of the Psalms
it was curious how, now and again, a translation from
the Vulgate slipped from his lips. One I specially
remember in the 8oth Psalm, i3th verse; instead of
saying, " And the wild beasts of the field devour it," he
nearly always said, "And the singular beast doth devour
it." He was very particular about the singing of both
Sisters and children in the Oratory, and always said his
ambition was that one day S. Margaret s singing should
be the admiration of the whole country side, and this, I
24 Memories of a Sifter.
think, is fulfilled at the present day at S. Margaret s.
He was most particular also about the children s dress.
One day he met them out walking with a Sister, and
sent a child back because it had on a pinafore that was
not in uniform with the others ; and once, when I had
been at S. Margaret s a little longer, and was in charge
of the Orphanage one afternoon, some ladies were shewn
round, who found me presiding over what, I am afraid,
was a state of great muddle. That same evening this
note came over from Sackville College :
" If you knew the pride and delight I take in S.
Margaret s, you would be able to fancy the sad vexation
and disappointment to me when strangers come into the
Orphanage and find a place such as it was this after
noon. You may think all this very little and fidgetty,
that it matters not at all that they find everything in
disorder a garment here, and something equally out of
place there but, unless you can do these little things
well, you will never do anything great hereafter."
Dr. Neale planned out the disposition of my time at
my first commencement at S. Margaret s. I had a
certain portion allotted for the Oratory, private prayer,
and reading, and there was to read a given number of
pages in S. Augustine s Commentary on the Psalms, in
English, and of Fleury s Ecclesiastical History in French,
on which, once a month, I was to have a paper of
questions, to which I was to give full written replies.
I was to read daily to an old blind woman in Sackville
College I forget now what her name was and in the
afternoon the Mother sent me to visit some sick person,
S. Margaret s and 2>r. ffeale. 25
generally in an outlying hamlet two or three miles off.
What lovely walks those used to be in the autumn
afternoons ! All through the hilly Ashurst Wood, the
ground thick with golden fern, the woods, clad in their
autumn glories, towering up the hill side till the winding
walk along the slope brought you to a clump of stone
pines overhanging a tanpit in a hollow, and beyond that
you emerged in the lonely hamlet a few scattered
cottages and a meeting house, but no church. Here
lived a few labourers and their wives some were
pleasant, some otherwise. I always specially remember
one poor young man, a hedger and ditcher, who was in
consumption, and had a delicate wife and a family of
pretty little children. I recollect they used to be very
ragged, and I always went supplied with needle and
thread, and used to mend their clothes while I talked to
him. A portion of housework also fell to my lot, and I
enjoyed the scrubbing most heartily, though it was some
time before I accomplished laying a fire with satisfaction.
In 1858 appeared the splendid comet, and we used
to walk in the autumn evenings under the elm trees in
the college field and see it blazing in its terrible beauty
across the skies, while Dr. Neale told us it was supposed
to be the same comet which had appeared to Noah to
foretell the flood.
I remember I was so much struck in one of his
sermons; telling of how to utilize every gift for GOD S
service, he cited, among others, the gift of personal
beauty a thing which, as a rule, I had always thought
religious people taught one to despise. He counted it
26 Memories of a Sifter.
as a gift which was given any person to use as much as
they would the gift of eloquence, or drawing, music, or
any other which would be of use to attract people to
GOD. I remember one very good, but very plain lady
who was present in the Oratory when it was preached,
not being at all pleased with it. I suppose, like all
poetic natures, he felt very keenly the charm of beauty.
I remember his dismay when a visitor whom he had
fancied from her name would be good-looking arrived,
and was the very reverse. He said, " She is ugly ; but
ugly does not express it all she is oogly."
In the November of that year Dr. Neale, being
anxious to help girls of a rougher, more vitiated class
than those in the Orphanage, planned what he called
the Red School, who were to be under the Sisters care,
and yet kept apart from the orphans. Here is a bit of
an old letter written at the time :
"November 16, 1858.
" The Mother went yesterday to S. George s-in-the-
East to fetch the two children, whom the S. George s
Sisters are sending. They have been brought straight
from a wretched home, all anyhow, and the Mother and
I are hard at work making them clothes. So you see,
the Red School is begun, and I am to have charge of it !
They sleep in a room in a house opposite a very large
attic, hired over a shop, and I sleep with them. They
are very dirty, and all alive ! The children interest me
immensely with their recital of Wapping life. I could
write quite a nice little story out of all I have picked up
from them, but it is all very dreadful how their father
S. Margaret s and 2>r. ffeale. 27
and some woman fight on the stairs, and he knocks her
into the gutter ; and how their brother George, just
home from his first voyage, poured water on her face,
and brought her round again ; and how their father sat
and roared because he could not get any more beer on
trust ; and, finally, how all the family disagreements
had ended in a general street row. They are good girls,
and both very fond of work. Mr. Neale brought them
such a curious old French book of Bible pictures (time oi
Louis Quatorze) to shew them and explain to them, and
it amuses me, too, the prints are so quaint."
It was not long before the children, in the pure
atmosphere of East Grinstead, forgot all the horrors of
their Wapping entourage, and Dr. Neale, not seeing his
way to carrying on a separate school, merged the chil
dren into the Orphanage, where they grew up into good,
steady women.
Here is another bit of an old letter :
"May 14, 1859.
" I don t think I ever told you how we spent Good
Friday here. There was silence all day, and no regular
sit down meals except for the children. Cross buns and
coffee were put in the refectory at 8 a.m., 1.30, and 5.30
p.m., and we each went in and had some, for Mr. Neale
had told us we must eat, and not fast, as some of us
wanted to till evening. We spent the whole day in the
Oratory, the walls of which were stripped bare, and the
windows closely curtained with black. The crucifix,
too, was covered with black. At 1 1 a.m. we had the
Gospel of the Passion, and then Mr. Neale stood on the
28 Memories of a Sister.
sanctuary steps, holding the crucifix, and, while the
Pange lingua was being sung, each Sister in turn stepped
from her place, and, kneeling before the crucifix, kissed
its feet. In the p.m. was a sermon, then the children
came in and we had the Stations. Evensong was at
8-30, and then we went to bed. The gloom and
depression made one realize Good Friday as I had
never done before.
" Easter Day was grand. The four vases of flowers
such splendid flowers ! on the altar, and Mr. Neale,
swinging the censer till the sanctuary was full of sweet
smoke, was delightful."
This account of how Good Friday was kept at S.
Margaret s forty-four years ago is rather interesting,
and it is interesting, too, to think that same Lent Mr.
Mackonochie began the first " Three Hours " at S.
Saviour s, Wellclose Square.
One more extract from a letter is here :
"December 13, 1859.
" This is the Fair week here. Monday was the great
day, and people come from all parts to it. The Welsh
drovers, shouting in Welsh to their cattle, make such a
bustle and confusion, and you hear nothing but that and
the galloping of horses for they try horses up and
down the street, between the churchyard and S.
Margaret s such horses you never saw ! Of all the old
brutes picked up anywhere, this seems the greatest
collection. Mr. Neale took the Red School children out
to see the stalls, and by their account they got well
stared at by the riff-raff round. About four weeks ago
S. Margaret s and 3>r. ffeale. 29
a man came down from London to teach Sister Alice
and me to print with the new press which has been
given to us. He is a Mr. Cull, who printed Mr. Henry
Collins tracts, and all the things for S. George s
Mission. Mr. Wagner, of S. Paul s, Brighton, sent us
an order for two hundred copies of an Advent hymn, at
five shillings a hundred, so we worked hard setting up
the type and printing them off. We felt so proud ! Mr.
Neale corrected the proof. The new schoolrooms are
so nice as nice to play in as to teach in, I find, for this
evening the children begged me to have a good game
with them, so we pushed aside the tables and had a
capital game of blind man s buff.
" Will you tell A. L. that if she wants to go to the
hospital she must go before she is a Sister, for Sister
Martha cannot get admission into one on account of her
cross, and Mr. Neale will not let her put it off. So you
see there is no chance for me ! If Mr. Neale could trust
me, I was thinking how nice it would be to learn in one
of the Belgian hospitals, under the Soeurs de Charite
there. Sister Alice says he has often talked of it for
some of the Sisters whom he could trust. They are
more Jansenistical and less ultramontane than the
French Sisters."
What I remember so specially about Dr. Neale is, the
sort of energetic way in which he threw himself into all
the active work of the Community, in all manner of
ways, either big or little. If it was a fine, bright half-
1 In an additional house, taken that autumn, and so completing the
little quadrangle.
30 Memories of a Sister.
holiday, and he thought it would do the orphans good to
take them for a ramble into some distant wood, or to see
a quaint church in some outlying village, he organized
a party, and escorted two Sisters and the older girls to
view whatever might be the object of interest, and while
pointing out all the beauties of a wooded glade, where
the crisp young bronzy oaks stood knee deep in blue
bells, or some eminence which had been a Roman camp,
or some soft gray distance from which rose the tower of
some church, he intermingled with these, anecdotes
of his travels in Dalmatia, Spain, and a hundred and one
interesting places, full of stories of the Saints. We were
most especially interested in what he told us of the
Cure d Ars, for it seemed to bring everything home to
us, to feel there was an actual Saint on the earth at the
same time as ourselves. The winter of 1 860-61 was a
bitterly cold one, and there was much distress among
the poor cottagers. He organized a soup kitchen in the
town/ managed by the Sisters, but to which he always
came himself and helped in giving out the soup. If a
Sister was nursing in some lonely, out of the way
hamlet, he would always find time to go and see her, at
least once during the period of her nursing, and cheer
her with news from home. Though so very particular
about the neatness of the orphans dress, and all the
household arrangements of S. Margaret s, he never
seemed to notice what he wore himself. His usual
costume was a cassock, and white bands such as John
Wesley s portraits have, and out of doors he invariably
wore a college cap. But he was perfectly unconscious
S. Margaret s and 2>r. f(ea\e. 3 1
of drops of wax from the candle being on his cassock,
or of frayed and worn edges, and equally unconscious of
it when a new one was provided for him. His own
study was a marvellous place, literally lined with books
great folios, unsightly duodecimos, parchment bound,
leather bound, every size, every variety, every age, every
language treating chiefly of Ecclesiastical History,
Ecclesiology and Hagiography, thronged the shelves
from floor to ceiling. And these were not enough ;
cross shelves filled up the middle of the room, packed
and crowded with books, so that there was barely space
to squeeze round from the door to the little fireplace in
the corner, over which were hung strange and valuable
ikons, brought from Russia and Greece. I was allowed
to taste of some of the literary treasures, and revelled in
some little clumsily leather-bound volumes of Lettres
curieuses et edifiantes, being letters from French Jesuit
missionaries of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries,
full of faith and marvels, and of botanical and geo
graphical discoveries, which to me were deeply
interesting. Didron s Iconographie Chretienne, with its
curious and wonderful pictures, was also a fascinating
loan. It was a real treat to look round at these
numberless tomes of every age and language, from the
depths of which Dr. Neale drew the treasures which he
gave forth to the world. It was his habit to dictate all
his writings, and the late Mother of S. Margaret s, who
was then Sister Alice, acted as his amanuensis, while
he paced up and down the limited space not occupied
by books, with his hands behind his back.
32 Memories of a Sifter.
He was keenly interested in the bettering of women
and girls, and strongly shared the feeling of the French
Bishop who said, "The presence of a young girl purifies
a house." But to exercise this influence, the young girl
herself must be spotless, and a motto of Dr. Neale s was,
" Prevention is better than cure." To effect this pre
vention, and to assist girls in the crowded and worst
parts of London, he, in conjunction with the Rev. J. C.
Chambers, founded the Guild of S. Michael and All
Angels, which was inaugurated at S. Mary s, Soho, on
the Michaelmas of 1863. It was to consist of women and
girls poor, working women and girls, all of them who
were, while living in the world, to try and keep them
selves " unspotted from the world." Each member, in
her own small circle, was to endeavour to evangelize
humanity, and their object in life was to try and shew
the true womanliness of womanhood, as the above
quoted French Bishop expresses it " To preserve the
beauty and purity of home, to scatter the shadows of
life, to support and raise man himself." Here is a
quotation from a letter of his, written a week after the
foundation of the Guild, to his great friend, the Rev. J.
Haskoll:
" October 5, 1863.
11 We had a very interesting ceremony the other day.
In our (Mission) House at Soho there is the same diffi
culty as everywhere else; the crowded houses render
purity and modesty among the girls almost impossible.
With Mr. Chambers leave I devised what we call S.
Michael s Association for Girls between fourteen and
S. Margaret s and 3>r. fteale. 33
twenty-four, being unmarried. The object : Mutual
encouragement and assistance in the graces which
become Christian women, and especially that of purity.
The rule : To say certain short prayers daily ; to sub
scribe one halfpenny per week ; when they hear any oaths,
to make an ejaculation set down for them ; so of any
impure word. There are honorary members, and by
their means we hope, half-yearly, to give a handsome
bonus. But now comes the important part. The
Associates are divided into bands of ten (you will see S.
Benedict s Denaries) : over each is set a band-mistress in
their own station of life. It is the business of any
Associate if she is thrown into such circumstances as
can scarcely co-exist with purity (e.g. suppose a lodger
were taken into the one room), to ask her band-mistress
what she had better do. If she can answer, well and
good ; if not, the band-mistresses meet at S. Mary s
every Monday evening to lay their difficulties before the
Sister Superior. If any of the Associates know that
another has behaved unworthily of her rule, she tells the
band-mistress, and so it goes up to the Sister Superior.
At the next meeting, the name not being given, if the
charge is true a majority of the band-mistresses can
suspend her or can expel her. On this latter the Sister
Superior has a vote, who also can herself suspend her.
If she is expelled, her money is lost ; if suspended, re
turned to her, and she begins all over again. They wear
a cross as a badge. On Michaelmas night I preached at
the opening ; there were three bands and a half, and a
crowded congregation. I can assure you I spoke pretty
34 Memories of a Sister.
plainly, and felt the great advantage of confession, in
supplying me with useable words. The clergy there liked
the sermon very much."
He had never been strong, and towards the end of
1865 he failed very much. But even in his failing days,
as a proof of his boundless energy, his desire of doing
the utmost he could for every one, he organized Night
Schools and Services, to be conducted by the Sisters,
for the navvies who were working on the extension
railway to Tunbridge Wells, and after that for the
workmen employed on the building of the new S.
Margaret s. That he was never to see in this world.
He was present at the laying of the foundation stone on
S. Margaret s Day, 1865, at which was a large gathering
of friends, chiefly from S. Mary s, Soho, and a grand
procession, when banners designed by Edmund and John
Sedding were carried. During his illness, scarcely a
day passed that he was not driven down to look at the
progress of those walls which he, with earthly vision, was
never to see completed. On August 6th, the Feast of
the Transfiguration, he was called home.
We of his children, who were in Haggerston, went
down to take our last look at our Founder before he was
laid in the grave. It was a hot August day, and as we
passed up from the station the air was full of the scent
of lilies in the cottage gardens, and the shadows of the
great elm trees in the fields, by the cottage, lay
pleasantly across the grass. The gray old walls were
bathed in yellow sunshine as we crossed the quadrangle
into the cool darkened room hallowed by the presence of
S. Margaret s and 3>r. ffeale. 35
the dead. He lay, in his priest s vestments, with a
peaceful smile on his calm face, and through the little
lattice window, framed in by vine leaves, came glimpses
of the blue heights of which he used to speak so lovingly
as " The hills stand round about Jerusalem." The sad
procession to the grave brought to one s memory the
bright, happy July day of last year, when the festal
procession, in all its brightness of white-robed choir
and clergy, blue garbed orphans, and here and there
the flash of crimson banners, wound across the sunny
fields to the laying of the foundation stone of the
building. What a wonderful life his was ! What a
wonderful work he had done for the Church in so many
various ways! Apart from the foundation of S.
Margaret s, he had marvellously enriched the Church
by his writings, especially in the matter of the Holy
Eastern Church, in which he was most deeply interested.
The Rev. Eugene Popoff, a Russian Priest, was an
intimate friend of his, and I remember his being present
at Vespers in the Oratory at the same time as Mr.
Ambrose Lisle Philips, the great Unity enthusiast, who
had come to see S. Margaret s, and we all felt, as it were,
a step somewhat nearer corporate re-union, when a
Roman and a Greek assisted at the same Office.
Dr. Neale himself had not the very slightest Roman
tastes or tendencies : no man less. All his interest and
sympathy lay with the Holy Eastern Church. But
when I went to S. Margaret s in 1858, I found the
reserved Sacrament in the Oratory as a matter of course
I am not quite sure when the custom of reservation
36 Memories of a Sifter.
began, but it was some time previous to that date. He
was a great ecclesiologist, and I believe he and his
friend, Mr. Benjamin Webbe, Vicar of S. Andrew s,
Wells Street, and one of the founders of the Cambridge
Camden Society, contributed together many articles on
that subject to the magazines of the day. Mr. Webbe,
I think, was his companion on the chuich tour of
which he wrote an account called Hierologus. This
had, from childhood, been a favourite of mine, and
also another one published in 1847, called The Unseen
World, a subject in which he took a very great
interest. I first read it, as a child of twelve, in
1852. I had scorned and scoffed at the possibility
of so-called " Ghost Stories " before, but this book took
a powerful hold of me, and has made me from that
day a most firm believer in visible communication
with the unseen.
Report said Sackville College was haunted, and a
lady who slept for a time in "the Earl s Chamber,"
told me that she several times has heard footsteps in
the corridor outside, when there was nothing to be
seen. I believe on one or two occasions Dr. Neale
himself came in touch with the invisible, but I cannot
speak with certainty. One rather curious thing I
remember he told us, and that was the following dream :
He had been preaching somewhere, and had stated that
from reports and collected facts, he had come to the
conclusion that rescue work was most unsatisfactory
and hopeless, as, judging by these, on an average only
about one in every two hundred of fallen women was
S. Margaret s and 2>r. ffeale. 37
truly penitent. That night he dreamed he was coming
out of his study door into the quadrangle of the college.
It was midnight, pitch dark, but he saw a great light
before him, and there was our LORD standing, with a
lantern in His hand, as Holman Hunt has painted Him
as the Light of the World. In the halo cast by the
lantern on the grass, he could see every little blade and
herb quite distinctly. Our LORD said, " How many
books have you written about the victories of My
Saints ? " He said that waking, he could not have
recollected without much thought, dreaming, he men
tioned the exact number. Our LORD said, " And can
you number all the deeds and triumphs of My Saints ? "
He said, " No, LORD ; no man can." " Then," said our
LORD, "how dare you, who cannot, limit the extent
of My mercy ? " and forthwith vanished out of his
sight; and it was borne in upon him that this was a
rebuke for the sermon he had preached limiting GOD S
mercy in dealing with souls. To the day of his
death, he said he always passed by that plot of grass
where the blessed feet had stood with the utmost
reverence.
His greatest talent was his marvellous gift of poetry
his verses went with such a swing such rhythm, such a
sweet smoothness, such verve. Here it is like the rippling
of a little brook over the pebbles in a wooded hollow, now
like a winter torrent dashing down the mountain side.
Whether in its harmonious ripples, or its mighty waves,
it carries you with it in perfect sympathy and harmony.
He makes everything tell he makes you realize the
38 Memories of a Sitfer.
intensity of the subject, and it is marvellous how smoothly
he weaves in unmanageable, many syllabled words. For
example
" Ridge of the mountain-wave,
Lower thy crest !
Wail of Euroclydon,
Be thou at rest ! "
Here is not a single unnecessary word and yet how
vividly you picture the whole scene ! And how wonder
fully that strange word Euroclydon harmonises with
the whole nay more than harmonises it gives the
verse its special character. And his translations from
the Latin and Greek have a power and majesty
especially the former which makes them so far superior
to other men s translations.
His rendering of Bernard of Morlaix s Heavenly Country
reads like a foretaste of Paradise itself, and do not his
Christmas Carols make you grasp the true feeling of
Christmas most thoroughly ? But his Easter Carols, to
my mind, surpass all. Take that most lovely one
" There stood three Maries by the tomb
On Easter morning, early,
When day had scarcely chas d the gloom,
And dew lay white and pearly."
Can you not picture the intense stillness of the early
morning, the spreading glow in the Eastern sky, and
the dewdrops quivering silently on the almond blossoms ?
More than picturing, can you not feel it ? And how
vividly he paints the sweetness of our English spring in
this
" S. Alice has her primrose gay,
S. George s bells are gleaming."
S. Margaret s and 2)r. ffedle. 39
He must have had before him the vision of those Sussex
woods, with their delicate spring tints, with here and
there rosettes of primroses peeping coyly forth from
their shelter of crinkled emerald leaves, while the whole
wood echoes with the songs of birds.
I remember being so forcibly struck with the grand
ring of his " CHRIST S own martyrs, valiant cohort,"
which he brought to S. Mary s, Soho, for All Saints
Day, in 1863. And during the last springtide of his
life, in the failing days of his feebleness, he wrote some
splendid verses on the cattle plague which was then
raging throughout the country. His heart, like that of
so many other saintly men, went out in deep love and
sympathy to the dumb beasts. If I mistake not, the
now popular hymn, " Art thou weary ? " appeared
about the same time, one, if not the very last, from his
pen.
Through his whole life, whatever he took in hand,
he did his very best with. In him there were no half
hearted measures or attempts he gave his very best.
And he expected those whom he trained to do the
same, and to spare nothing, to keep back nothing, but
| to do their very best, to the utmost of their power, in all
| things. I remember so well these words he preached
ion my admission as a novice of S. Margaret s. "You
! know what you have to expect : a continual struggle with
yourself, perpetual self-denial, continual hard work, a
(routine of prayer and toil which will often go sadly
i against flesh and blood. But you know to what all this
leads. You know ? Neither you nor I, nor the greatest
4 o
Memories of a Sister.
Saint that has not yet put off his earthly body, can
tell!"
In conclusion, I think nothing so well expresses the
whole keynote of Dr. Neale s life as these words from
his own Seatonian Prize poem of Egypt.
" Go Forward !
Forward, when all seems lost, when the cause looks utterly hopeless :
Forward, when brave hearts fail, and to yield is the rede of the coward ;
Forward, when friends fall off, and enemies gather around thee ;
Thou, though alone with thy GOD, though alone in thy courage, go
forward !
Nothing it is with Him to redeem by few or by many ;
Help, though deferred, shall arrive ; ere morn the night is the darkest."
S. Marys, Grown Street, So6o.
S. Mary s, Qrown Street, Sofia.
IN the autumn of 1858, the Rev. J. C. Chambers, then
Vicar (or, as it was called in those days, Perpetual
Curate) of S. Mary s, Crown Street, Soho, asked Dr.
I Neale for two Sisters to work in his very poor, crowded,
id destitute parish. These two Sisters were granted;
>ut one having to be recalled for urgent Home duties in
few weeks, I was sent to take her place.
People who pass in road cars and omnibuses down the
ride, airy, magnificent Shaftesbury Avenue, would hardly
dize what that neighbourhood was over forty years
jo, before houses, courts, and alleys were pulled down
widen Crown Street into the spacious thoroughfare of
rhich it constitutes a part. The parish of S. Mary s,
>ho, abutted on the notorious Seven Dials and Great
Andrew s Street, the time-famed repository for
fancy" of every description. Fowls, singing birds,
ibbits, vermin of all sorts, dog collars, etc., garnished
le windows of every shop. Hard by were Dudley and
fonmouth Streets, equally noted for their old clothes
tores ; indeed, it was difficult at times to walk along the
reets for the rows of patched third and fourth hand
)ts exposed for sale at the entrance of the cellars,
/hile frowsy garments of every description flapped and
jpped in the doorways above. Out of Monmouth
42 Memories of a Sifter.
Street a narrow filthy archway led into Monmouth Court,
a vile den, where the last dying speeches of those hanged
at Newgate were printed, on long slips of coarse paper,
topped by a rude woodcut of the gallows bearing a
pendant figure, and most execrable rhymes on topical
(chiefly police news) subjects, and atheistical and
revolutionary catechisms, printed in a similar manner,
emanated from the same press, and were hawked about
the streets and eagerly bought up by the boys. A few
steps southward lay Newport Market, a sort of oblong
square, inhabited by costermongers and thieves, while
a large abattoir stood in the centre, from beneath the
doors of which crimson streams flowed into the gutters.
Further on lay the market, whence some courts de
bouched into Leicester Square, and a labyrinth
streets lay around, chiefly inhabited by foreigners.
Crown Street (which was the locality where U
Church and Church House was situate), ran
south of Oxford Street, and the corner where it con
nected is historically remarkable for being the last ph
where the condemned stopped for a drink on their waj
to Tyburn. The public-house had been pulled do\
years before, and a butter shop occupied its site ; but
was sadly interesting to think how many Capt
Macheaths and Jack Sheppards must have halted the
on their last journey, dressed in clean holland shirts
with a nosegay to smell, and the Ordinary seat*
beside them !
To the left lay old S. Giles Church could one ere
it had ever been S. Giles-in-the-Fields ? And yet it ma)
S. Mary s, (grown Street, Sodo. 43
I have been when Crown Street was called Hog Lane, and
the pigs snouted along it for garbage beneath the hedges !
[Right over the doorway leading into S. Giles crowded
mrchyard was a large carving of the Last Judgment.
| It seemed strange to see the awful scene cut in the solid
tone slab, now grimed and black with the dust and dirt
years, looking down on the seething mass of humanity
[below, fighting, swearing, thieving, drinking, sinning
jainst GOD and each other in every possible way.
Now of our own Church S. Mary the Virgin. At
ic Five Dial end of Crown Street was a square of low
le-storied alms-houses built, it is believed, in Charles
[I. time and in the centre (the east end being hidden
the street by the old Church House, evidently
Duilt about the same date) stood the church, a square,
)lain building, lighted by oblong square-headed windows
>me feet from the ground.
It had its historical associations, being the first church
lilt in London for the worship of the Greeks, about
[677, and there was a Greek inscription over the west
loor to that effect. It subsequently fell into the hands
French Protestants, and from 1822 to 1849 into those
Dissenters, and when about to be sold as a dancing
idemy was rescued and consecrated by Bishop Blom-
jld. Mr. Archer Gurney held it previously to Mr.
Chambers, and a rough lot of customers he must have
jund the denizens of the court and its purlieus. Many
)f the public-houses around were kept by ex-pugilists,
ind a great many " pugs " lived round about. There
/ere legends extant of raids made by the roughs on the
44
Memories of a Sifter.
Church door during Service time, and of Archer Gurney
" breaking off his sermon, striding down the aisle, polish
ing off his man, returning and resuming the thread
of his discourse."
Behind the altar rose a high flat wall with an arched
ceiling, and a small door opened on the right into our
part of the Church House, and a left-hand door led into
the Schoolroom (a lean-to building running along the
north side of the Church, and also opening into Chapel
Place), and by a passage communicating with the
loft containing the organ pipes, and, past that, with
the larger portion of the Church House, which had
the principal door opening into Crown Street, and
was tenanted at that time by Dr. Littledale and his
sister. After the first winter, the Doctor s sister marry
ing, and he seeing how much more space the Sisters
needed, courteously gave up the Church House to them,
and took the little slice they had at first occupied.
It would have been strange if, in an old house and
church like these, there had not been some ghostly
rumours, and report went that the Archbishop of Samos,
who was buried under the altar, walked in all the state
of rustling vestments round the church at night ; also
that the Dissenting minister, who, if I mistake not, was
buried outside the chancel, contended the possession
of the spot with him, and also walked. Anyhow, it was
a weird, spectral place at night, with strange booms and
echoes sounding in the old walls, and curious cracks,
and footsteps, and hisMngs in the narrow passage that
v/ound behind the altar and led into the house. Dr.
S. Mary s, (Srown Street, Softo. 45
Littledale always affirmed he looked into the church one
night and heard the organ playing, and a soft light
shining from it, and as he stepped in, the light died, the
melancholy notes ceased, and all was darkness, except
for the candle he carried, and with which he investigated
all round, and found the keyboard locked.
Well to this place so near to one s heart ever since,
I went one gloomy December afternoon. I had left East
Grinstead in one of those funny old-fashioned cattle
trucks of a third class carriage, in company with a cheery
party of Welsh drovers, all returning from the annual
fair, and chattering away in a marvellous guttural
language. The winter sun was shining brightly over
the leaf-strewn fields and the yet red woods, but as I
rolled into London Bridge the gas lamps twinkled in a
gray, murky atmosphere. And grayer, and murkier, and
darker, and gloomier it got, as we turned from the glare
and bustle of Oxford Street, down the narrow, brown
ill-lighted windings of Crown Street, and stopped at the
door of the Church House. By the faint light of the
lamp at the corner of Chapel Place, I could see it was a
sort of a yellowy, drabby, dirty looking, one storied
square house, with a heavy old fashioned door, and a
window on each side. To the left, divided by iron
railings from the street, was what I learned to call the
wide court, which was flagged, with a gutter down the
middle, a pump, some ragged, haggard women taking
clothes off some lines, who when they were not gossiping
to each other in loud, discordant voices, were cuffing and
yelling at the half-clad squalid children playing with a
46 Memories of a Sister.
dead kitten in the gutter. To the right were two dirty
little shops, built flush with the Church House, aud
leaning their backs against it as if for support, and at;
their corner was the narrow court which led to the
schoolroom. People usually went down the wide court
to church besides being roomier, it was more respec
table than the narrow side.
Our door was round the corner in the wide court
it admitted you into an exceptionally narrow passage,
with a door to the left, leading into the church, and
another to the right, into a large class-room, where the
Guild of S. Alban used to hold their meetings, hence
called the guild-room, and then by the long, winding,
ghostly passage at the back of the Church into the
schoolroom. We went up some very narrow stairs,
in the pea-soup atmosphere which seemed to pervade
everything, into the Sisters abode, which was a long,
narrow, old-fashioned room, running at the back of the
church, with a window opening into the wide court ; a
check cotton curtain divided this half off as the living-
room, behind the curtain was the sleeping portion. A
tiny kitchen and servants room opened out of it, and
voila tout.
It looked very pretty and snug, with the kettle singing
on the hob, and tea laid out on a little table, and a few
prints from Philp, in Oxford frames, hanging on the
wall, and a small table in the corner, covered with red
baize, whereon stood a black cross, and two or three
devotional books.
After tea came night school. The schoolroom was,
!
S. Mary s, Grown Street Sofia. 47
as I said, a lean-to, reached by the narrow passage,
It was lighted by sky-lights, and had been run up
against the church, and the lower half of each of the
north windows formed part of its wall.
I don t remember much of that night school ; they
were very thin, sallow, dirty, ragged, smelly girls of
from eleven to fourteen.
At half-past eight we went to church.
Dear old church ! There has been none ever like
you to me in my whole life ! Perfectly square, with
tawny, discoloured walls, matchboarded a few feet up
with stained wood ; a chancel railed off, three sides
of a square in front of the altar, which was raised on
four steps and draped in violet, with a crown of
thorns worked in white on the frontal, and heavy violet
hangings, bordered with white stripes, behind ; to the
left, by the schoolroom door, the organ. A sort of gray
fog seemed to float all round, amidst which the gas
lights burned dimly. There were no pillars or recesses
in the building : all was perfectly square and funereally
gray. The rattle of the vehicles passing to and fro
a; tin Crown Street, the scuttling of feet and shrieking
of bigger lads, and girls romping and chasing each
jjji (Other round and round Chapel Place, with now and
again a bang at the door, all vibrated through the
edifice.
The choristers were all in black cassocks, and sung
:he Dies IY& slowly and solemnly. The Priests were
men whose names have been since noted in the
Church John Charles Chambers, Richard Frederic
48 Memories of a Sister.
Littledale, and Malcolm MacColl. The former came up
to us after Service, and greeted me kindly and pleasantly ;
Dr. Littledale also said a few kind words, and so ended
my first evening in Soho.
How dark and gloomy the church looked the next
morning at the early celebration at seven o clock ! all
the four corners and the body of the building shrouded
in mysterious darkness ; only the purple of the altar
faintly showing by the dim light of the corona in the
chancel. The echoing footsteps of the Priest who cele
brated were heard coming from the vestry up the centre
long before his white spectral form emerged from the
darkness into the pale halo cast by the corona. The
court outside was silent, for the Sohoites were late
goers to bed, and consequently late risers ; indeed, some
nights it seemed they never went to bed at all, with the
sound of thieves whistles, policemen s rattles, running
footsteps, odd scrambling sounds on the roofs, drunken
shouting, catches of songs, women screaming, and the
never-ceasing rattle of wheels.
School began at 9.30. I had always had in my own
mind a penchant for rags and dirt, and so the appear
ance of the scholars was congenial : boys, girls, and
infants mixed, in torn garments, and very short of
garments at all, with white, thin, dirty, squalid faces
and unkempt locks, but, oh ! such keen, scrutinising,
vigilant eyes restless, irrepressible little beings, who
seemed as if they could not sit still without twisting about
and fidgetting up and down, and talking ; and all seemed
pervaded with an odd sort of odour, a combination of
S. Mary s, Grown Street Sofio. 49
tobacco, treacle, and dirt. School, with constantly
varying lessons, and change of position, and a good deal
of singing, which they all enjoyed, came to an end at
twelve, when we had prayers and dismissal. Lots of
the little white faces were held up to be kissed as they
trooped out into Chapel Place, where an uncouth gang
of big boys were leaning against the wall, chucking up
knives, and tossing halfpence, and holloaing, " Hulloa,
old Mother Nightcap ! " as the Sister s head appeared at
the door, till the echoing tramp of the policeman at the
bottom of the court evoked the ejaculation of " Kool
slop ! " (" Look out for the policeman ! ") and they
melted in every direction.
We dined when our flock had gone ; then re
commenced school at two, and dismissed them again
at four. Dr. Littledale came in usually for afternoon
prayers, and whenever I hear the Advent hymn, "Creator
of the stars of night," the picture of those first winter
afternoons in S. Mary s School always rises vividly to
my memory the room, veiled in the gray shades of
the December evening, the rows of emaciated children,
the bright eyes, and white faces, and little thin, white
arms, shining out of the gloom, the white-capped,
gray-robed Sister standing in front of them, and Dr.
Littledale, with his calm, earnest face, at the end of the
room, leading off the hymn !
Our routine for the day was pretty much the same,
the evenings being sometimes occupied with night-
school, sometimes with district visiting. The first house
I ever entered was just at the corner of the court, over a
E
50 Memories of a Sister.
coal shop, No. 9, Crown Street, third floor front. It
was a dark winter s evening, the gas was flaring in the
shop to enable the good-tempered owner to preside over
her stores of coal and greens, in which she was assisted
by her husband, a square-built, short-set man of the
coster type, very quiet ordinarily, but when his blood was
up he could fight like like old boots ! His wife boasted
it took ten policemen to hold him, and in after days I
have myself seen him floor six when a row was going
on in the street ! But he was a good man to the Sisters,
and would stand up for them through thick and thin,
and so would his wife, with her jolly, smiling, rosy face,
plentifully besmeared with coal dust. The swing door
leading from the shop into the passage ushered us into
total darkness, and we had to feel our way up the broken
stairs by the greasy, sticky bannister, counting each
landing as we reached it, to make sure we were on the
right track. We nearly fell foul in the darkness of a
small boy carrying a basin of dirty water to throw away
below ; but luckily the meeting took place on a landing,
where a gleam of light from under one of the doors
prevented us colliding.
This climb having been accomplished, we stumbled
into a small, bare room, with yellow-washed walls,
seamed with cracks, and smeared with dirt, and a
flaring tallow candle in a bottle, showing that the only
furniture the room contained was a wooden table, a red
earthen pan full of water, and a heap of filthy rags in
the corner, which served for the family bed. Here lived
a husband, wife, and five children. He was a cabman,
S. Mary s, Grown Street Sorjo. 5 1
and was out on duty ; the wife a very pretty, delicate -
looking young woman was sitting on the floor by the
bed, where one of the children was recovering from
typhoid fever. I believe originally he had been a
gentleman s coachman, and she a servant in some good
family ; whether it was drink, or what, had brought
them to this deplorable state I do not know. She
seemed utterly hopeless and helpless, and the stench of
the atmosphere was hardly endurable.
Thanks to Sister Mary s energetic measures, and the
good food provided, the child recovered. The family
moved away from Crown Street to Newport Market
shortly after, and we were constantly in touch with the
children. The eldest, a stout, sturdy fellow, rejoiced in
the name of Punch, and when he was about twelve or
thirteen was the terror of the Market, as he could lick
any boy twice his size, and led a sort of lawless,
predatory, guerilla life, in defiance of the whole world.
If a policeman tried to take him, he had a way of
running full butt into his middle, and half doubling
him up, then dodged between his legs, and fled. " None
of the slops can t ketch Punch ! " was the admiring
verdict of ihejeunesse doree of the Market.
In the Mission School in Newport Place a colleague
of his had annoyed the teachers with blowing tobacco
smoke through the keyhole, and holloaing certain
reprehensible and objurgatory remarks anent both
instructor and scholars, till the former, losing all
patience, opened the door suddenly and dragged him
in ; immediately from round the corner appeared Master
52 Memories of a Sister.
Punch at the head of a semi-clothed gang, clasped the
prisoner round the waist clothes wouldn t do, they
wouldn t hold and made a sort of queue across the
court, all pulling like the tug-of-war, till they rescued
their man and fled. There was a younger brother, such
a pretty-looking little fellow, with large violet eyes like
his mother, and a face like a peach. He was a much
less pronounced character than Punch. Oddly enough,
after losing sight of their identity for five and twenty
years, I find he the younger brother has become a
great man in the pugilistic world, and a rich man, and
his name is often mentioned in the sporting papers. I
often wonder if he ever remembers the old court in
Soho, and the Sisters who used to visit there !
In the spring of 1859, in consequence, as I said
previously, of Dr. Littledale s sister leaving, to settle
abroad, he proposed taking the small, back portion of
the Church House for himself, and giving up the larger,
front part, for the use of the Sisters and their work.
This caused an alteration in the menage of both
establishments, for he parted with a long-tongued old
lady, who had acted as housekeeper, and who, when she
was not talking scandal with the court ladies (as we
named the inhabitants of Chapel Place), was making
scarlet flannel collars for her many cats. The smaller
portion of the Church House afforded no accommodation
for a housekeeper, and he had one of the congregation
of the church, a worthy old soul, in to char and do for
him. Our own domestics had not been much more of a
success. Our first was a girl from Dudley Street that
S. Mary s, Grown Street, Sofio. 53
famed dep6t for second-hand clothes ! who was dirty
and untidy beyond human conception. Later on the
Mother took her into the Orphanage at East Grinstead,
and in the course of a year or two she turned out a first-
rate servant !
Our second was an old lady rejoicing in the name of
Honoria ! who, when Sister Mary suffered from a pain
in her back from overwork, asked me in a most
mysterious tone whether " the poor dear inflicted any
penances on herself, as she had know d some nuns at
Belong, who, poor dear creatures, nailed crucifixes on
to their backs with silver nails, to prevent their
corroding ! "
Our new rooms were much brighter and fresher and
airier, looking on to Crown Street, with a good kitchen,
which facilitated our making soups, etc., for the poor,
besides giving us a sitting-room apart from our sleeping-
room, and accommodation for two respectable girls to
act as servants.
Among the children of our school were two little girls
of ten and eleven, Ellen and Katie Magrath, and a boy
a few years younger, as regular a little scamp as ever
you could set eyes on ! The father, a gilder, was a rough
sort of man, terribly addicted to drink indeed, some
times he got half wild with it. In the autumn his wife
lay dying, and Sister Mary frequently visited her. She
always noticed the intense repugnance Mrs. Magrath
had to take any food or medicine from her husband,
and a suspicion flitted across her mind that he had
administered something to her which caused her illness.
54 Memories of a Sifter.
One evening little Katie ran round, with great,
frightened eyes to say "mother was dying," and Sister
Mary went round at once, and sat with her. Presently
there were heavy footsteps on the stairs, and Magrath
reeled in, quite drunk. He staggered up to the bed,
steadying himself by the bed post, and looked at his
wife a few minutes, then, turning to Sister Mary, said,
" What ! aint that devil dead yet ? " The poor woman
asked for a drain of water, and Magrath lurched up to
the table and fetched some in a cup. She turned away
shuddering, and would not touch a drop till Sister Mary
refilled the cup herself from a pitcher. She stayed as
long as she could, but was obliged to leave at last.
In the middle of the night there was a violent ring at
the bell, and Jemmie Magrath appeared in his shirt,
crying, and declaring his father threatened to kill him.
Two minutes after came Katie in the same condition,
and saying Ellen was too ill to come, and she and
Jemmie both sobbed and cried, till presently a neigh
bour appeared, carrying poor little Ellen, quaking all
over, and wrapped in a dirty shawl. A bed was made
up for the poor little mites in the Church House, and
next evening the news came that poor Mrs. Magrath
was dead, and her husband was tearing and raving all
over the place threatening to kill himself. Sister Mary
went out from the home, and, meeting a policeman at
the corner of Rose Street, pressed him to come with
her. He refused to go in, but said he would wait at the
bottom of the stairs while she went up. The moment
she opened the door Magrath, with bloodshot eyes,
S. Mary t, (Brown Street So6o. 55
wretched, dirty, and unshaven, rushed at her, exclaiming
he would kill her. " Stop a minute, stop ! " he cried,
and, running to a cupboard, he rattled over some things
in search of a knife. " Now then ! " he said, brandishing
one aloft, as she stood in the doorway, " come on ! Look
here ! you re the very person I wanted ; I want to kill
you, I do ! Come here ! " Sister Mary swallowed her
fright she was a brave, plucky woman, mind you and
tried reason with him, saying she knew he could not
kill her, her time to die was not come yet. With the
cunning of delirium he changed his tactics, and seeing
she would not come nearer, said, " Now, look here,
Sister, at my hand ; I ve lost three fingers already, and
I want to make it all square by cutting off the other
one. Just come and look here see ! " But she still
stood in the doorway.
" Don t let s cut it off to-day, Magrath ; we ll see
about that to-morrow ; and now sit down and be quiet,
and look at your poor wife there ! " He rushed frantically
about, vowing he could not live without her ; he should
never be happy now she was dead ; he didn t care what
became of himself or anybody else !
Gradually he soothed down, dropped the knife on the
floor, fell into a chair, and burst into tears. Sister
Mary dashed forward, quick as lightning, snatched up
the knife, and flung it down the stairs. Then she
turned, and with all her force pushed him on to a bed
in the corner, where the children used to sleep. His
wife was laid out on their own bed. In falling, he
clutched her wrist, and tried to drag her down too, but
56 Memorict of a Sifter.
she jerked herself away. He leaped up and rushed at
her, and she pushed him down again, sped out, locked
the door, and put the key in her pocket. She was such
a little, slight woman, but with a will of iron ! She
gave the key to a respectable man who lived below,
asking him to keep an eye on him, and he took him
some tea when he went to work at five next morning ;
but, not thinking, left the key inside the door. About
nine o clock Sister Mary went round ; the door was
wide open, and he was gone. He was next seen dead
drunk in the street, and shortly went into the country on
the tramp, taking Jemmie with him. Ellen and Katie
were taken into the Orphanage at East Grinstead, and,
I believe, are now both married, and doing well in
British Columbia.
One January evening, a lady who helped us look up
our absentees from school told us she had found a family
in great distress a few doors off, in Crown Street, and
Sister Mary sent me to see about it. You had to pass
through a fried fish shop ; the smell of the rancid grease,
and the not over-fresh fish steamed out into the cold
frosty air, and the sound of frizzling and bubbling
saluted your ears as you entered. It was some trouble
to force one s way through the crowd of men who
thronged the counter, and having struggled behind
backs and under elbows, in close proximity to unwashed
hands holding unctuous pieces of fish, dripping with
fat, having fought through the smell, the glare, and
the crowd, you were precipitated through a swing
door into utter darkness, in which you found your
S. Mary t, Grown Street, Sofia. 57
way by slimy steps to a third floor back. A tallow dip
flittered and guttered on the chimney-piece, lighting up
the dirty walls and ceiling, which were so cracked one
marvelled they could hold together ! There was a heap
of gray ashes in the grate, and a bed with one or two
equally gray fragments of bed clothes on. Mrs. Macey,
a slight, dark-eyed Italian, as dirty as the floor, sat
holding a wizen baby in her arms, and David,
j Johnnie, and Bessie, wan, solemn-eyed children,
i crouched beside her. The evening was piercing
>ld, and the bright stars shone down through the
icurtained window.
Her husband, a tailor, had slipped in the frost, and
jken his leg, and was in Charing Cross Hospital,
lone of the children had been baptized, but Dr. Little-
le induced her to let him christen the baby. The
jxt evening, after school, I went round again. They
rare sitting round a smouldering fire, in the gray
fanuary afternoon, having tea on a broken, sloppy table,
little bundle in a white cloth lay on a shelf. " There s
ic little one," said Mrs. Macey, pointing to the shelf.
After the Minister came in yesterday and done her,
le was took with fits, and I thought she was dying ;
>ut I hadn t got no candle, and couldn t tell. She
jmed to get worse and worse, poor lamb, and at last I
>uld stand it no longer, and I sent David to the shop
id the corner for a farden candle on trust. The
roman, she come and sat with me, and we did all we
)uld ; but it warn t of no use, and she died before mid-
light."
58 Memories of a Sifter.
Poor little wan, wizened mite ! Could one regret its
little thread of life had been sundered ?
In February, Macey came out of the Hospital, a
respectable, good-looking man, far superior to his wife,
or, as we ascertained from him, not his wife they had
never been married. " I never had the money for the
banns," he said, sadly. They were made man and wife
as speedily as possible.
It will suffice here to say that for seven years
we worked in Mr. Chambers parish. Here it was we
first made the acquaintance of our good friends, Dr.
Littledale and Admiral Baillie Hamilton, and here also
of many loving hearts, whose friendship followed us
from the West into these distant wilds of the East.
Mr. Chambers gave his life for his people ; he worked
heart and soul among them ; he was indeed the
sinners friend, and the helper of many a poor strugg
ling soul.
Some one was speaking the other day of Mrs. Monsell,
the first Mother Superior of Clewer, and then came
vividly before me my first sight of her, thirty-three
years ago a gloomy November day in Soho, with the
sun struggling through the dark haze in which Crown
Street was always enfolded. Sister Alice and I had just
finished our dinner, and I was sitting on the hearthrug,
surrounded by patch-work, trying to get enough fixed
for the afternoon school, when the girl who waited on
us opened the door, saying some name I did not catch,
and ushered in a visitor. Sister Alice rushed eagerly
to welcome her, and introduced me as " the little Novice
S. Mary s, Grown Street, So6o. 59
we have working here," upon which I received a bright,
kindly smile, and a few cheerful, good-natured words,
after which she sat down on a large mahogany chest
which stood in the window, serving both to keep our
linen in and to sit upon. (By the bye, this same chest
stands now in one of the rooms of the present Priory.)
I had no idea who our visitor was. I saw she was very
pleasant, and kindly, and comfortable, and I saw Sister
Alice seemed to think a good deal of, and be very fond
of her, and I conjectured, probably, she was some
widow lady who helped the Mission at S. Mary s, Soho ;
but difficulties about getting certain bits of my work
to fit together properly engrossed me, and then the
hands of the clock pointed five minutes to two, and I
scrambled up my patchwork and my school keys, and
hurried down into the schoolroom to assist the
governess. By five o clock I was up again, and
learned to my dismay the pleasant lady was none other
than one for whom I had been taught the greatest
reverence and awe the Mother Superior of Clewer.
Ah, me ! what pangs of remorse I had about sitting
curled up on the floor, and how I regretted the absorp-
ion of all ideas in getting a bit of pink to fit into a bit
blue, when I might have been drinking in the words
f wisdom that fell from her lips ! That " lost oppor-
ities never return," was not true in my case. Eight
rs elapsed before I saw her again, and then, once
ore, the Mother of S. Margaret s and myself inter -
iewed her at the time of the Roman Secession, and I
bund her words were words of wisdom indeed. We
60 Memories of a Sister.
saw her at the Home in Rose Street, Soho just as
genial and kindly as ever. One of her Novices was
sewing a veil when we went in, and she took it from her
hands, saying, smilingly, " Give it me, child, I can do it
better than you," and, stitching away cheerfully, she
chatted meantime, entering into every difficulty we
unfolded to her, discussing each pro and con, and, so to
speak, blazing a path through what looked, in prospect,
like an impassable forest. I have never forgotten
her, or the wise and kindly Sister Georgina who
presided over the Mission work at S. Alban s, to whose
counsels and friendship we have been in past years
much beholden.
And, in looking back through the vista of yesterdays,
and those who said to us, " Be of good courage," another
vision is painted upon my memory a vision of a little
room, approached through a long barn -like building, on
either side of which are stretched out rough beds. On
these poor, mean beds sit dejected, weary figures, with
whom the world has dealt hardly partly, poor souls,
through their own faults or mistakes anyhow, whether
or no, they are downtrodden and sick at heart, and it
seems as if the world had no place for them. Ragged and
torn they are, and scant are their garments, and there is
a set look of sullen endurance on their thin, pallid faces.
But stay ; from out that little room beams upon them
the kindly vision of one whose heart is overflowing with
a great charity, whose capacity of sympathy is un
bounded, whose forgiveness knows no depths of sin so
deep as not to be pardoned. Her sweet, tender,
S. Mary s, (Brown Street, Sodo. 61
sympathetic voice falls on their dulled ears like music
from Paradise, and a light, as of happier days, illumines
each saddened countenance as they turn towards her,
their helper, their saviour under GOD. The place is
the Newport Market Refuge ; the Sister is one of our
own S. Margaret s Sister Zillah and oh ! what help
and comfort in every trouble did not one receive from
her talks in that little room. Dear, quaint little room !
with the three-cornered fire-place, and the window
barred and grated against dangerous missiles from
boyish hands looking down into the street and court
below, from which rose up, by day and night, the cease
less hum of voices, the screams of children, the shrill,
yelling laughter of girls, the sharp expostulations of
women, and the hoarse, gruff tones of the costermongers
and butchers.
This Newport Market Refuge had been begun in 1863
in a very small way by one of the S. Mary s clergy.
Working in the neighbourhood of the Market he came
I across so many homeless, miserable lads, whom he
! housed and tried to do something for. But men,
i women, and girls, all homeless and houseless, flotsam
land jetsam on the London streets, were constantly
cropping up, and he felt that he must widen his borders.
A.t his instigation, then, and through the efforts of such
kind friends as Mr. J. A. Shaw Stewart, Mr. and Mrs.
Gladstone, and others, the slaughter-houses in the
middle of the Market were secured, and turned into
\ Refuge, for men below stairs, and women above.
Mrs. Gladstone had always proved herself a good, kind
62 Memories of a Sifter.
friend to the Sisters and the work in Soho (her interest
and great kindness continuing to us here in the East
End up to the time of her death), and she threw herself
with all her wonted vigour and energy into this scheme
of the Refuge. It was on the opening day I heard
Mr. Gladstone speak it was the only time I ever had
that pleasure, and I shall never forget it.
A most prominent feature in our reminiscences of
Soho is our boys, and among our boys generally stand
out first and foremost our court boys. What a charming
set they were ! What bundles of rags and dirt, and
shrewdness and impudence ! What splendid hands at
turning Catherine wheels along the pavement, at cheek
ing a policeman, at saucing the court " ladies," at
thieving or, as they call it, nailing ! Our court, you
must know, was Chapel Place, in the centre of which
the church and house stood. There were many other
courts in the neighbourhood, each with its own peculiar
species of boy ; but our court ranked highest in the
social scale.
Mr. Chambers had taken one of the cottages at the
west end, in which he placed two or three old women
communicants, so that they might live peaceably and be
spared from the workhouse, and he had called it S. John s
Hostel. But these dear old people were only human ;
they all had tongues, and all had tempers, which
latter the boys did their best to aggravate to the utmost.
Inside the Hostel walls, I am afraid the old ladies
rubbed each other up on the matter of cups and sundry
household articles, as to which was who s, and also in
S. Mary s, Grown Street Sofo. 63
the matter of seniority, as to who was the oldest, and
which had seen the most eventful eras : also as to which
was the best preserved, and retained most power of
getting about ; but on the point of their common enemy,
the court boy, they all joined forces together and
presented a united phalanx against the enemy. War
was waged on these occasions, not only with Jemmy
and Tommy, but with Jemmy and Tommy s mammas,
who all possessed a strong arm and a strong voice, and
during the almost daily operation of hanging out clothes
to dry on strings tied across the court, a sort of civil war
i among the inhabitants raged perpetually, whereat the
said Jemmy and Tommy and their youthful friends
rejoiced greatly.
Dear visions of the past ! How their faces rise up
from the cloudy memories of bygone years, and one
J wonders where they now are, and what they are doing !
1 Shall I tell you who the heroes of this little Iliad were ?
I How well I remember Farden s first appearance in our
I school a tallish, red-faced, black-haired Irish boy, out
pf the very Irish court opposite. His real name was
jfohnnie Grady, but he was introduced to me by his
fww de guerre of Farden-a-dozen, " Cos, Sister, his
:nother, she sells apples on a stall on the Dials, and
: 7 arden, he gets all the rotten ones and sells them a
arden (farthing) a dozen to the kids ! " Farden never
tad very much to say for himself in our presence, but I
lelieve he was the hero who led the others on to war in
ilvery raid on sweet stuff, and old women s apple stalls,
Ind in every street fight. He disappeared entirely from
64 Memories of a Sister.
the scenes after a year of our acquaintance, most likely
being provided with a residence at Government expense.
Certainly his lean prehensile fingers looked as if they
must close on every article that came within his reach.
He was one of the costermonger race. Watkin came
from a family who got their living by the hod and shovel.
Square built, rough and determined, he was the massive
supporter of the lithe and wily Farden in all their forays.
He, too, after a while was lost sight of in the ever-
shifting, surging crowd of humanity which ebbed and
flowed in Soho and S. Giles.
Billy Day, a fair-haired, apple-cheeked lad, was
sort of aristocrat, as his father owned a coal sh
and a cart and pony, and Billy asserted his dignity
in all the glories of a coal-smudged face, with t
same conscious pride as an Indian brave puts
his war paint. Mr. Billy was altogether rather too
grand a man for us to have much to do with, still
he condescended from time to time to give a grimy
look into the schoolroom, and to join, in a sort of
degage way, in any lark which seemed particularly
interesting never forgetting he was the son and heir
of W. Day, coal dealer.
Fatty ! well, I know nothing more of him than that he
was Fatty, the bosom friend and sworn companion of
Farden. I never knew what his name was, or where he
came from. He resembled a calf s head in his face
fat, white, and small-eyed : his clothes were more burst
out than those of others, because they had the daily
friction, not only of joints, but of solid fat solid fat,
S. Mary s, Grown Street Sodo. 65
which, once on, forbid their being divested till they
dropped off piece by piece.
And Lygo, my poor, dear Lygo ! Oh, what a big,
cowardly lout you were ! your comrades called you
Bullocky, on account of your enormous head, thatched
with shock manes of hair, and your large, grave, round
eyes, resembling those of an ox. And yet you, the
prince of louts, had the sweetest, prettiest little fairy of
a sister that ever danced at the Olympic theatre ! You,
I believe, got on during pantomime season as some sort
of an animal, I never exactly ascertained what. Do we
not remember you lumbering into the schoolroom one
afternoon, with your knuckles to your eyes, sobbing and
roaring, " Farden s hit me ! " and little Punch from
Newport Market, who reached nearly to your elbow,
running up and saying, " Never mind, Bullocky, I ll
lick him for you after school ! " I believe Punch made
some excuse for both his friend s cowardice and his big
head by saying, " Bullocky had tried to smoke some
cigars one day, and all the smoke got into his head and
had never come out again."
An organ blower being wanted for the church, Lygo
was promoted to that office, for which he was to receive
two shillings a month. Should pressing and important
business prevent his being at his post such as helping
his father occasionally, who was a scene shifter at the
Olympic Theatre, or, I fear, sometimes business on his
own account in the rearguard of the forces of Messrs.
Farden & Co., on a foraging expedition in Newport
Market he was to pay another boy a penny a night to
F
66 Memories of a Sifter.
take his place. A sharp little fellow, called Brads,
from the Prince s Row Mission, was usually his substi
tute, but after several wrangles over the pence which
Brads claimed and Lygo was unwilling to hand over,
they came to a regular dispute, which the boys decided
was to be settled by single combat, after dark, in the
lonely purlieus of Soho Square. Brads, yearning for
revenge and pennies, could not control his impatience
till the settled night, but pursued Lygo after church,
and, amidst an admiring circle of choir boys, attacked
Lygo (who was twice his size) in the street. Lygo,
roaring and howling, fled, pursued by the wasp-like
Brads, and never rested till he was safe in his mother s
room up three pair of stairs. His organ blowing days
were, however, brought to a premature end by his
bringing a pocketful of hot jam tarts to church one
Sunday night, intending them for refreshment during
the sermon, and upon the organist expostulating and
confiscating these dainties, he flung himself on the floor
and kicked everyone who came near him.
One afternoon in school we also had a little episode.
Once a week one of the clefcgy came in to catechize the
children, and on this occasion an evil spirit seemed to
have taken possession of Lygo. He fled underneath a
gallery at the far end of the room, singing at the top ot
his voice the then popular song of " Oh, Bob Ridley,
oh ! " in answer to all the questions, and neither force
nor argument could dislodge him for a long time. At
last we sent Farden and Watkin into his lair, one at
each end of the gallery, and they, both seizing an arm,
S. Mary s, Grown Street, Sodo. 67
pulled him contrary ways, while he kicked and roared
and yelled, and the glass roof above was crowded by
court and other boys, pitching down stones, and
shouting, " Oh, my ! look at old Bullocky going to get
a clout. I say, Bullocky, here s your father a-coming."
The news spread around, and one elder brother the
expertest thief in the neighbourhood came to the school
door, swearing he should come out without a caning,
while the other, a soldier on furlough, rang at the door
of the Church House, saying he " hoped they d wallop
his brother well ; " it would do him no end of good.
And he got the " walloping " before he left.
At Easter there was a terrible visitation of small-pox
in Soho and S. Giles. A number of the children were
laid up, and the school had to be closed in consequence.
Some of our workers in the home also caught it, and
bad to be nursed until they could be removed into the
country. I had gone away for a few days rest and
change, returning one evening late in April. Doubly
dingy did dear Soho look after the blue skies and pink
and white apple and pear blossoms, and banks of prim
roses under the budding hedgerows that divided the
newly-ploughed fields, where the rooks stalked in
solemn procession along the freshly-turned furrows,
from the woody coverts where the rabbits scudded over
the tender young grass. There in the country every
thing was bright and sunshiny, and spoke of renewed
life and spring ; but, as I turned out of the bustle of
Oxford Street, down the narrow, dusky windings of
Crown Street, all seemed black and hushed, to speak
68 Memories of a Sifter.
of death rather than of life, of decay sooner than
of spring.
The dear old schoolroom had been whitewashed, and
the haunted old house cleaned and renovated, and, after
a discussion of plans for work, etc., we retired for the
night. Ring, ring, came the bell sharp, repeated rings,
as of somebody who wanted something, and not one ot
the runaway tinkles given by some of the loafers who
shacked about the public-house opposite. And we
found it was a poor woman, in very great and terrible
distress. She lived in Rose Street ; her husband and
children had, and were still having, the small-pox, and a
child of three was lying dead. By some negligence on
her part the body had not been removed, as it should
have been, to S. Anne s Mortuary, and now the husband
declared he would cut his throat unless it was taken
away, as the child had been dead five days.
" There is nothing for it but for us to go," said Sister
Mary. " You " to the woman " go home, and we
will both be round directly." Provided with a roll of
wax taper and a box of lucifers, we turned out into the
street ; a still, dark night, for the Easter moon was in
its last quarter, and the white stars scintillated in the
deep blue sky in cold contrast to the yellow, flaring gas
lamps down below. The entrance to the court opposite,
usually blocked up by a crowd of ragged, villainous-
looking young thieves^ was empty ; they were all
outside the theatres, picking pockets. The public-
house across the street was within a quarter of an hour
of closing, and the din of voices inside rose and swelled
S. Mary *, Grown Street, Sofa. 69
most audibly, mingled with here and there a piercing
shriek or laugh from some poor wretched girl. Outside,
on the kerb, a faded-looking woman, thin, haggard,
wrapped in a ragged shawl, was singing plaintive songs
in a rich contralto voice, for which she might get a few
pence, and now and then, when the publican was in a
good temper, he sent her out a little something by the
potman.
When we turned into Rose Street, all was quiet, and
inside the open doorway of No. everything was pitch
dark. We lit our coil of wax and stumbled up the
shallow, old-fashioned stairs to the top floor, from
whence proceeded a sickening odour of chloride of lime.
Inside the room everything was splashed with and
steeped in it. A bit of candle burnt feebly in a tin
candlestick, showing a tub, half rilled with a heap of
clothes in chloride of lime ; a bed, a mere heap of rags,
in one corner on the floor, containing two children, thick
out with small-pox ; in the other corner a bedstead, on
which lay the little dead child. Crouching over the fire,
rapped in a shawl, was a gaunt-looking man, his face
so seamed and scarred with small-pox, and his bleared
syes glancing every now and then with a half-fierce,
f-frightened look at the form on the bed. The wife
,s moving up and down, wringing her hands and
ing wildly.
We asked if the parish authorities would not fetch the
dy away, and the man gruffly replied, " So they
ould, if she " meaning his wife " would have seen
.bout it before ; now it was too late, they would not
?o Memories of a Sifter.
come," and if he had to spend the night with that body
in the room, he d make an end of himself as sure as hej
was a living man, and then followed abuse of thej
woman, mixed with half- frightened execrations about!
spending one more night with a corpse. Sister Mary!
promptly sent the woman out to see if anyone could bej
got to fetch a coffin, "and we will go round to the
mortuary."
After ten minutes waiting, with the children wailind
on the floor, the man shuddering and insisting that ht |
would destroy himself unless the body went out,
heard the wife s steps returning, followed by the hea>
lumbering tread of a man, and she re-entered the roomj
together with a rough, bricklaying sort of individuE
reeling and lurching in, with a pipe in his mouth am
his hat all aslant on his head. After much drunkei
protestation, he was induced to accompany us in que
of the coffin.
It must have been considerably past midnight whe
we knocked at the door of the mortuary in Dean Stre
knocked, and knocked, and knocked almost hopeless
till at last the door opened and an old crone put o
her head. On the object of our errand being explain*
she said she had been expecting the coffin to be fetche
and had waited up till 11.30, and no one had come,
now she had a bad cold, and had put her feet in
water, and what did we mean by knocking her up
this time of night, etc., and very much more to the S
purpose. However, at last she consented to give t
man a shell in wKich to fetch the poor child.
S. Mary s, Grown Street, Sodo. 71
When we got back the woman declared she could not
touch the child to lift it in ; the man, whom the night
air seemed to have made drunker than ever, could not
be tempted to do so, and she said to her husband,
" Them two sweet creatures will put the little dear in,"
so we wrapped the little body in the sheet, put it in, and
tied down the lid with a piece of old list. We could not
trust the man to carry it downstairs, but managed it
ourselves, and along as far as Greek Street, he tumbling
and rolling along beside us, muttering and murmuring
to himself. At the corner of Greek Street we put the
coffin down to rest a minute, when a man came up and
asked if it was a dead body we were carrying, as it was
an illegal proceeding. On our telling him all the
circumstances, he roughly ordered the man to put the
coffin on his shoulders instead of " letting those two
females do it," and so we got it with difficulty along, by
dint of walking close beside, and putting our hands on
the coffin to steady it.
It was a weird night s work, walking slowly through
the dark, silent streets, with our companion stumbling
along, every now and then threatening to put his burden
down and fly ; the man who had stopped us joined in
the little procession ; we found he was an undertaker
living hard by, and, we suppose, was therefore naturally
attracted by the sight of a coffin, and we were very
glad of his presence, as we felt it compelled the man
to go on, and not throw up the affair, as he seemed
disposed to do. We were indeed truly thankful when
we arrived at the mortuary, and after much and repeated
72 Memories of a Sifter.
knocking again aroused the old woman, and placed the
poor little burden in her charge. Our friend, the under
taker, called round the following morning, and made
sundry inquiries, and, I believe, had reason to be satis
fied that we could not have acted otherwise than we
did.
Small-pox was a long time before it was quite stamped
out, though we heard traditions of earlier days in Soho,
when a black flag had been hung across Crown Street,
warning people not to come down the infected district.
This year of 1862, so far as I remember, was a sickly
one, for in the summer were many cases of fever, and I
remember specially one very hot Sunday in July news
came that Mrs. Jones and her children, in Moor Street,
were all laid up with fever. Teddy Jones, a big lad of
thirteen or thereabouts, belonged to our day school, and
we had missed him the last week, and intended sending
to enquire for him. Sister Mary and I sallied out in
the broiling, sweltering heat of the afternoon, past the
knots of lads playing pitch and toss at the corner, with
one eye on the pence and one on the look out for the
police, ready to give the warning cry of " Kool slop ! "
(" Look out for the police ! "). The Jones s lived at the
very top of the house as most of the folk with whom
we had dealings did and we mounted into the choking,
stifling room, with the sun pouring in at the curtainless
window, and baking through the tiles overhead. There,
under the window, Mrs. Jones, a big, heavy woman, lay,
with her baby at her breast, tossing and raving with
delirium, in the full glare of the July sun. On the
S. Mary s, Grown Street Sodo. 73
floor, on a dirty mattress, lay Teddy and his brother,
not raving, but stupid and unconscious.
Sister Mary, prompt as ever, bid me go downstairs
and send for a cab. " We must see about getting it
disinfected afterwards," she said ; " but if these poor
souls lives are to be saved, they must go now and at
once." I fled down, and, finding a gaping lot of our
own schoolboys at the door, sent off Jacky Marks to fetch
a four-wheeler, and hurried to the Mission House for
blankets. The cab arrived ; Sister Mary (with what
persuasion I know not ; I only know she did it) induced
the cabman to come upstairs and help us down with
Mrs. Jones, rolled round and round in blankets, then the
little brother, and then Teddy, the two latter stupid,
supine, having to be turned over and lifted like logs.
Into the cab, with these fever-stricken bodies rolled up
like mummies, she packed herself, to drive off to the
hospital, leaving me to carry off the baby to the Mission
House, where we proposed to take care of it pending Mrs.
Jones recovery. Meantime, another Sister had arrived,
bearing a blanket, into which we lifted the baby.
Filthy hardly expresses the state the poor little thing
was in ; when we tried to take it up it slipped through
our fingers, all black and slimy, on to the black and
slimy bed; but we rolled it up in the blanket and so
carried the wee bundle home. Here the kind-hearted
charwoman came in, and the poor little thing was
initiated (for the first time !) into the mysteries of the
bath ; the parish lending bag was called into requisition,
and another hour saw baby cleaner than she had ever
74 Memories of a Sister.
been in her life certainly a different looking baby from
what I remembered her when Teddy used to bring her
round to the schoolroom door, and stand there watching
the boys play at marbles when they went out in the
afternoon and for some weeks, during which poor Mrs.
Jones hovered between life and death, baby was the pet
and plaything of the Mission House, and the bigger day
school girls vied with each other as to who should have
the privilege of carrying her out for an airing round
S. James Park.
Our work in Crown Street ended on December ist,
1865. There had been difficulties, and it was thought
best we should withdraw. The choir and church
workers met us after church in the schoolroom to
say good-bye, and the most sad evening closed with
our singing Dr. Neale s hymn, " The day is past and
over." Our day there was past and over, and I
felt I could never settle anywhere, or ever be happy
anywhere again. One loved the dear old place, with
its dirt, and its rats, and its ghostly noises, and its
perpetual gloom. No other place could ever be the
same again. To this day the scent of lilies and seringa
always bring before my mind the happy hours in the
hot schoolroom when we were preparing decorations for
the dedication on S. Peter s Day. One sees in fancy all
the old faces rise before one, all the old voices echo
one s memory. There was Mr. Chambers Fath
John, as we used to call him coming in with a kindly
joke for everyone ; John Sedding, with his bright,
earnest, artist face, walking round, with suggestions as
S. Mary s, Grown Street, Sofia. 75
to blending of flowers, or bringing rough designs to be
put up in the church, which I was to colour, and with
generally some fresh saying or axioms of " the Master,"
as he called Ruskin, or telling us of one of Rossetti s
pictures ; and the Rev. John Williams, full of power the
terror of the street roughs the originator of the Newport
Market Refuge, who peeped in on his way up from the
Refuge to church. There was many another kindly face
and willing helper all gone home long ago but the
memories of S. Mary s, Crown Street, can never be
effaced from the hearts of the few left, who knew and
loved it.
76 Memories of a Sister.
Some Memories of ^dirty-seven
years.
IN the November of 1865 our seven years residence
in the parish of S. Mary s, Soho, ended, and we
returned for a while to the mother Home, until fresh
work should be allotted to us. I shall never forget
the wrench it was to leave our dearly-beloved Five
Dials, and all the boys and girls, and all the poor
people to whom we had grown deeply attached ;
and to exchange the dear, dirty streets, where one
loved every fried fish shop, every old clothes and iron
warehouse, every dolly shop, every flagstone in the
black-grimed pavement, for the fresh, but unwelcome,
breezes of East Grinstead. Could any view across the
breezy downs, or the picturesqueness of Ashurst Wood
replace in our affections the view from the window in
the little back room of S. Mary s Mission Home?
That quaint, old-fashioned little back room, with its
wainscotted walls, whence we had for seven long
summers seen the sun setting in "Turneresque" haze
behind the red tiles of Chapel Place, lighting up the
court, the festoons of dirty washing, and the black
schoolroom leads, where the " lady " who owned the
Some Memories of TSdirty-seven years. 77
sweet-stuff shop kept her empty hampers, and over
which, many a night, we had heard the scuffling of feet,
and the shrill sound of the thieves whistle.
One only hoped and trusted that, whatever locality we
might be called to, our lines might not be cast in very
clean and respectable quarters. Mr. Robert Brett, of
Stoke Newington, the patriarch and benefactor of the
North-East of London, put in a claim on behalf of the
district of Haggerston, where, through his influential
agency, churches were being erected in the newly-
apportioned parishes. One dull November afternoon
the Mother of S. Margaret s, the Sister Superior of
Soho, and I, went over to explore this Terra Incognita,
and in a brief visit had the pleasure of making the
acquaintance of the kind and genial Vicar of S.
Augustine s, the Rev. G. Hervey. One s general
impression of the surroundings of Haggerston was that
of unparalleled dreariness. The rows of long, low, dim
streets of small houses, stretching around interminably
under the gray November sky ; the sensation of crushed
down, desolate poverty, massed together over a gigantic
area the feeling that you might go street after street,
from here down to the river, and find still line after line
of dull, colourless, depressed-looking dwellings formed
such a forcible contrast to our late experience in Soho,
where a very few steps from the surrounding squalor
took you into all the light and brightness of Oxford
Street northwards, or of Piccadilly and Regent Street to
the South- West. But the sight kindled in our hearts
the desire to " come over and help them," and do what
78 Memories of a Sister.
little it seemed possible for us to do in such a large
field of labour.
That winter of 1865-6 was a long and dreary one.
Dr. Neale s mortal illness cast a gloom over S.
Margaret s. The hearts of us who had quitted S.
Mary s Mission House were sore with the pain of
parting, and half sick with a dread of the dreary
Haggerston which was to replace it. The very elements
seemed to correspond with the general dreariness.
Violent rains and floods, and fearful storms of wind
were rife. One morning a Monday after most terrible
gales on the Sunday night, which howled and roared
around the old S. Margaret s, threatening to tear the
very roof off, one of the orphans who had been out to
fetch the milk reported that a large elm tree, a special
favourite of Dr. Neale s, standing in Sackville College
field, had been blown down in the night.
February, indeed answering this year to the cog
nomen of Fill-dyke, and March blusterous, stormy
March passed away, and a sweet and delicious April
opened upon us. The blue vaults of heaven, dashed
with fleecy clouds, replaced the sullen gray pall which
had so long veiled the firmament ; the sunny Sussex
woods burst forth into reddening buds, and were
carpeted with sweetest primroses, and every tangled
copse rang with the thrushes Easter carol. And
while the world kept Eastertide, and the blue-
frocked, white-hooded orphans came home from the
woods laden with primroses ; when the white Paschal
moon cast the gabled shadows of Sackville College,
Some Memories of H>fjirty-seven years. 79
;>lackly defined, across the grassy quadrangle, where,
(vithin its gray and vine-clad walls, its Warden, that
weet singer of Israel, lay slowly wasting away in the
midst of the scenes he loved so well, his feeble eyes
ixed on the legend on his wall, " JESUS CHRIST, the
ame yesterday, to-day, and for ever," three Sisters
vere sent forth from the mother Home to begin a
Mission in Haggerston.
We started on April 2oth, the Friday after Low
hunday Sister Louisa (the present Mother of S.
Margaret s, Boston), a lay Sister, and myself; the
Lthers were to follow on the Monday following,
>. George s Day. A home had been obtained for us
ky Mr. Robert Porter, of Stoke Newington, in Ash
zrove, opening from Cambridge Heath Road. A
reary ultima thule it seemed to us : newly-built
Louses, with five rooms and a kitchen apiece, a row
f freshly-planted trees on either side, and the Regent s
hanal, lined with coal wharves, wood wharves, and
asometers, hard by. Our house had had additional
ooms added on, and an adjacent drug warehouse was to
e converted into a chapel. The work was not finished
?hen we arrived, and oh ! what a scene of misery
i.nd mortar it looked as we alighted at the door
way ! the house full of workmen, inside and out,
1 Jaster, laths, bricks, boards, pails of whitewash every
where, and dust and shavings inches thick on the
jloor. Sister Louisa is a woman full of energy and
esource, and took in the situation at a glance. A
;room was procured from somewhere, one room swept
8o Memories of a Sifter.
clean, the shavings served to kindle a fire, and the
debris was sent down-etairs on a mortar-board. A
small table was evoked from some unknown lower
regions ; we had brought a kettle, which we filled
and boiled, and bread and butter came from some
where. Cups and saucers were still unget-at-able in
the recesses of some hamper, but we managed very
comfortably with two bowls and a soap dish. I think
we found one chair, but boxes, which had served for
planks to rest on, answered equally well.
Fred, the hod-boy, my first friend in Haggerston (alas !
I have never seen him since!) aided us ably in forming
this little encampment. April evenings are long and
light, and before our meal was over, the inhabitants of
Sheep Lane, and some other low streets at the back,
were quitting work, and beginning to join the groups of
children who had already been surveying our proceed- 1
ings with curious eyes through the uncurtained windows, j
A hammer and nails being, by Sister Louisa s wise
prevision, among the goods we could lay our hands
upon, by their assistance we strengthened our encamp
ment, and screened it from the gaze of the populace by
nailing blankets across the windows. All Saturday we
scrubbed, only ceasing to partake, at intervals, of tea
and bread and butter, and the assembling gazers found
us still scrubbing when they again congregated in the<
evening.
Sunday morning we sallied forth in search of S.
Augustine s Mission Church (the permanent church was
not yet built). We wandered through highways and
Some Memories of ISftrty-seven years. 81
byways, the observed of all observers, till we lighted on
some unknown church in Bethnal Green, which we
very distinctly found to be not S. Augustine s. In the
course of the day, however, we found the dear little
temporary church hidden away in a labyrinth of narrow,
out-of-the-way streets, the entrance almost elbowed out
of view by a public -house on one side, and a sausage
factory on the other. Dear little haven of rest and
peace and strength ! The first moment we entered we
felt we had indeed found a home. All through that
spring and early summer, when one turned in there
after the sorrows and up-hill struggles of the day, what
calm one found within its walls ! Those quiet Even
songs, with the spring sun shining in yellow rays
through the narrow windows, lighting up the dull brick
walls, and playing among the sombre shadows of the
dark cross-beams above, with the poor people stealing
in one by one in their working clothes, to lay down
their burdens after the heat of the day at the foot of the
Cross can we ever forget them ? How many new
friends were by degrees added to the circle of our friends
after Evensong in quiet talks in the twilight ! Even
after the lapse of twenty-one years since the permanent
church has been opened I have never ceased to look
back with intense pleasure to the quiet, happy times in
the little Mission.
The full contingent of Sisters and workers having
arrived, the Priory was formally opened on Holy Cross
Day, May 3rd. Shortly after the opening it was con
stituted a branch Home of S. Margaret s, having its own
8a Memories of a Sifter.
Mother, electing its own Sisters, and rinding its own
funds for subsistence, but bound by the same rules, and
wearing the same habit as the mother Home. But the
foundations were laid in sorrow for one of us. Within
a month of the opening day her brother, a young
deacon of S. Alban s, Holborn, with all his aspirations
for work, all his longings for the future yet hot within
his soul, was called home. Here was the end of all
talks, and aspirations, and plannings the brother and
sister had made together he for his work in Holborn,
she for hers in whatever spot her lot might be-
east. The early memories of Haggerston are, to her,
mingled with visions of the old home, far away in the
grass countries, girdled with shadowy firs and gray,
moss-covered stone walls that home, upon which, in
memory, the sun always shone ; where, in memory, thi
air was always sweet with lilies and seringa, always
ringing with the cawing of the rooks in the old el
tree, wrought in with dreamy recollections of sunn
mornings and the music of the scythe and the smell
the new-mown grass, and with dim visions of quie
autumn evenings, when the gray church tower st
darkly out against the clear green sky yet always t
ceaseless cawing of the rooks, and the glow of sunshin
pervading the whole " pleasant picture," eternally bourn
up in memory with the hopes and longings of the two
linked hand in hand, to give their lives to labour fo,
CHRIST, and now one was taken home before a singl
plan could be matured, a single aspiration fulfilled
And yet during his very brief sojourn at S. Alban s
Some Memories of Is dirty-seven years. 83
work was accomplished. It forged the first link in the
chain of our connection with Father Mackonochie, who,
in his parochial address on S. Alban s Day, 1866, thus
speaks of him : " It has seemed good to GOD to take to
Himself the soul of one who for a short time worked
lovingly amongst you. His day of active labour was so
short that he must have been personally unknown to
many of you ; but had you known him ever so well in
his ministry, you must have learned from us who lived
in daily intercourse with him, how thoroughly he forgot
himself in working for his GOD, and for you, even up to
the moment in which his health finally broke down."
But besides this individual grief to one of us, August
brought the general sorrow of Dr. Neale s death. His
last work on earth was the planting of this little
sapling of S. Margaret s in Haggerston. And as
the news of his loss reached us in our little dusty
eastern Mission that hot August morning, with the sun
pouring down on the turbid, olive-green waters of the
canal, and the red-roofed cottages alongside it, with the
omnibuses rolling hot and dusty over the bridge into the
city, did not our thoughts turn back to that low-ceiled,
wainscotted room in Sackville College, where we had
- always turned for words of help and advice ? Could we
not picture to ourselves that small, dark library, literally
walled in with books dark old folios bound in worm-
eaten leather, curiously tooled in gold, unsightly
duodecimos bound in varied and foreign bindings,
written in almost every known language under the sun ;
books stacked from floor to ceiling, and in tiers athwart
.:
84 Memories of a Sifter.
the room ; the quaint corner fire-place, the dark mantel
above garnished with curious, glittering icons, shining j
forth, burnished and enamelled, against the polished)
wood? Beside it a small, old-fashioned, vine-wreathed |
lattice window looked out across the College terrac
(where he used to pace up and down in all weathers)]
over the trees of Ashurst wood to where Crowborougl
Height and hill tops lay among the swelling downs,
he used so lovingly to say, as he gazed on the gray-
blue undulations stretching away to the horizon, " The
hills stand round about Jerusalem."
From this tiny room emanated those heart-stirrii
stories of the Church s triumphs over the powers of evilj
those sweet hymns poured forth so lavishly into he
treasury of song, and those weird relations of thi
sympathy between the seen and the unseen world, ai
from hence fortified with the courage of the scienc
of the Saints his Sisters, like, of old, these Filles
S. Vincent de Paul, sallied forth for their labours amoi
CHRIST S poor. He had fought the good fight, and
who had written so touchingly of the triumphs of
Saints was now called to be numbered with those Saint
in glory everlasting.
And so we began our work in Haggerston.
girls willingly made friends with us ; the boys, shye
than their sisters at the outset, gradually also bees
friendly ; the fathers and mothers were friendly becai
their children began to like us ; but the visitati<
of the cholera was the key which opened the dc
of many a house, and many a heart which dwe. i
Some Memories of fBdirty-seven years. 85
inside it, to us. Several of us helped to nurse
in Miss Sellon s temporary hospital, in Commercial
Street, Spitalfields. She had taken a large warehouse,
and fitted up the different floors as wards for men,
women, and children. A number of other helpers from
various quarters came to assist during the terrible
epidemic. Besides ourselves, some of the Sisters of
Holy Trinity, S. Giles , Oxford, were engaged in the
nursing. The present Lord Halifax, then Mr. C. Wood,
was indefatigable in his ministrations. The Rev. D.
Elsdale subsequently so well known for his wonderful
work at S. John the Divine, Kennington Father Grafton,
of Cowley, now Bishop of Fond-du-lac, and many of the
clergy of S. Peter s, London Docks, all took their part
in the good work. Father Ignatius sent some of his
brothers, who helped with the men patients, and in the
kitchen. I shall never forget the agonized face of one
brother who, by some mistake, had let the lift, loaded
with dinners, run down from the top ward to the base
ment, where the crash was prodigious ! Dr. Pusey
several times visited the wards, and I remember my
curiosity to get a peep at him ! a quiet, gentle-looking,
kindly little old man, with a white neckcloth, and
greenish-black evening coat. I had the pleasure of
seeing Miss Sellon once or twice, and she was a most
striking person, with commanding gestures, and a
peculiarly imperative wave of a very well shaped white
hand. One s associations with the Devonport Sisters
will always be pleasant, they were all so courteous, so
lady-like, and so bright withal. Here also we first formed
86 Memories of a Sifter.
the acquaintance of one who afterwards proved a very
true friend, Dr. Henry Sutton, of Finsbury Square. As
autumn advanced the cases became fewer and fewer,**
till, on All Saints Day, the Hospital was finally closed.^.)
In these mean streets we gradually made many friends. :
One of these was a clean old countrywoman, brought
up seventy years ago in the then rural district of Stratford. -
She lived in one of the narrowest, dirtiest streets, choked
up with costermongers barrows, and teeming with grubby
children. It was a contrast to turn from the bla<
greasy pavement strewn with cabbage-leaves and fishes
heads, and mount the stairs to her neat little roo
Here everything was spick-and-span clean : the pi
and lilac cotton patchwork quilt on the bed, the scrub
floor and deal table, and the old lady herself in h
snowy frilled cap and patched dress, full of talk about
the country where her early days had been spent. I
was like losing a real friend when Mrs. C. died.
One house, in a small back street, presented a curio
sight when I knocked at the door. It opened straig
into a dirty little kitchen, where, in front of the fireplace,
sat a little wizened-up black man, with a whole collection
of dogs, sitting, standing, and lying around him. They
were mostly fox-terriers or bull-terriers, all had sores 01
them on which some ointment had been smeared, and
barked simultaneously at the entrance of a visitor. N
much information being elicited from the gentleman him
self, I learnt from the neighbours that he was a dog
doctor, and took in sick dogs to cure, and also taug
the noble art of self-defence at some sparring-place n
Some Memories of ^dirty-seven years. 87
| ar off; but of late years his powers in that way had
ulecreased with old age, and his wife, a brawny, stout
ly irmed Amazon, was giving the lessons in his place.
| A few doors off lived a milkman, a tall Highlander,
proud of his ram s-horn mull hung over the chimney -
loiece, and who always told a long story of how his
lather walked up from Scotland in full Highland garb,
j^lose by was a strong-minded old lady, who shared a top
I oom and a lean-to with her daughter and her husband,
iirho was a barber, and with a large white goat. This
kst-named member of the family caused her a great deal
I f anxiety, as he always tried to eat her handkerchiefs
lund aprons, and, if remonstrated with, butted ferociously.
Khe used to depart on long private expeditions, aided by
I stick, and confided in the strictest confidence to her
landlady s son that they were to attend spiritualist
i heetings in Bethnal Green.
There was also a very eccentric old lady, whose
pngue wagged from morning till night. I visited her
Daughter when she was ill, and found her unbaptized,
mad one of the clergy arranged to perform the rite. It
was a gloomy autumn evening, and as he entered the
Wick room, saying, " Peace be to this house," Mrs. T.
urst in, curtseying : " Thank ye, sir ; I hope so, sir ; we
Isn t never had it otherwise; leastways, when my husband
lin t in liquor." Here it was suggested the sooner a
4ght was brought and the patient attended to the better.
Tom, I say, Tom, where s the candle ? " shouted the
Id lady. " Dunno," growled a voice from the next
Dom, whence proceeded sundry bangs and smashes of
88 Memories of a Sifter.
various bodies iron, wood, and crockery. " Lor-a-
mercy! to think of the gentleman being kept all this
while ! I must go for it myself." Returning at length
with the light, and the sick girl being baptized, the
clergyman began to give her a few words of comfort and
advice. Mrs. T., who had been trampling round the
room like an uneasy rhinoceros during all these pro
ceedings, muttering to herself and whispering to me, here
broke out again, " Lor, yes, poor dear ! ah, yes, beautiful,
be-e-autiful words them ! Hope it ll do her good, poor
dear ! " " Hush, Mrs. T., I want to talk to her a little
quietly." " Ah, lor, yes. Ah dear ! what I suffer, too.
Why, last night there were that little un o mine a settin
on the doorstep, when a young chap, in name Jones, he
goes down the street, and a dog ahind him ; that there
infernal cat, she s got kittens ah, come here, the willin ,
she knows I m a-talkin of her well, I was a-sayin ,
this dooce of a cat, she lets fly at the dog, and she
somehow kitches hold of the gal s leg, she runs in the
street a-screamin like, and the cat a-holdin on. I ht
the noise, an I runs and druv the brute off. Well, my
husband, bein in liquor, was a-bed, and he jumps up and
kitches hold o me for all the world like a cat. Hang
the willin , sis he, a tearin my child. I turned
cold like, with the row an all. Tom, sis I, if you
goes for to hang that cat, I don t answer for it if I don t
do the same to myself. Oh lor ; it s quite upset
like, I feel all a-quiver, like ginger beer a-fizzin , ant
somethin a-crawlin and a-crawlin inside o me right
up my arms into my head ! " And so she ran on,
Some Memories of ^dirty-seven years. 89
making it almost impossible to edge in any words
of help.
Round on the other side of the district, lining the
Regent s Canal, were rows of small houses ; wood-yards
employing a number of rough girls and lads in chopping
up the wood; and all the commerce and traffic of the
great gas-factory. Among these was a nest of houses
three storeys high, built round a small yard, legally
designated Waterloo Place, but known in the parlance
of the neighbourhood as " The Rookery." The first time I
went, one bright summer s afternoon, I found the yard
thronged with children, most of them occupied with a
dead cat which had been drowned in the canal. On the
steps of the houses girls were sitting chattering, while
their nimble fingers were deftly employed in making
artificial flowers. " Which is the way to Mrs. R s ? " I
asked of a dark-eyed, gipsy-looking girl, who was sitting
on the step. " Top of the house, other side the yard,"
was the reply. I stumbled up the greasy dark staircase
and felt for the door, knocked, and a rough voice said,
" Come in." The window looked out on the canal, the
sun glared into the room ; on a dirty table were a few tea
things and the remains of a herring ; on a miserable bed
in the corner the sick woman lay, while a man in his
shirt-sleeves, and several boys and girls were busily
employed in filling small pieces of paper with what looked
like sand, then screwing them up into small bundles.
Having spoken to the sick woman, I asked the man what
he was making. " Detonating crackers," was the reply.
" What ? " " Well you see, mum, they s a mixture of
go Memories of a Sister.
different chemicals, and we puts them up, and the young
chaps buys them and chucks them down, aud they goes
off with a sort of explosion like. We supplies pyro
technic shops with them." "Yes," feebly added the
woman, " we all work at that, children and all, and so
does several more down the court ; the rest they all do
the artificial flowers." " Yes," said the man, " and a
wild lot them flower-gals is." " Ah," groaned she,
" they re a rough lot altogether round here ; it s a bad
place to bring up children, and that nigh the Cut (canal),
too, they re always falling in. Why, only last week my
little boy there got out with a lot more fishing for tittle
bats, and he fell in, and ever so many ran in screeching,
Your Tom s drowned ! Some chap on a coal barge,
he pulled him out ; and such a pickle as he come in out
of the nasty dirty Cut ! but for all that he said it felt
beautiful, a kind of green light all round you, like
medders in the country, didn t you, Tom ? " " Yes,"
growled he. " I ll tell you what," said the father, " green
medders or not, you smelt bad enough out of that beastly
water, and if ever I catches you at those games again,
I ll give you the soundest hiding you ever had in your
life."
A street or so from the water, and facing the gas-
factory, was a row of newer houses, all built in the style
of thousands round Haggerston, Old Ford, and Stepney,
a four-roomed house, with what is called in Plymouth a
" tenement," and in Boston, U.S., an " L.," projecting
behind for a kitchen, and bedroom above. In one of
these houses, in this room above the kitchen, dwelt a
Some Memories of T&rjirty-seven years, gi
quaint old couple. He was a dock labourer, but suffered
much from asthma and an unknown disease he called
" Frontitis a-top of his head ; " he was consequently
often unable to go to work, and when he did, frequently
had to stand outside the gates and see younger and
stronger men preferred before him. She had been a
laundress, and must have been a bustling active woman
in her time. She never would trust any one to clean
her room " Gals was so deceitful, there was no trusting
them " and the outward crust of dirt was only partially
removed by periodical efforts on the old man s part.
The chairs, with the exception of one he retained for his
own use, were all slung by ropes across the room to be
out of the way. " The missis might hurt herself, you
see," he said. She managed to get through a good deal
of work by feeling, if any one would thread a supply of
needles and stick them in a cushion by her ; and her
husband took great pride in his patched shirts. " Ah,
Sister ! my missis is a wonderful hand at her needle.
Missis ! let s show Sister that shirt of mine you patched,
only lor, she didn t know no better, and she patched it
with a bit o black like, but it don t signify to me."
Sunday after Sunday, this quaint old couple used to
come to church together arm-in-arm, until his death,
when she went into the Infirmary.
In the October of 1866 the Rev. R. Tuke, who acted
as Chaplain to the Priory, set on foot an attempt he had
for some time contemplated, of a small religious house
for men. Two tiny houses in Ash Grove, opposite the
Sisters, were rented, and thrown into one. Several
92 Memories of a Sister.
young men joined, some of them giving themselves
entirely to the life, and some going into the city to
business in the day, and devoting themselves to the
work in the evening. They held classes for young men
and boys, and started a small Orphanage, originally for
boys whose parents had died of cholera, but eventually
receiving others. They wore a brown Franciscan habit,
a cord, and sandals, and caused great excitement in the
neighbourhood ; indeed, when Mr. Tuke Father Basil
as he was called preached one Sunday night at S.
Augustine s, there was quite a riot, and somebody had
to be given in charge.
We started here the S. Michael s Guild originally
planned and commenced by the Rev. J. C. Chambers
and Dr. Neale in Soho and I shall never forget their
first tea on the 3rd January, 1867. It was bitterly
cold, snowy weather, and the ground so slippery it was
hardly possible to keep one s footing. I remember all
the water pipes at the Priory were frozen, and having to
scrape snow from the window-ledge to wash my hands
before starting. The Mother had obtained the use of
the schoolroom of S. Leonard s, Shoreditch, for the tea,
and thither everyone adjourned, after a sliding, slippery
journey down the Hackney Road. Oh, what a tea, and
what an evening ! When one looks at the Guild girls
now, and thinks of what the so-called members of the
Guild were on that occasion ! For some reason
connected with frozen pipes, or some such misfortune,
hot water could not be got for a long time. The girls
got unruly, there was a general hubbub, many forms
Some Memories of ^Shirty-seven years. 93
were broken ; one of S. Augustine s choir-men, who
tried to keep order, was pushed out into the snow by
the Guild, and some of the girls were also pushed out,
and kicked to get in. It was a general scene of con
fusion and anarchy ; and oh, the journey home, with
such a wild lot on such a snowy night !
In the July of 1867, the Brotherhood was broken up,
and Mr. Tuke left the English Church and was received
into the Roman, and the small orphanage of little boys
was taken charge of by the Sisters, who could not bear
the idea of the poor little fellows going to the workhouse.
And then rose the question, who was to undertake the
office of Chaplain to the Priory ? The person to whom
the minds of the Community turned was the brave and
energetic Vicar of S. Alban s, the Rev. A. H. Mackono-
chie. After some conference with the Bishop of London,
and with Father Mackonochie, the latter agreed to
undertake it, with the episcopal approval.
Very few of us knew Father Mackonochie, personally,
at that time. I had occasionally seen him before. I
remember so well the first time. It was in the Lent of
1859, while I was working at S. Mary s, Soho, that a
friend, knowing how deeply I was interested in the
S. George s Mission as the work in the London Docks
was called prior to the erection of S. Peter s and its
sister work of S. Saviour s, Wellclose Square, asked me
to go down with her one evening to see a friend who was
assisting at the latter. This was especially interesting
to me, as having been the place where the Rev. Henry
Collins worked, and was the pioneer of all the future
94 Memories of a Sifter.
Church work, but who, in the middle of his labours,
had turned aside, and deserted " the Mother who bore
him " for Rome. To go and see the scene of his
labours was like visiting a shrine of romance, of which
the idol was broken. I remember so well the soft
April evening, with the dingy Square bathed in yellow
sunlight, the strange, unaccustomed look of the then,
so little known, East London, the twittering and
chirping of the birds in the little iron railed Square
surrounding the church, and the hum and bustle from
the adjacent docks, and the notorious Radcliffe Highway.
The church was a curious looking place, built originally,
I believe, for a Swedish place of worship ; and the tall,
energetic-looking young Priest who took evensong, and
started the hymn
" Hail, holy wounds of Jesus, hail ! "
I found out afterwards was Father Mackonochie, who
had been through the late S. George s in the East Riots,
and whose unflinching courage and untiring zeal were
already drawing numbers to the church.
When he first undertook the chaplaincy of the Priory,
in that August of 1867, he was warned by his friends
against doing so, they said the shock of losing their late
chaplain by Roman secession, must have shaken many of
the Sisters, and he would find it most hard to keep things
together and straight. But the same stern resolve of
" do what is right, come what may," which characterized
him in his dealings with the pariahs of the docks, was
equally shewn in his determination to take up the work,
discouraging as it might seem, which GOD had put in his
Some Memories of ^dirty-seven years. 95
way. It was the first we saw of that spirit which
permeated his whole being, and was the motto of his
life, " LORD, what wilt Thou have me to do ? "
In the October of 1867, the Rev. G. Prynne, Vicar of
S. Peter s, Plymouth, a name well-known in the annals
of Church History, applied for two Sisters to carry on
the work in his parish, which was being given up by the
Sisters of S. Thomas , Oxford. Another Sister and
myself were accordingly despatched thither. You can
imagine the change to us from the gray-tinted purlieus of
Haggerston, as on that autumn day we travelled through
that west country Charles Kingsley loved so well.
Through the rich pastures of Gloucester and Somerset,
and then along the lovely Devonshire coast, where
the red rocks stood out against the deep blue sea on
the left, and orchard lands rolled away to the right.
We received a most kind and hearty welcome from
Mr. Prynne and those devoted workers, the Misses
Middleton, and we found in Plymouth a most congenial
field of labour parish work during the day, and
night schools, for both boys and girls, in the evening,
besides the Sunday schools. S. Peter s it was old
S. Peter s, remember, before the present handsome
church was built charmed us immensely ; it was such
a home-like church, and the home provided for us in
Wyndham Place was opposite the East End. As for
the people, our hearts opened to them at once, and to
this day the sound of a Devonshire voice always kindles
in me a friendly interest in the speaker for the sake of old
Plymouth times. As to the boys, they seemed appalling
96 Memories of a Sifter.
at first, after the Londoners, they looked so strong and
big, and their outer shell was so rough and uncouth.
The first Sunday they said, "they wern t going to be
taught by she ! " and left me sitting on a chair, in
a square of forms, while they clattered off into an adjacent
class, and worried the Superintendent. During their
progress from school to church they insisted in marching
in single file, hopping on one leg in unison, and I felt like
an old hen clucking after a brood of young ducks, as
I ran around vainly endeavouring to make them bring
the other leg into use.
Here is a letter I wrote at the beginning of our
work :
"S. PETER S MISSION HOME,
" December 6, 1867.
" You will like to know how we are getting on
here. The Superintendent of the Sunday School was
not very well last Sunday, so I told him I would
take entire charge of the Boys School. It was rather
a hazardous experiment, for we were shortish of
teachers ; however, I thought a rest would do him
good, and I begged Mr. Hitching, the Day School
master to give us a look in. In the morning we got
on pretty well, as most of the teachers were there. In
the afternoon, it poured in torrents and blew a perfect
hurricane, and there was not a single teacher in school,
but a large number of dreadful boys, who, when I
unlocked the door, came in jumping and holloaing, and
making a fearful noise. The choir-boys stood my firm
friends, and all sat quite still, and the Parish Foire
Some Memories of TSQirty-seven years. 97
Engine, a particular friend of mine, ran about trying to
make the others quiet, and force them to sit down, and
I felt anyhow! when in the middle of the agony in
walked Mr. Hitching. Even he had a good deal of
trouble to get them right, for a lot were big fellows who
had left day school. We divided them into three big
classes of over forty each ; he and I took one apiece, and
got a lady from the girls school to take the younger
! ones. All went right till the time came to give out the
I attendance tickets, and then some dreadful big boys, who
work at an iron factory, and run about there with bars
of red hot iron, would not sit still and there was
chaos and I said I would give nobody tickets, and so
Mr. Hitchings and I got them all to Church, where I
must say they did behave themselves."
However, they soon became most friendly, and I
valued the affection of the warm-hearted Devonshire lads
more than I can say. It was amusing how, subse-
Iquently, on Sunday evenings we went to church all
I together, and they would insist on my sitting in the
ij middle of them in the small pews, with compartments,
jand unless we sat, rose, and knelt en masse it was
i impossible to move ; " We are that squedg , you see,
I Sister," they said. One of them, the roughest of the
rough, called, from his shock head of red hair, "the
Parish Foire Engine," who encouraged them to every
Jreat of daring in the night schools, from pinning copy
Docks on the Sisters backs to locking them up in the
school-room, has since written to us at intervals, and
:ame to see us two years ago, dressed in broadcloth and
9 8
Memories of a Sifter.
carrying a silk umbrella, having married a wife, and
become torpedo instructor at Dartmouth.
At Christmas we went back to the Priory for a
holiday. When I returned to Plymouth, in January, by
some mistake about the trains, I arrived there about
twelve o clock at night, and found a crowd of vociferous
boys, who had been waiting for me since I don t know
what time, and who escorted me in a sort of noisy
triumph from the station to S. Peter s Mission Home, to
the great astonishment of policemen and other passers
by. Dear fellows, I shall never forget them !
I ought to have said that at Plymouth we first met
the Rev. J. B. Wilkinson, who afterwards went to
S. Paul s, Knightsbridge, and subsequently, Lavender
Hill, and who, through the days of storm and trouble
that were to come upon us, proved a true and helpful
friend.
The winter of 1867-8, with its happy work in con
genial Plymouth, among the kind homely Devonshire folk,
passed away only too rapidly. January, with its Christ
mas festivities, its engrossing night schools for boys and
girls, its pleasant meetings on Sunday evenings over the
Mission House fire, when the choir and elder Sunday
School boys came crowding in, and we all told stories, I
almost scrouging me into the fire-place at the most
exciting parts, passed away. January, with its cold, j
dark mornings, and walks to church by starlight, had:
fled, and the lengthening days ushered in the Festival |
of Candlemas, that season which in after years was
always to be associated with a time of sorrow and
Some Memories of Htfcrty-seven years. 99
tribulation. Like a thunder-clap, so utterly unexpected,
came the news one Sunday morning, that the greater
part of the* Community in Ash Grove, including the
Mother, had joined the Roman Communion. I re
member so well the utter bewilderment one felt, the
utter horror, the sensation of loneliness, of being left
behind. The cold winter sunshine poured into the
room, the sparrows were twittering in the trees in
the square, where S. Peter s bell was ringing for
Morning Service ; the tramp of the soldiers passing
from the Devonport Dockyard to church in the
town echoed beneath ; and I sat utterly stunned and
amazed, as if it were all a terrible dream. I wrote to
Father Mackonochie, asking despairingly what was to
be done, who was left ? What was true ? What was to
become of me and the Sisters at Plymouth ? And his
kindly answer came, strong, firm, invigorating, a pillar
of strength in all the shipwreck around :
" MY DEAR SISTER,
"Your letter is the first comfort I have had.
I would, with you, thankfully lay them in their graves to
save this. I cannot tell you what a help it has been to
me to read your promise that you, at least, will be
faithful. GOD bless you for it ! It is a most special
comfort to us at S. Alban s to know of your steadfast
ness. For a sister of our good brother and fellow-
labourer to fall away would have a special sting in it,
over and above the sorrow of losing one more from
S. Mary s Priory. When Mr. Bown left the English
Church, Mr. Stanton wrote about it to your brother,
ioo Memories of a Sister.
and received his answer, so full of loving steadfastness to
our Church as to shew how thoroughly loyal he was.
The Mother at S. Margaret s is at the Priory to-night,
and I am to take the Celebration there to-morrow
morning on purpose to see her. She will send us her
Assistant Superior for a time, which is very kind of her,
I fear we shall have to recall the Plymouth Mission, but
only as a last resource."
Following this came a letter, saying :
" I must act for the Home in default of its rightful
head, and therefore beg of you to come home at once.
The S. Margaret s Mother will stay till you come, and
she will telegraph for Sister Lucy to go to Plymouth on
Monday, when I want you to leave, so as to be here in
the evening, and we will then talk of the future."
So on February i ith, sad and sick of heart, I journeyed
up to London. Arrived in Ash Grove, and preparing to
ring the bell of S. Mary s Priory, I was beckoned by
Sister Louisa, who appeared at a door opposite, and
I found that through Father Mackonochie s exertions
a small house had been secured as a refuge for the
Sisters, the Priory itself being the property of the
seceders. And here a council assembled, a sad, sorrowful
council, of Father Mackonochie, Father Alison (Chap
lain of S. Margaret s, East Grinstead), the Mother of
S. Margaret s, and we remaining Sisters, to discuss our
position and what lay before us. Father Mackonochie was
deeply and bitterly grieved. At the time that he under
took the office of Chaplain, the August previously, it had
been with a fervent hope that the minds of many members
Some Memories of H>r)irty-seven years. 101
of the Community, much shaken by the secession of their
late Chaplain, Mr. Tuke, might recover their balance, and
stand firm to their Church. How great confidence in
his power of saving them (if it had been possible that
they could be saved), Bishop Tait, the then Bishop
of London, had, may be gathered from the following
passages in his letter sanctioning his accepting the
Chaplaincy :
" I am told they are in much perplexity from the
secession to the Church of Rome of Mr. Tuke, who has
been their clerical adviser for some time, and are most
anxious to avail themselves of your assistance and
advice. I have carefully inquired into the circumstances,
and am most anxious that everything possible and right
should be done to prevent these ladies from being
unsettled in their allegiance to the Church of England by
what has happened, and that they should have whatever
assistance and advice you are able to give them. I
understand that they have confidence in you, and are
more likely to listen to you than to anyone else. Al
though I have reason to believe they depart from the
model I approve, I hear from undoubted testimony how
great is their self-denial in nursing the sick, by exposing
themselves to so many dangers for CHRIST S sake, and I
cannot, therefore, withhold the expression of my sym
pathy with their ceaseless labours for the poor and
afflicted. If by kindly advice and guidance, and such
help as you can afford, you can be of use to them at this
crisis, I shall be well pleased. I have full confidence in
your conscientious desire, according to your own views,
102 Memories of a Sifter.
to uphold the Church of England, as against the slavery
of the Church of Rome, and I think it right you should
give what assistance you can to these ladies, and especi
ally to endeavour to save them from following the
example of Mr. Tuke, and taking a step which, I fear,
could never be retraced, and would be found most
injurious to their souls health."
And bravely Father Mackonochie had undertaken the
work and striven his utmost to retain these souls, and
now they had gone. And for us ? Left by our
comrades in arms, deserted by her, who, as our leader,
not only here, but in the past years in Soho, judge how
we felt ! i
"They left us for ever,
Calmly advising us, follow my way ;
As it were nothing those true links to sever,
As it were simply but wishing, good-day.
" Yes, they had left us, well therefore uniting
Band we together more firmly in one,
Fighting the battle they ought to be fighting,
Doing the work that they ought to have done.
" Yes, they had left us, but GOD had not left us ;
GOD had not left us, and GOD will not leave :
No ! not a jot of our hope is bereft us,
Fight we more earnestly, now that we grieve **
was the determination of our Warden. Some of us*
felt it to be almost impossible to continue work
Haggerston. What could a few feeble folk like
do? Better leave the field entirely, and return to.
the Mother Home at East Grinstead, or concentrate
ourselves (as Mr. Prynne very earnestly wished) at
Some Memories of faQirty-seven yean. 103
Plymouth. But Father Mackonochie, firm of will and
purpose, determined the work should continue, the
Sisters should be established ; the battle should be
fought, and, with GOD S help, should be won. Before the
week was out he had published the following paragraph
in the papers, in reply to the various reports which had
appeared :
" The work of the Sisters of S. Mary s Priory, Ash
Grove, has not been stopped, or in any way interfered
with by the secession of some of its late inmates to the
Roman Communion. The remaining Sisters at once
elected a new Superior, and proceeded with their work as
if the distressing event had not occurred."
So it was. And therefore we look back upon him as
our Founder ; the Founder of the Sisterhood, and of the
work in Haggerston, which, but for his energy and
generalship, would never have existed.
A letter of encouragement came to us from a true and
loyal friend, Mr. J. D. Sedding :
" I hope you all keep brave hearts, and work on, not
withstanding cloudy days and dark nights. How I wish
I could help you ! you know that right well without my
wasting words. I always think, when I hear of secession,
that on the Golden Floor above, when we get there, that
these will have some sort of reproof, some lessening of
the glory which should have been theirs if they had not
taken their lot into their own hands, instead of working
for our fair FATHER, CHRIST, in that part of the field of
GOD, where He had placed them. They are dead to me,
except in my prayers. Do the Lowes and dear old
104 Memories of a Sifter.
Swann ever come to see you ? They must have ceased
all outward expressions of oneness for our Sisters who
have left us. It would be meanness itself to fraternize
with those who live to dishonour the Mother that bare
us, feeds us, and Whose we are, and Whom we serve.
Choose ye, say I, but I love Whom I love, and where
the honour of GOD is concerned, snap goes the earthly
affection and GOD will make it good, tho friends shall
cease or vanish away in the might of His love that
falleth never away."
And now the effort to hold our own ground, and to
carry on the work began. The existence of the Sister
hood once declared, the determination to carry on the
work made known, the fact that cotitf qui couU the Vicar
of S. Alban s meant to stand by us, that he was devoting
every energy of his energetic mind to carry us through,
being understood, a small band of faithful friends rallied
round us. Mr. J. H. Skilbeck accepted the office of our
Treasurer, alas ! what an empty title at that time !
and the Rev. G. Hervey, Dr. Littledale, Rev. J. B.
Wilkinson, Professor (then Dr.) Meymott Tidy, did their
utmost to stand by and help us. Beyond them and Mr.
Robert Brett, friends we had none. People stood aloof,
and watched us suspiciously, thinking we should soon
follow the example of the others.
In the February, therefore, of 1868, we stood thus.
We had no money the Sisters possessing that had
seceded, and to them also belonged the bulk of
the furniture and fittings of S. Mary s Priory, therefore
we had none except one or two old things, and some
Some Memories of TSIjirty-seven years. 105
given us by Father Mackonochie. Kitchen utensils
had been given by Mr. Hervey, and certain fittings
subscribed for and given us by the choir of S. Au
gustine s.
The Boys Orphanage, founded by Mr. Tuke, and
after his departure carried on by the Sisters, was left in
our hands, and their furniture with the home. It had
been originally designated S. Saviour s Orphanage, and
the Mother and Father Mackonochie decided on also
calling the Priory, S. Saviour s.
The next step to be taken was, to see about moving
our present quarters. To remain in Ash Grove, opposite
the Roman Priory, was impossible. To live over against
those who had been our Sisters, united in the bonds of
cameraderie in the Church s cause, now deserters from
her ranks and enlisted in a hostile army, was most
painful for us, and most puzzling and perplexing to those
among whom we ministered, when, on their visits to us,
they encountered those who had been of us, and were
not. A hurried search found us two houses in the Kings-
land Road : a small one for the Orphanage and a larger
one for ourselves, the latter was not available for some
weeks, but Father Mackonochie deemed an immediate
move so imperative, that we decided, for a short time, to
share the orphans premises. The house was a quaint,
little old-fashioned one, standing behind a few inches of
grass and a lilac bush on the Kingsland high road, and
consisting of six low, dark rooms, and a back and
I front kitchen. How we ever packed in there is to us
a marvel ! Four Sisters in the front room, in beds
106 Memories of a Sister.
packed closely together, and dressing behind a cupboard
door ; the little boys were squeezed into as close quarters
as little boys well could be, and the Mother slept on the
table of the apartment which served for sitting-room,
dining-room, guest-room in fact, for an all-round room.
In the small one set apart for an Oratory, there was
literally not space to turn round. It was a hot spring,
and we shall never forget the Good Friday when Dr.
Littledale preached to us poor man ; he must have
been nearly melted! and we sat wedged together on
the floor, very much after the pattern of our few
properties, which were tied up in blankets and deposited
on the stairs. To add to all this, Sister C. fell off
a chair, in reaching to put something up, hurt her
back, and had to remain in bed for a week or two.
A broker s man, sent in for some debt owing by our
predecessor, calmly smoked his pipe in the kitchen till
Mr. Skilbeck arranged matters and dismissed him. The
drains were found to be in a bad condition, and had all to
come up, and the orphans, playing in the back-yard,
tried to better their own condition and enlarge our
premises, by pulling down the wall between us and our
neighbour. But we were all young, strong, and en
thusiastic, and these little molehills of difficulties passi
by almost unheeded.
Father Mackonochie was most anxious that the Girls
Guild of S. Michael, in which he always took the deepe
interest, should not suffer from the loss of the Sister who
had been working it, to whom the members were all
much attached. One of our remaining loyal Sisters,
Some Memories of f!>dirty-seven years. 107
who was to replace her, had been nursing in Kent since
the move from Ash Grove, but on her return a meeting
of the bandmistresses was held, followed by a little
supper, to give both them and her an opportunity of
knowing each other, and mutually discussing affairs.
The bandmistresses took at once to their bright,
energetic Superior, and this was the precursor of a
series of weekly happy band- meetings held for twenty
years past, banded together in loving sympathy, both
Sister and bandmistresses, and resulting in evangelizing,
to a great extent, the maidenhood of Haggerston.
So we struggled on through our first year, and young,
and full of hope, we rather enjoyed the struggle, and
the battling with and surmounting difficulties. Oh, the
pleasure of finding a farthing in an old coat when we had
not a penny in the house ! The gratification of adding
some new friend to our scanty number ! Every kind
letter, every little kind act, every little help in our road,
how we prized it, and how it gladdened our hearts !
S. Peter s Day brought us a faithful triend in a little
yellow, smooth-haired animal from the Dogs Home.
Dear Prin ! your years with us were short, but faithful
and true. Can we not recall your great, wistful, dark
eyes, and little, upturned black nose ? Your love for
the sweet things of this world, which induced our
Warden now and again to buy you a sugar pig on his
way out from S. Alban s, and present it to you as a special
mark of his favour? Did you not one S. Margaret s
Day, when the Community set forth to go down to East
Grinstead to keep the Festival, did you not elect to run
io8 Memories of a Sifter.
behind the omnibus, and appear panting and radiant to
welcome us at London Bridge, thereby compelling us to
take you with us ? Did you not, one evening, stand at
the chapel door and keep half the Community at bay,
because the Sister you specially fancied was inside?
Was it not your wont to sit on the kerb and lift up your
voice in bowlings at the sound of a street organ ? When
you were lost for two days, was there not sorrow and
wailing throughout the Home ; and oh ! what rejoicing
when, one wet evening, you re-appeared on the doorstep,
covered with mud, and rushed upstairs in such frantic
haste that you lost your balance and rolled head foremost
down again ! Poor little London dog ! How you
quaked and trembled when you went to stay in the
country and saw the tall grass blades blown by the
wind: how you puffed and panted as your poor little
legs strove to keep the pace with the country dogs in
their races across the meadows. Here you first
made the acquaintance of rough-haired Toby, so soon
to be your successor. Dear old Toby ! I wonder
whether, as you gambolled together in the porch
under the tangled shade of the sweet-scented jasmine,
you ever told him any tales of that dingy city far
away, where your whole little life had been spent,
and where ere four months had passed away, he too
should be pattering along the pavement in lieu of
bounding across the grassy fields! Was it not a
sad day for us, that December night when you lay
breathing your little life away, till at midnight your
faithful spirit went forth through the howling wind
Some Memories of TS&irty-seven years. 109
and darkness to that LORD Who shall save both man
and beast ?
But we are anticipating. That is three years hence.
We are still reviewing in our minds eye that hot
summer in Kingsland Crescent.
In August the Plymouth Mission had to be given up ;
e required the two workers we had been obliged to
are there to strengthen our hands in Haggerston. The
other Home of S. Margaret s had helped as long as
ey could with the loan of a Sister to stave off the
ignation of the Plymouth work, but they needed their
Sister for their own works, and therefore, sorely
ainst our wills, we had to withdraw.
On September 28th, the Community being so far
tablished, the friends and associates were called
ether by the Warden for a Dedication Gathering
the Iron Chapel, which was just completed. Having
itnessed his courage and constancy in firmly establish-
us in the Haggerston work, friends rallied round for
iir encouragement. There were present on that oc-
ion many whose names are well-known in the Church
istory of the day some of whom have now passed
,way. Canon Carter of Clewer, who preached the
on; Dean Oakley, then Vicar of S. Saviour s,
oxton; Mr. Statham, of S. Peter s, London Docks;
r. Elkington, now Chaplain of the Home of Charity,
reek Street, Soho, then Curate of All Saints , Margaret
eet; Father Alison, Chaplain of the Mother Home;
r. Hervey, our own Vicar of S. Augustine s ; and Mr.
alker, of S. Alban s, Holborn ; besides our own good
no Memories of a Sister.
friends, Robert Brett, Mr. Skilbeck, and Dr. Meymott
Tidy. In the spring we felt staggered beneath the great
blow which had fallen upon us, in the summer we fully
realized our lonely position, but the autumn days gave
us renewed hopes and encouragements.
Mr. Flynn, then one of the clergy of S. Chad s, had
for some months past been pressing upon us the urgent
need of Sisters for that parish, and though we hardly
saw our way to undertaking more work, as we had, in
addition to the poor of S. Augustine s, the now largely
increased Boys Orphanage, as well as many nursing
calls in Stoke Newington, Hackney, and Dalston, still
we had not the heart to refuse. The work came, and
we felt that He Who sent it to us would give us the
means to carry it on. And so, just about the time of
the laying the foundation stone of the permanent Church
of S. Chad s, we started our Mission there, with the
charge of the Day and Sunday Schools, and visiting the
poor. The schools were held in a small building, then
used as a temporary church, situated on a waste piece of
ground, now occupied by S. Chad s Vicarage. A poor
dilapidated place at best, the boys of the neighbourhood
did what they could to make it more so. After the
permanent church was built half the fun of the day was
to kick and batter in its lath and plaster walls ; and yet
how many there are who look with loving memory to the
happy gatherings in the tumble-down little school. One
special entertainment is imprinted on my memory, a
little burlesque of " Robin Hood." Where are the
bright, merry boys who were the actors ? Most old,
Some Memories of ^dirty-seven years. 1 1 1
sober, married men, men who have borne the burden
and heat of the day in city offices, and artisans work
shops, and now, meeting together from time to time in
the present Lodge, laugh and talk over the days of " auld
lang syne," and the fun and frolics of their boyhood.
In the November of 1869 the first great London
| Mission was held, commencing November i2th and
[concluding November 24th. The Rev. E. A. Hillyard,
then of S. Lawrence, Norwich, but afterwards translated
to Belper, was the Missioner appointed to S. Augustine s.
Those were indeed stirring times. The gloomy, foggy
November evenings showed processions of the clergy
jand choir moving through the narrow streets of S.
Augustine s parish, chanting hymns, and gathering
I crowds of the parishioners after them. The dull red
mare of the torches lighted up the dingy houses, and
j shone on the white surplices of the choristers and the
pergy, while the energetic voice of the zealous and
mfted Missioner rang through the crowded streets at
Intervals. Crowds thronged the church, men, women,
imd children. Numbers of unbaptized adults entreated
or baptism, many hardened in sin were softened, many
! apsed communicants sought their way to the altar they
jiad so long neglected. As in the cholera epidemic of
1:866 we were besieged with poor creatures imploring us
jo minister to their bodies, so in the Mission of 1869 did
Ihe crowds of poor souls throng around, asking to be
telped. It was a wonderful time, a time which has
tever been forgotten in the annals of the parish, and the
r ery name of Mr. Hillyard is enough to kindle a thrill of
ii2 Memories of a Sitter.
emotion in the hearts of all those who heard or came in
contact with him thirty-four years ago.
S. Columba s, Kingsland Road, in point of topography
lay actually nearer to the then Priory than our own S.
Augustine, and we, although not working in the parish,
saw a good deal of the Mission carried on there by
Father Stanton, of S. Alban s. He threw himself into
the work heart and soul, sleeping in the cold, comfortless
vestry, so that he might be at hand whenever he was
wanted by anyone. One dark night two of us turned
in there on our way back from S. Augustine s, to a
late Service. A procession was going round the gaslit
aisles of the Red Church as it was called on the bills
of the mission headed by the Missioner: and oh, what
a motley crew ! As we entered, emerging from behind
a pillar, came a clergyman in a cassock and surplice,
chanting most lustily ; behind him a lame man, in rags
and a crutch, side by side with a workman in shirt
sleeves and matted hair, and his basket of tools slung
over his shoulder, which tools kept dropping out with
resonant clangs, he falling out of the line to pick them
up ; as the procession filed on, one espied more rags and
deshabille, then here and there a choir man, cassocked
and hymn-booked, then some boys, and so on over
again, the line augmenting as fresh recruits entered \
the church. And then they passed into the seats, and
burning words were spoken to them, and then there was
a silence for special prayer. Suddenly from out the
gloom of a far off column in the south aisle rang the
piercing cry of a woman, " I want to pray ! " The calm
Some Memories of iQ&irty-seven years. 113
face of the Missioner turned towards her, as he slowly
said: "Well, then, pray." Mind you, it was long before
the days of the excitement of the Salvation Army, and
this woman s shriek of entreaty was an unprecedented
thing ! As Father Stanton remarked afterwards, it was
clean contrary to S. Paul, when he gave her permission,
as the Apostle counselled that women should keep
silence in the churches. Equally with Mr. Hillyard
at S. Augustine s, was Father Stanton endeared to the
hearts of the good people at S. Columba s. A carter
accidently upset a load of bricks in the middle of the
traffic of Kingsland Road, and no one helped him in his
anguish of replacing them but the tall clergyman who
was emerging from the big Red Church, and who ran to
the rescue, thereby exhibiting the spectacle of a stout,
red-faced, fustian-clad man with a whip, and a tall,
ascetic looking clergyman in a cassock, both hard at
work replacing a tumble-down tail-board and widely
scattered bricks into a cart; and this, as a practical
illustration of the sermons inside the church, worked
a mission of its own more widely spread than even his
addresses. Happy days and happy Mission, crowned
with a golden aureole, to which we look back with
pleasure through the vista of past years!
The year 1870, known in the annals of history as
that of the Franco- Prussian War, is remembered in
the chronicles of S. Saviour s Priory as the year of the
Sister s migration from the Kingsland Road into the
Parish of Haggerston. Two years experience of a
residence twenty-five minutes walk from their work,
i
ii4 Memories of a Sister.
the loss of time spent in the journey to and fro, the
waste of strength especially to the more delicate ones,
during the intense heat of summer, and the fogs and
bitter cold of winter and above all, the great incon
venience to the poor people who came to ask the Sisters
aid, had proved the impossibility of its continuance.
The long, dark Queen s Road was most undesirable for
the girls who attended the Priory classes in the evenings,
and if a dying person required aid in the night, why it
was almost out of the question that they should be able
to send so far. Cans of beef tea turned cold and splashed
over in their transit from Kingsland Crescent to
Haggerston Street, and most other comestibles were
awkward to convey such a distance. A little room in
James Street had been hired, where the Sisters could
hold afternoon classes and have their tea, thus saving
the walk home, but that only met the difficulty half
way. That a move was imperative was the verdict of
the whole Community. The good Treasurer, who
knew the shallowness of the Priory purse, feeling it his
duty to act as Avocato del Diavolo, demurred and hesitated;
but we all besieged him with fearful stories of how
Sister so-and-so had fainted twice last summer during
the intense heat, on her return from her third walk into i
the parish ; of how Sister somebody-else was at the actual
moment confined upstairs with a severe chest attack from |
the number of times she had had to cover the distam
between Priory and parish on a certain foggy day ; am
as we all exhibited ourselves in more or less advanct
stages of cold in the head or on the chest, and altogether^ --
Some Memories of ^dirty-seven years. 115
in rather dilapidated conditions, eventually the saying
of the Cure d Ars was in this case fulfilled " What
woman wills, GOD wills."
And next, where to find a suitable house? Four
rooms and a tenement containing tiny kitchen and a
bedroom above, with a narrow slip of garden full of
sunflowers, divided from other narrow slips of garden
containing also sunflowers, and perhaps a scrubby elder
bush, was the staple of all the bttternwst Haggerston
houses.
At length, as our hearts were beginning to fail
us, Sister Louisa, (as I have previously remarked
in these pages, a woman of singular energy) came
in to dinner one day with a pleased expression,
and said she had found the very house, in S.
Augustine s parish, at the corner of Great Cambridge
Street, not a stone s throw from the Hackney Road,
close to both S. Augustine and S. Chad s Churches. An
eight-roomed corner house, with a side door opening into
Dunloe Street, a large workshop of two storeys at the
back, hitherto used by a cabinet maker, and beyond
this a slip of a place where he kept his trap, and a few
square inches of stable where his pony lived. The very
place ! We all concurred. Father Mackonochie cordially
approved, and our Treasurer, in spite of the empty con
dition of the exchequer whose key he held, gave his con
sent. And then our good friend, Dr. Littledale, came
to our aid, and knowing the plight we were in, the
absolute necessity of moving to the sphere of our
work, and our utterly penniless condition, wrote a
n6 Memories of a Sister.
stirring appeal for us to the Church Times, putting our
needs before the public in such a forcible manner, that
the response of friends was such as to place in the
Treasurer s hands a sufficient sum to guarantee our
moving without debt or bankruptcy.
On the 1 7th of March, Father Mackonochie, Mr.
Skilbeck, and the Mother, paid a formal visit of inspection
to 1 8, Great Cambridge Street, with a view of seeing
how few alterations need be made, and settled that the
upper workshop could be fitted up with the old choir
stalls and screen, made two years ago by Mr. Tuke and
the Brothers in Ash Grove, and would make a very
tolerable chapel ; while the lower shop would do for a
mission-room by day, and a guild-room, for the girls, in
the evening. The shanty where the trap stood, served as
a class-room, and the stable made a capital, though
rather stuffy laundry; and oh! how the rats danced
and played their pranks over everything !
The workmen did the brick and mortar part of the
business, but the kind and helpful hands of some of
S. Mary s Soho friends assisted the Sisters in colour
washing the walls, painting doors, wainscot, and shutters,
and staining the floors, for a good portion of the staining
and white-washing was done by the Sisters themselv
well aproned below, and splashed up to the eyes abovi
On the i gth May, all being completed, the Community
moved in ; Father Mackonochie, with his usual kind
helpfulness and thought for others, coming to assist.
We remember so well two Sisters trying to move a
cupboard zig-zag across the floor to its destination,
Some Memories of ^dirty-seven years. 117
and his rushing forward and sweeping it into its proper
position against the wall.
So by Ascension Day, 1870, we were comfortably
settled ; but I believe our Treasurer was very much
scandalized at the way we had driven big nails into
the walls to hang shelves and pictures on.
It was during this summer that the Rev. T. I. Ball,
now Provost of Cumbrae, well-known both for his active
Mission work in Edinburgh, and as an old friend of
Father Mackonochie s (dating, from early times at S.
Saviour s, Wellclose Square, in 1857), undertook tem-
iporary charge of S. Augustine s for a while during
I the summer, and so renewed an acquaintanceship
[begun at Soho. I remember so well the first time
I 1 ever saw Mr. Ball, in the autumn of 1862. He
as assisting at a Service at S. Mary Magdalene s,
funster Square, in connection with a young man,
irhose name was at that time becoming well known in
le religious world, the Rev. J. L. Lyne, since better
lown as Brother Ignatius. Once, subsequently, another
sister and myself were hospitably entertained, during
temporary absence, at his little cottage at Cove,
irhence we had made a day s expedition while staying at
le S. Margaret s House, in Aberdeen. It was a tiny
ittle fisherman s cottage, perched on a gray rock, over-
cing the stormy North Sea, the sitting-room cosy and
ifortable with books and photographs, tenanted on the
sion of our visit, by a big, purring black cat, looking
the familiar spirit of the place, and by which, the
isekeeper assured us, Mr. Ball set great store. It
n8 Memories of a Sister.
would not be out of place here to mention that, a good
turn Mr. Ball did the Priory, was, to present us with a
most valuable little book, which, for its spiritual, helpful
tone, it is a thousand pities it is not better known to
Church women ; I mean the Life of Mrs. Fletcher of
Madeley, published by the Wesleyan Conference.
This move had not been accomplished many months
before the energies of the Sisters were taxed to their very I
utmost, and had they not been resident on the spot they
could not have fulfilled all that was required of them.
In the autumn of 1870 dropping cases of small-pox
began to occur, increasing rapidly as the winter set in
severe and early. The poor starving people, huddled
together with doors and windows closed to keep out the
bitter cold, rapidly succumbed to it. The Sisters
struggled on as best they might, stripping their own
beds of blankets for them, and keeping a supply of
beef-tea going day and night.
A panic seemed spread around; people shrank from
performing the last offices for their nearest relatives ; the
Priory was besieged day and night with people imploring
to be visited, with piteous cries for help, sad stories from r .::
the infected houses of clothing and bedding compelled to
be destroyed for fear of spreading infection, and
sufferers being reduced to the direst necessity. B"^
One dark November afternoon the door-bell rang, and |^
the cry came, " Another one down. Mrs. M. s son
took very bad."
So out I hurried, the streets were muddy and slushy, lit:
with piles of half-melted snow lying on the pavement, |Ei.
b.
We
Some Memories of difarty-seven years. 119
I and the bitter wind sweeping round the corners by the
canal ; doors were closed to keep out the cold blast, a few
figures passed furtively along the streets, half-afraid of
contagion in every person they met ; and I tore along till
I reached the infected house.
The father, a reckless man, was walking up and down
the little room, declaring he would give up drink if only
his son was spared ; the mother was crushed entirely.
Climbing the rickety staircase, I found in a small
back room a young man of three or four-and-twenty,
[evidently sinking fast; the small-pox had struck in
wardly.
Before the night he was gone. Who could help to lay
him out ? No one dared. Another Sister had to be
fetched to help in the task, and assist in moving the in-
j fected clothes and bedding into the yard.
We were out all day, hurrying from call to call, while
one stayed at home to keep the supply of beef- tea
going.
We were told of a case at the farther end of
Haggerston, across the canal. We went to see, and
found Mrs. T. and her sister, a widow, lying side by
side in bed ; one recovering, the other in the worst
stage of confluent small-pox, no one to attend to them
but the widow s child of eight years of age. The other
(lodgers were too terrified even to open the door. We
I found a woman to go and minister to them.
Two days afterwards, utterly worn out, she had crept
, home for a couple of hours rest ; two of us who had been
out all the morning came in, jaded and weary, to snatch
120 Memories of a Sifter.
a mouthful of dinner, when the bell rang, and the little
portress announced, " Mrs. T. is dead."
We hurried there, and found the convalescent coiled
up over the fire, staring with horror-stricken eyes at the
dead body on the bed. We wrapped her in a blanket
and carried her into the kitchen, and then proceeded to
lay out the dead body ; after which, covering the heavy
bed and bedding with carbolic acid, with great difficulty
we dragged them down into the yard.
The lodger, a strong, hearty man, sat smoking a pipe,
with the door ajar, watching our struggles to get the
cumbrous bed round the corner of the stairs, far too
much terrified to offer to help.
Visiting a very terrible case of small-pox in a dirty
back street, we found a young man acting the part of
nurse. He had sat up night after night with his mate,
and though he was a rough -looking fellow outside, no
woman s hand could have been gentler than his, as he
smoothed the filthy and stained pillow and held a cracked
cup of water to the swollen lips of the sufferer. We
asked who he was : " Oh, a young chap as lives next
door ; he s got no work, so he comes in here and helps
like. He s a good sort of a chap is Bill, and keeps his old
father s place as neat as any woman could." Bill looked
so wan and starved that as we came away we gave him
something to get bread for himself.
Among the countless cases to which we ministered
daily, I shall only cite one more, that of a poor shoe
maker s family. It was a struggle at the best of times
to support them, but when he lost his work through his
Some Memories of ^dirty-seven years. 121
employers fearing infection, he was in despair. He and
his wife crouched hopelessly starving over a handful of
ashes in the grate. They had nothing but what the
Sisters gave them. There were four children down with
the small-pox, lying in a heap on the miserable bed.
When the undertaker came to remove two who died, the
live and the dead were so intermingled, and all looked so
alike, that, seeing the man hesitate, the live children
cried piteously, " Oh, mother, mother, don t let us go
too!" When the Sister took round a clean sheet to
change them, they literally stuck to the miserable rag
spread over some straw on which they had lain.
What were we to do to stem this tide of contagion
and misery ? Our own scanty resources could not
supply necessary nourishment, nor renovate the bedding
and clothes which were compelled to be destroyed. Our
small staff could not attend to all the sick and dying
ound them.
In despair we turned for help towards one who had
ways befriended both Haggerston and S. Saviour s
riory, and this was Robert Brett, who wrote a letter
the Times on February 20, 1871, which brought in a
nd of help, in acknowledgment of which he published,
few months later, a short pamphlet, from which we
ihall quote the following, as best showing the necessities
those times, and how they were met :
" Small-pox spread during the winter in the parishes
Shoreditch and Haggerston, and 384 cases occurred
een Christmas Day and January 3ist, 1871, and 491
h cases in the short month of February. I de-
las Memories of a Sister.
termined, while satisfying to the full all the require
ments of the Sisters and their poor, whose burdens they
had so nobly borne unaided through the winter, some
succour should be given to others in like distress.
Communications were therefore entered into with the
Vicar of Shoreditch, and the other clergy in whose
parishes the disease was rife. Grants to a limited
amount were made to them from time to time but
the Sisterhood was the centre from whence all relief was
to flow to the Haggerston districts. Taking counsel
with my friend Dr. Sutton, we resolved to adopt rigorous
measures to arrest the spread of the disease, by setting
on foot a daily visitation from house to house to find out
cases, and obtain their early removal to the hospital;
and to gather up convalescents, who were sources of
infection to others, and send them into the country. A
staff of nurses selected by the Sisters was appointed to
this work, and also to help the over-taxed Sisters in
nursing severe cases. The fresh cases in March were
462, and in April still further reduced to 200. Mixed
up with it night and day, I know how unceasing and
laborious was the work of S. Saviour s Priory, and how
effectively it was done. Weary and exhausted thougl
the Sisters often were, I found them ever ready at the
call of duty. Regardless of themselves, and fearless
danger, they pressed on calmly, patiently, and persever-
ingly to succour the many sad, heartrending cases they
had to deal with. Besides their ordinary parish work \ -
of visiting and teaching classes, they readily undertook i
to dispense relief over the adjacent districts, to distribute
Some Memories of fsfjirty-seven years. 123
the clothing for the whole of Shoreditch and Haggerston,
and to prepare and fit out all convalescents."
For the distribution of relief and clothing, crowds and
crowds of people thronged the Priory every morning.
Each applicant had to bring a paper from either the
Clergyman, Scripture Reader, District Visitor, or Nurse,
stating exactly what the requirement was either food,
clothing, or bedding, and the exact quantity of each
article to prevent imposture. Everything so given was
entered in different books, and the account sent in to Mr.
Brett weekly. Sometimes the crowd was so pressing that
a portion only could be admitted at a time into the little
yard and mission room, and the rest waited their turn
outside. Occasionally very pressing applicants insisted
on having first turn, and the dispensing Sister had to
,give strict orders that none should come before their
| time.
One morning the Vicar of S. Mary s, Hoxton, came
about some urgent case, forced his way through the
j crowd, and rang for admittance. The little portress,
i peeping through the door, said, " No ; you can t come in,
you must wait ; there s too many of you in already,
: Sister says." Fortunately, being a kind-hearted man,
he saw the little maiden was ignorantly obeying some
order to the very letter, therefore waited till the next
relay entered, and told me the tale with much amuse-
jment.
The Shoreditch Vestry had run up a temporary
wooden hospital in an old burying-ground in the
Hackney Road, of which four Sisters undertook the
124 Memories of a Sifter.
nursing. A small room was apportioned to them, where
they lived on a sort of " Box and Cox " arrangement,
the two day Sisters occupying the bed by night, and
the two night Sisters by day. On the other side the
passage was a room for the medical attendant ; there was
a small kitchen, and two wards, capable of holding twenty
men and as many women. One of our girls acted as
cook, and a young man out of the district, the " Bill "
who had been found at the bed side of his mate, acted as
porter. We may here state that not very long after the
hospital had closed this young man came one day to me,
and after twisting his hat between his fingers a little
while said, " I ve come to tell you me and Polly s going
to be married, if you ve no objection ; " and so this small
romance grew out of the hospital.
All through the spring days the Sisters nursed
assiduously, while case after case was brought in da;
and night, the rough men who carried them smoking thi
while to keep off infection. Those traversing Hackney
Road passed by on the other side as they neared the old
burying-ground, such was the horror felt of the plague-
stricken spot.
Provision was made for convalescents by the Sisters
of S. Michael s, Shoreditch, at Ridge, and by the
Devonport Sisters at Ascot, and the task of de
spatching these convalescents was allotted by Mr. Brett
to us.
A book was kept in which were lists of convalescen
ready to go, as notice was sent from either place
beds were vacant. Twice a week an ambulance start
Some Memories of tUGirty-seven years. 125
I to either one or other from the Priory, bearing its load
I of men, women, and children. They assembled about
I 6 a.m., had a hearty breakfast of bread, meat, and coffee,
| and thus were ready when the sanitary inspectors appeared
I with the ambulance to convey them to their destination.
During the chats we had with these convalescents we
I added many to our stock of friends.
The following, written by a poor artisan in Hoxton, is
ij of interest, as showing the feeling of the neighbourhood to
I the Sisters :
" SIR
OIK,
I" Feeling anxious that praise should be given where
praise is due, I think mine a case beyond what may be
termed ordinary cases. Of a family of eight children I
Slave had seven smitten with small-pox, and all taken to
a:he Hackney Road Hospital, where I have had every
Opportunity of witnessing the unceasing attention and
tindness of those Christian ladies, the Sisters of Mercy,
j|:o whom I feel assured my pen will but feebly express
fthe gratitude the sufferers and their friends owe to them
lor their unremitting attention and kindness, as also to
Ul the parochial officials with whom I have come in
fcontact. Believing that it is not enough to feel grateful
mad thankful within one s own breast, but that the
jifeneral public, and more especially the parishioners of
his parish, should know and appreciate the value of
these helpers in time of need ; and now, as my family are
.gain returning to their home (with the exception of one
nly, removed to its final resting-place), I am induced to
equest a space in your widely -circulated journal for the
126 Memories of a Sifter.
insertion of this feeble attempt of mine, hoping it may
induce some one more capable than I to take up their
pen on so deserving a subject."
Every Parochial Vestry must have its discussion on
parochial matters, and it transpired through the local
papers that there had been discussion on the Sisters
having had charge of the hospital.
Some members of the Board thought it had been far
from a commendable act of the Sanitary Committee to
employ " Nuns, or Sisters of Mercy," to act as nurses;
but several other members speedily quieted these
scruples by stating that "had the Sisters not offered
their services, it would have cost the Vestry a large sum
of money to obtain properly trained nurses, whereas
they had received a note from the Sisters volunteering
their services free of expense." The Vestry Meeting
was concluded by the majority declaring " they were
brave, true Christian women, who had come most
opportunely to the aid of the Vestry, and they, therefore,
would tender them a vote of thanks."
" To the Mother Superior, S. Saviour s, Priory.
" MY DEAR MADAM,
" I am instructed by the Vestry of this parish toj
convey to you and to Sisters A., M., and E. the cordial
thanks of the Vestry for the very valuable services which
you and those Sisters rendered to the Vestry and to the
suffering poor whom you and they attended at the
Temporary Small-pox Hospital, in the Hackney Road, i
Unfortunately, the Parish of Shoreditch was one of tl
Some Memories of 1l)irty-seven Wears. 127
earliest and most severely smitten by the epidemic, and
the Vestry were compelled to provide the hospital at a
very short notice, and with very little experience, and,
but for the prompt acceptance of the duty by you at the
request of Dr. Sutton, the efforts of the Vestry might
have been to a large extent rendered nugatory. The
Vestry feel that they are unable to fully recognise by any
marks of their appreciation the full value of those
generous services. They were deeply moved by such
spontaneous acts of truly Christian duty and generous
devotion to the claims of suffering humanity as was
manifested by yourself and the kind Sisterhood who were
your assistants. I may state also that many of those
who were so kindly attended have expressed to me their
thankfulness for the attention and benevolent care they
have received, and I will beg you to convey to Sisters A.,
M., and E. my own high appreciation of their truly
| noble conduct in connection with our hospital, and my
thanks for the very satisfactory manner in which they
discharged, financially and otherwise, the duty entrusted
to them.
" I remain, dear Madam, yours most obediently,
" (Signed), E. WALKER, Vestry Clerk.
I" VESTRY OF S. LEONARD, SHOREDITCH,
"June 16, 1871."
Dr. George Herman, then quite a young man, was
resident in this small-pox hospital, and our work there was
. nade smooth and pleasant by his most helpful kindness
md consideration ; and in Dr. Sutton, his chief, we found
128 Memories of a
a real friend, to whom we were constantly indebted for
many kindnesses up to his death in June, 1893. Of the
hospital, as old Bewick says in one of his wonderful
vignettes : " Good times, bad times, and all times have
an end," so this most terrible and wonderful small-pox
time ended by May, and we were free once more to
devote ourselves to parish work.
The previous overtaxing of the Sisters powers during
the trying winter and spring, demanded longer holidays
than usual for them, and the Mother of S. Margaret s,
Aberdeen (like S. Saviour s Priory, a branch of S.
Margaret s, East Grinstead), kindly invited two of the
Sisters to spend a short time with her. The Sisters
Home in Aberdeen is now situated at BayiView, outside
the town ; but at that time they were living in the midst
of their work, in the Gallow Gate, from which a narrow
court led to the door of the Home. A quaint old-
fashioned house it was, with a quaint old-fashioned
garden at the back, impressed on my memory as pro
ducing chiefly coarse grass and orange lilies. Beyond
that, was a private door for the Sisters into the Mission
Chapel, which I remember so well as crowded with a
most hearty congregation on Sundays. A most delight
ful and restful stay we had there, enjoying the delicious
fresh breezes on the links, and the evening rambles,
watching the North Sea come foaming and tumbling in
upon the sands. Delightful visits too were paid to
a charming cottage at Cults, on the Deeside, used by the
Sisters for invalids, and the garden of which is re
membered by us as having a particularly nice lot of fruit-
-
1
Some Memories of TS&irty-seven years. 129
I laden raspberry bushes; and unless you had been a
(worker in Haggerston, you could not fully realize the
I delights of sitting on the ground in a kitchen garden
sloping down to the brown river rushing over white
1 pebbles, with the blue sky above, and purple hills all
laround, and a raspberry bush over your head, from which
the Mother said you might pick as many as you liked !
Then there were expeditions also to Cove (a place we
jtiad visited on a previous flying visit to Scotland), and
fitting on the gray rocks in the sun, and having tea with
fl:he kindly coastguard and his family. We were subse
quently joined by a friend, and at the suggestion of the
I Mother, we three, one of the Aberdeen Sisters, and a
firiend a party of five in all took up our abode in an
B)ld woman s cottage, on a mooj: side, in the wilds of
| Moray shire. Here we had rural life to its very fullest
Ijxtent. The cottage had only two rooms and a loft above.
I The sitting-room had a couch, and a cupboard bed,
iind here we three Londoners slept, the two Aberdonians
|>ccupying the loft above. The window refused to
| emain open unless propped up with a bottle, and a basin
I if milk we put outside on the sill to keep fresh was
llrunk up by a wandering cow in the night. We had a
Ivash-hand basin, but so cracked we dare not make the
Lttempt of putting water into it, so performed all our
R.blutions at a spring behind the barn. We had to walk
|Mve miles to the village to fetch our letters and anything
|we wanted to eat beyond bread, milk, and cheese, and
8 ve had altogether a most fascinating time. Real enjoy-
aent right through. To sit in the sweet pine woods in
130 Memories of a Sifter.
the heat of the day, and wander on the crimson heather-
covered moors in the evening, picking cranberries, was a
rest untold to us.
In company with this friend we wandered farther
north, and visited Skye, where the inhabitants of Portree,
witnessing our landing, exclaimed, "Eh! and there a
twa meenisters aboard ! " After a sojourn of three days,
during which that great gale, which visited Scotland and
the North of Europe in the August of 1871, enveloped
Skye in deluges of rain and the thickest mantle of mist,
we recrossed only able to say we had visited, but not *?
seen Skye to the mainland. The storm of the previous-
days had passed away, and between Portree and Strom
Ferry, the sea and the distant hills were of the sweetest K
shades of blue and opal. Mr. Newman Hall was a
fellow-passenger, and we had some interesting talk withl k
him, he telling us of his travels, and pointing out soi
of the hills which reminded him of those in the Hoh
Land. He was very kind and compassionate to a
lunatic girl, who was crouching on a seat, swathed in
plaid, being conveyed to the asylum on the mainlaiK
repeating monotonously in piteous tones during tl
whole voyage, " Is it not strange ! Is it not strange
Pleasant holidays, like all pleasant things, soon
away, but not so their memory. " Un souvenir heureuxt
est peut-etre une terre plus vraic que le bonheur," and tl
remembrance of our little highland trip has been a gr
spot in our memory during many days of weariness
toil. Two months later on, in November, Sister Marths
of Aberdeen, who had shared our stay at the cottage, wa
Some Memories of T6irty-sevtn years. 131
called to her rest. She had been nursing a case of
typhoid in one of the courts, had taken the disease, and
died in that month. She was one of the first of the
Community of the Mother Home at East Grinstead, and
had been sent from there to the Aberdeen Branch, where
she lived and worked some years, and we felt so glad to
think of the cheery glimpse we had of her, after years of
separation, entering into all the bright holiday fun so
heartily, enjoying every little expedition, and laughing
most brightly over every little misadventure and contre
temps of our roughing it in the cottage.
The first Priory dog, Prin, died almost suddenly, and
we being left entirely at the mercy of the rats inside,
and thieves outside, bereft of our faithful guardian,
some friends in Northamptonshire offered to bestow a
lost dog upon us, whom they had housed from puppy-
hood, and for whom they were anxious to find a home ;
and so on the ever memorable 3oth December, two of us
went to Dalston junction to receive and welcome our
new inmate, Toby, dear, faithful Toby, whose story has
been told in previous pages of these papers. We ought
i not to pass over in these chronicles another dear and
much loved friend, who came to take up its abode with
I us this year. Dear, gentle, silvery -coated V. was brought
| to us in a basket, a little round, furry ball of a Persian
kitten, and during the twelve years of her life with us
i won the love of all by her sweet, tender, affectionate
i ways. The next year brought her a companion in the
i shape of a ruddy-golden kitten, named Rowdy, and the
1 three animals lived a life of perfect peace and happiness
Memories of a Sifter.
within the precincts of the Priory, with fewer accidents
and misfortunes than usually fall to the lot of pets.
Once or twice, Toby was lost, to the consternation of
the Community. One dark January afternoon, only a
fortnight after he came, he was frightened by some boys
near the gas-factory, as he was following a Sister into
the parish. She, looking round, missed him, called vainly,
sought vainly, fled in anguish to the Priory. No Toby had
been seen ; he was that most terrible of all terrible things,
a lost dog in London. And nothing could be done but
to open the doors at intervals and look up and down tl
foggy street. At the end of an hour, during which w
all felt sure our hair had turned white, on opening tl
door for about the hundred and twentieth time, wit
heavy hearts and trembling fingers, lo and behold!
little something was sitting outside, a little somethir
with eyes shining like green railway signals in tl
darkness, and which leaped in with a bound, revealing
rough, red, hairy face and paws, and a pair of the dean
honestest brown eyes in the whole world ; and thereupc
our lamentation was turned into rejoicing, and we cor
templated with great satisfaction the perfect annihilatic
and absorption of a mutton bone in front of the fii
But this was not the only mauvais quart d heurc throug
which we passed. One snowy evening he followed 01
of the lads home, and we spent the greater portion
the night on the door-step calling, Toby ! and shiverii
Eh, dear! we were young in those days, and did nc
catch the frightful rheumatism we should now a days
Then the old dear had a troublesome trick of jumph
Some Memories of TsGirty-seven years. 133
fon to the dust-bin, and from thence on to the wall, and
iso down into our neighbour s garden, where there was no
(I dust-bin or projection by which to ascend, and therefore
lit entailed upon the Sisters to mount the dust-bin, scale
the wall, drop down the other side, have a chair handed
pver, pick up Toby, mount the chair, hand him back
struggling woe to the white caps and collars during the
Operation re-scale the wall, drag up the chair, and re-
;nter the cloister by the way of the dust-bin. Several
imes our neighbours thought there were robbers in the
rard, and rushed out with candles and pokers, but after a
ime they got to know it was only the Priory dog.
Then a more awkward predicament still, was when
we leaped into the dust-bin, to rout about after scraps,
Lad found it tenanted by a stray cat. He retreated
into one corner and barked, the cat fled into the other
i orner and spat, and it wanted a brave heart that dared
| o and drag him out by the scruff of the neck and chance
ieing flown at by the infuriated cat. Once he had
j ather a hard time of it from a jackdaw which was given
ks, who used to peck his legs and snatch his bones, but
tie jackdaw came to an untimely end in the water-butt.
I Dear little V. ! How fond she was of Toby, and how
lightened he was of her ! And yet on one occasion she
aved his life. He was always terrified at a thunder-
torm, and sat, and gasped, and panted, and at last held
is breath with terror, till we thought he was going to
ave a fit, when V., who was perched on the corner of
ic table above his head, eyeing him with that fixity of
urpose which only the feline eye can accomplish, sud-
134 Memories of a Sifter.
denly darted out a soft white hand, and gave him a
tremendous box on the ears, and the sudden shock re
stored his breath, and (we think) saved his life.
V. was lost, too, sometimes. One terrible 24th of March,
the day the Eurydice went down, and Father Stanton
had been touching upon it in a sermon he was preaching
at S. Chad s, V. was lost. It was while a chapel was being
built in the garden, and she had crept under the partially
laid down flooring, and got lost among the sleepers
beneath. Oh ! the anxiety and the terror we went
through all that Sunday afternoon ! A lady brought us
a stray cat a hideous person, with broken ears asking
us to give it a home, and we must I confess it ? looked
at it with loathing as we thought of it warmly house
while our dear lost V. was out in the cold ! But we di
our best for it, we really did, and made it a warm
and it drank some milk, and then ran away up t
chimney. At dead of night faint mews were hear
amidst the howling of the March wind, and our littlo
V. was found trembling with cold and fear, and
covered with shavings, crying in the yard. She was
stolen once or twice, and once got out in the street, and
we heard her crying in the area, but never lost for so long
as that dreadful Sunday. But their little lives are over, ,
and they lie peacefully side by side in the plot of garden >
beside the chapel. No stone marks their resting-place,
but the green leaves of the plants, among which they
used to love to bask in the hot and sunny weather, cast I
a network of flickering shadows across them in the
summer, and the wintry moon smiles on them from
Some Memories of TSQirty-seven years. 135
i bet ween the skeleton branches of the tree up which they
used to love to climb in old, old days long ago. And for
I us, we feel that, " Not one of them is forgotten before
GOD," " For Thou, LORD, shalt save both man and beast."
In the January of 1872 a new work seemed to be
[desirable for us. Two of the Sisters went to stay at
Folkestone for a day or two. One of the clergy at S.
Michael s was just leaving, and it was suggested the
[home he had been occupying would make a most admir-
lable little Convalescent Home. Suggestion is but father
to action, and by the middle of February the Home was
I ready, and received its first patients. From that date
lantil February, 1875, the Home was carried on, and
[admitted altogether 275 inmates. Towards the end of
(1875 there seemed reasons why it should be given up,
jind therefore, much to the regret of everybody, it was
hlosed. There is many an one who looks back with
pleasure to the health and strength they derived from
:he bracing Folkestone breezes, and the pleasant rambles
pn the sweet thymy downs over Caesar s Camp and the
pugar Loaf Hill, of scrambles down to S. Thomas , Holy-
I veil, lying in a hollow by the Canterbury Road, and of the
liever failing interest of watching the Boulogne steamers
KO out and come in, of which it may be remarked,
:o those with a sense of humour there was more amuse-
jnent in watching the in-coming than the out-going
backet, on account of the tumbled, woe-begone looks
I )f those to whom the voyage had been anything but a
royage of pleasure. During those three years in which
)ur little Home existed, the Rev. E. Husband, vicar of
136 Memories of a Sifter.
S. Michael s, always showed the greatest kindness to the
inmates, many of whom were drawn to think of better
things than had been brought before them in their
previous life, by the agency of the beautiful Services, the
sweet music, and the touching addresses they heard in S.
Michael s.
I remember a most successful Mission which was
held Sunday and week-day evenings, in S. Augustine s
Schoolroom, by the Rev. H. J. Amps, now Warden of
the House of Mercy, Highgate. One of our most
energetic Sisters helped him in this work, hunting up
the people during the day, and presiding over
harmonium in the evenings.
Once Father O Neill, of S. John s Mission House,
Cowley, came to address them shortly before he left
England for India. That memorable evening is oft<
looked back to by those who were present, ani
pictured to our mind s eye. His tall attenuated figure,
standing erect in the flickering gas-light against the
dusky shadows of the schoolroom, the poor, ragged;
haggard-faced men and women bending forward, drink
ing in every word that fell from his lips, as he spoke
with zeal and energy (how little we recked then of how
near his footsteps were to the threshold of heaven !) ; and
then begged them to sing his favourite hymn, " A few
more years shall roll," and concluded with asking them
to kneel and join with him in prayer for those they loved,
and those for whom they were bound to pray, and many
a sobbing mother gave in the name of her son, straying
far away from the paths of virtue, or exposed to hardship
Some Memories of tSdirty-seven years. 137
and suffering in some foreign land, for whom she wished
the prayers of the good man, and of those who, with her,
knelt around him.
A difficulty which had always existed, was how to get
the masses of children baptized, and the searching out,
and diving down among the people to bring them to the
Mission, brought to light strata upon strata of un-
baptized families. A few, but very few, objected to their
children being "done" as they called it. One half-
infidel man observed, " The Sisters had been very good
to his little ones while they were bad, whatever they
wanted couldn t do them no harm, so my missis can let
them go if Sister likes." The greater part didn t care,
so long as they had not the trouble of bringing them to
the church. So at last it was elected to collect the
children and take them over in batches to the church ;
and furthermore, as they were mostly ragged, hungry-
looking, poor starved little things, they were regaled with
tea and bread and butter in the Mission Room previously,
hence arose what grew to be called at that time
" Heathen Teas." The bigger ones came to classes
and received some instruction, and then on the ap
pointed evenings came to tea, bringing the babies with
them ; and you may imagine, to pin the tickets contain
ing the Christian name, surname, and address on each
child before they were taken to church was a most
lengthy operation. As more Sisters and true workers
came in course of time, these Heathen Teas were dis
continued, but in these early days they were found most
necessary in order to receive the children.
138 Memories of a Sifter.
In the autumn of 1873, a third house, adjoining the
two of which the Sisters had already possession, was in
the market, and we speedily secured it, as we were
outgrowing our limits. By the help of Father
Mackonochie funds had been raised to build a Guild
Room for the Guild girls of S. Michael and All Angels
over one of the workshops.
On February 3rd, 1874, tnat "noble-minded layman,"
that patriarch of the north-east on whom so many leant,
that rock of strength to whom so many ran in their
adversity and were comforted, that firm friend to Hag-
gerston and the Priory, the great Robert Brett, was
called home. His illness was not long, and after a
short space of sickness and suffering, the true, loving,
generous heart, so loyal to his Church and his GOD,
ceased to beat, that undaunted, energetic spirit returned
to Him Who made it, and we, left behind, felt there
was indeed a mighty man of valour taken from the
Church, a Master in Israel had fallen, a councillor in
time of need was gone from among us. He was the
wise man of the east whose memorial remains in the
Haggerston Churches, which were built through his
and Mr. Richard Foster s agency. By a strange
coincidence, on the 7th of February, the day on which
his remains were laid to rest, the second great London
Mission began.
Our good and kind friend of Soho days, the Rev. J.
C. Chambers, was called to his rest on the 2ist of May
following.
In the early spring of 1875 f ever na dl prowled and
Some Memories of H>dirty-seven years. 139
; lurked about Haggerston, attacking, in its evil and
(cowardly wont, those who were weakly and run down.
, The Vicar, the Rev. G. Hervey, had been not exactly
Jill but in a low, exhausted state of health, from pressure
of overwork. On a Sunday in March he gave the
j children an address in the afternoon an address, solemn,
pleading, earnest, which those who heard it have never
(forgotten. We noticed then how thin and worn he
ilooked as he stood on the chancel steps, in the light of
the cold spring sunshine falling through the western
i rose window. And the next news was, he was down
with the fever. Two of our Sisters nursed him, but his
enfeebled frame was too weak to battle with the enemy,
and at eleven o clock on March i5th he passed away.
I think words can hardly describe the desolation which
filled every soul. Not only the church people, but
pthers outside, mourned his loss.
" He was a good man ! We shall never see his like
I again ! Always a pleasant word for everybody, no
(matter who they might be ! " was echoed all around.
During his illness, his kindly forethought for others
had made him insist on being removed from his own
1 room, and put into one on the attic floor, shut off by a
i small staircase from the rest of the house. When he
iwas placed in his coffin he was vested in cassock and
i surplice, and I went over late in the evening to put the
stole on. It was a cold, dark, dreary evening, and the
voices of the children sounded dull and discordant
as they played and shouted in the windy street. The
fever-stricken home looked sad and desolate without
140 Memories of a Sifter.
the genial presence which had always brightened it, and
mounting the flight of narrow attic stairs, I found all
that remained of the first Vicar of S. Augustine s lying
calm and peaceful, his hands crossed upon his breast, a
serene smile upon his countenance.
The lads from the church, those he had taught (in
many cases baptized), prepared for Confirmation, and
given them their first Communion, came over to the
Priory, and we talked sadly and quietly over the fire
that evening about their loss ; counting over the kind
words he had spoken, the kind deeds he had done, the
help he had given them in temptations, and trials, and
difficulties.
It was a bitter day, the i8th of March, when his
remains were laid to rest in Norwood Cemetery. A
surging, silent, and reverent crowd pressed into the
church, from out of whom a loyal band went down to
the cemetery to see the end. A biting, cutting east
wind swept across the withered grass, and a cold
spring sun, shorn of its warmth and kindliness, lighted
up the yawning grave and the weeping mourners
around. " Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to
dust," and the dull thud of the soil fell spadeful by
spadeful on the coffin, and then we turned our faces
eastward, to return home to the forlorn church and
parish.
We were very busy ourselves just after, as two o
the Sisters who had nursed Mr. Hervey caught the
fever, and we were obliged to portion off a part of our
tumble-down dwelling as a quarantine for them.
Some Memories of ^dirty-seven years. 141
Meantime the little chapel for our own use was rapidly
rising, and by Ascension Day, which that year fell in
May, it was ready for use, and a great comfort and
jbenefit the Sisters found it. The old one bordered on to
^the street, and was hot, and noisy, and dusty : the new
|one, built over the garden, is cool, and peaceful, and
restful. A poplar, a lime, and an elm overshadow it,
| and in the quiet, early mornings their branches are full
bf twittering, chirping sparrows.
In the August of. 1875 a new Vicar was appointed to
jo. Augustine s, the Rev. Charles Dent, a most active,
jinergetic man, and with a rare gift in a clergyman a
[wonderful head for business. He proved himself a most
Kind and good friend to us, not only during the
live years he was at S. Augustine s, but ever since, and
jiis keen judgment, and sound opinion, make him a
[counsellor of great value in difficulty.
I think I said before that, owing to certain reasons, we
Jvere obliged to give up our little home at Folkestone in
November of this year; but the very dear and good
jriend who had managed it for us took a little cottage
jit Harlow, and for some years was able to receive one
i )r two of our special cases, who needed change and rest.
Reader, do you know Harlow ? To myself and many
i mother Haggerstonian the name conjures up a vision of
1 :he most perfectly rural character imaginable. A vision of
l evel meadows embroidered with yellow petalled, purple
pencilled celandines, and of hedges strewn with starry
Blackthorn blossoms in the early spring. A vision of
i peaceful river, thickly sown with the golden globes of
H2 Memories of a Sister.
marsh marigolds, winding gently through flat meadows,
one blaze of yellow buttercups, dotted over with herds of
cattle munching the sweet herbage of the young summer.
There is a bridge, and an old mill reflected in the trans
parent water, and a little grove of pollard willows, and
thick reeds tangled up with vivid yellow iris blossoms.
The old mill stream purls gently with a soothing sound, , it
and the rooks caw from the woods beyond the golden i cs.
meadow.
How many pleasant excursions we have had there
with the bandmistresses of the Guild of S. Michael and
Father Mackonochie ! Once he took us a row on the
river, and I steered, and I grieve to say, thoughtlessly
steered for the bank from which Father Mackonochie
was vainly striving to put off! No wonder he marvelle
that his strokes were of no avail ! No wonder he calk
me sharply to account, but the error once rectified, whati
a happy, laughing party glided down the stream, with ther
blue sky over-head, and the yellow fields stretched 01
on either side ! And the playful walk up the lane fromi
the river, past the shut-up, tumble-down house, reported
to be haunted, where the girls picked flowers in the :
blooming hedges, and surreptitiously fastened straggling ti ;
green burrs on each other s dresses ! On past the red- ;
roofed Chantrey Chapel, to the house where tea was ;
laid out under the shade of the gnarled apple tree in the
tiny garden, and then back to London in the dewy t
evening, when the green twilight clothed the horizor ;.
behind the purple shadows of the trees.
Besides our bandmistresses, do not our boys (mn
)V 1
Some Memories of H>dirty-seven years. 143
married men) look back to Harlow with pleasure in
the summer days when they fished in the reedy river, or
boated on it? It is on record that one evening they
missed the train back to London, through gathering
bunches of forget-me-nots and wild roses from the
i banks, and reaching after yellow and white water-lilies.
(Did not one try to scramble out of the boat on all
fours, while the old lock-keeper cried, " Lor, sir ! that
aint the way to get out of a boat ? " Did not dear old
1 Toby, seeing me trust myself to the mercy of the boys
pn the river, although far from being a water-dog, plunge
jjboldly into the stream, and come swimming with little
I short strokes behind, till I, moved with pity, nearly
jhapsized the boat by leaning over and pulling him, wet
land kicking, inside ?
Then there was a wet summer evening, and we had
lo walk to the station in the dark, across a ploughed
field, guided by flashes of lightning, and in the middle of
Ihe field Mary Anne s shoes came off, and we had to
ijvait for the next flash to find them !
And autumn, too, when all the woods were gorgeous,
laid the beech-tree by the churchyard gate glistened like
lawny gold in the sunlight, our Haggerston boys enjoyed
long rambles through- the lanes, where the ditches were
lac with wild mint, and the hedges purple with dog-
j| rood, and scarlet and yellow with maple, from out which
leered the long pointed leaves and pink fruit of the
l|oiadleberry, strewn all over with the hoary, feathery
istoons of the travellers joy. That is all over. We
(live travelled many miles along the road of life since
144 Memories of a Sifter.
the days of Harlow, but I know how thoroughly we all
enjoyed the good times there.
What a thing first impressions are ! How indelibly
stamped upon one s memory is the first time of doing
a thing, the first time of seeing a place, the first time one
meets a person whose life is afterwards mixed up with
one s own ! I shall never forget my first sight of a real
live Sister, on my first visit to S. Margaret s! How
nice she looked 2that hot August afternoon, standing cool,
and gentle, and white-capped in the shady entrance of
the old temporary S. Margaret s ! She has lived in my
memory ever since as a pleasant picture, with the golden
light throwing up her snowy head-gear and soft gray
dress in bright relief against the crimson baize curtain,
which hung in heavy folds behind. her, framed in by the
lintel posts of the door !
One s first trip across the Channel, who can ever
forget that ? Were the skies ever so blue, so translucently
blue and clear as they appeared to us then ? Did the
sabots ever clack so cheerfully, or the tongues wag with
such a deliciously foreign accent on one s second visit ?
Never. One s impressions of the first visit are a mingled
memory of blue sky, blazing sun, vivid colours,
ceaseless jabber, and strange cries ; stately churches with
aisles full of mysterious and purple shadows, curious and
delicious fragrance from many-hued flower markets,
which, to this day, a bunch of carnations or a spray of
white lilac will revive scents not so fragrant and
delicious from narrow boulder-paved streets, running on
either side of a kennel beneath quaint over-hanging
Some Memories of ^dirty-seven years. 145
I piles of many-storied wood and plaster ; dim visions of
j soutaned, wide-hatted Priests, crimped and frilled capped
1 women, much patched blouses of every shade of ultra-
i marine, Sisters in every variety of cap and habit, and
I little peg-topped trousered gens d armes beating noisy
tattoos in the early morning, all mixed up with a sort of
! general raciness and spring of feeling, which subsequent
visits never seem to have the power of raising again !
But though first impressions can never be renewed, a
(few days stay on the other side of the Channel is one of
the most recruiting things one can have; and the little
(trip that Sister H. and myself and a friend of ours
4 made in the September of 1879 to Normandy comprises
ij:he story of a little cat, who was, during its few short
b years of life, dearly loved by all who knew it.
After a brief visit to Rouen, we elected to stay a while
mmidst the bracing breezes of Dieppe. And a very
I Dleasant little while it was : the morning rambles on the
jomny beach, with tamarisk hedges and rows of torch-
ijike scarlet gladioli fencing off the spaces of lawn, crowds
of chattering, gesticulating French families, dancing hand
1 n hand into the glittering waves ; Mon pere, portly and
>onderous, bald headed, and bereft of his pince-nez ;
; vladame, vociferous and somewhat timorous; Mes-
1 lemoiselles, all life and verve, attempting frightful and
perilous feats of swimming, and looking perfectly
harming in most becoming costumes.
Here a group of gray-garbed Soeurs de Charite, their
vrhite cornettes flapping in the breeze ; there a dainty
arisienne, chausee and gantee as only a true daughter
L
146
Memories of a Sister.
of Paris can be ; further on two Cures meet and salute
each other, taking off their broad-brimmed hats and
bowing nearly to the ground; next to them, Alphonse
and Eug6ne, tutoy-ing each other over the stiffest of
collars and most irreproachable of boots ; surrounding
them, in double files, is a school of close-cropped little
laddies, bright and happy under the guardianship of
rosy, beaming Freres Chr6tiens ; and " way off,"as the
Yankees say, is a portly old Sister of Mercy, speaking
approvingly to a country woman and her little girl.
All these sights dazzled our poor Haggerstonian brains
as we sat on the beach, and our friend enjoyed her
morning swim.
In the afternoons we wandered where out fancy led
us, and that was past the quay, with the great Calvary
looking westward, across the rolling channel, into the
rough-paved fisher district, where the old women, in
their large white caps, clacked over the pavement in,
their wooden sabots and crowded into the Church of
Le PolUt. Here, picking our way homeward, after a
ramble round its quaint and interesting precincts,
Miss spied the most lovely of kittens gambolling
round an old fish basket. It was pure cream-coloun
long-haired, magnificent tailed an object no soone
seen than desired ; no sooner desired than, with a sr
sum, purchased, carried home, named Jacqueline
memory of its Dieppe parentage, and taken back wit
its mistress to its future home.
Miss - - marriage followed shortly after her retui
and the graceful and beautiful Jacqueline found hers
Some Memories of ^dirty-seven yean. 147
(settled in a lovely part of Devonshire, with all that
i heart of cat could wish for in the shape of stables, hay-
llofts, trees containing abundance of birds, and a kitchen
jlflowing with rivers of milk. The drawing-room she
pschewed; probably her bourgeois birth gave her lower
S:astes than drawing-rooms could provide. And here, in
he seclusion of the country parsonage, a most beautiful
little kitten was granted her. It darted about like a little
I golden ball after its cream-coloured mother, in and out
Iif the thick shrubberies, among the chequered shadows of
Ihe straight raised terrace which recalled " The Ghost
IValk " in Bleak House now careering over the lawn in
Iront of the magnolia and myrtle-covered rectory, now
laaking a dart at old Bruder the dachshund s tail, and
ben whirling off, a flash of yellow light, to astonish the
eese, who came with outstretched necks, a gobbling, hiss-
jLg file, to peer through the iron railings.
I Father Mackonochie was spending a little time there
i the autumn, to the intense delight of the children of
jlie house, whose great pleasure was to inveigle " God-
.ther " into a game of bears in the drawing-room, or tempt
.m to go out into the narrow lanes and glean black-
erries from among the dropping scarlet leaves, and as
was a promise that this glorious kitten should go to S.
"iviour s Priory and be with the Sisters, who remem-
sred its mother in her early days in the pebbled streets of
fl? Pollet, kind Father Mackonochie undertook the charge
| the small traveller up to Paddington ; and loud was its
mews and wailings on its journey, and great the petting
\ >.d admiring it received on its arrival, where it was
148 Memories of a Sifter.
promptly named Couttet by one of the Sisters, whose
guide, during a holiday excursion to Switzerland, had
borne that name. And Couttet was like a little sun- 1
beam in the Guild-room such pretty, fascinating ways;
such little graceful turns of the head ; such little playful
gestures, sure kitten never had before ! And she
her little life of beauty through the gray and storm
days of autumn, beloved of all whether cat-lovers or
no for none could resist her fascinations. Could deat
visit such a little creature, so full of life ? Yes ; cruel,
and untimely, it came to our little one by the hand of a
stranger, who threw some poisoned food over the w
and after a period of suffering and pain, which nothi
could relieve, on Christmas evening all the glintin
golden sheen was gone from her yellow fur, and hi
little agile body lay a stiffened corpse.
This year of 1879, a want we had felt for many ye
was more forcibly laid before us than ever, and that
that something must be done for the crowds of rou
girls who courted Hackney Road and Goldsmith Ro
White aproned, long fringed, red-laced booted, the
sauntered along the streets, or stood lounging agai
the corners, on perfect terms of equality as regard
power of tongue and power of arm with the lords <
creation, who sold fish and greens from the barro
which lined the causeway, also arrayed in their o
special costume of striped jersey and close-cropped h
What was to be done for our girls? You could n
make Guild girls of them, neither were they m
candidates for the Girls Friendly Society; yet
Some Memories of l&dirty-seven years. 149
the Priory exist, and the Sisters work in it, and leave
these wild coster girls growing up perfect heathen
barbarians at our very gates? Something must be
me, and something to meet the case in question the
inly thing was to try and rent a room, and work from it
ectly among them.
One of our Sisters, who went to her rest some years
o, was the energetic person who started and organized
is (seemingly) forlorn hope.
We found the upstairs floor of a two-roomed cottage
John Street was to be let. The person who lived
ow was a woman well-known to us, the widow of a
musician who had been paralysed for the latter years of
ois life. Like the Christian Church, this special work
;ince known as the Mission of the Good Shepherd was
:o begin in an upper chamber. A few forms, a table,
;;; me or two bright pictures were collected and placed in it,
m ind here, one autumn evening, with a glowing red coke
ire in the grate, and a bright paraffin lamp burning on
table, the Sister received her guests. They might
been a tribe of wild Red Indians or African savages,
;-j nstead of denizens of one of the most civilized cities in
ari ihe world !
i< ; How well we remember one of their first excursions in
-II he early days ! They all came to the club-room for their
31 ifikets the evening before, braying like donkeys, and by
a our o clock the next morning they besieged the Priory
ji ioor till the Sisters were ready to start with them to
TV ? enchurch Street Railway Station, and they marched
co i town the Hackney Road and through the city arm-in-
Memories of a Sifter.
arm, in ulsters, six abreast, singing at the top of their
voices, " Oh, dem golden slippers ! "
Once seated in the train, they leant out of the carriage
windows almost further than safety permitted, with fringes
and feathers waving in the breeze, drawing in great whiffs
of fresh air, and arrived at Southend, they raced about,
crying, " Oh, Sister ! ain t the sea blue ! ain t it beautiful ! "
The majority went out in a boat, from whence they sig
nalled the men on shore in stentorian voices, using their
hands for speaking trumpets, and shouting, " Hulloa,
George ! what cheer ! " The passers-by pitied the
Sisters, saying they wouldn t take such a lot as that ; no,
not for anything !
After the boating they bathed, and, being a sunny June
day, they revelled in the muddy waters, resisting
entreaties and threats to get them out. The bathing^
machines were drawn up on the beach, and still the
would not come. At last, a man who was rowing aroui
hit one on the head with an oar, and the whole lot, like
flock of Naiads, fled up to the machines. The pleasures
the ocean having been tasted, those of the land were
tried, and divers parties started off in carriages to enjc
the beauties of Prittlewell, some of them standing
embracing the driver s hat. They got home somehow. \
with handkerchiefs full of cockles and winkles, and the
procession homeward was conducted on the
principles as the outward-bound one.
On September 5th, 1882, a larger room was opene
in Reform Place, and it commenced with a persons
encounter at the door to keep a girl out who
Some Memories of ^dirty-seven years. 151
no right in. The expelled peri peered in through a
crack and cried : " My ! ain t it lovely ! Mayn t I never
come into it ? " She has come, \ am glad to say.
During tea some crawled under the tables and ran along
like dogs. What could you expect of girls who fought
like boxers over every trifling quarrel, and whose whole
life had been one attitude of self-defence ? It is difficult
to credit that those orderly, nice-looking girls, with ribbons
denoting their membership of the Young Women s Help
Society, who sit in such orderly rows at the Temperance
Meetings, are identical with the wild young maenads of
whom we have been speaking !
And besides the institution of the Society of the Girls
of the Good Shepherd, the year 1879 is also marked in
| our kalendar as being that in which we first began our
Day Nursery for babies whose mothers have to go out to
! work. Dear ! who could believe, when they survey our
i present bright, airy Creche, with its spacious central pare,
tits row of scarlet and white quilted cots, its comfortable
t hammocks bearing, like Knights Templars horses, a
double burden swinging aloft, that we began our
i Nursery in a small, dingy, ill-ventilated workshop in
Busk Street ! The want of a Creche had to be supplied,
and we had to supply it, however imperfectly, in the best
way we could ; and so on October 2nd, 1879, we opened
!the little nursery, reserving the home itself for sick
:hildren requiring temporary care, and the workshop for
:he well ones. The sick children s part we had to re-
inquish in a year or two ; the work of them and the day
rabies was incompatible, and we thought the Day
152
Memories of a Sifter.
Nursery was the greater boon to the neighbourht
and to our own poor mothers. The North Eastern
Children s Hospital, close by, does all that is really
needed for temporary cases, and chronic ones are better
in homes in less crowded parts of London ; we therefore
decided to take in as many day babies as we could, and
we passed our chronic sick cases on to other homes. Of
course, we thereby lost many smiling little faces. Little
Emmie, with her fragile body and her great wistful eyes
gazing at you from her sweet, patient face ; little Sin, who
was dying from some brain affection, but who returned to his
friends a bonnie, rosy little chappie; little Tom, ah!
poor little Tom, what a sad story his was ! His mother
was a maid-servant somewhere in the great north eastern
part of London, his father was no one knew where. Tom
had no name, and no business to be, and Tom was at
the mercy of this flighty, giddy girl of a mother, and of a i
cold dreary world, which did not want him. He was
"boarded out," or "farmed out," at somebody s house,
and the " somebody " tied the poor little scrap in a high
chair while she went out to work. We heard of the
case from a lady who visited in Stoke Newington, so we
brought him into the home, and found him such a tiny,
white, puling, crying no not crying, he had not strength
to cry, but wailing little puckered up bundle of si
and gristle, all mis-shapen, all scrunched up, that gc
Miss Smith was aghast, and could not conceive
how the little flickering flame of life could be ke{
alive in the puny body; but she took him, and si
nursed him, and she cockered him up, and si
Some Memories of TDfiirty-seven years. 153
breathed, as it were, the breath of life into him, and
when the sick Home was given up, Tom went to a nice
bright Boys Orphanage near Twyford, and grew into a
jolly, rosy-faced young urchin ; and then, when too big
for the Orphanage, to a Home for Waifs and Strays.
Since then we have lost touch with him, but feel sure
that he will have been in good hands, and sent out well
equipped to fight the battle of life in a brave and Christian
manner.
Dinners are great aids to civilization, great helps to
friendship. As the old Scotch proverb says, " Its ill-
talking between a fou man and a fasting ; " or, as the
sweetheart of one of the " blokes " said after a supper he
had been to, " It were that there beef, Sister, as made
him want to be good." In the starvation winters of the
early nineties, when the streets were full of snow,
and slush, and unemployed, and the wind was enough to
cut your head off, we made many friends among the men
through the agency of soup and bread. The Rev.
Robert Ekins, at that time Assistant Priest at S.
Augustine s, Haggerston, was the great organizer and
carrier out of these meals, and he was so bright, and
cheery, and kindly, the men all loved him.
The Priory was literally besieged by hosts of starving
men, who made quite a queue across the street, with
tickets in their hands, given them at their own homes
by the Sisters in the different parishes, waiting till the
doors opened at 12.30 for a dinner of soup and bread.
They were let in in batches of about 65 or 70 at a time.
The Sisters quite enjoyed ladling out the soup; it was so
154 Memories of a Sister.
delightful, they said, fishing in the deep waters of the I
vast cauldron for choice morsels of meat and dumpling, I
not knowing what was coming up next. Besides these I
starving men, of whom about 140 to 184 were fed a day I
(one day 237), on certain days of the week, there were I
dinners for the sick of good roast meat. Also pudding |
dinners once a week at S. Augustine s Schoolroom for I
the children, in addition to the stew dinners provided j
for them by the Destitute Children s Dinner Society.
It was such a comfort in all the cold and bleakness tJ
feel this drop in the ocean was doing something. Oh !
it was terrible to see how gaunt and starved some of the
poor men looked ! How they gnawed and gnawed at
the bones they found in the soup, how they wiped their
plates with bread, devouring every crumb ! One day
a poor fellow fainted with cold and hunger. And
they were so thoughtful and considerate one for
the other ; handing each other plates, passing each othi
bread, salt, and pepper waiting upon one another
the most unselfish spirit, reminding one of what William
Morris says of " the good fellowship of men."
But if the poor hungry bodies were fed, it did not
seem right the souls should starve, so there was a
Sunday Tea and Talk instituted, at which our young m
friends helped much. Some of them came and cut u
bread and butter, and then when the doors opened at
8 p.m., they came and assisted to wait on them, and hand
bread and butter and coffee.
What a lovely sight that tea was ! I specially have
in my mind one cold, snowy, sleety, nasty, wet night,
Some Memories of ^dirty-seven years. 155
when the men came stumbling in, poor souls, drenched
to the skin. I heard some say, "Yes; and it is bad
when you ve got no shirt to your back ! " Our young
men packed the guests in rows on forms and chairs
as tightly as they could, reserving comfortable, accessible
chairs for the old and lame ones. I always poured out
the coffee, and the cups were passed from one helper to
another down the room, while another contingent of
young men undertook the bread and butter department.
Cries of " Rooty up ! " generally resounded from the
other end of the room, Rooty meaning bread and butter.
[They were always wonderfully good and quiet, only
[occasionally as the cups were handed by came a cry
; from some comer, " I say, Gov nor, give us a cup for
i this old gentleman ! " Mr. Ekins directed the whole in
a most business like way, and was very popular with
the men.
Tea over, they went upstairs for talk. Here they
.sang hymns, some friends accompanying on piano
ind violin, and afterwards they were talked to by a
clergyman. The Rev. A. H. Stanton, of S. Alban s,
Holborn, gave them one "talk," and didn t the men
ike " that bloke from Holborn ! " and constantly asked
. \ r hen he was " comin down this way agin." The Rev.
HE. C. Williams, of S. Columba s, did the other talks, arid
equally won their hearts and confidence. It was most
nteresting to see their poor, worn, deadened faces drink-
ng it all in ; and did they not join most heartily in the
lymns !
I think in Bishop Hall of Vermont s Words from the
156 Memories of a Sifter.
Cross these words about the Penitent Thief seem so
applicable to these poor men :
" In Paradise he shall learn lessons he did not learn
there was no one to teach him here. He shall be more
and more cleansed from the stain of sin. He shall be
taught to see the truth, and in the light of that truth to
see the old life. In perfected penitence, shall be per
fected purification."
Each want supplied develops another, and a difficulty
we had on our hands as time went on was, what to do
with our people who were not exactly ill, but run down
and ready to be ill for want of a change. You could not
send them to a Convalescent Home, they were not bad
enough ; but they wanted a Home of some sort. So
plact aux dames we began with a Home for the girls
first. Where was it to be ? A friend suggested Herne
Bay as a snug, quiet little place, with thoroughly good
air. And so in April, 1882, on a very stormy spring
day, the home was chosen. We can t help remembering
it, for it was that tremendous gale which dashed all the
young blossoming trees to pieces, and blew the chimney
pots off the old Priory, deluging us with soot. Sister
Helen and one of the S. Michael s Guild bandmistresses
went down to look about them, and we quite feared they
had been blown away, and welcomed them back with
great relief, succeeding which came the satisfaction of
hearing that Herne Bay was a suitable place in which
to pitch the tent of the Girls Seaside Home. And
so indeed it has proved. The Home is so close to
the sea they can run out on to the beach with their
Some Memories of H>dirty-seven years. 157
work or book at any moment, and yet be quite within
reach of the Home. They have a dear old-fashioned
garden behind a kitchen garden it is with peas, and
beans, and lettuces, and rhubarb, and pot herbs, which
come in very usefully ; and rows of columbines, and iris,
and borage and roses round the edges, and a most
extraordinary plant called a black arum. Did you ever
hear of one ? I never did. It is about two and a half
feet high, with a thick stem spotted like a reptile, and a
very, very dark purple thing, like the lords and ladies we
find in the hedges, folded in a green calyx, lined with
purple I have not expressed myself botanically, but you
will understand what I mean. It is altogether a sort of
weird, uncanny-looking plant, such as you might
imagine growing outside some old witch s cave. Their
little greenhouse has, among the plants there, a Madeira
vine (not a grape vine, but a climbing plant in a pot),
which we brought from S. Margaret s, Boston, years
ago. Then there is a delicious elder tree, which makes
you think of Andersen s Elder Fairy directly you see it,
covered literally covered with broad, flat masses of
blossom, and smelling that delightful, clean, healthy
smell that elders always have. There are rose trees and
espalier apple trees, and a plum tree. Poor young plum
tree ! It was only beginning to look up in the world,
and was so proud of all the young plumkins with
which every bough was garnished ; and one Whit
Monday the raging gale, which devastated half Herne
Bay, bowed it to the ground, and would have blighted
all its hopes, had not Sister Helen rushed to the rescue
158 Memories of a Sifter.
with her bandmistresses, and held it upright until the
Vicar of S. Augustine s (who was down there for a
holiday) could drive in a firm stake to bind it to.
It is a change from hideousness to heavenliness for the
girls to get away from the stuffy London workrooms,
and enjoy a good time here. To lie on the beach in the
mornings, doing nothing and fancy what the relief is to
an over-tired girl to feel she need do nothing ! but rest,
and absorb sunshine and fresh air into themselves : to
ripen, as it were, like a peach on the wall ! Oh ! the
delights of little boating expeditions, of little excursions,
carrying their lunch into the leafy Blean woods, and
hearing the blackbirds sing among the bushes ; of
evening walks over the cliffs to Reculvers ; and, last of
all, a run down to the beach by moonlight to say good
night to their friend, the dear old sea !
Father Mackonochie was so fond of the little Home at
Herne Bay, and I remember it was thorough relaxation
and refreshment to him to get down for a day or two,
away from all his worries and troubles, and revel in the
sea-breezes in front, and the flowery garden behind.
So we provided for our girls, but and this "but" came
nearer my heart how about our boys ? Why were the
Jills to have everything, and the poor Jacks not have a
something too? I remember at Brighton, with Father
Chapman, wandering round all the streets by the
Annunciation, trying to find a somewhere that would
turn into a Men s and Lads Home, but there was not
a single house quite suitable for the purpose, and I had
almost given up in despair, when our dear kind friem
Some Memories of 1f)irt\f-scven years. 159
and Associate, Miss Lucy Taylor, wrote and told me
she thought she had found the very place. This was on
Ash Wednesday, 1884. I went to stay with her, and
lone boisterous, blustering spring day, when the rain
poured down and swirled along the streets in a manner
I think only Brighton rain can do, we set forth to view
pur future mansion. Oh, dear ! I did think I was
i going out of all knowledge when we went to the very
,end of James Street, and debouched in slummy Bedford
I Street, looking like a bit of the East End stuck down in
blean smart Brighton ; and from Bedford Street we
B fought our way up a hill, wrestling at every step with a
nerce wind which came rushing from the downs. High
| ip this hill we lighted upon some unfinished houses, "and
iiere," said my friend, opening the iron gate and entering
I 1 trim little abode, " here is the house I think would suit
Lou."
" The very thing," was my reply, as we investigated
Irom cellar to attic, and our hearts rejoiced. It was
Inly just built, unpapered, and unfinished, but the
very thing. What anguish I went through the re-
Inainder of the day ! Suppose the rent was too high ;
uppose a Brighton friend, Colonel Grove Morris, to
Ifrhom our wisdom bade us defer, should think it was
Indesirable, suppose, a hundred supposes and one
new no peace until our friend and his wife met us
;|aere the next day ; and he stamped on the floor,
And thumped walls and wainscot with his stick, after
Ine manner of gentlemen when they want to find out
msound places, and finally gave his cordial approval.
i6o
Memories of a Sifter.
We had a good time starting the Home : it somehow
reminded me of the old days, when we settled into
Haggerston. Miss Taylor and I slept on mattresses
on the floor, and sat on them to eat our meals we had
no tables only one chair ; but we had great fun, and
people were so kind about giving us things. My own
mother, who was always most keenly interested in all
our work, gave us all the sheets, blankets, and other-
linen, and different other friends contributed other 1
furniture. It soon got all ship-shape, and felt clean and j
fresh and blowy, with pretty pictures, readable books, j
and, the joy of most of the men s hearts, a piano. Tht
smoke as much as they please, for I do believe ii
Thackeray s axiom, " A man can t be doing much hz
when he is smoking his pipe;" and I was told
a doctor who came to see the Home, " Bravo, Sister ! Ij
see you let them smoke ! That s all right ; it ll k
them out of lots of mischief."
They seem to enjoy everything so thoroughly;
fresh sea, and the beach, and the sight of the well-dres
people along the front in the mornings, the cheer
friendly gatherings round the table at dinner, and the
the restful afternoons, when some lie on the grass in
little back garden and go peacefully to sleep amid
scent of sweet peas and mignonette; some, less tire
ones, climb the roads to the downs, and there bask
the sunny hill-side, among the thyme and trefoil, wit
the larks singing overhead, and the humble bees buzzii
around. A few elderly ones are glad to lie on
couches in the sitting-room, with their handkerchit
Some Memories of f!)6irty-seven years. 161
over their faces, and the afternoon sun shining through
the green Venetian blinds. Tea wakes everybody up,
| and once again they seek the sea till supper time.
From our front door we can see the moon rise in red
mist over the ridge of downs, and, slowly ascending the
heavens, swamp the expanse of sea with vivid silver
(light. People may say men don t appreciate the beauties
| of nature as much as women and girls, but they do it
i:omes right home to them, and raises their minds to
ligher things. One artisan, looking at the moonlight
kiew from our door-step the other day, said : " Well,
|[ never saw anything half so beautiful! It was worth
a:oming down to Brighton just to see this ! " Another,
lifter walking on the pebbly beach and watching wave
lifter wave roll in, remarked: " I can t understand how
anyone can be an infidel after seeing such a sight as
E|his ; why it all tells you there must be a GOD ! "
We, at the Priory, always think it is better to have
cveral small Homes of Rest, than one large one. It
Inakes them snugger, and more homely ; and so when we
lound the needs of enlarging our borders in the matter
|f Fresh Air Homes, instead of making the Herne Bay
And Brighton ones bigger, we had two more separate
oundations in the country, for the accommodation of
aarried folk, girls, and children, and each Home has its
:wn Sister in charge of it, to whom they can look as a
lother.
Speaking for myself, with regard to the Brighton
i tome, which is my special domain, I think one
as learnt far more of our neighbours inmost nature
1 62 Memories of a Sifter.
and tastes from residence in the Home with them,
joining with them in a sociable game of whist, sitting to
applaud when the young one s get up a real good sing- I
song (which depends on the presence of a good pianist (j
in the house), and having one s meals with them daily, |j
hearing all their little jokes, joining in all their little !;;
discussions, than from any amount of more formal *.c
intercourse. I think meal times are splendid oppor- 1
tunities for getting to know people, and for bringing out re
their characters ; they eat away, and talk naturally.il
I am sure " One touch of nature makes the world akin,"
applies to feeding time. I always think the way
make a shy set of boys or girls feel at home with you
to ask them to tea, and sit down all together, and by tl
time so many cups of hot tea and so many slices
bread-and-butter and jam have been consumed, th
begin to feel all comfortable together with you,
" tis merry in the hall, when tongues wag all," as th
are sure to do and this has certainly proved the case
our Homes of Rest.
And so these many past years we have trudgt
along cheerfully and happily, and we have so lovl
our people among whom our lot is cast, and I thii
they have loved us in return ; and it has been
nice to "count up our mercies," to find a frien
here, and help there, a kind, sympathetic letter at
moment when we felt rather down-hearted, and,
of all, some poor souls we had been praying for, an
longing to be of some help to, doing the right thing i
last. Dear ! how despairing we felt, though, when i \
Some Memories of ^dirty-seven years. 163
our first Guild Party the girls broke all the forms to
i pieces in the schoolroom ! How hopeless it seemed to
I try to do anything for the boys, when they pelted their
I teachers in and out of Sunday School with brickbats!
| When the fathers wouldn t go to church, and the mothers
[didn t go to church ; when families after families were
(found unbaptized, and we had to collect the children in
(batches, and have Heathen Teas, before we took them
over to church.
But, we are thankful to say, those days are past.
I 1 don t mean to say there are not girls about who are
I not prepared to break up all the forms in the London
j Board Schools, and boys who are quite ready enough to
! stone anybody and anything, and lots of antagonistic
jiien and don t care women ; but out of the majority the
jTiinority are eliminated, little patches of leaven in every
i:lass, whose influence will go on towards leavening the
i vhole lump. For, mark you, each can do more for his
I ellow than any Sister or clergyman can, to raise and
iclp them. And that helping them has cost the helpers
.omething. As Bishop Welldon says, "The price
>f serving mankind is evermore the cross. The world
wreaks the hearts of its best benefactors, and then, after
Inany days, builds them sepulchres. If you would raise
he age in which you live, you must live above it, and to
Bive above it is to be misunderstood. But I do say the
nly chance of amelioration lies in the devotion of these,
||ie they only two or three individuals, who dare to try
JUie lives of their fellows, and yet more their own lives,
)>y the searching light of GOD S Eternal Law."
i6 4
Memories of a Sifter.
ffav. J. Q. (Sdambers.
THE Rev. John Charles Chambers is a name well-
known in Church History.
In 1856, he left Perth, and came up to London,
being appointed Perpetual Curate of S. Mary s, Crown
Street, Soho, and Warden of the House of Charity.
This was originally in Rose Street, but before his death
was moved into more commodious quarters at the corner
of Greek Street and Soho Square. I think the wori
there must have been most depressing, as the Ho
of Charity is the Refuge of social shipwrecks
world s failures sometimes through their own fau
sometimes through misfortune but through whatev
cause, all crushed, all failures. The parish is a distri
of S. Giles, and, as I knew it in the fifties, was a mix
population of Irish, French, Poles, thieves, and prize
fighters : a focus of sin and poverty. Mr. Chambe
sacrificed his home life to reside on the spot and help
both these parishioners and those who were sheltered i
the House of Charity. He spared himself nothing, b
gave his life for his people. He spoke very rarely o
his own sorrows and difficulties. I wrote to him frorr
Haggerston, when his wife died in 1873, and receive*
this kind letter :
" I fear that I never answered your most kind letter!
15f)e Rev. J. Q. (Sfambers. 165
I have had so many to write in addition to my usual
work, that I am not surprised at having left out some
times the most loving of my children, formerly or now.
I think people have begun to see how very good my wife
was in letting me be what I was enabled to be to many.
Looking back on my married life of twenty-seven years,
I cannot recollect a time that she ever allowed her
wishes and comfort to come between me and my work.
^She was so very unselfish and sweet at all times. I
Won t think any of you had any idea how very narrow
our circumstances were, and what a very hard fight with
:he world it was for us, or how little rest there was in
our life, or how very little of clerical income such as it
vas went to make things lighter and brighter at home.
^Without being very prononcec, she was very saintlike,
mud bore her cross, which had been all along a very
ieavy one, very bravely to the end. The way in which,
lit the last, I used to find her waiting for our dear LORD
in the Sacrament, as I brought Him to her from our
)ratory, was very touching, as a proof of how much she
Itad grown and sympathized with me in spirit, though so
mmch divided in life. I trust that all things at your
Kome are working together for good. Wishing you and
I -ours a happy Easter.
" Yours affectionately in CHRIST,
"J. C. CHAMBERS.
: .1 "With my thanks for all prayers said, and all
Biementos."
He only survived her one year.
i66
Memories of a Sifter.
In the December of 1868, he most kindly gave a
Retreat to the little handful of Sisters who remained
after the great Roman Secession of the previous spring,
and shortly after wrote to me :
" HOUSE OF CHARITY, SOHO,
"December 26, 1868.
" MY DEAR SISTER,
"Thanks so much for your kind note such a
poor failing creature as I am must be cheered by the-
assurance that I have been able to be of service. But if |
I have succeeded in making anyone feel more than they
felt before that to hold and possess JESUS is more than
all ritual, or outward solemnities, I shall be very content
We live in a time of exaggeration, when things g
unduly made of importance. Sometimes it is
preaching in a surplice, sometimes the lighting
candles, sometimes the use of incense, and sometime
even the vestments of the Priest at the altar. Wl
such Priests become the stalking-horses of hot
violent controversy, grounds of staying in, or leavii
a Church, one cannot but feel that such persons as
animated by these passions have but very little hold
our dear LORD. What can compare with the Presem
of JESUS in our souls ? What is the most gorgeoi
function without It ? With It may we not, like
hermits of old, be independent of all ?
" This is a chink, my dear Sister, to let the light
upon past and present troubles. One cannot heartil
join in grand functions, if there be a well-founc
suspicion that souls are likely to mistake the shadow
T3&? Rev. J. Q. (Sdambers. 167
the substance, the sign for the thing signified, and to
rest in outward symbols. It is a mediaeval ascetic who
says that actual Communion is only an aid to spiritual.
Even our receiving of JESUS in the Blessed Sacrament
is only a help to holding Him fast within us, and to
realizing His continual abode in our souls. May He
come to you and all yours at this season so powerfully
that you may feel that you are indeed the Beloved s, and
I that the Beloved is yours.
" Yours in Him affectionately,
"J. C. C."
And this was the man stigmatized as a " mere Arch-
i Ritualist," who was supposed to sacrifice everything to
! Ritual !
He was one of the Founders I believe the Founder
of the Confraternity of the Blessed Sacrament in 1863,
j the early meetings of which used to be held in the
i Schoolroom of S. Mary s, Crown Street; and I believe
lie was one of the originators of the Society of the
; Holy Cross, and the Priests used to assemble and have
(their first meetings in the church at that day.
Under his auspices the germ of the Society of S.
(John s, Cowley, originated. In the very early days
Father Benson, Father Grafton, Father O Neill, the
present Lord Halifax, and Mr. George Lane Fox used to
meet together in a room adjoining the Church, to discuss
che possibilities and probabilities of such a scheme.
Full of the love of his Master, his charity was un-
oounded. However great the sinner, however loathsome
1 68
Memories of a Sifter.
the disease, he put forth his hand to endeavour to heal
them. He never turned away his face from anyone,
however sunk and degraded. "Let us give them one
chance more," he would say. His friend and successor
in the Wardenship of the House of Charity, the Rev.
J. J. Elkington, has given me the following particulars
of his last moments :
" Shortly before his death, and when he felt convinced
that GOD S call to him had come, after some talk of the
old days at S. Mary s, and friends scattered or passed,
our late dear Vicar laid this charge upon me : You
shall tell my people that all my life I have striven fo
this one thing, that I should love JESUS, and that they
should love JESUS. At Cambridge I resolved to give up
all to JESUS and make Him my First. And in these
days I have met with much abuse, and they have called
me a Ritualist. If I know what that means, it is one
who loves JESUS, and strives to show love for Him in all
things. I have loved JESUS, and clung to Him; now He
is all I think about, and He has not forsaken me. Tell
them, as I lie here, I learn more and more the nothingness
of human affections how they fail us I urge them:
more strongly to cling to JESUS. In every rite, in every*
Sacrament, see Him at the end, and as the point of
Bid them love Him, cling to Him, give up all to Hi
and then they may be sure of Him ; yes ! even to th
last. " At twelve at noon on the Octave of the Ascensio
May 2ist, he was seized with a paroxysm of agony;
the paroxysm passed, the last word he uttered was
JESUS ! On Whitsun Tuesday, May 26th, we laid hi
Rev. J. (2. Qdambers. 169
earthly remains to rest. I shall never forget seeing one
poor man a Pole, I think who was sobbing in a
corner of the hall of the House of Charity the morning
of the funeral, lamenting bitterly he had lost his best and
only friend. He was not the only one by hundreds from
whom that cry went up. Men many in a good posi
tion in life who had been ruined by drink, but to whom
he gave a helping hand to try and set them on their feet
again, and many a poor woman and girl owed their all
to his unfailing charity and long-suffering. Where after
long forbearance it seemed hopeless to raise any one from
the depths into which they had sunk, he always made
excuses for them, and strove to palliate the censures of
those who, perhaps, had never been tempted like those
poor creatures.
The death of Mr. Chambers was to me an irreparable
loss. He was such a true friend, such a wise counsellor !
We, who knew and loved him, always spoke of him as
" Father John," for he was indeed the Father of his
people. How wonderfully S. Michael s Guild for Girls,
begun by him and Dr. Neale, in the schoolroom of
S. Mary s, Soho, has grown, and spread, and multiplied!
I Look at the network of Guilds scattered over England,
(and the untold good they are all doing, and trace it all
back to that gloomy September evening, when the small
handful of earnest -minded girls met in the schoolroom,
I and pledged themselves to certain rules, promising to try
and help others to a higher tone of Christian life.
How well I remember one of those first meetings,
I with the roar, and noise, and thieves whistles, and women
170
Memories of a Sifter.
yelling, and the drink and blasphemy of the court out-
side, and the attentive faces of the girls within, whil
Father John spoke gravely and affectionately to them
and in the middle came some violent kicks at the door,
which he went and opened, returning with a look
humour shining over his face, saying, " It is a little girli
kicking at the door, because she wants to be a Guild-
girl!"
It was under his fostering care the Newport Market I
Refuge was begun in the year 1864. Cradled in an old
slaughter-house, approachable only by a labyrinth of
filthy bye-streets running in a crooked tangle betwe
the boundaries of S. Martin s Lane, Leicester Square
and Five Dials, the Refuge flourished and grew,
that when compelled to move to make room for the it
provement some years back, it had grown into a larg
and important establishment, and as such, took its pi
in its permanent situation at Westminster.
Changes have swept over all Soho since the days
his ministrations; the old rookeries, and the narrc
courts, teeming with humanity, poverty, filth, and vi<
are things of the past, but his good deeds which he
for the sake of his Master, CHRIST, shall never ps
away, but shall be counted unto him for righteousnt
in the day of the restitution of all things.
3 aider Mackonocfa.
MacKonoedie.
RUSKIN writes of the mountains: " It is deeply necessary
| : or all men to consider the magnificence of the accom
plished purpose, and the depth of wisdom and love, which
ire manifested in the ordinances of the hills. For observe,
|n order to bring the world into the form which it now
hears, it was not mere sculpture that was needed ; the
mountains could not stand for a day unless they were
I brmed of materials altogether different from those which
I -Constitute the lower hills. A harder substance had to be
I prepared for every mountain chain ; yet not so hard but
I hat it might be capable of crumbling down into earth fit
I o nourish the Alpine forest and the Alpine flower. Death
|nust be upon the hills, and the cruelty of the tempests
| mite them, and the briar and thorn spring up upon
ij hem : but they so smite as to bring their rocks into the
il airest forms ; and so spring, as to make the very desert
ij >lossom as the rose. The great mountains lift the low-
iands on their sides."
Does not the description of this stern mountain, which
\ lift the lowlands on their sides," most aptly describe the
Ikharacter of Father Mackonochie? One was always
Reminded, when one thought of, or came in contact with
iiim, of the old Highland battle cry, " Stand fast, Craig
Hlachie ! " Stand fast like the everlasting hills, secure
172 Memories of a Sifter.
in truth, loyal in faith, resting in GOD. Whatever
tumults and tempest surged and stormed around him,
he stood fast, with the glory of GOD S Presence above
him. To have a quarter of an hour s talk with him, was
like a strong wave of keen, invigorating highland air
it somehow braced you up it made you feel or rather
want to feel a better and a braver woman. It was the
mountain " lifting the lowland to its side." His character
was stamped on his face. There was a special keen,
alert, straight-forward, seeing-through-difficulties look in
his eyes. One felt he was the realization of the old
French motto : Fais ce que dots, advienne gut pourra.
During the twenty years he was our Chaplain and
Warden, he helped in, and arranged every detail of plan
and work, and through succeeding years, through all his
own troubles and labours, he came over to the Priory
several times each week, bright, patient and cheery,
putting aside his own great anxieties and work for t
Church, was ready to listen to every little worry an
difficulty of the Sisters and of Haggerston. His public
life was bold and uncompromising his private life was
constant cheerfulness, and utter unselfishness.
The little Oratory we had in the house in Kingsland
Road, before we were able to move into Great
Cambridge Street, was simply an attic under the
slates, where we were crowded in somehow, and
Father Mackonochie s head all but touched the roof.
What it was through the hot summer days, words
cannot express. Father Mackonochie says, in a lett
dated May, 1868 : " I do not think we could give M
y aider Mackonocftc. 173
Martin a more suitable penance than to assist daily
j at High Vespers under the exact conditions of last
| night. We would put him on a high stool, so that his
I head being near the ceiling he might have the full
benefit." This, of course, was in the days of the Martin
\v. Mackonochie troubles. Through all the troublous
times in which the greater part of his life was spent,
outwardly he was brave, calm, and uncomplaining.
Now and then little bits occur in his letters with refer-
jence to them.
On December 23rd, 1879, he wrote : " You will, I
j suppose, have heard that all went off well. The Notice
I was served by my poor old friend the Officer of the
JiDourt, who seemed much the worse for the fog, but
jleclined breakfast. The document was put on the
|loor, but torn down by unknown hands (if not unseen).
1 The Bishop s Chaplain and Secretary did their duty,
lind I (to the best of my power) did mine. The church
ilvas crowded women almost crowded out by the men.
ilivery thing perfectly orderly ; two Nonconformist
ministers of eminence (I forget their names) quite
lielighted. A few enemies, but perfect order. One so
bar forgot himself as to genuflect at the Incarnatus.
"Father Stanton preached from Psalm cxlvii. 16, or (as
we announced) the absorbing subject of the week the
li^eather. This evening has yet to come, but I suppose
Inll be quiet. About 400 members of the C.E.W.M.S.
iwere in church, but nobody I believe knew that they
jrere more than ordinary church-goers."
I In one he says, " So far O. K. to-day, if any
i?4 Memories of a Sifter.
thing K. O. occurs before post time, I will let you
know." Then a post card, with simply on it, " The
glass has gone up a little since yesterday, though there
are serious indications of the improvement being only I
temporary, the mercury being unsteady. A. H. M."
An expedition abroad was a special enjoyment to him.
Here are a few lines from Lyons, in June, 1875 : " You
will think I have forgotten you all, if I do not put in a
line for you specially. However, I have not, and often
long to be in the old groove again. However, I suppose
there are breakers ahead. But then, there is light in
the heavens. We shall need all your prayers, especiallj
for the four great practical Gifts of the HOLY
wisdom, understanding, counsel, knowledge, and a deal i
more than all, our powers of bright, loving trust,
these, and more than all of them, will come out of the
Divine Love which shall pray within us. I have beet
much with the Martyrs, here and in Paris, and have
been reading Savonarola, so perhaps want Swiss air
cheer me. I wonder how you all are. I constantlj
think about you, and how the Home generally thrive
and about the Guild. It is no use trying to tell yov
what I have seen ; Stanton was to let you know tl
contents of my first letter. We saw the S te . Chapell
Louvre, Palais de Cluny, Notre Dame, and S. Clouc
all after a fashion. To-day we have seen seven Prit
all in chasubles, assisted by nine Deacons and sut
Deacons, say one Mass. The Priests were two at
north, two at the south, and a Celebrant in the mids
In the afternoon, Nones, Vespers, Compline, Processic
7 aider Mackonocdie. 175
of Blessed Sacrament (very grand), Salut, and Sermon ;
[altogether lasted two hours. Also, we have seen the
Afoto: Dame de Fourvtires, and the altars of S. Polycarp,
IS. Irenaeus, S. Alexander, and S. Epiph (whoever he
Imay be), likewise bones of 19,000 martyrs. Well, I
jmust stop ! Kindest love to the Sisters, bandmistresses,
ICiuild girls, etc. How about S. Augustine s ? "
He writes, July 2ist, 1882: "Another suit for
I deprivation and degradation, will most likely put a
I.top to any holiday."
On November 25th following is a letter : " I must
liot go to bed without a line. The day has been a full
Ime. Nihill suggested the revival of the scheme of an
Isxchange with Suckling, so this morning I wrote a
letter to the Dean of S. Paul s about this plan. Nihill
lame up from Edgware at dinner-time ; he had arranged
I should see J. B. here. This I could not do till after
linner. As Nihill s train was late, I left him and went
|p see. He said Bishop was quite ready to arrange
niings without any stipulations. I came back and told
Jihill, who went off to S. Peter s. After my sermon at
[I p.m., Nihill brought word that Suckling would take it
pito consideration for a week. Also in the evening I
ad a letter from Dean of S. Paul s, saying he would do
nil he could to forward any plan I might think best. So
mis was a pretty good day s work amongst us. Mind,
\Uncf for the week."
I A letter dated December 5th, 1882, says : " I fear
I cannot be instituted (to S. Peter s, London Docks)
11 Monday. Suckling will be instituted on Thursday,
176 Memories of a Sister.
and if it were not for the funeral of the Archbishop,
I should be instituted on Friday. It is very unfortunate,
but cannot be helped. I have a hope that all the man
J. knows is the vague rumour of a recommendation of
the E.C.U. to resign, or perhaps to exchange, but only
as an E.C.U. measure. I have received a very kind
letter from Bishop of London, but cannot epitomise it
or part with it."
He writes from Ballachulish, March, 1884 : " I am
afraid that, after all, I shall be too late for your birthday, |
but please excuse my want of calculation, and accept
all my good intentions and perfect love and goodwill and i|j.-
good wishes for you and yours, spiritual and otherwise.
GOD will guide you, and all that you have under your
care, in His most perfect Will, and that is all that
need seek for. I say Mass in the chapel daily now
the Bishop s absence. He has left me in charge of tl
chapel, he has also given me the sermon for to-day-
very simple one and put me in loco Episcopi, as walkii
in his place, in coming in and going out of church,
have had some good walks ; I went one day towards
Fort William to meet Laurence, who had walked in on
business. On our meeting we turned up into the hills,
which we crossed. It was a glorious walk, leading up to
divers beauties to come. Yesterday I had a short
clamber about nearer hills."
How he loved the hills ! Those hills which barely foi
years later were to be to him the entrance into Paradise.
Here is another letter from Ballachulish, written a
month later, just after we had begun the Men s Hostel
Mackonoc&e. 177
it Brighton : " I must write a few lines to congratulate
rou on your successful rooting in Brighton. It will be
i capital plant if it takes root, as no doubt it will, for
rour young men and boys. Your first start seems, from
Sister H. s account, to have been very satisfactory.
" I think you would like Lochbuie unless you already
now it, as you may have visited it in one of your
lighland adventures. There is a wonderful cave or
ather, pair of caves, in which Lord Lovat kept himself
idden after the Forty Five, till the man who brought
im food betrayed him. The enemy knew of both these
aves, but did not know of the communication, which is
ertainly the queerest possible for a human body to get
ough. Lord Lovat, however, had a stone over the
ole which he could pull down when he went in the
idjoining cave, and raise when he came back. It is
striking cave, with a level floor for some distance in,
len there is a slope, like a Canadian Toboggan, reach-
fig to the top of the cave. The other one can now only
e approached from this, as at some time a fall of stones
d earth has filled up the opening. In this cave there are
uantities of Uirpel shells, supposed to have been those
f the shell-fish on which he lived. Until recently the
tones on which he slept were to be seen arranged just
he left them, but some enterprising tourists left the
lark of their industry by breaking up the erection, and
ttering the stones. Now, with love to all the
lommunity, and good luck to the lads in their new
ea-side villa. Believe me, with GOD S blessing,
"Yours very affectionately, A. H. M."
178 Memories of a Sifter.
He was always so kind to, and took such an interest
in the dogs and cats at the Priory. He always used to
bring Prin (the first Priory dog, who was devoted tc
sweet things) a sugar pig as a Christmas present, whi
he used to buy at a little sweet-stuff shop in Shepherd
Walk, as he passed through on Christmas Eve. Hi
was always kind to the rough old terrier, Toby, a
in Toby s declining days a friend presented us with
a new dog, Sandy, hoping he might learn the Pria
ways before Toby died (not calculating that Tob
through sheer jealousy, would take a fresh lease
life) ; but the result was that for some weeks tb
fought furiously, usually round Father Mackonochie
legs, while he was having his tea, and he had
throw himself between the opponents, and firmly, b
gently, compel peace. Sandy was devoted to him,
and he to Sandy ; he always had a kind word and a
stroke of the hand for him, and though Sandy scorned
and flew at most Priests, he used to nestle up to Father
Mackonochie and lie on his cassock. To the cats he
was also most kind and attentive.
I remember, as an instance of his strict particularness i
the girls, on an excursion down to Harlow, were el
claiming about a chesnut and white horse in a field
and I said, " Oh ! it is a piebald." " No ; " sak
Father Mackonochie, " it is a skewbald." I knew
was the correct expression, but thought they would non
understand.
Talking of "interest," it is wonderful the keen interesf
he a man of such a very busy and active life, and i
Mackonocdie. 179
life specially full of harrassing anxieties, persecutions,
fightings, and troubles always took in every little
personality and detail. He was interested in every
plant and flower in his brother s garden at Wantage,
and in all his niece s interests and amusements, even to
the most trivial thing.
Like some other great men, he was most precise in
everything he had to do with, being perfectly neat and
orderly. However hurried he was, whatever important
thing he was called away for, his room and all his
belongings were left in perfect order. It reminded
me of Lacordaire, whose cell was always the model
of neatness, and when asked why he took such
pains to keep it so orderly, as no one saw it, he
replied, " The holy Angels always see it." That is
what one felt of Father Mackonochie he lived so
entirely in the presence of GOD and the company of
heaven, that every little detail and interest, because it
was in GOD S sight, became of great interest to him.
Does one not recall the sight of him walking through the
dingy streets which lie between S. Alban s and S.
Saviour s Priory, with his Office Book under his arm, in
his shabby hat and well-worn coat, wrapped in the
devotions which the little spare time of the walk gave
him ? And this very forgetfulness of all in his prayer
brought him into several very dangerous positions. Once
he slipped on a piece of orange-peel in Leather Lane,
and was laid up for weeks with a dislocated shoulder.
Another time he writes, " I have been unable to put
on a boot since Thursday, and am also tied by the
i8o Memories of a Sifter.
leg owing to a collision with a hansom cab about
twelve days ago. Both are the worse for my thinking
they would get better of themselves. Now they are
in course of recovery, but I may not be able to get
over to-morrow or Tuesday. You may be sure that
I will if I can."
Years of constant work, active parochial work, work
in helping souls, and work in righting for the rights of
the English Church work unceasing, and no adequate
rest or holiday from toils and cares, had pressed
grievously upon him, so much so, that he was com
pelled to withdraw from the very active part he h;
always taken in ecclesiastical matters, and to go into
the country to recruit his shattered forces, staying
partly with his brother, Mr. James Mackonochie, at
Wantage, part of the time being the honoured guest
of the Bishop of Argyll, at Ballachulish. After all his
city-spent life he had the very keenest appreciation of
the country, the greatest delight in the beauties of natun
and his enjoyment of the grand scenes and walks around
Ballachulish was intense. A Scotsman by birth, he
loved the land of his forefathers, and always spoke of it
with the greatest pride and devotion.
Whenever he spoke of hills or mountains, his whole
face lit with the pleasant memory. He was describing
to me once some mountain, I forget where, which
Father Lowder, not long before his death, climbed, and
was entranced by the magnificent view from the top.
A friend had asked him to make the ascent a second
time, but he refused, saying it would efface the sublime
7atfier Macftonoefiie. 181
impressions of the first coup d ceil, though perhaps he
might next year, " and," added Father Mackonochie,
with that peculiar brightness lighting his eyes, which we
who knew him can recall so well, " it was his last view
| of earthly beauty ; now he stands among the everlasting
I hills of heaven ! "
But whenever he chanced to be in London he always
i came over to the Priory, and took the very keenest
I interest in all that was going on. The Girls Guild in
S. Augustine s Parish, the Guild of S. Michael, was
ja work he cared very much for; and he generally spent a
/few days at S. Saviour s Grange, Herne Bay, in company
ijwith Mr. Burrows, the Vicar of S. Augustine s, at the
Itime when some of the bandmistresses of the Guild went
r.here for a Whitsun holiday, besides joining them in the
jinnual day s excursion to Southend or Rye House.
| This latter place was the last excursion before the end
|;ame. And a very bright and happy one it was !
His last visit to us was when he came to preach to
9 he Girls Guild at their Anniversary in S. Augustine s
phurch, at Michaelmas. While waiting for the Service,
lae sat in that little dark, wood-panelled room, where for
10 many years he had sat, when he used to walk over
Irom S. Alban s, tired out and worried, yet always bright,
opeful, and cheerful, and caressing Sandy, who always
i) niffed round him to be noticed. He was then full of
nterest in everything, and asking so kindly after every-
ody. That was the last time we ever saw him. On
ijjjunday, December i8th, we were shocked and startled
JW Father Suckling writing, "I have this morning
1 82 Memories of a Sifter.
received a telegram from the Bishop of Argyll, saying,
Our dear Brother Mackonochie has been taken to
his rest. "
The surroundings of r his last moments are grand
beyond measure. He who had lived his whole life,
spending and being spent in the service of GOD and His
Church amidst the throng and bustle of mankind, in the
din of the crowded city, gave up his spirit on the lonely
mountain side, surrounded by the everlasting hills, alone
with Him Whom he had loved and served all the days
of his life.
The circumstances are so recent, that they must be
still fresh in everyone s memory. How he was staying at
Ballachulish with his friend, the Bishop of Argyll and the
Isles ; and how he set forth on the morning of Thursday,
December i5th, for a long walk to the head of the loch,
accompanied by the Bishop s terrier and deerhound, of
whom he was very fond, and who were his constant
walking companions ; when a violent storm of darkness,
and wind, and snow came on. The night came, an
he never returned, and the Bishop and several parties o:
gillies and shepherds sought for two nights and two days
unsuccessfully; and on the Saturday evening, despair
ing and sick of heart, were about to abandon the
search as unsuccessful, when one of the men, glancing
up the hillside, saw the silhouette of the deer-hound
sitting bolt upright against the snowy background,
and immediately sent to tell the Bishop, who was with
another party of searchers. When he arrived, he found
the whole band of keepers and shepherds drawn in
Mackonocljie. 183
semi -circle in a snowy hollow, kept at bay by the two
ogs, who refused to let a creature approach, till they
aught sight of their master, when they sprang forward
ith a cry of joy, and leaping upon him, covered him
ith caresses. There, in a snow wreath, guarded on
.ther side by the two dogs, lay the weary body of
HRIST S faithful soldier and servant, his head pillowed
i his hand, and a pall of spotless snow veiling the
atures. His hat lay between his knees, and he must
ave knelt to commend his spirit into the hands of Him
if ho gave it, and then, overcome by drowsiness, laid
own peacefully to await his summons home.. There,
trough the long hours of the night, while the storm
mndered over the mountains, and the snowflakes
arled wildly hither and thither, the two faithful dogs
lept their watch for forty-eight hours over the lifeless
pdy, till the voice of their master told them their
tgil was ended. As the Bishop knelt to detach the
ead from the snow wreath in which it lay, the dark
ouds broke behind the mountains of Glencoe, and the
ihole west was flooded with a glorious golden light,
she remains were placed on two pieces of wood, and
irried by reverent hands to Ballachulish, where the
ishop himself performed the last offices for him, and
3 was placed, laid out in his priestly vestments, in the
ishop s private chapel, where in the silence of so many
)ld, dark winter mornings, and late gloomy evenings,
s prayer had risen like incense for his people far away
busy London.
The Rev. E. F. Russell, one of his earliest friends and
1 84 Memories of a Sister.
helpers at S. Alban s, arrived on Monday evening, toi
convey the body home. On the Tuesday morning its
was borne in a pine coffin down to the boat by which
the first part of the southward journey was to be made.
Watch was kept day and night in S. Alban s until the)!
funeral, which took place on December 23rd. And on]
that day he who had some time been held in derision^
he who had fought almost single-handed, inch by inch,
for the liberties of the Church, he who had been blamed
at times, even by his fellows, for his uncompromising
zeal in the service of that Church who had, like
Jews of old, built the walls of the Church with one hand
while he fought for her liberties with the other he who
had, in the words of the Reformer of old, " In his day
lit in England such a candle as would be hard to putj
out ; " he had such a funeral as these times have never
seen. His body was borne through the streets
procession, with all the dignity of the Church he had
fought so many years to obtain, reverent crowds un-ijj
covering as the hearse passed by.
He was laid to rest in the Cemetery at Woking^
It was a lovely winter s day ; the western sky was all a .
blaze of gold ; in the east, above the stone Calvary round
which S. Alban s dead lie buried, the white moon slowly
ascended the gray-blue firmament. A robin was singing
a sweet requiem in a bush hard by, and as the last words
were pronounced a bird flitted silently across the sky,
over the cross, cleaving the white disc of the moon in
half, and slowly winged its way into the golden glories
of the west. The clear wintry air was redolent of the
Mackonocftie. 185
aroma of the pines which grew around, and of the fresh
turned heathery soil, and sweet with the perfume of the
white flowers heaped upon the grave when it was
covered in.
His old friend, and comrade-in-arms, Father Stanton,
committed the body to its last resting-place : there was
a space of silence, and then in silence we went away
and left him, feeling as was said of one mote than two
hundred years ago : " And so our king went white to his
grave." White with GOD S own snow, as his body lay
between the two faithful watchers those two long nights
and days among the mountains of Scotland ; white in
his last resting-place among the pines of Surrey, with
the flowers strewn by the loving hands of those who
may all most certainly say :
" We were weary, and are
Fearful, and are in our march
Fain to drop down and die.
Still thou turnedst, and still
Beckonedst the trembler, and still
Gavest the weary thy hand !
If in the paths of this world,
Stones might have wounded thy feet,
Toil or dejection have tried
Thy spirit, of that we saw
Nothing ! To us thou wert still
Cheerful and helpful and firm.
Therefore to thee it was given
Many to save with thyself ;
And at the end of the day,
O faithful Shepherd ! to come,
Bringing thy sheep in thy hand."
It seems marvellous how it should have been disposed
by Him who makes all " right that seems most wrong,"
1 86 Memories of a Sifter.
that this His faithful servant, who had borne the burden
and the heat of the day amidst the noise and pressure of
the crowded city, with no rest, no possibility of what
S. Benedict calls "dwelling alone with himself," for even
the briefest breathing time, should have spent his last
hours alone among the everlasting hills he loved so
well alone, utterly alone, with himself and his GOD.
Of him an old and dear friend of many years writes :
" The mystery of his stern, hard, self-devoted life com
pleted itself in the weird circumstances of his death,
sheltered in the hollow of the hand of GOD Whom he
had served so faithfully ; and at His bidding the wild
wind from off the moor wreathed his head with snow."
" He is not dead whose glorious life lifts thine on high,
To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die."
Do you remember in the autumn of the year previously
the exhibition of the Russian painter, Verestchagin s
works, wherein were three pictures called A II is quiet in
the Shipka Pass ? The first depicted a sentinel on the
lonely snow-clad heights, leaning on his bayonet, with
the cold, gray sky behind him ; in the second the drifting
snow is whirling around him, and he is bending, half-
frozen, half-blinded, but true to his post ; in the third
he stands buried in masses of snow, frozen on to his
bayonet, but still true to his post, with his face to
the enemy. He has stood there dying inch by inch
with the benumbing cold gnawing at his heart, silent,
uncomplaining, till death freed him and all was quiet
in the Shipka Pass. Was not this a meet emblem of
our champion ? Did he not stand true to his post ?
Mackonocfjic. 187
Suffering, uncomplaining, enduring all things as a
i^ocd soldier of CHRIST JESUS, till both body and soul
Were benumbed and exhausted in the effort of standing
anquailing, unflinching not yielding a fraction of an
Inch to the foe in the place where his Master had
placed him. As the Morte d Arthur says of a champion
|)f old : " By his nobleness, the king and all his realm
Ivas in quietness and in rest." And of him, and the
j>ther victorious athletes who have laid down their
Iveapons and have crossed the stream, do they never
look back to those comrades in arms who are crossing
jiow ? Surely they do, and if their prayers and
Interests were with us during this feeble lifetime, how
much more so now they have reached " the quiet City,
Inhere the sun shines evermore."
1 88 Memories of a Sifter.
RieQard Frederic l^itfledale
1858 to 189C.
WHEN on the Sunday morning of January i2th, 1890,
one heard that Richard Frederic Littledale the R. F. L.,
whose signature was so well-known in literature had
passed away, one felt that a help, and a strength, and
a power was indeed taken away from among us. He
was loving among the unloving, faithful among the un
faithful, to the cause of the Church he loved so dearly,
of Sisterhoods in general, and especially above all, toji
the Sisterhood of S. Margaret s, especially to our branch
House of S. Saviour s Priory. We owe him so much
from the days of our early beginnings up to the date of
his death, and often sorely miss his kind-hearted, warm
sympathy and keen interest. The Church at large must
often miss his clear judgment and the ripe harvest of his
learning and his legal knowledge (Father Mackonochie
in his ecclesiastical legal difficulties always used to turn
for help to, what he called, " the little Doctor ") for
these were ever at her disposal, and he was always her
champion, and valiant man in front of the battle.
To some of us, of his inner circle of friends, his loss is
irreparable. Wearied with the works in Haggerston,
our minds dazed and choked up with the dust from the
highway of life, a visit to him was a well of refreshing ;
fticfiard Frederic Jbittledale. 189
a "place for the drawing of water" amidst the arid
wilderness of daily routine. From the monotony of the
lowering, depressing atmosphere of want, and misery,
and sin, and general dinginess, what a relief it was to
step into a yellow tram, and travel to the bright house
in the old-fashioned Red Lion Square! How bright
and genial was the welcome that awaited us ! How
refreshing the sight of the lofty, book-lined room,
with tomes of every age and every language reposing
on the groaning shelves ; the warm yellow afternoon
sun lighting up the quiet square and red walls of
the Church of S. John the Evangelist outside, and
streaming in through the tall windows on to the large,
paper laden table in the centre of the room. And,
oh ! what a pleasant little break in one s life to be
seated in the old worn leather chair beside the crackling
fire, and have a chat with the cheerful, kindly owner of
the room ! A chat which took one out of oneself, far
away from dirty H agger ston ; a chat where one heard of
new books and authors, clever sayings of clever men,
interesting bits of Church History, quaint legends of
Saints, facts concerning living celebrities, all flavoured
with genuine Hibernian wit, and thickly strewn with
pithy, caustic remarks, and yet withal, every comment,
every discussion, replete with the spirit of the very
truest, largest-hearted charity the charity which
beareth all things. It was to Dr. Littledale we owe
:our acquaintance with all the charming American
authors who have solaced our holiday hours. We
shall never forget the intense interest and delight we
i go Memories of a Sifter.
i
felt when, one Christmas twenty years ago, he placed in our
hands a little paper bound volume entitled, The Luck of
Roaring Camp, and other Sketches. " It is," said he, " by
a young American author of great promise, and this
edition, you will observe, is published in Australia."
We read, and were fascinated. Subsequently he
introduced us to Miss Alcott s and Mrs. Whitney s
most charming little stories for girls, and to Mrs. j
Beecher Stowe s delicious Old Town Folk, We and Our
Neighbours, and numberless other little Transatlantic I
tales and sketches from various pens. He dearly J
loved America, and American literature and Americait
sayings ; the latter, indeed, were very like his own
witty speeches, prompt, brief, and to the point. To
the entrancing works also of Lewis Carroll he gave us
an introduction. Of Dickens he was devotedly fond;
and had Pickwick and Martin Chuzzlewit almost by he
and quoted sayings from them most applicably to t
passing details under discussion. One especially he
very fond of quoting, about one s dealings with peo
and that was, that " meat must be coaxed, not druv
And his knowledge of poetry, was marvellous : he co
repeat poem after poem, canto after canto. Kingsley i
Andromeda, he said, he considered the finest specimen
hexameters in the English language. Every Christ
for many years past, he sent a little parcel ot boo!
for those with whom he was especially acquainted
the Priory.
He was passionately fond of cats : he said he
a cat was a friend, and he could never pass one
Ricftard 7rederic Jbitfledale. 191
the street without pausing to stroke it. An old tabby,
belonging to his housekeeper, was always made welcome
in his room, and we often found it stretched purring on
the hearth-rug at the doctor s feet. He was much
attached to a pretty black Persian, belonging to the
Sisters in Queen s Square, of which Home he was
the Chaplain. Our own Priory dogs and cats also
came in for a large share of his attentions, " Rowdy,"
the gold-coloured cat, was a particular favourite of his,
and when some of us were laughingly talking of needing
a special telegraphic communication for the Priory with
the Civil Service Stores, and wondering in what concise
form we could put the name, he suggested " Rowdy."
He was so fond, too, of dear old Toby, or " Master
Tobias," as he called him.
I first met him in the autumn of 1858, at S. Mary s,
Soho, where he was working with every energy of
soul and body among the poor, by whom he was
beloved as he deserved to be. " Ah ! that dear
young man ! It s my opinion he s too good for this
world ! " was the verdict of many a matron of S.
Giles and its purlieus ; while the sort of joyous cry
that resounded round the schoolroom of " Here s Mr.
Littledale ! " when he appeared at the door, evinced
how fully his presence was appreciated there. Many
and many a pick-a-back did he give to some little sickly
urchin, full trot round the schoolroom ! Many and
[many a bull s-eye and a kind word did he bestow
| upon a choir-boy in the vestry ! In the present day we
)me across some grave, middle-aged man of business,
1 92
o/ a Sifter.
who asks after Dr. Littledale, and says : " How well I
remember all his kindness to me when I was a youngster
in the choir at S. Mary s, Soho." He was very delicate
and weakly himself, which enabled him to have a
special sympathy for sick people, a way of under
standing their wants and weakness, and a power of
ministering to them, which only the affinity of fellow-
suffering can give ; and his kindly understanding
gentleness brightened the life of many a poor sufferer
in the dark, narrow courts of Soho. Association
with S. Margaret s Sisters sowed the seeds of a close
and intimate friendship between him and Dr. Neale,
which ripened with years, lasting until the death of the--
latter.
Although he abhorred the country, designating it " as
a necessary place to grow cabbages but not to live in,"
he used often to run down to East Grinstead, to the-
mutual delectation of both himself and Dr. Neale ; their
tastes and talents were both so similar, and the mystical i
interpretations of the Bible offered like attractions toJ
both, hence, at Dr. Neale s death, his unfinishe
Commentary on the Psalms was taken up and conclud<
by Dr. Littledale.
My first visit to S. Alban s, Holborn, was under hisJ
guidance in the early spring of 1861, when the churcbq
was in course of erection. I shall never forget oui
progress down Baldwin s Gardens, a very different place^
then from what it is now. The crowd of unkempt;
ragged little gamins whipping tops (top season in Londor^
slums always comes in in February) and clustering ruuncJ
Frederic Jsittledak. 193
us, who, under the guidance of Mr. Littledale, attired in
a high hat and sombrero cloak, piloted us through the
shoal of unwashed humanity past the hoarding into that
part of the walls which had then arisen. How little we
thought how closely the lives and labours of the future
Vicar of S. Alban s and Dr. Littledale would, in a few
years, be interwoven with that future branch of S.
Margaret s which was to arise in the far East of
London !
In the year 1865 (or about that date, so far as
I can remember), he went to Constantinople, where
his brother-in-law was Consul. In after days he used
:o speak so pityingly of the dogs which swarm in the
;treets, and said how they seemed to crave for human
dndness and sympathy.
Some time about 1870-71, he moved from Netting
ill to Red Lion Square. From henceforth he devoted
limself to literary work, and, as he expressed it, earned
nough to " keep the pot boiling."
Mixed up with all his great learning, his mysticism,
,nd the wonderfully legal capacities of his mind, there
as a keen and intense sense of humour, a power
f repartee, and amusing way of putting things. I
smember at S. Mary s, Soho, one of the workers,
ailed " Brother Alexander," was considered by certain
nthusiastic ladies, as a very great saint. Two friends
f these enthusiasts called at the Mission House
fter church one day, and asked which was him.
*r. Littledale, who overheard the question,, said to
Sister, " Sure, and I ll fetch him in, and hold a
1
194 Memories of a Sister*
dinner-plate behind his head, and they ll think it s a
nimbus ! "
I remember at a Dedication Luncheon in Queen s
Square I was sitting between him and Mr. Collis
(subsequently Vicar of S. Bartholomew s, Brighton,)
and he pointed out a certain dish of pink and white jelly
and blanc-mange, saying, " Doesn t it look like a glorified
ham ? " When we were in our early impecunious days,
and he heard that we owed some rent we could not
possibly pay, he sent a slip of paper to the Mother with
these words only, " What s the dem d total? (Nicholas
Nickleby, chap, xxi.)."
While I was in America he sent me the following,
most characteristic letter, with no beginning :
" Wai, neow ! Do tell ! Ef that s not right down
hahnsum and clever of you, let them whittle me down
fine to the leetle end of nothing, and sell me for tooth
picks on Boylston Street ! Guess for an old one-hoss
country like this, we can do it some in the way of frying
too. Thermometer gone up so high that you can t see it
cept in the attic, where it is 143 in the sun, and 89
to 92 in the shade, the tarnal critter! Suchij
Reverend Madam, are the sentiments of appreciatiqj
and gratitude which influence my spiritual being, havi
relation to thenournenon(slc ?), such are also the meteo
logical statistics which condition my physical existen
or phenomenon. Should it appear to your critical judgment
that the dictum in which I have ventured to embody it
has erred somewhat from over expressiveness of dia
lectical and colloquial vocabulary, I entreat you
fticfiard Frederic Jbittledale. 195
extend your indulgence to it, on the grounds of the
excitement occasioned by advent of your epistle.
" Fytte y e Thridde.
" Gramercy, gode Suster, since ye wound among the
heretic folk, how hath it fared with you ? I fackins, ye
must long sore for the youth of Hackney and their
quaynte braydes, the which they be wont to call rummy
starts.
" Et ainsi, Madame, en vous remerciant de nouveau
pour votre bienveillance envers moi, je vous prie de me
rappeler a Madame la Mere Louise, et d agreer les
assurances de la plus haute consideration de votre tres
I humble et obeissant Serviteur. R. F. Littledale.
" P.S. Crikey ! "
Who but Dr. Littledale could concoct such a letter !
He once said his father, a stout old Orangeman,
| used to say on a Friday, " It s no good giving Richard
ly dinner, he ll only eat a herring boiled in holy
/ater I "
He had a trick of playing with any thing that came to
land while he was talking ; generally it was his bunch
keys, which he sometimes used to pull out of his
;ket and handle while he was preaching. He had a
turn for experimental cookery, and was fond of warming
ip condensed soups, or any other fresh invention. While
was in Soho I learnt a good deal of practical cookery
rom him, and he also taught me the why and the
therefore of things. Why mutton was to be boiled in
rm water, and why the meat for mutton broth was to
put into cold water. Also the theory of lighting a
196 Memories of a Sister.
fire properly, and how to carry a full coal-scuttle upstairs
without spilling.
His appreciation of the beautiful in pictures was very
great, and he had an intense admiration for Rossetti s
pictures and colouring. I went to see him just before
the Rossetti Exhibition closed in 1883, and he was much
distressed that I had not seen it, and said, " Happen
what may, put aside everything, but see Rossetti s
pictures you must, there is nothing like them." And
he was right : they are unique, and the remembrance of
them is a joy which will stand by one through life, and
has been, and will be again, I am sure, a refreshment in
many an hour of gray monotony.
There is little to tell of his life; a life of pain, and
sickness, and suffering ; a life of laborious work and self-
denial ; a life spent in considering and helping others
never anything for self. If you ask me what I considered
his characteristics, I should reply, unflinching truth,
perfect endurance, and the charity which suffereth long
and is kind. And the kindly feeling which did not run
only in one groove, or was confined to one special party
or interests. I remember going to see him in the
November of 1886, and after his first greeting, he said,
" And have you heard poor Fred. Archer is dead ? " I
should not have supposed he would have known there
was such a person as Fred. Archer in the world, or
would have had the slightest sympathy or interest
in him ; but he discussed all the details of his life
and death, speaking most kindly and warmly of him
as a man. I was once complaining of some one
Frederic J&itfleddle. 197
being cross and irritable, whereupon he said : " Poor
thing, it may be something is amiss with her, some
suffering of which we know nothing about, like A.
who died not long ago, and had been so irritable and
cross his friends had lost all patience with him, but
after his death they found tubercles on the brain, which
must have caused the most excessive irritation."
He had a great horror of stupidity, and always said
"stupidity made more mischief in the world than
wickedness." He used often to say, in an undertone
of any one present, particularly stupid, " Otez cette
ourdarde ! "
A friend writes : " It was a subject of real grief to
me that I was unable through illness to be present at
dear R. F. Littledale s funeral. But I have read with
deep interest the notice of him in the Church Times.
Se was learned, brimming over with miscellaneous
nformation ; generous. But yet more touching than all
slse was the beautiful tenderness of his heart. It was
)nly a few weeks ago I saw him crossing the road to the
Church Times office, severe suffering written all over his
.vorn face. I went up and touched him, and it was
eally beautiful, and the memory will always abide with
ne, how the suffering seemed to pass in the pleasure of
neeting a friend. In two minutes he was full of rollick -
ng Irish fun, but it was sadly plain all through the
:onversation that the frail form was nearing its last
lays. The spirit was bright and full of energy, but
he flesh was worn out. There is not a man who
tver knew him who will not love his memory and
198 Memories of a Sister.
reverence his unselfishness, and be ready to cry Sit
aninta mea cum illo"
One had noticed the change oneself. He always used
to address me as Madame, since the Sunday afternoons
when he used to come over to Haggerston, and find me
busy talking to a lot of lads, when he said, laughingly,
Madame holds her levee; but the very last time I saw
him he dropped the old familiar, joking title, and
addressed me by my name. Still, knowing what
dangerous and trying illnesses he had recovered from,
one still had the hope that he might pull through this.
But it was not to be.
He passed away quietly on January nth, 1890. Half
drowsy and unconscious all the day, about a quarter-to-
five he had a bad attack of coughing, and saying, " I have
never felt so weak as this before," he laid his head back
on the pillow, and gave up his spirit into the Hands of
the Master he had served so truly and loyally.
A temporary couch had been arranged for him in his .
library, and he lay at rest surrounded by the books
he had so loved and studied to such purpose for the
Church and for mankind during his life.
It was a soft gray winter s day when he was laid to
rest in Woking Cemetery. The first part of the Service
had been said in the Chapel of S. Katherine s, Queen s It-
Square, where he had for so many years ministere
to the Sisters and their girls.
The band of mourners, among whom were number
many of his old college friends of early days, gather
sadly round the grave as the coffin was lowered, and t
Ric fjord Frederic Jbittledale. 199
yellow sand fell upon it with a heavy thud, and the
sweet voices of the young work girls rang out in the
calm, still air with :
" On the Resurrection morning
Soul and body meet again,
No more sorrow, no more weeping,
No more pain !"
He lies not a hundred yards off Father Mackonochie,
lis fellow warrior in the battles of the Church, and
so it is pleasant to think that these two loyal hearts
rest near together under the heather, while the pine
trees sough a sad requiem over their heads. It
was in the golden glory of a winter sunset we laid
Alexander Mackonochie in his last resting-place : the
leavens were veiled with a soft gray pall when Richard
Littledale was laid to sleep.
But the work which they did in their life-time for the
hurch, the truth for which they contended for humanity,
though may be not visible in large patches of result, yet
we know that :
" While the tired waves vainly breaking
Seem here no painful inch to gain,
Far back, through creeks and inlets making,
Come silent flooding in the main !"
As there is no published life of Dr. Littledale, I insert
from the newspapers of that week the following brief
accounts, by way of supplementing my own personal
recollections.
The Church Times, January lyth, 1890, says:
" Richard Frederick Littledale was born in Dublin,
eptember I4th, 1833. In consequence of ill-health, the
200 Memories of a Sister.
earlier part of his education was, in the main, conducted
by private tuition. In due course he entered Trinity
College, of which he became a Foundation Scholar in
1852. Senior Moderator and Gold Medallist in Classics
in 1854, he took his B.A. degree a year later. In 1856
he carried off the Senior Berkeley Gold Medal and First
Divinity Prize. He proceeded to the degree of M.A.
in 1858, and to that of LL.D. in 1862, in which year he
also became D.C.L. of Oxford.
" Dr. Littledale was ordained Deacon in 1856, by the
late Dr. Hinds, Bishop of Norwich, and Priest in 1857
by the Bishop of London. He was assistant curate of
S. Matthew s Church, Thorpe Hamlet, 1856-7, and he
associated himself in 1857 with the late John Charles
Chambers, Vicar of S. Mary-the-Virgin, Soho, with whom
he remained as assistant curate until 1861 ; since which
year he was compelled, by chronic ill-health, to abstain
from regular parochial work. For a time after leaving
S. Mary s, he gave a good deal of assistance to various
clerical friends, by preaching, and his sermons were
noteworthy for their thoughtfulness and originality.
Perhaps one of their most striking characteristics was
the appositeness of illustration which he employed, and
the unusually intimate acquaintance with the whole
range of Holy Scripture which they displayed. The
mystical interpretation of the Bible, which his friend,
Dr. J. M. Neale, did so much to render familiar to
English churchmen, had always a great attraction to
Dr. Littledale, and the occasional employment of this
method in his sermons gave them an exceptional charm
Frederic Jbittledak. 201
to the more cultured portion of the congregations which
he addressed.
" Dr. Littledale was a prolific writer, for, in addition
to supplying numberless leaders and reviews to London
daily and weekly newspapers, many articles on current
Church topics in the Contemporary and other high-class
serials were the work of his pen.
" Passing over other papers, we may mention that in
1874, Dr. Littledale began a long series of articles on
Sisterhoods, which appeared from time to time in The
Monthly Packet. In these he endeavoured to shew that
the popular modern continental system of Community
Life failed, in certain respects, when transplanted into
this country, and adopted, without modification, in the
revived Religious Houses of our own day.
" His learning was enormous, and it was so carefully
arranged in his mind, that it was ready to be drawn
upon at any moment. If he did not happen to know a
thing he could almost always tell, at once, the book
wherein the information could be found. Nothing
pleased him better than to be asked a difficult question
which obliged him to take down book after book from
his richly stored shelves until he had discovered the
answer, and trouble in such a search was a word of
which he seemed not to know the meaning. He took
delight, too, in puzzling other people, as those who
remember the acrostics under the signature of L Abbe,
in the World will be aware of. His productions in this
line were always of the most intricate character, and were
generally employed at the end of each quarter to test the
202 Memories of a Sifter,
successful solvers who had discovered all the answers
during the previous three months. The Doctor s acros
tics were always intensely difficult, and invariably
ingenious in their construction.
" It may appear strange to some to hear that Dr.
Littledale was a perfect devourer of novels. As a
reviewer of works of fiction for the Academy, piles of new
books were constantly on his table. Those who were
most intimate with him scarcely knew how he got through
the vast amount of work which he accomplished. He
read and wrote with extreme rapidity, and while chatting
with his friends his brain would be working, so to speak,
automatically, and by the aid of his type-writer the
results were in the shortest possible space of time made
permanent.
" Those who enjoyed his friendship and knew his
intellectual power as the writer of this notice did for the
past thirty years can alone estimate the grievous loss
which ensues upon his departure."
Truth, January 23rd, said :
" Dr. Littledale s death has deprived the Church of
England of a man of wide and profound learning, w
was a most vigorous and brilliant controversialist. He
was an Anglican of the school of Bishop Wordsworth,
and he will be a great and irreparable loss to the High
Church party, for he was never overweighted by his
great learning, but he could speak or write just as well
for a popular audience as for a conclave of theologians."
The Church Review, January 24th, said :
" In Richard Frederick Littledale we deplore the loss
fc
Frederic J&ittledale. 203
of a man of varied talents, whose tenacious memory
made him a brilliant scholar, historian, and a man of
letters. He will go down to posterity as, above all, a
controversialist ; and though we do not regard his skill in
the field of battle as his highest claim to honour, there is
no doubt that in the earlier days of the Ritual Movement
his championship was invaluable. A veritable book
worm, he was always unearthing some precious jewel
which ignorance and time had hidden away ; and there
are few men of the present generation who have reminded
the world more usefully than he of facts which told for
Catholic truth, but had conveniently been forgotten."
Here are some quotations from an address given by
the Rev. P. Hancock, at S. Nicholas, Cole Abbey:
" I will not say that Dr. Littledale was the Father of
itualism. No spiritual movement can be attributed to
y one man. Certainly the Ritualist Movement cannot
But it had no other for its foster-father, he kept it
ive ; he nurtured it ; he bound it apprentice ; he was
its most effective promoter ; and, more than anyone else,
e was its populariser. He found Ritualism, such as it
as, in the study, in the university, in the library, in the
awing-room ; and he brought it out into the streets
d lanes. He found it among scholars, antiquaries,
d dilettanti ; he vulgarised it, in the true sense of the
ord ; he gave it to the common crowd ; he found
ons and justification for those who used it. You
,ve but to compare what he did with what was done by
beloved predecessor and friend, Dr. Neale, in order to
this clearly,
Memories of a Sister.
"What Dr. Littledale did for the outward clothing of
the Oxford Movement, he did for its spirit and contents.
I should say the so-called Oxford Movement, for it is due
more to the energy of this witty and learned Irish Priest
than to any other factor, and to those among whom
he was a leader and teacher, that it ceased to be a mere
4 Oxford Movement an academical speculation, a
luxury of culture, an entertainment of colleges and
country parsonages, the possession of Priests and clerical
laymen and became the property of the crowd. Poor
clerks and tradesmen the common working-folk in lanes
and alleys claimed their share in the New Movement,
which he rescued for them from the exclusive hands of
scholarly archaeologists and gentlemanly Ritualists.
" His long and quiet work has made all our Church
and commonwealth his debtors, from the lowest to t
highest, so that there is not a Bishop in England who;
throne he did not powerfully aid and strengthen ; not
a parish which will not be the poorer, however uncon
sciously, for his loss.
" With his large, earnest, brown, though deeply-
sunken, eyes, and long, grey beard sweeping over hi
breast, he always embodied my ideal of some benevolen
and learned monk of the third or fourth century in th
midst of an Alexandrian library ; and his chambers, full
of ecclesiastical ornaments, and resembling the abode of
a recluse, heightened this impression. Nevertheless, his
character had another, and very different, side. He was
an excellent talker, and his humour was intensified by a
perceptible brogue. No one liked better to tell a good
Ric6ard Frederic Jsittledale, 205
story, or could tell it with better effect ; and on such
, occasions he threw aside, almost with a boyish gusto, the
bearing of a scholar. His library an extensive and
a most valuable one was especially rich in tcrnies
treating of the subjects in which he was a master ; and
he never seemed more thoroughly at his ease than when
i expiating to an appreciative listener on the contents or
merits of some half -forgotten folio. His own pleasure in
j such talk was very evident ; and, as I write, I can see in
imagination the student figure, bent with ill-health and
istudy, yet moving with the wonderful alertness among
his beloved books.
" Dr. Littledale suffered from a disease of the spinal
cord, the nature of which, he told me, his physicians
(never fully understood. This prevented his travelling
I by rail, or taking carriage exercise, though, happily, he
i was able to walk with comparative comfort. He used
laughingly to remark that his brain would never work
i except in sight of brick walls; and this, for him, was
i a fortunate circumstance, as he almost constantly lived
Jin London. After all, what most impressed me about
him was the cheerful and uncomplaining bravery with
i which he encountered, amid perpetual physical suffering
i (he said himself that he was never conscious of freedom
from pain), the daily toil that was to him a necessity.
; In this there was something noble and stimulating ; and
to some of us at least the world without him will
never seem quite so attractive."
His noms de plume were various. Although best-
known under his initials, R. F. L., he was co-editor of
206
Memories of a Sifter.
The People s Hymnal, and I believe some hymns and
articles under the initials A. L. P., which he said
meant, " A London Priest," laughingly adding, " It
would be more correct to say, A Lame Priest." The
acrostics which he used to send to The World, were with
the signature of L Abbe.
Rev. W. Stewart Starting, of Toronto. 207
l6e Rev. W. Stewart ^Darling,
of Toronto.
THE pleasant memories of that happy visit, with those
dear and kind-hearted Canadians, of the sitting on the
verandah in the twilight, seeing the fire-flies flit like
ittle sparks among the tall castor-oil plants, and the
round white moon rise over Lake Ontario and transform
it into a sheet of silver, and summer wanderings in the
Canadian woods, often come surging across one s mind
in the midst of one s busy East-end life, as glimpses of a
ittle foretaste given one of the eternal rest to which we
ill hope one day to attain. The slan-ting yellow light
shining through the greenery of pine and sassafras ; the
ground purple and gold, with masses of feathery golden -
rod and starry asters ; here and there, in damp recesses,
yistas of the purest emerald moss, studded with little
scarlet fungi, overshadowed by delicate fronds of maiden-
aair ; every now and then, through gaps in the trees, the
vision of blue Ontario stretching out to the horizon ; and
:he chirping of myriads of insects among the long and
:angled grass, now and again broken upon by the
plaintive cry of the whip-poor-will. These "pleasant
pictures" are now subdued by a sadder strain of the
uemory of the very good and true friend through whose
2o8 Memories of a Sister.
kindness we enjoyed this Canadian holiday, but who has
since been called home from the battle-field, where he
had fought so bravely, to receive the reward of his
labours.
The Rev. William Stewart Darling was one of those
men whom it was a privilege to have come in contact
with, and the memory of whose blameless life a.nd con
versation form landmarks along the Via Dolorosa which
leads to the Celestial City. Firm of purpose, strong in
battle for the right, true to the death for GOD and His
Church, loyal and loving, upholder of the weak and
defender of the defenceless, does not his life stand out as
one to admire and strive to imitate ? We first heard of
him many years ago, when one of our lads emigrated,
settled in Toronto, and joined his choir at Holy Trinity,
and who, like every other man, woman, or child who
came in contact with him, became quite a devotee of
Mr. Darling. Just after his death, this friend writes us
word : " It only seems yesterday I saw him at the door of
Trinity Church, and what changes since then ! The sad
news has cast a gloom over a great many here. I need
hardly say how greatly he was loved for his sympathy in
time of trouble, and his peculiarly bright, genial
manner." For forty years he had laboured for the
Church s cause in Canada, and one of his dearest wishes
was to see a Sisterhood established at Toronto. He
made several journeys over to England to try and induce
some Sisters from an existing English Community to go
over to Toronto, and one of his visits was to S. Saviour s
Priory, after which he was most anxious to procure or
fR.ev. UP. Stewart ZDarling, of Toronto. 209
borrow two of their number, being much impressed
with their work in Haggerston. We quote from his
letters which passed on this subject to one of the Sisters
at the Priory :
" How wonderful the power of kindness and sympathy
is ! I have always thought we are greatly bound to
manifest them, even by word or look when we can
do no more; but I shall try to do so more than ever
now, when I have felt so strongly the power they have
exerted over me in the case of the Priory Sisters. You
could all in a practical way do no more for me than
others to whom I spoke, and yet you did nothing for me
in such a way that I feel myself to be your debtor for
life.
"Don t you think that the members of the One Body
should so far sympathize with and help each other ? If
two of you would only come, I would do almost anything
you could ask, for I know that, humanly speaking, things
would prosper if you were with us. I am more and more
convinced that ours may be, and ought to be, a great work.
If we could but render it really devout and practical, it
would extend and be a blessing to thousands in this land.
I was in Montreal the other day, and there met Sister
-, of Holy Cross Home, Kennington ; she is fully
persuaded that the time has fully come for Sisterhood
work here, and is most anxious to see it properly com
menced, and is sanguine as to the results. She is a
member of a Montreal family, and went to England in
order to be trained as a Sister."
In November, 1872, he writes, "I don t give you up,
2io Memories of a Sister.
for I know the Priory Sisters are the people to tell you
the truth, I am a little afraid of the normal Briton, until
the insularity has been in some measure knocked out oi
them. You know we want some one whose capacities are
beyond being packed into the narrow limits of a pint
pot, and who has adaptability of mind, and geniality oi
manner. Our numbers are growing, but we need, and
still want some of you."
All hope of help from any English Community failing,;
he organized one of native material on a small scale, and
shortly after wrote: " I feel it is a matter of devout con
gratulation that there is at length some prospect of a
Sisterhood, and I am surprised to see how readily the
Orange population (of Toronto) takes to the idea. They
are mostly outward good workers, but I am sadly afraid
that within there is a tendency to squabble about small
things which breaks my heart. But Dr. Littledale
told me when I was in London, We have a great
many most excellent people, who, nevertheless, are great
fools an opinion in which I am increasingly disposed
to concur. I can t for the life of me understand why
people should quarrel, and how they can reconcile it with|
their Christianity. If you know of any one who co
come and help us, will you warn them of one or tw
things. First; don t let them set down every person
and every thing Canadian, as infinitely inferior to eve
person, and every thing English. A great many things
here are as good (or better) for this country, as simil
things in England. There is no need for new com
to like them neither is there any need for them tc
Rev. VP. Stewart Starling, of Toronto. 211
denounce them. Secondly; they must not forget that
Community life is new here, and it would never do to
say, We never do such things in religious houses in
England, because here things are in their infancy."
And again, a little later on : " Our little attempt at
Sisterhood work struggles along midst many difficulties,
and people seem afraid to join. A visit from an English
Sister would be an incalculable good to us, and would not
be too trying to her, and if only one of you could be that
visitor I need not say how devoutly thankful I should be.
" I feel I am getting antique and not as able as of old
to work or fight for the truth, and it seems meet I should
soon retire to the shelf, as my appropriate place. How
I wish some of you could come and see us before then !
I feel I am taking up your time by writing, but it is all
your own fault for having by your kindly sympathy won
the heart of a poor fellow who, having been regaled with
a very large measure of very cold shoulder, warmed up
at once to those who seemed to understand what he
wanted. May He whom we try to serve reward you
for it in that Day 1 "
Like so many first attempts, this Sisterhood did not
succeed, but it paved the way, and now, before his death,
Mr. Darling had the dearest wish of his heart realised,
and saw a flourishing Sisterhood of Canadian ladies,
under an energetic and capable head, planted and work
ing in Toronto.
For a fuller account of his own life, we quote the follow
ing from the funeral sermon preached by the Bishop of
Toronto :
Memories of a Sifter.
" Mr. Darling, who since August last had been doing
deputation work for the Society for the Propagation
of the Gospel, had been appointed to the chaplaincy
of that society at Sarento, on the Bay of Naples, in
Italy. He was on his journey thither, when death
overtook him. A severe cold, contracted in the discharge
of his duty, developed into rheumatic fever, which
prostrated him at Alassio, in the Riviera di Ponente,
when he had only just entered the kingdom of Italy.
Here he died on January igth, and was buried on the
following day. It is consolatory to his friends to know
that, dying thus in a foreign land, he was yet attended
in his last moments by the loving care of his wife and
daughter. The Rev. W. Stewart Darling was ordained by
Bishop Strachan in 1842, and for the first eleven years
of his ministry had charge of the Parish of Scarborough.
In 1853 he was appointed assistant to the Rev. Dr.
Scadding, Rector-in-Charge of Holy Trinity, and re
mained in this position for the long period of twenty-two
years, until 1875, when Dr. Scadding retired from the
active charge of the parish, and Mr. Darling was
inducted by Bishop Bethune as first Rector of Trinity
Church. Some four years ago he in turn relinquished
the personal oversight of the parish, and has since
resided chiefly abroad. At the time of his death he
was the third oldest surviving clergyman on the staff
of this diocese. In the presence of so many of you
to whom he was long and intimately known, it would
hardly become me to attempt an estimate of his life
and character, but it was not possible to know him,
fR,ev. IV. Stewart ZDarling, of Toronto. 213
jeven slightly, as I knew him, without discovering that
if jhe was no ordinary man. There were marks of character,
strongly developed, which in such a temperament as his
Kmust needs come into prominence. Particularly, how as
|Ja man of strong convictions, and of courage to avow and
(follow them, earnest even to impetuousness in the
advocacy and defence of principles which were dear to
him as life, it is not surprising that through the period
of heated party controversy which for many years
agitated our Church, Mr. Darling was a conspicuous
figure on the floor of the Synod, and his name a tower
of strength, a rallying cry for the section to which he
! adhered. Not less conspicuous was the earnest devoted
zeal which made him one of the most successful of Parish
Priests. During the thirty years of his ministry in this
place he laboured unremittingly, not in the pulpit only,
but in every work of charity and spiritual ministration
among his beloved people, rich and poor, and especially
i the poor. The fruit of his labour was manifest in the
prosperity of the parish built up here, a congregation
which for attendance and heartiness in worship, for
unity and good works, was a name and praise in the
Church. Those who knew and loved him best will
cherish more dearly than all the recollection of his more
personal qualities. The warm, hearty affectionateness
which endeared him so universally to his flock, that
brightness, almost playfulness of disposition which
i attracted to him so powerfully the love and confidence
of the young you all know this much better than
I do."
214 Memories of a Sister.
In conclusion to the Bishop s account, we can only
say that to have had the honour and pleasure of having
known him is one of the brightest pages of one s past
life. One pictures him in bygone days in his Canadian
home, which nestled on the hill-side among the fragrant
shadowy pines, with blue lake Ontario lying beyond, and
in the purple distance the outline of the city of Toronto
stretched along the level shores of the lake. How warm
the greeting with which he received a stranger from the
old country ! Home, as he always loved to call it ! The
keen sense of humour which pervaded his narrations of
emigrant and parochial experiences; the true hearty
affection for and pride in his own country of Canada ;
the intense power of sympathy, beginning with every
member of his own family, and widening out to the last
person with whom he came in contact, or to whom he
could do good all made him a man to be loved and
remembered. And remembered he will be by many a
one who left home and England and, as they thought,
all friends but who found in this Canadian clergyman
the staunchest, truest, cheeriest friend whom it was ever
their lot to meet, and CHRIST S faithful soldier and
servant unto his life s end.
During the Summer of 1878, while two of us were on
a visit to S. Margaret s, Boston, he asked us to spend a
few days with him and his family ; so we arranged to do
so after having visited the Niagara Falls, and on the
morning of August the i2th, we took the boat to Toronto,
and slowly steamed across Ontario. The day passed
quickly, till late in the afternoon we saw the low, flat shores
Rev. W. Stewart ZDarling, of Toronto. 2 1 5
of Toronto, with the many spires of this so-called " city of
churches," and the prominent tower of the corn elevator,
looking at a distance like some border fortress lying in
purple lines against the amber hues of the great West.
Nearing the shore, our ear was greeted with the sound
of innumerable brass bands, each playing its hardest, one
against the other, and trip-boat after trip-boat sallied
forth from the various wharves crammed with young
men and women, all bent on enjoying their Saturday s
half-holiday. Every Irish tune and every Scotch tune
you could think of, with popular London music-hall
songs into the bargain, were being blown forth on their
instruments with the full force of the performers lungs,
and the arms of those who persistently banged the big
drums in time to the music must have ached indeed
before nightfall. We remembered it was Orangemen s
Day, and the "Young Britons," the biggest Orange
Association in Toronto, were playing against their
Roman brethren, the "Sons of S. Patrick," and vice
versa, which gave strength to the arm and power to
the lung.
Our steamer, after having tacked about among her
neighbours, finally hove to with a mighty bump, and
rescuing our portmanteaus from the hands of sundry
officious hotel touts, we followed the crowd ashore, our
view being temporarily blocked by the stalwart gray-
clad shoulders of some Englishman, who was " doing "
Canada. We hadn t to go far though before a hearty
English "Well, how are you?" greeted us, and two
strong hands protruding from the crowd grasped first
216 Memories of a Sister.
our hands and then our baggage,, and we found ourselves
welcomed by two Haggerston boys of auld lang syne,
now settled in this wooded country, 3,000 miles away
from dusky London, and the dear old Hackney Road.
How the sight of them recalled old times, for these
two were friends of our earliest days in Haggerston
days when we could not walk along the streets without
molestation, and they, as mere boys, had guarded us
to and from Church and Sunday School; days when
from Sunday morning scholars they grew to helping us
among the younger ones ; of evenings when they sat
over the fire discussing the many intricacies of religion
and politics with all the candour of "sweet seventeen;"
and here we found them stalwart men, who had fought a
large share of life s battle, and after struggling and over
coming hardships and difficulties, were settled out here
in this wooded country. The first greetings over, and
anxious inquiries after parents and relations at home
satisfactorily answered, they took us to Mr. Darling, who
was waiting for us with his buggy, and by whom we were
most heartily welcomed. He lived a few miles out of
the city, at a place called Norway, and safely packed in
the buggy, we drove forth along the wide Queen Street,
till we came to the wooden bridge spanning the Don
river, upon a straight white road, with a tramway
running along it, bordered by a wooden side walk
shaded by rows of chestnut trees. For some little
distance from the town villas were scattered about,
embowered in greenery, till these gradually dropping off,
we saw the lake stretched in dazzling azure to the
Rev. W. Stewart Starling, of Toronto. 217
horizon. Straight on for a few miles, till we came to the
racecourse and a hotel, and then a sharp turn to the left
along a sandy road, slowly ascending for another mile
or so, the lake still gleaming blue to our right, with
a fairly wooded country lying between it and us ; here
and there a wooden shanty being dumped down on the
grass, its shingle roof covered with great yellow
pumpkins laid out to dry. Then we passed the post
office, a few houses and another hotel, and slowly
wound our way up a steeper incline, with a little wooden
church (so like the pictures of churches we had seen in
the S. P. G. reports) and graveyard, encircled by a
wooden paling and sweeping firs lying to our left, and
sundry villas peeping out of the thick pine woods above.
" Welcome to Norway ! " cried our host, as we drew up in
front of a pretty little wooden two-storied villa, with a wide
verandah running round, surrounded by a garden, bright
in all the August glories of scarlet and gold, and to the
right, a pleasance, studded with acacia, terminating in a
little clump of pines on a hill, where most tempting-
looking hammocks seemed to invite you to a dokefar niente
afternoon repose. In front, the ground sloped to the
lake, covered with vines and melons, weighed down with
purple and amber fruit, from which lay farm buildings
buried in apple trees. To the left a winding pathway
led away to the woods which crowned the heights over
hanging the lake. We received a warm welcome from
our host s hospitable wife and daughters, and as a crown
ing proof of their thoughtful kindness, they had invited
our two Haggerstonians to come up and see us in the
218 Memories of a Sister.
evening. It seemed so strange in the gloaming of the
western evening, with the purple shadows falling over
the great waters and enveloping the dusky fir trees,
while the fire-flies flashed around in sparks of vivid
light, and the melancholy whip-poor-wills cried from
the adjacent woods, to be talking over all the old folks at
home, and how their old play- fellows, Jack and Ned were
married, and how so-and-so was getting on.
The next day, Sunday, Mr. Darling drove us into
Toronto. This city, I suppose from the large proportion
of Scotsmen in the citizenship, follows the custom of
Scotch towns, in that no public conveyances run on a
Sunday. It appeared to us as seeming so quiet in con
sequence ; crowds thronged the planked side-walks, and
we were very much struck with the fresh ingenuous
countenance of most of the young Canadians, they all
had such a straightforward look about them. The
hearty Service at Holy Trinity was a great pleasure
to us, it was so thoroughly congregational. Church
over, we wandered about among the tombstones, some of
which were very curious, and consisted of a hoop of iron
over the mound, from which hung a stone heart, with
the name engraved on it. We stood in silence by one
little mound, under which lay the baby son of our
married boy.
Several mornings our host drove us round to have
an idea of the country. A little back from Norway,
through the woods, lay Scarborough Heights a sort of
wooded park, with a landing-stage, platform for dancing,
refreshment booths, &c. ; a great summer rendezvous of
Rev. W. Stewart Starling, ofGoronto. 219
the Toronto citizens, who make little trips up the lake
there on Saturday r fternoons. Beyond, long stretches
of flat land, divided by barbed fences into great fields,
some pasture, but* mostly corn land, extended to the
horizon, which was bounded by desolate-looking pine trees.
Here and there wooden farm houses, with verandahs
running round, and barns and outhouses grouped around,
were set down in a clearing of stumps, and just a fir-
tree or two left standing for shade. Dry, shadowless,
dusty roads intersected the landscape, with here and
there a gully, possibly a watercourse in winter, now a
dry, dusty, cavernous hollow. During the drive, our
host, whose life had been spent in Canada from his boy
hood, gave us graphic and amusing narrations. When
he was quite a young man, his country parish amounted
to, I am afraid to say how many square miles, over which
he spent the greater part of his days in the saddle,
riding round to the scattered farms and shanties. Once
he was taken ill with fever miles from home ; how he
kept his seat on horseback he cannot remember, as
parched, burning, and dizzy, he essayed to ride a stage
homewards, till the horse stopping at a little shanty, the
kindly people lifted him out of the saddle and nursed
him tenderly till his recovery. He told us of the many
people who had come out, down on their luck, from the
old country, and who, with steady perseverance, doing
whatever came to hand first, working on the roads,
hiring out as farm servants, doing any little odd job that
turned up, had succeeded in getting on well, married, and
were thriving settlers now. "Some poor fellows have
22O
Memories of a Sifter.
a very rough time of it though ; they just come out to
get on somehow, very likely could not get on in England
through drink and bad company; come out here, find
drink cheaper than ever, and it pulls them back and
keeps them down. There are some such lying in our
little churchyard at Norway. I was talking to the old
man who digs the graves only the other day, and asking
who was this, and that, and the other. Wai, he said,
none of those graves ain t no names. That one, way
down there, is where Red Jack was buried he ain t
had no name but Red Jack he was kinder killed on the
railway track, and we just chucked him in here like.
That other one is Yankee George. No one ever knew
who he was or where he came from, but one day a fellow
from the other side (the "other side" in Toronto means
the American side of the lake) saw him on a wharf and
said "Hullo, George, what are you doing here?" and he
says, "Oh, just lying around ;" and after that we always
called him Yankee George. Poor fellows ! I often wonder
where their friends lived, and what their stories had
been. Close by them the old man told me an Indian
squaw was buried, and further on again is an unknown
grave where two men got over the fence at night, dug a
hole, and threw in a mate s body, whether murdered,
killed by accident or sickness, we shall never know."
" I think," proceeded our host, as he flicked the flies
off his bay horse s shoulder while slowly descending a
hill; "I think, till they come out to the colonies, the
English agricultural labourer has no idea of the self-
reliance of the colonist if you want a thing done you
TsT/te Rev. IV. Stewart ^Darling, of Toronto. 221
must do it yourself, not expect Government or anybody
else to do it for you. Well now, a ca.se in point : There
was a district lying along the shores of the lake, some
little way north-east of here, where the scattered popula
tion of farmers and labourers had their Services held for
them in a little shanty of a school-house. The clergyman
usually officiating was either sick or away, so another
one, twenty miles down the lake, rode over to take the
duty for him one Sunday. Arrived at the school-house,
he hitched his horse on to the fence, and then seated him
self, Canadian fashion, on the topmost rail waiting for
the congregation to arrive. Presently up loafs a rough-
looking man, who by the pulling of his forelock on seeing
a gentleman proves that he is an agricultural labourer
newly arrived from England. Be you the parson, sir ?
Yes, my man, I am. Where be you from, sir ?
From ! < From - - ? I say, you ve got a
terrible fine church there, sir. I wish you d ask them
to give us such another here. Give you a church !
exclaimed the clergyman. Why, my man, Govern
ment never gave us our church, never paid a cent,
towards it. We clubbed together, got the lumber and
shingles, and we just built it up ourselves, and you just
see if your congregation can t do the same. "
And this is the pleasant record of our visit to Canada,
the memories of which lie like a golden light along the
horizon of past years. Do we ever hear the plaintive
notes of Aileen Alanna without its bringing before us the
calmness of the fragrant summer evening, with the fire
flies flashing through the shadows, and Lake Ontario
222 Memories of a Sister.
one blaze of glory under the silver moon ? Does one
ever look at one s sketch-book without the remembrance
of the hazy summer afternoons, and the sketches made
under the fir trees, looking down over the blue lake below,
and Toronto faintly denned in the misty distance, while
Mr. Darling talked of his Church work, past, present,
and future, and of his hopes and fears for the Church and
of Sisterhoods in Canada? Mingled with these is one
of a kindly voice and genial countenance, of an upright
life spent in GOD S service. " There s not one in
Toronto but has a good word for and respects Mr.
Darling ! " was the universal verdict.
It has all been over years ago. He went to Italy, a
worn-out, broken-down old man, and passed to his eternal
rest at Alassio, on January igth, 1886. His son, the Rev.
Charles Darling, a bright, strong, brave young Priest, is
following in his father s steps, and doing good and noble
work in Toronto just the work, and in the same way,
that would have cheered his father s heart and satisfied
his longings.
late Motjjer of S. Margarets. 223
(ode late Mother of S. Mar
garet s, 8ayt $rinstead.
ALTHOUGH one loves London with ones whole heart, it
is a great refreshment to get a day in the country now
and again. I remember one lovely November day
and few things in this world are so lovely as a real fine
November day ! L. and I went down to S. Margaret s.
The journey was beautiful every tree and hedge radiant
with golden and bronzy tints, and every field and road
side steeped in the autumn moisture, redolent of what
Bishop Dupanloup described as " wet fresh nature."
S. Margaret s itself was a picture. The clinging creepers,
which nearly cover the gray stone building, were one
mass of splendid crimson and vivid scarlet quite
a sight to behold. One of the workers most kindly
picked us up a basketful of these gorgeous leaves, which
had been blown off by the wind, and were sweeping
in shifting masses of colour along the cloisters ; and I
think our cup of pleasure was full when the Mother
kindly gave us permission to go into the garden and
gather some flowers to bring back to brighten up dingy
old Haggerston. And what a garden ! a sort of garden
where you might fancy Chaucer s Emilie walking, when
the captive knight saw her out of his window ! The
alleys of quaint old-fashioned espalier apple-trees were,
of course, brown and bare ; but there was a " gallant
224 Memories of a Sister.
walk," bordered by huge dahlias, each one glowing like
a burning bush, with every shade you can imagine of
claret, crimson, flame-colour, pink, orange, purple, and
the delicatest mauve, white, and the sweetest yellows
all that heart could desire; and the Sister who ac
companied us helped us make our selections out of all
this wealth, bidding us not to spare, as a frost would
soon come and destroy everything. We gathered so
long, we thought we should miss our train, and just as
we were setting off to catch it, the Mother sent a Sister
running after us with a huge bunch of chrysanthemums
to add to our spoils. We were the admiration of Hack
ney Road and Shoreditch, with our crimson leaves and
our brilliant flowers !
And now the Annual S. Margaret s Festival knits us
up with those who once took part in it, and are now
passed to their everlasting rest. How one recalls the
long-ago day when the foundation-stone of the present
Home was laid in, I think, 1865 -when the dearest
desire of the Founder s heart was realized, and (though
he was never to see the completion of the work) he could
rejoice in the foundation of the building he had so
earnestly longed for ; the Home which should be the
home of his own Sisters. Surely this thought must
have been above all others in his mind :
" Here vouchsafe to all Thy servants
That they supplicate to gain :
Here to have and hold for ever
Those good things their prayers obtain,
And hereafter in Thy glory
With Thy blessed ones to reign."
late Motfier of S. Margarets. 225
And what a joyous procession it was that wound its
way that bright summer day across the green fields
under the shady elms to the site of the new House.
There was Mr. Chambers (Vicar of S. Mary s Soho), the
two Seddings, Dr. Littledale, and many another one
who is now laid to rest till the final restitution of all
things. The crimson and blue of the banners (designed
by the Seddings), the glistening processional cross, the
white-robed Priests and choir, and the dark-veiled
Sisters, walking in open-air procession, was a strange
and unwonted sight in those days when out-door
functions and chanting were things as yet in their
infancy in the Church of England. The next procession
in which those Priests and Sisters were to take part was
when in silence and sorrow they laid the body of their
Founder to rest on an August afternoon in the year
following.
Year after year, as the Annual Festival comes round,
when all the cottage gardens are masses of roses and
lilies, and the elms cast their long shadows across the
thick green grass, and we meet to rejoice on S. Margaret s
Day, how vividly it brings before us the memory of
lose comrades who have gone before ! How one
:alls dear Father Mackonochie s bright, earnest face
id keen, eagle eyes, as he stood up and spoke strong,
stirring, encouraging words words which seemed to
lerve one afresh for every battle, to make one count
,-ery hardship as nothing, every danger as a thing
/hich must be met and overcome. There we used
see the sweet singer, Gerald Moultrie, with his
Q
226 Memories of a Sister.
gentle poet s face, and John Sedding and Aldam
Heaton, full of energy and love of art, and Dr. Little-
dale, the legal-minded champion of the Church
crammed with learning, bubbling over with fun, with
his sharp, ready wit, and keen humorous tongue how
the memories of all these who have passed before are
intertwined and interwoven with our Associations of
S. Margaret s. And what shall we say of the Founder
himself ? There are few alive now who can remember
him personally ; but those of us to whom his memory is
dear, must think with pleasure and thankfulness of how
the little mustard seed of a tiny Community which he
planted in the hidden Sussex village, nearly fifty years
since, has taken root widely not only in English, but
in the foreign soils of America, Ceylon, and Africa.
To those who have all passed over to " our own
country " is also now added the memory of our Mother,
the motive power, the mainspring, the life of S.
Margaret s, who now rests in peace within the little
green cemetery.
I do not think we can ever thank Him enough, Wl
in His love and goodness gave us such a Mother. I
remember when I first went to S. Margaret s, nearly
five-and-forty years ago, being so specially struck
with her brightness, her cleverness, her strong sense
of humour, and her grasp of things. She seemed
to understand everything, and had such a keen hearty
way of entering into all the little details of life ; and
all the little rubs and troubles and difficulties one
encountered on first going into the religious life, and
late Motder of S. Margaret s. 227
learning to conform to the rules, seemed smoothed over
by a little talk with her. Her influence and example
were everything to me in the way of turning some very
rough material, with all sorts of crude ideas and vague
projects, into a Sister. There was a special charm
about her then, and all through her life, which made
any dealings with her most pleasant.
She was Sister Alice in those days, and she used to
write almost all the Founder s books, from his dictation,
and mixed with our love for her there was always
a certain amount of awe, as we thought of the
marvellous stores of learning to which she must have
had access, and the wonderful ideas and thoughts she
must have acquired from coming in contact with so
literary a man. But learned as she was, she was
a splendid hand at house work, and I remember her
so well, with a white apron on, sweeping out a room,
and giving me instructions how to scrub it "always
scrub with the grain of the boards, and never across
them." This was a maxim which has applied since
to many things through life, and which I have always
associated with her. I used to be allowed to help
her to carry out some of the washing in a basket,
to dry in the college field, and used to be deeply
interested in some of the interesting things she told
me of what she was then writing for Dr. Neale.
Sometimes it might be some curious use in an Eastern
Liturgy, sometimes some quaint legend of a Saint, now
something strangely supernatural, and then again it
might be a verse or so of one of his wonderful hymns.
228 Memories of a Sister.
I spent a very happy few months with her one
winter, when she was in charge of S. Mary s Mission,
Crown Street, and her brightness made one thoroughly
enjoy all the hard work. Sometimes we had to wash
and iron the church altar linen after all our day school,
district visiting, and night school work was over, which
brought it to about ten o clock at night, but we forgot
ve were tired, and Dr. Littledale used to lend us such
curious and charming books to be read when we could
squeeze a few spare minutes leisure.
Then I was allowed to share a nursing case with her,
about which I should like to say a little, as showing
a little of what the early experiences of the Community
were in cottage nursing. In the gray gloom of a late
January afternoon a poor old labourer had come over
to East Grinstead from an outlying hamlet near Hever,
furnished with a letter from the parish doctor, stating
a bad case of typhoid. The neighbours were afraid to
go and help, and the poor woman was dying for want
of proper nursing, and so Sister Alice and I were sent
off in a cart, in company with a fold-up iron bedstead,
blankets, and groceries, to do what we could for her.
The tall, overhanging hedges shut out what little
daylight was left, as we slowly jolted along the narrow
winding roads, and by the time we had accomplished
our eight or nine miles drive, all was dark.
" Here we be," said the driver, as he pulled up in
front of a dark indistinct mass dimly denned against the
wintry night, but which the lattice window, faintly
visible by the pale light of a rushlight inside, revealed to
late Motfier of S. Margarets. 229
be the cottage for which we were bound. The old man,
father of the patient, ushered us inside into a dreary,
neglected looking house-room, the stone floor dirty,
ashes in the rusty grate, an unclean saucepan lying in
the fender, and plates as sorely in need of a washing as
the deal table on which they stood, all shown forth by
the flickering tallow candle held by an old woman, who
peered cautiously at us from the doorway of the stairs
leading above, and announced in a tremulous voice that
now the " Nusses " were come she was bound to get
home. " Where s Jack ? " asked the old grandfather,
seating himself in a chair by the cold hearth, with the
light falling full on his plaited smock-frock and mud-
stained leathern gaiters. "Jack s out along of Chapman,
and I ve put Tom to bed ; the Nusses, " nodding her
head at us, " 11 look to him." "I ll get down to Reuben
Whitbread s, then, for a bit ; and if you ll just show
Missus here where to find Nancy s things, I reckon
you d better be going then, Mrs. Post," and he rose and
hobbled out into the darkness, leaving us surveying the
old woman and the desolate kitchen, to the general con
fusion and untidiness of which our own bed and bundle
now added. The " washus " was a lean-to out of the
house, and if the neglect and untidiness of the former
were appalling, that of the " washus " was ten times
more so, with its debris of unwashed pots and pans, and
dirty clothes. Sister Alice left Mrs. Post and me to
engineer a reform here, and to build a fire in the room,
while she went upstairs to the poor woman. Presently
Chapman came in, a rough, surly man, who greeted me
230 Memories of a Sister.
as " Nuss," asked how his missus was getting on upstairs,
and then I am not sure if it was not first, though-
demanded what there was to eat, as he plumped himself
down in a chair and warmed his hands at the fragments
of blaze which began to struggle through the smoking
faggots on the hearth. The tea was brewed in the little
black teapot, but we were minus both bread and butter,
so Chapman rose and holloaed into the road for Jack.
" Holloa ! " was the response, and a bright-looking lad
of ten ran in, and though seeming shy and awkward at
the apparition in strange apparel, who was presiding
over household affairs, appeared disposed to be friendly
and hold out the right hand of fellowship to " Nuss."
Through his agency bread and butter having been
procured, Mr. Chapman was fairly launched at his meal,
and I mounted the rickety staircase to see what I could
do for Sister Alice.
Upstairs was a room occupied by Chapman and his
wife, and a lean-to over the wash-house underneath,
where Jack slept ; but for present emergencies Chapman
and Jack had vacated the house at nights, and were
putting up in a loft somewhere I never rightly found out
where. The poor woman was tossing in all the delirium
of fever, which Sister Alice pronounced had not reached
its height yet. A little boy of two years old was asleep
in a cot in the corner ; but Sister Alice said we ought to
move him into the lean-to, and this proceeding woke him
up, whereupon his shrieks and yells were piteous, poor
little fellow, at finding himself at the mercy of two white-
capped strangers ! and it was some time before his
late Mot for of S. Margarets. 231
father could compose him at all. However, slices of
bread and butter comforted his soul, and Tommy went
to sleep at last, and Chapman and Jack departed.
Sister Alice sat up with the patient, and I sought repose
on the fold-up bedstead.
As soon as the back door was unbolted next morning,
a bright, pleasant-looking little woman peeped in from
the next door cottage, saying she was Mrs. Winter, and
could she do anything for "Muss;" she was willing to
help her, so long as she did not have to go nigh Mrs.
Chapman, which was a thing not to be expected of her,
as she, Mrs. Winter, had a large family of little ones.
Glad to find a friend, we elicited all information to be
had from her. The water was to be fetched from
the pond over the way, in a pail, and Mrs. Simmons
shop down below would furnish all other articles of
household consumption. Chapman worked at the
smithy opposite ; he was a queer sort of a man, drank
a good bit down at Whitbread s, was kind of sullen like
when he had had too much, and sometimes never spoke
to his missus for days, but never knocked her about.
" Him and the old grandfather weren t friends, and the old
man never come nigh the house when Chapman was in,
and young Jack, he mostly sided with the grandfather."
Finding a pail in the wash-house, and mounted on
a pair of Mrs. Chapman s pattens, which were lying on
i the bricks at the back, I sallied out across the road to
draw water. The smithy was in full operation, and the
clang and clink of the anvil rang out in the clear air.
Some carters were standing round the door, in smock-
232
Memories of a Sifter.
frocks and leathern gaiters, with their legs wide apart,
looking at nothing in general, and conversing in very
little more than occasional monosyllables ; but the sight
of me emerging from Chapman s, perching on the slab
of stone by the pond and dipping the pail in the water,
appeared quite a novel excitement. I dipped first, and
brought up about a basinful ; dipped a second time, and
filled it so full I could not lift it, and almost lost my
balance and fell head foremost off the stone into the
water, in my efforts to slop some back over the sides ;
dipped a third time, and was successful. I bought pro
visions at the village shop, presided over by Mrs.
Simmons, where a general odour of tobacco, brown
sugar, and a sort of cheesy mixture, pervaded the whole.
Mrs. Simmons was a friend indeed, bright, good-natured,
and genial, and my subsequent visits were always cheer
ing times.
The doctor pronounced Mrs. Chapman in such good
hands that he hoped now things would go on well with
her. Chapman was always silent and surly ; came in,
ate his meals, and departed to his smithy. When he was
safely there, old grandfather would crawl in, ask ques
tions respecting his daughter, describe the " complaint
in his innards," which compelled him to pay such
frequent visits to Reuben Whitbread s beer tap, and
discuss his son-in-law s failings with Jack the latter,
as well as the grandfather, speaking of him as " Chap
man." One day I was surveying dismally the pile of j
washing in the wash-house, and at the same time vainly
striving to quiet the screams of Tommy, while Sister
late Motfier of S. Margaret s. 233
Alice was engrossed above with Mrs. Chapman, who
was worse, when a bright face peeped in at the back
door, and a rosy-cheeked, sloe-eyed damsel, with a black
shawl over her head, the corners tucked into her mouth
and firmly held by a row of square white teeth any
beauty might have envied, stepped in. " Good afternoon,
Nuss; I m Mercy, the girl at Whitbread s down
yonder, and Mrs. Whitbread thought as how I might
help you a bit. Eh! my! and what a sight of washing!
Come, I ll rinse them out for you, maybe I m more used
to it like than you." That a friend in need is a friend
indeed was proved on that occasion, when Mercy s strong
arms made short work with the sheets and etceteras,
leaving me free to soothe Tommy, and prevent his cries
reaching his mother s room, Mercy meanwhile prattling
on. " Eh ! and wasn t it a pity about Mrs. Chapman
being so bad, and Chapman always a-drinking down at
\Yhitbread s ? Ah ! he was a bad man, was Whitbread
though she was servant there she must say it always
drinking and leading others to drink. Church ? No,
there wasn t no church. There was the chapel close by,
but not many went. There was the preacher and his
young woman, and some children, and a few more, but
none of the men. Clergyman ? No, none came nigh
them the nearest church was at Hever, two miles off;
if I wanted to go to church on Sunday, I must walk
there." Finally she departed, having put all the wash
ing very much to the fore.
One Saturday night, Tommy screamed so piteously,
and refused so utterly to be comforted, that I walked
234
Memories of a Sister.
down to Whitbread s in the dark, and there, amidst
clouds of tobacco smoke, and the fumes of stale beer, I
found Chapman amidst his friends, and brought him
home in triumph, though somewhat top-heavy. But he
got Tommy to sleep. It was an odd experience in this
out of the way hamlet, and I enjoyed so much feeling
that I was in any way a help to Sister Alice in her
arduous nursing.
In 1863 she was elected Mother, and as we had learnt
to love and respect her as a companion, so ones love
deepened into reverence and admiration for her as
a Superior.
When the Founder was taken to his rest in 1865,
it was left to her to carry out his scheme for the increase
and strengthening of S. Margaret s, and right nobly she
has fulfilled her trust. The comparatively little Sister
hood of that day has widened, increased, deepened, and
taken root throughout the world.
To all, whether they were the heads of the Branch
Houses, or the youngest day novice, she was always
a true Mother, to whom they turned, certain of help and
sympathy. And mind you, her help and sympathy were
not mere kindly allowances for the frailties of human
nature, and lenient good nature. She always pulled you
up to the very highest standard ; she always pointed out
the very loftiest ideal she never let you rest content
with mediocrity cost what it might, you must try your
very best, you must always mount higher. I never
knew any woman with such a keen, clear judgment
apd so wide withal. She had the gift of being able to
late Mother of S. Margarets. 235
see all around, and to fix upon, not only the right, but
the best and wisest line of action to take. She was
marvellously large hearted, utterly free from prejudice,
and had a keen insight into character ; and, she had that
very great gift, that special elixir of life the very
strongest sense of humour. I remember the American
Mother saying it was always a refreshment to be with
her, as she always saw the humorous side of things,
which helped one most wonderfully through half the
battles of life.
But forty years of the cares and anxieties of headship,
of bearing the burdens and sorrows of her children, of
the constant giving out of counsel and sympathy, told
upon her, and for a long while past her health had been
a cause of great anxiety to us all. The last time I saw
her, on S. Joseph s day, I felt that it was our last time of
meeting in this world. Ill though she was, she had all
her old brightness and energy, and a most marvellous
recollection of things. We were speaking of ages, and
I said, "Oh, Mother ! you were thirty in such and such
a year, for I remember seeing written in a book Dr.
Neale had given you on your birthday, And JESUS
i began to be about thirty years of age. " " No," she
isaid, "it was not 1860, it was 1859," and rising with
I difficulty from her chair she went to the book-shelf,
I recollected the very book I had forgotten it brought
it out, and shewed me the words and date in his hand
writing.
But the end was drawing very near. On May gth
Last, she went to S. Catherine s, Ventnor, for rest and
236 Memories of a Sister.
change of air. She had been suffering for some time
from weakness of the heart, but the presence of valvular
disease had only been ascertained quite recently. This
journey ought to have been taken much earlier, but she
was so anxious to leave all in order, and arrange things
before she went especially with regard to some special
business matter for the Community that it was post
poned until that date. To quote from the notice of
a friend, "Only on the Wednesday before she died,
under the consciousness of increasing weakness, she
wrote with her own hand several letters dealing with
matters of importance to the Society. On the Feast of
Corpus Christi she made her Communion, kneeling on
the altar steps of the Chapel of the Home. On the
Saturday, she appeared worse, and the Chaplain came
from S. Margaret s, and gave her the last Sacraments.
But though obliged to have oxygen to assist her
breathing, she was perfectly conscious and interested in
everything. A little before three, on June ist, she
peacefully passed away. She was taken back to
S. Margaret s, where the Chaplain and Community
met the coffin at the station, and so took her in peace to
her Home. Here the coffin was placed before the altar
in the choir, and watch was kept day and nijht until
the funeral, which was at half-past two on Thursday,
June 5th, the Octave of Corpus Christi. Sisters from
all the various Homes and Missions came, though but
few Priests were able to do so, owing to it being the
Anniversary Day of the Confraternity of the Blessed
Sacrament. There was a Celebration in the chapel at
late Mot far of S. Margaret s. 237
ii o clock, and a little after 2 o clock the Community
gathered in the choir around our Mother for the last time.
The very day and atmosphere spoke of peace ; a soft,
gray sky, through which gleams of sunshine broke
every now and again, lighting up the picturesque
gray walls of the quadrangle, and the closely shaven
green grass. We passed along in silence, through the
hall, and so out by the front gates into the little wood ;
and as we entered, the girls and children, who preceded
us, had passed through, and between the trees we caught
glimpses of them winding up into the cemetery. The
grave had been dug on the top of the little slope, exactly
opposite the crucifix. The children and the Sisters
stood around in a large circle, and the Priests were
grouped around Father Hutton and Father Hogg. The
grave was lined with sweetest lilies of the valley and
white flowers, and at the head was a large cross of
forget-me-nots. The rest and peace and calm of the scene,
and of the whole surroundings, are past expressing. Every
thing spoke of peace, of perfect rest after toil, of repose
after all the battles and weariness of life. Through the
tall trees growing thickly round, bright with the verdant
green of leafy June, a gentle breeze sighed a soft requiem,
and the nightingales and many birds chanted their little
hymns of praise and thankfulness among the branches.
It was a beautiful, picturesque sight. By the little
Mortuary Chapel, sheltered by its oaken gable, the
tall crucifix dominated the whole scene, and the CHRIST
stretched out His arms in patience and benediction over
her whose work was done, and over her children before
238 Memories of a Sister.
whom still lay the burden and heat of the day. The
bright spring tints of a young oak seemed to stand
out in strong relief against the darker green of the
surrounding foliage, and lighted up the whole scene.
After the committal, a cento from the Founder s
"Jerusalem the Golden," was sung, and then every
mourner, beginning with the relatives, followed by the
children and schools, and ending up with the Sisters,
advanced to take one last look at her they loved so
dearly, as she lay resting in peace, and each dropped
their tribute of a spray of white flowers upon the
coffin.
And so all was over, and her long, patient, and arduous
work of nearly forty years of Superiorship was come to
an end. When, six-and-thirty years ago, the Founder of
S. Margaret s passed away, she had all the responsibility
of the nurture and care of the little Community, which
in the face of apparently insurmountable difficulties and
obstacles, under her guidance had steadily grown and
prospered. It was the legacy left from the Founder to
his spiritual daughter, and full nobly and loyally she
fulfilled her trust. She was one of the last of a past and
grand generation, who have all now gone beyond the veil.
She was a friend of Harriet Monsell, the first Clewer
Mother; she had met and known Charlotte Yonge,
the authoress ; she was a cotemporary and friend
of so many of the great leaders of the Church move* 1 :
ment. We felt, in losing her, that we had lost a great
link with the past. And with regard to the Community
over whom she presided, what can we say ? She was
H>6e late Motfor of S. Margaret s. 239
a most true and loving Mother in every sense of the
word. Clear sighted, far seeing, of sound judgment and
the very shrewdest commonsense, she was indeed among
the women of her time. To us of S. Saviour s Priory,
to whom she always shewed most special love and
kindness, her loss is irreparable. What, and how
much we owe her, is only known to Him Whose great
love and mercy gave her to us.
I had a letter soon after her death, from one of the
S. Margaret s Sisters, which is interesting, as shewing of
what material those earlier Sisters were made, who co
operated with Dr. Neale and Mother Alice in founding
and establishing S. Margaret s. The Sister says : " Did
you ever hear of that old man one of our Sisters came
across while nursing ? He enquired if several Sisters,
whom he mentioned by name, were still alive, and she said,
Did you know them? He said, Yes, he knew them in
the early sixties, adding, Ah, they belonged to a race
which is fast dying out ! One is often coming across
bits of ancient history in the way of old night school
roughs and boys, and when I look back, and dip into
ancient history, I am only surprised the Society is not
still more wonderful. It seems strange how any one
can ever despair and doubt, looking back just forty or
fifty years, and seeing the long lists of heroes, and con
fessors and saints of the Church who have now gone
up higher, Father Dolling among them."
The Sister might well say, " How can any one despair
or doubt, looking back forty or fifty years ? " Compare
the calm and peaceful laying to rest of our Mother on
.40 Memories of a Sister.
that quiet June afternoon, with the first funeral of a
S. Margaret s Sister five and forty years before. It took
place in the November before I went to East Grinstead,
and there are few living who would remember the episode
of the " Lewes Riots ;" of how very angry the Vicar of
Southover was at his daughter becoming " Sister Amy,"
of S. Margaret s, and how he insisted, on her decease,
that she should be buried in Southover Churchyard,
just outside Lewes. Those Sisters who were present at
the funeral have told me of the horrors of the event.
How a wild and furious Protestant mob pursued the
little procession into the churchyard, hooting, howling,
cat-calling, execrating, pushing and jostling the little
band of Sisters, and tearing off their veils. They tried to
knock Dr. Neale down, nearly pulled his clothes off his
back, and used such violence that he had to run for his
life and take refuge in a cottage. In the gloom of the
stormy autumn evening they were pushed about in the
darkness, separated each from the other, every minute
expecting to be thrown down and trampled upon ; and
how they escaped being seriously hurt they never knew.
Those were the days of riots, for about the very same
time they were taking place in Mr. Bryan King s church
in S. George s in the East so far as I can remember,
about the now every-day matter of preaching in a surplice!
Our late Mother, who took a keen interest in the
putting together of these little " Memories," was most
anxious, the very last time I saw her, that Father Alisor,
late Mother of S. Margaret s. 241
the dearly loved Chaplain who succeeded the Founder
at S. Margaret s, should be mentioned in these pages.
There are certain persons who seem to possess
a special faculty for making the best of everybody, for
drawing all the latent good out of every one they have to
do with, and of minimising what evil there is in them.
They are, so to speak, like the bees, which draw honey
even from poisonous flowers. Just such as this was the
Rev. Laughton Alison, who was Chaplain to the
S. Margaret s Sisters for six-and-twenty years. Not
particularly talented in any particular branch of learning
or science, very quiet and gentle, he had a peculiarly
happy knack of making peace with everybody, of
smoothing out the creases of people s minds, of anoint
ing every little sore, of planing down every little
awkward knot or angle. He seemed to flit about the
Convent like a sunbeam, bringing brightness and joy
wherever he appeared. Now he was leaning against
one of the arches in the quadrangle, comforting a Sister
who was unhappy and dispirited about some failure in
her work ; now in the Orphanage, bringing round some
naughty, sulky child, with the peculiar kindly half-
joking manner he had. Apart from his social optimism,
the religious bent of his mind was essentially that of
" Rejoice in the LORD alway, and again I say, rejoice."
Like his sympathies, his hope was of the very widest
his creed, "He is able to save to the ttttermost." Hire
is what he says in one of his sermons :
" Think often of the multitude of the saved. Not
Holy Scripture, not the Church anywhere, calls them
242 Memories of a Sister.
few. We are too apt to think of the sin and misery of
the world, the multitude of those who seem as if they
must be lost. But let us remember this of all the
other blessed ones in heaven there is an approach to
numbering. Even of the cohorts of angels it is said,
A thousand times ten thousand. The virgins are
numbered by the mystical number of perfection, one
hundred and forty-four thousand. The spiritual Israel
again with the like number. But of the redeemed (and
that but one small regiment of them) it is said, A great
multitude which no man could number. Thank GOD
for it ! " And this belief and assurance permeated all his
religion trust in GOD S mercy, confidence in His love.
You can imagine the influence such a life, and such
a spirit must have been to those to whom he ministered,
and one marvels that with such a constant output of
sympathy which is a fearful drain upon even the very
strongest nerved person he could have retained always
the wonderful inner calmness and serenity which so
specially marked him. Holidays he had few once
a year he went a good tour abroad, so as to get a real
change and refreshment. With Spain he was greatly
fascinated, and wrote to Dr. Littledale, " Go to Spaing
whether you can manage it or not pawn your clothes,
but go." To those who knew the shabby state of dear
Dr. Littledale s apparel, this must be specially amusing!
Towards the latter end of his life he suffered very much
all his sufferings borne with the same marvellous trust
and patience which so characterized him. On September
igth, 1892, his loving, gentle spirit was called home.
Gfapman. 243
Qftapman.
188C to 1891.
SOME time towards the end of the seventies one of " our
boys " went to Liverpool, to try his fortune at Cornish,
the booksellers, and used to write from time to time,
extolling the kindness of a certain Father Chapman, of
S. James s Church. .Certainly, by the lad s account,
he was a very wonderful man; always going about
doing good, always hunting up people for church, and
the Sacraments, and their duties. Some time later,
about 1880, we heard he had been appointed to the
Church of the Annunciation, Brighton, of which we
knew little more than that it was somewhere in the
slums. Fifteen years previously some one told us of this
Mission Church Mr. Wagner had built in a very poor,
out of the way part : and with a good deal of trouble,
and a great deal of asking, we found our way there, and
I believe a Mr. Christopher Thompson was at that time
in charge. The whole neighbourhood looked so poor,
with rough gangs of boys at the corners of the streets,
an.l unkempt women and girls standing about the doors,
that one s heart went out to it directly. However, we
were working at that time in S. Mary s, Soho, and so
utterly absorbed in all there was to do in that most
interesting place, that I had almost forgotten the Annun-
244 Memories of a Sister.
elation, till it was recalled by the fact of Father
Chapman s going there. At that time it had boundaries
assigned to it, and was made a separate parish, although
the Church was not consecrated until 1884. Soon after
his appointment he wrote the following letter to the
Priory :
" ANNUNCIATION CLERGY HOUSE,
" BRIGHTON,
"Eve of Holy Cross Day, 1881.
" DEAR MOTHER,
"After a good deal of prayer and thought I
have determined to ask you if you would kindly let us
have a couple of Sisters to work here. The work I
should ask them to do, with your permission, would
be: (i) To minister the relief; (2) To tend the sick;
(3) To look after the church linen ; (4) Possibly to do
a certain amount of visiting.
" I fear I can offer nothing in the way of money, and
can only ask you to take up the work for the love of our
Blessed LORD, His Church, and His poor. A small
house opposite the church (open at the back, and, I
think, very healthy) at 10 a year, could be got without
much difficulty, I believe. If you could possibly spare
Sister E. we should, I trust, be specially grateful. It is
most important, I am sure, we should have a lady of
tact, and one likely to win people. Commending the
matter to your prayers and consideration,
" Believe me to remain very faithfully,
" Yours in CHRIST JESUS,
" G. CHAPMAN."
Qfapman. 245
" P.S. I was anxious to write within the Octave of
the Nativity of the B. V. M. We are now finally
separated as a distinct parish."
It was a great grief to us, as you can well imagine,
not to be able to respond to this invitation, but our
hands were more than over full, and it was quite im
possible, but we were glad to hear that a year or so
later the Sisters of Bethany, of Lloyd Square, had
volunteered their services, and been gladly accepted
by Father Chapman. We had long been anxious to
start a Home of Rest for Men, and wanted to have it,
if possible, in the Annunciation parish, so as to be
under Father Chapman s wing ; but the parish was too
poor to contain a house quite convenient for our purpose.
But, when we fixed upon one, barely ten minutes walk
across the hill to the Annunciation, Father Chapman was
most kind and interested in it, and it was considered
a great pleasure and honour when some of the lads who
were down there were allowed to go in the early morning
to serve at the Annunciation.
Father Chapman had never been strong, and about
1885 his health broke down completely, and in 1886 he
was obliged to go away to recruit : but neither the bracing
air of Scotland, nor the fascinations of lovely Florence,
could tempt him to stop away one moment more than was
absolutely necessary from his beloved Annunciation.
I remember so well the last time almost I heard
him preach. It was a sultry Sunday evening in August,
the church was crowded to suffocation, and his at*
246 Memories of a Sister.
tenuated figure, and pale, worn face, stood out in strong
relief against the dark wood-work of the chancel screen
behind. There was always such an indescribably anxious,
loving, look on his face when he used to address his
parishioners, a sort of look which always made one think
of Mr. Tryan s words in Janet s Repentance : " I shall
not look in vain for you at the last." The words of
his text were, " He that overcometh shall inherit all
things," and we felt that the day was not far off when
he himself should receive the reward of his labours, and
" inherit all things."
The last time I saw him was after a Sunday evening
Service, in the September before he died. He was stand
ing at the end of the church, wasted to a shadow, and
drawing his breath in great gasps, while the congregation,
as they passed out, crowded round him for a hand shake
and a good night. He looked so tired and so feeble, that
I did not wait, as I was always in the habit of doing, but
thought another evening he might be stronger and better
able to speak, and so reluctantly went out. On Mon
day he saw one of the Hostel men, and said, " Tell
Sister she went out without saying good night
yesterday ; she might have stopped and done so ; tell her
I felt quite hurt." The opportunity to do so never came.
I had to go back to London, and before I was in the
church again he had passed to his rest.
We were at the Hostel on October 2nd, 1891,
and in the fading autumn twilight trying to " redd
up " the tiny garden by tieing together the massy lilac
sheaves of Michaelmas daisies, and curtailing the
Gfiapman. 247
luxuriant extravagancies of the flaming nasturtiums,
which spread their great strong arms in all directions,
and planting bulbs in the reclaimed spaces, wondering
vaguely what changes might take place before their
young green leaves should pierce the earth, when
a messenger came over the hill in hot haste from the
Annunciation to say that the Vicar had suddenly passed
away that afternoon. As one looked across into the
clear green lights of the western horizon, gleaming below
the gray clouds of the autumn sky, one could not but
think of Bishop Alexander s words
" There was a soul that eve autumnal sailing
Beyond the earth s dark bars,
Toward the land of sunset never paling,
Towards heaven s sea of stars."
And what a glorious day to go Home, the Feast of the
Guardian Angels !
The news of his death was a terrible blow, though his
failing health had taught one to expect it daily. His
church, the Annunciation, had been to us and if to us,
to whom Brighton was only a resting-place, how much
more to those of his own parish and of residents !
always "a strength to the poor, a strength to the needy
in his distress, a refuge from the storm, a shadow from
1 the heat." Whatever might be the trouble, whether
weariness, discouragement, or worries and difficulties of
any kind, help and comfort was always found from the
kindly heart and encouraging words of the Priest who
was always to be found at home that place which he,
the true father of. his people, made the true home to
his people, namely, the church.
248 Memories of a Sifter.
Year after year, with a frail body, but a mighty soul
of zeal and energy, he had laboured on in this parish in
the poorest, most out-of-the-way part of smart, fashion
able Brighton. No one ever came in contact with him
but went away feeling stronger, and better, and braver,
as if they had inhaled a something which " blew across
the border-land of Paradise." Many a Haggerston man
and lad will look back with reverence and affection to
the kindness he received, and the good words which he
heard, from Father Chapman. To the Sisters he was
always a friend, and it was pleasant to have the warm
shake of the hand, and the genuinely cordial greeting,
when one came out of the church during our visits to
the Hostel, " Well, I am pleased to see you here ! " and
then followed enquiries after other Sisters and the men
and lads he knew in London. " The good man on the
hill," as he was called.
He died as he had lived, " among his own people."
He died as he had lived, in harness, working to the very
last. When he looked as if he ought to have been
resting, nursed, and tended, his tall, attenuated form was
seen moving about the church, talking to his people,
with failing breath and spent voice, and after Service he
sat at the end, to greet all that went out. He looked
like a being from another world, and, indeed, his whole
life had been literally, though " in the world, yet not of
the world." As a friend remarked, " I know of no one
who would feel more at home in heaven than he ; his life
has been far above this earth for so long past !"
He died in harness. That very 2nd of October he
(S6apman. 249
had been at the morning Celebration, and from 12 to i
had been in the church, helping and counselling those
of his people who had brought their burden of trouble
to lay before him. At i o clock he went into the little
Oratory of the Clergy House for quiet prayer, and kneel
ing there alone, one of the terrible fits of coughing came
on there was but one step, and he had crossed the
threshold of Paradise.
And that still autumn evening, as we left the little
presbytery where we had been to take our last look at
him who lay with closed eyes and folded hands, we saw
beyond the purple downs the western sky was all ablaze
in flaming gold, bringing to one s mind those words of
Bishop Dupanloup : " And in the autumnal evening
glow I saw, as it were, the reflection of that far more
beautiful Light in which our dear ones are rejoicing,
whom we have lost for a time, to find them again in that
Immortal Brightness."
It was touching to see the crowds of poor people to
whom he had been Priest, Helper, and Friend, pass
round the aisle after Service the evening before the
funeral, to take their last look at the coffin, which was
placed within the chancel gates. I remember some one
saying, two or three years ago, they never saw a church
more full of really poor people than the Annunciation.
It seemed the embodiment of " To the poor the Gospel
shall be preached." Father Chapman used to explain
everything about the Church Services and Seasons in
simple, plain language that they could all understand,
and always told them news about the Church at large,
250
Memories of a Sifter.
so as to widen their interests beyond their own parish.
Again, if there was to be any alteration in, or anything
new placed in the church, he always told them about it,
making them feel the church was their own home, the
common property of all, and that each one had an
individual interest in everything pertaining to it. For
example, as when a new window was put in the south
aisle, he explained all the symbolism and the figures in
the design, and when the wooden chairs were replaced
by permanent benches, he explained that they would seat
more people than the chairs used to, and begged each
one would re-hang the little mat they would find hung
there for convenience of kneeling.
Before special Sundays and Festivals, he always talked
to them from the pulpit the night before, telling them
how many Celebrations there would be the next day
generally they began from 5 a.m., for the sake of those
who had to go early to work and he always finished by
saying, " And if there are any who cannot come to any
of these Celebrations, will they tell me, and I will see if i|
I can arrange to have one at another hour." All his
addresses were plain and practical, and were in touch |
with the people, telling them just what they ought to do,
and how they ought to do it talks, more than sermons.
His Friday Mission Services were wonderful, and
always used on those occasions good, swingy hymi
out of the Mission Hymn Book, so that everyone coul
join in.
The funeral was on October 6th, when there
a Celebration of the Holy Communion at 10.30 (there
(Sljapman. 251
had been previous Celebrations every hour, and some
j half-hours, since 5 a.m., so that every poor person might
,be able to get away and come to communicate), and
aff r the Service the body was carried from that church,
where for so many years his weary feet had paced day
after day, evening after evening, where he had been
:onstant in season, out of season, labouring for the love
bf souls. Numbers followed in procession, walking four
abreast, in mournful silence along the streets to the
Parochial Cemetery in the Lewes Road.
It was a wild and stormy autumn day. The sky was
; , ray with scudding masses of cloud, and the wind
, io\vled and sobbed from the great downs above, rustling
nournfully among the trees, which showered their damp
)rown and yellow leaves on the pathway, as the sad
>rocession, headed by the cross, slowly proceeded along
i he cemetery.
Hard by the little chapel the ground shapes into a sort
if preen valley, above which the gorse grown downs
orni a vast amphitheatre, stretching away to the
Jestless sea beyond.
Here, shaded by peaceful trees, girdled by the downs
e was so fond of in his lifetime, near to his church, and
hose for whom he laboured so abundantly, he lies
mong his own people, till he shall meet them once
igain on the Judgment Day.
Dear Father Chapman ! There is to me always
halo of sanctity around the little church he loved so
early and served so faithfully. As you open the door
In aroma of prayer seems to steal out Into the poor meat}
252 Memories of a Sifter.
street, and as you enter you feel you have come into an
atmosphere of devotion. Devotion above, below, all
around you ; you breathe it in at every respiration ; you
are consciously saturated with it ; you know that this is
verily and indeed, the House of GOD, the gate of heaven.
How could it be otherwise? For the work begun in
earnest prayer by Father Chapman, and built up in
earnest prayer by his faithful successor, the Rev.
Reginald Fison (both called home in the midst of their
work), is carried on in the faith of earnest prayer by
him who follows them.
It always seems to me a true Annunciation, where
Mary is ever kneeling in prayer, where Gabriel is
ever bringing the message of redemption, where
Gabriel s assurance of " Fear not, Mary, for thou
hast found favour with GOD," and her " Behold the:
handmaid of the LORD, be it unto me according to Thy
Word," were not words only spoken two thousand years
ago, but echoed on through the perpetuity of time of
" yesterday, to-day, and for ever."
1wo
253
Jlrtists.
IN the very early sixties, when we were at S. Mary s,
Crown Street, Soho, among the members of the choir,
and associated in the work for the poor around, were two
young brothers, Edmund and John Sedding. Both in
Mr. Street s office both brimming over with the love and
power of art both keen to help on the movement of
church and art life which was slowly beginning to be
astir in those days. Edmund s health compelled him
soon to leave, and he died early, leaving as his gift to
the Church general some lovely Christmas Carols, and
pamphlets on Church work ; but John remained and
worked on until he went to Bristol.
I remember some four years previously, before I went
to S. Margaret s, being immensely struck with a short
lived periodical which came out in 1856, called The
Oxford and Cambridge Magazine. One article especially,
on the newly-appeared pictures of Death as the Avenger,
and Death as the Friend, were my first introduction to
Pre-Raphaelism, and acquaintance with John Sedding
developed and strengthened one s love and admiration
for that school of art.
Those were the days when the P. R. brotherhood was
bravely fighting its way through the clogging traditions
of the past, pioneered by Ruskin to the light of truth and
254 Memories of a Sifter.
freedom, and John Sedding was a keen disciple of theirs.
He was a true artist, skilled both in music and painting
equally devoted to both, and helping S. Mary s with both
his talents now designing ornaments for the church
in the loveliest designs and the richest colouring his
reds and greens were always rich and well blended ;
now taking a class of poor children to teach them his
brother s Christmas Carols. We can remember so well
his bright, beaming face so eager, so earnest, so full of
thoroughness as he sung the words so lustily with his
honest, hearty voice, infusing life and vigour into the
poor half-starved ragged children who were grouped
around him. He always said the London children
looked so white and bloodless, they wanted ripening
in the sun, like peaches. Whatever he undertook, he
threw himself heart and soul into it. What always
struck me so forcibly about him was a sort of
Christian nobility, so free from anything shoddy, from
surface-doing, from half-heartedness whatever he did he
did with all his might, as unto the LORD, heartily. And
there was a sort of indescribable boyish eagerness in the
way he undertook things. I remember so well his
painting an Annunciation on a panel of S. Mary s
organ, and rushing off every ten minutes or so to blow
a little wind into the instrument, just enough to play
some magnificent chords, or a few bars from some old
master.
We were great people for decorative banners in tho
days in Soho, and John was always making love!
designs to be hung in the church on Festivals, or to
TSwo Jlrtists. 255
appear painted on humbler material, to wave on the top
of brakes at school excursions, or to garnish the walls at
Christmas-tide.
Those were the early days, before Japanese art was
ever thought of as having any of the beauty of colour we
now see in it, but I recollect John Sedding used to be
laughed at for his admiration of their colouring of the
deep greens and the reds and the blues, and it was
a standing joke that he bought up all the old tea boxes
so that he might study the colouring of them. In 1861
they both designed decorations for the Church Festival,
which they asked me to paint according to instructions.
Edmund made me put on pure scarlets and emerald
greens John asked me to give the emeralds a wash
of sap green, and to use crimson lake for the red, which
1 1 was to tone down with a wash of gamboge. Edmund
was designing a window for some church, I don t re
member where, and one light was to be the story of the
Good Samaritan, and he was much tempted to put
I a bottle of stout in the Samaritan s hand in lieu of the
orthodox Eastern bottle. He said it would give it a
I piquancy whether he carried out the idea, I know not.
John had a wonderful gift of always seeing the
| beauty of everything. One S. Margaret s Day, as the
guests were assembled in the flowery quadrangle at East
Grinstead, and were looking with dismay at the rain-
clouds gathering up, he said to me, " Oh, how splendid !
J Do look at the grand effect of those dark, grayish-purple
clouds behind the red roof ! Who would ever wish for
j blue sky when they could have that ? How it throws
256
Memories of a Sifter.
up all the beauties of the building ! " And another
S. Margaret s Day, when the Mother from the Boston
House was expected on a visit to England, he cried
joyously, " Oh, I am so glad she is coming ; she is
splendid my ideal of a perfect woman ! No one knows
the help she was to me as a boy ! "
His friend, the Rev. E. F. Russell, says in a little
memoir of him : " John Sedding s happy, buoyant nature,
his joy in his art, and invincible faith in his mission,
did much to carry him through all difficulties. Some
thing of his soul he put into all that he undertook,
hence his work was never commonplace."
Another friend says : " His love of symbolism was only
equalled by his genius for it, old ideas had new meanings
for him, old symbols were invested with deeper signifi
cance, and new ones full of grace and beauty discovered.
The following delightful old epitaph was often on his
lips :
Bonys emonge stonys lys fill steyl
Quilst the soules wanderis where that Gou will. "
After we left Soho, we very rarely met, we were busy i
with our work in Haggerston, and he had become a man
of note, too busy to travel out eastwards ; but we met :
now and again at S. Alban s, Holborn, when he was
churchwarden there.
He was taken to his rest in the Eastertide of 1891,,
leaving behind him living memorials of his loving handi
craft in much church restoration especially in the West 1
country and of church architecture, his last work being
Holy Trinity, Sloane Square.
H>wo Jirtitfs. 257
Another artistic friend with whom it was our privilege
to become acquainted, was John Aldam Heaton. To
those of us who knew him, his remembrance is full
of bright, helpful memories some among the little sunny
gleams in our lives which one always recalls with
pleasure. They were like glimpses into a beautiful
garden full of loveliness and art, breaking in upon the
rather grayness of our daily life.
In 1870, Sister Helen and I went to spend a little
holiday with Mr. and Mrs. Heaton, in their house
at Bingley, near Bradford a home, as Professor
Shuttleworth says, "which to this day has left a
tradition of almost ideal beauty upon those privi
leged to visit it." One recalls it now almost like
a picture of Rossetti s the long, low drawing-room, with
its small, square, round -knobbed paned windows, rich
in quaint and curious pictures, its colouring all so
harmonized, everything such perfection of blended tints
and graceful outline, looking on to a green and flower
ing garden, divided from the fields and woods by a little
beck. It was this same garden, we are told, that
Rossetti a frequent guest painted for the scene of
i one of his Annunciations, and some of his sketches were
among the collection which adorned the walls. Our
i two friends, Father Mackonochie and Dr. Littledale, had
both also stayed there previously, and it was most
interesting to see all the beauties of which they had
told us.
At that time Mr. Heaton had not entirely abandoned
business to devote himself to art, and we were very much
258 Memories of a Sifter.
interested when he took us over his mills at Bradford
by his clear explanations of all we saw, and especially
by his endeavours to improve the popular taste in tone
and colour of the fabrics. In company with him and
Mrs. Heaton we enjoyed the sight of Bolton Abbey,
and all the beauties of Wharfedale, where the furious
stream rushed brawling in creamy foam over the dark
brown rocks of the Strid, overshadowed by the vernal
majesty of the June woods.
After he came up to London we met but rarely ; but
each visit, though few and far between, was always
fraught with pleasure we heard so much of art, and
saw such curious and interesting things, that each visit
felt like an oasis in the desert. One expedition made to
South Kensington School of Art, going through the
rooms with him, and hearing his observations on the
various things exhibited, was an education in itself. He
was always most kind in furnishing us with sketches-
and designs, and some of his own beautiful handiwork
exists in our chapel to-day.
He possessed a most wonderful power of combining
art and helpfulness for others. To quote once more his
intimate friend, Professor Shuttleworth, " Whatever he
did was marked with his own strong individuality, and
was conspicuous for its freedom from affectation, its
graceful drawing, and vigorous colour. What he was in ;f
his public and professional life can be summed up in
a few words : he was one of the first designers and
decorators of his day, if not actually the first. Even
William Morris was not above taking a hint or an
Jlrtitfs. 259
opinion from Aldam Heaton. But of his private and
personal relations, in the nature of the case, and from his
own modest reticence, few can speak. I doubt if ever
there was a better master, a kinder friend to the men
nd women in his employ. I know that I myself never
met a man whom I more sincerely respected and more
eeply loved. His robust common sense, his warm
ffections, his never failing sense of humour, his high
nd consistent ideals of life, combined to make him at
nee a delightful companion, and an inspiring, uplifting
nfluence. And all his great gifts, his original personality,
vere pervaded by the simplest, most beautiful devotion
cj GOD in CHRIST. He was not untouched by the
rriodern spirit of unrest in matters religious ; but it never
ot real hold of him. I was asked, not many months
go, to name the best Christian I had known. I may
ay, now he is dead, that I at once named Aldam
Heaton."
/ To have been brought in contact with, and to have
ome under the artistic influence of two such Christian
irtists and craftsmen as John Sedding and Aldam
deaton, are among the loving-kindnesses for which we
Ave to daily thank GOD, and count up among our past
umberless mercies.
May they rest in peace until the day of the restitution
f all things when
" In the Land of Beauty all things of Beauty meet ! "
260 Memories of a Sister.
Soldier-Priest
Jn Memoriam.
ZDavid 5Borrie Qlarke. May M6, 189J*.
" THIS morning they had sustained a terrible loss in the
Chaplain department in the person of the Rev. David
Borrie Clarke, whom every soldier with whom he had
come in contact had learned to love. He had died in]
the thick of the fight, as a soldier should die." So said]
Colonel Wavell, at the re-opening of the Church oi
England Soldiers Institute, at Pirbright, near Aldershotj
on the afternoon of May 4th, 1894 ; and the Duke
Connaught, who opened the building, concluded
speech with these words : He " deeply regretted th
terrible loss the Aldershot division had sustained by thtj
death of Mr. Clark, who was a true soldier at heart a: j
well as a religious man, and he had died at his post."
I first knew him as a lad at S. Alban s, Holborn, 01
of " Father Stanton s Boys." A friend of mine, tl
present Archdeacon Carnon, of the Universities Missk
to Central Africa, at that time a layman in the ci1
brought him, among the many friends he used to brii
over on Sunday afternoons and week-day evenings,
see us.
3i Soldier-driest 261
Dear David ! What a beautiful and true life his was !
I don t think I know of anyone of whom one could say
more truly, that he " walked before GOD." As a mere
boy in his secular employment in the city, his one
thought was of how he could best serve his LORD.
All who came in contact with him felt they were in
touch with one who " had been with JESUS." And yet
he was not stiff, nor morose, nor obtruding his religious
opinions upon others. He was always bright and
cheery, very fond of dancing, a capital actor, devotedly
fond of music, and entering keenly into all the joys ol
life. His one wish from boyhood had been to take
Holy Orders, but there seemed insuperable difficulties in
the way. But these difficulties were by the agency of
friends surmounted, and the wish of his heart was
fulfilled. And here his wonderful power of sanctifying
I everything he touched, and of turning everything to the
I very highest purpose, was more and more developed.
While he was a Curate in Plymouth there were certain
I parochial concerts organized, in which he, with his great
musical powers, took a large share, and at times sung
songs which very particular people thought better
[adapted for a layman than for a clergyman to sing,
low one day he was sent for by a poor woman who
dying. She was a woman who had been a sinner,
id when he came into the poor hovel in the low, back
reet where she lay dying, she poured out to him all the
story of her life, and implored him to pray for and
Ip her. "And what made you send for me?" he said.
You do not know me, and Mr. So-and-So is a much
264 Memories of a Sifter.
older man, and could help you far better." " Ah, no,"
she said, " I have lived my life alone, and felt I could
speak of it to no one, the parsons were all too good and
high, and I thought they could not feel for me ; but
I went one evening to one of the concerts and heard you
sing (I forget what some popular song of the day), and
felt that a minister who could sing a song like that must
have a feeling heart ; and if ever I was dying I would
send for him, and he would not turn away from such
a poor wicked creature as me."
He was, as I said, a friend of ours at the Priory from
boyhood, and a guest at S. Saviour s Hostel, Brighton,
every summer. And how the men and boys loved him !
How anxious they were to be down there at the same
time as himself, how they all thronged round and loved
to talk to him. The memory of his bright, earnest face,
as he sat at the piano on the summer evenings, his
fingers straying lightly over the keys from one melody
to another, now accompanying one of their songs, now
singing himself a great favourite was,
" When the rain is on the river
There is sunlight on the hill "
will be always among the best of our pleasant pictures o:
the past. And when he had charmed the hearts of his
audience he would steal quietly upstairs into the little
Oratory to commune with his Master. Now and
again during the Hostel visits he held short Services
there for the men ; and how strange and weird the little
attic Oratory looked, with the dark shadows of its
sloping roof and corners, and the tall figures of the m
.
263
clustered round the harmonium, each holding a candle in
one hand (for there was no gas up there) and a hymn
book in the other, with the young Priest seated in their
midst, playing and leading the singing.
He was like the rest of us very fond of the Church
of the Annunciation. Two months before Father Chap
man s death he was disappointed, at the last moment, of
his preacher for the Harvest Festival, and asked David,
who was staying at the Hostel at the time, to preach for
him. It was a very short notice, but a quiet hour in the
Hostel Oratory gave him all the preparation he needed,
and an eloquent, impassioned address fascinated the
crowded congregation that evening. I remember his
saying afterwards, as he walked in with the party of
young men who had accompanied him, " I am glad you
liked the sermon, and I am glad Father Chapman did
not announce me. It seems as if it came more like
a voice from GOD for one to appear from nowhere and
speak to the people, and then disappear, and no one
knows who one is. One feels one is not Mr. So-and-so,
but just a voice speaking from GOD."
One January he preached to the Boys Guild at
S. Augustine s, on their Festival, and gave a course of
addresses to the members of the Guild of S. Michael s,
; and both boys and girls declared they never heard things
explained to them in such a clear, attractive manner.
He was so fond of animals especially dogs, and the
loss of a pet S. Bernard was a real grief to him.
He was closely associated for some time in Mr.
Wakeford s work,, when he was Missioner in the Exeter
264 Memoriet of a Sifter.
diocese, and had many amusing and interesting experi
ences to give us of his Missions.
The following quotations from Sheldrake s Aldershot
Military Gazette are interesting, as proving how widely
spread was his influence :
" His death came as a terrible blow to the many
friends to whom he had endeared himself, and the shock
to his esteemed mother and near relatives must have been
severe indeed. A profound feeling of grief pervaded all
sections of society, every denomination sharing in the
conviction that the loss to the cause of Christianity could
scarcely be replaced. Mr. Clark, when a Curate in
S. James the Great, Devonport, early exhibited a
sympathy with mankind which taught those to whom
he ministered to esteem and love him. When in 1890
he commenced his labours in the army, he found a field
which would have disheartened a less sanguine man, or
one possessed of feeble courage. At Colchester and at
Chatham, and more particularly so at the latter station,
he proved by his Christian zeal, that the confidence of
the Chaplain -General was by no means misplaced; and
when a few months ago he was transferred to Aldershot,
he came armed with an experience which, while it had
expanded his views of his duties, had in no way lessened
his sympathy with erring humanity. He rapidly made
friends among the soldiers of the ist Brigade, and his
kindly disposition and many gifts soon gained for him
the esteem of a very much wider circle than his official
labours immediately concerned. His remarkable powers
of persuasion, his eloquence, and his vocal abilities,
Jl Soldier-Priest 265
which he always used in the best of causes, won for him
in a wonderfully short time, among churchmen and
nonconformists alike, a measure of esteem which has
made his death a public calamity. There can be no
doubt that his zeal, in a great measure, is responsible for
the untimely end which has been put to his career. He
neglected an important duty to himself, and laboured
when he should have rested. His love for others over
came his discretion, and he succumbed fighting the
battle of the LORD. Not only in the garrison churches,
but in the established churches of the neighbourhood,
and also in several of the nonconformist places of
worship, touching references were made on Sunday to
the sad event, and tribute was paid to the memory
of a Christian which will live for years to come. . . .
" The funeral on Wednesday was most touching.
The body had rested overnight in S. George s Church,
guarded by members of the Guilds in which deceased
had taken great interest as one of the means of furthering
the cause of religion ; and a special Service was held at
ii o clock, at which there were present the Duke of
Connaught, the Chaplain - General, the whole of the
Army Chaplains at the station, the Headquarter Staff,
and a very large gathering of military and civilians, most
of whom had at some time or other been thrown into the
society of the deceased. The coffin, which was of
polished oak, brass mounted, was literally covered with
floral emblems of affection, conspicuous amongst them
being a large cross sent by the Chaplains of the
Division."
a66 Memories of a Sifter.
The Chaplain-General said, " He was indeed touched
by the amount of reverence shown by all classes on this
exceptionally sad occasion. Everything possible had
been done to show how their dear brother was valued as
a minister of GOD. One of the most touching evidences
of this sympathetic feeling was evinced last night, when
a number of men came to him and asked him if they
might be allowed to carry a cross in front of the coffin.
He had taught them, they said, of the cross, they
believed in the cross, and why should not the cross be
borne in front of the coffin to the grave ? "
He died the beautiful death,
For the Church and for the King.
But it will be long ere the memory of David, the
beloved one, shall be forgotten in many and many
a barrack-room ; and the recollection of his earnest,
heartfelt words will help many and many a young soldier
fighting his solitary fight against sin, the world, and the
devil.
Of this young Soldier- Priest, as of the saintly PTCUX
chevalier of old, may it truly be said, that he was " with
out fear and without reproach."
It is touching to recall the memory of the little knot
of "old boys," who, some six-and-twenty years ago, used
so often to come over from S. Alban s, Holborn, and sit
talking round the fire over present work and interests,
and future plans and hopes. There was David, with his
gentle, refined face, and steadfast eyes, which seemed to
gaze far away into the future. Now he has entered into
the reality of that eternal future. There was a friend of
Ji Soldier-Priest. 267
his, a bright, hearty, vigorous lad, full of life up to the
finger tips. He has need of all that energy now, for he
is working in the Universities Mission in Central
Africa, and is known as Archdeacon Carnon. And there
were many others, one now a Priest in South Africa,
another the fullest of promise of any whose life has
been blighted and wasted by evil influence, and others
who are plodding along the highway of life, serving
GOD and helping their neighbours to the best of their
abilities. They have all, except Archdeacon Carnon,
passed out of touch with us, but they can never be
replaced by new friends ; with them, as with wine, " the
old are the best."
268 Memories of a Sister.
Jl Memory of "ftrotfter ob:
(7at6er Stalling.)
IT was a terrible shock to see in the papers of May i5th,
1902, the death of the Rev. Robert Radcliffe Dolling,
known to us in the East as Father Dolling. His had
been a very brief illness ; he had worked to the very
last, and he " died at his post " of overwork.
Of late years we had not come much in contact he
was too busy a man and I had, in my own small way,
my time too much occupied : but I should like to tell
you a few remembrances of him in his early days,
when he was working with Father Stanton among the
postmen, and when he was always, to them and myself,
known as " Brother Bob." I don t recollect exactly
how we first came to know each other ; I rather believe
he was brought over first to see me by Father Stanton,
or by some of his many boys, who, some five-and-twenty
years ago, were constant visitors to our Priory boys.
This was in the autumn of 1878, just after my return
from America, and from that date he used often to come
over to Haggerston and have a good time with the lads.
Many a winter evening, when we have all sat huddled
over the fire, talking and chatting, and telling stories
and experiences, the door has opened, and "Brother
Bob" has stolen quietly in and taken his place on
31 Memory of "ftrotfer &ob" 269
the fender stool, and given fresh zest and spirit to
the conversation.
At our social gatherings, what a host he was in
himself! Leading all the popular songs of the day,
now picking out some rather shy, awkward lad (as a
rule the roughest of the lot) to sit beside him, and
succeeding in making him laugh and join in the fun and
in the choruses. To have " Brother Bob" to spend the
evening made it indeed a real good time. Then he
would come and help us with the lads summer
steamer excursions, to Rosherville. I remember one
specially wet day, when the weather damped both
our own and the boys spirits, and it was difficult
to keep up the requisite hilarity, how he threw himself
into the occasion, and presently all the boys were
shouting a rattling good chorus of, " Oh, what a day
we re having," and sundry other popular songs, and
everybody felt quite happy and good-tempered, and after
a really enjoyable time the rain-clouds swept away in
the evening, and we steamed up the river with the
golden light of a sweet June sunset gleaming behind
the forest of masts, and a tremendous chorus of every
song of the day, led by " Brother Bob " shouting
at the top of his lungs and keeping time with his
pipe.
At the one or two little expeditions made by him to
some of the East End Music Halls, he generally put
himself under the escort of some of our roughest boys,
commonly known by the soubriquets of " Tosher,"
" Diver," etc., which had quite superseded their proper
270 Memories of a Sister.
names of Harry and Billy. Their adventures on these
occasions were usually retailed to me the next evening.
In 1879 he took charge of Father Stanton s Postmen s
Home in the Borough Road, and often asked me to go
over and dine with him and the postmen in the kitchen
there, and then come upstairs to hear the sing-song
afterwards ; and it was there I first made the acquaint
ance of many good friends. " Brother Bob" always had
an entourage of such nice helpers, with whom it is a
pleasure to feel one has been brought in contact.
There was gentle, kind-hearted David Clark, of whom
we have already spoken, our good friend Mr. Walter
Schroder, two others who are now Priests in Johannes
burg, and the present Archdeacon Carnon, of the
Universities Mission, who were members of "Brother
Bob s " circle, beside many other genial friends who are
now all doing some good in different parts of the world.
The Misses Dolling kindly asked me to spend a few
weeks with them in Dublin in the August of 1881, and
so I went under the escort of " Brother Bob " and Mr.
Schroder. I shall never forget the welcome that
awaited "Brother Bob" at the Dublin landing-stage from
a crowd of clamorous, warm-hearted Irish lads, who had
heard he was coming, and all assembled to meet him.
My little visit to the house in Mountjoy Square is one
I always look back upon with very great pleasure. The
Misses Dolling were so kind and charming, and it was
beautiful to see the affection and consideration shewn to
them by their brother, and most warmly reciprocated by
them. There were some rooms built out at the back of
Ji Memory of " 5Brol5er 5Bob." 271
the house, where " Brother Bob " spent a good many
evenings in the week, surrounded by crowds of lads and
young men the greater part of them soldiers. He
generally invited me to come down and spend an hour
or so with them, and most delightful times I found
them. There, enveloped in a thick cloud of smoke from
the many pipes which were going, you saw him seated
in the middle, presiding over the happy mob. Swords
and spurs jingling, now and then the clipped-off shrill
accent of an " Ortheris," or the rough doric of a
" Learoyd," striking in amidst the eager, excited voices
of the many " Mulvaneys " only instead of there being
" soldiers three," it was more a case of " soldiers thirty."
Above all the Babel of tongues, the clang of arms, and
circling clouds of smoke, "Brother Bob s" clear, calm
voice made itself heard, talking to everyone, regulating
everything, and now and then breaking out into song.
To hear him sing "The wearing of the Green" was
indeed a real treat. In the little Oratory, where he
and his lads prayed together, and where he began to
give those wonderful addresses and extemporary prayers
which, in after days, so appealed to the hearts and
sympathies of those among whom he worked long
afterwards in his priestly capacity, he also had his
private talks with each one individually. I remember
his asking a Lancer boy some question I forget
what to which the boy seemed rather loth to answer,
and " Brother Bob " said, " Never mind now, my
dear, you will tell me when we talk it over together
presently." He was very down on any foolish parade
272 Memories of a Sister.
of excessive ritualism from some of the young men who
belonged to some of the most advanced churches. He
told them their religion was to be their life their help
of others not a show of words and a comparison of
vestments.
He was anxious I should have a glimpse of the
country during my stay in Ireland, so took me out with
him and Mr. Schroder for two or three days rent-
collecting at Dundalk. I was much struck by the
devotion of all the people old and young to him, from
the old grannies with their broad, frilled caps, speared
through and through with their knitting needles when
not in use, down to the little unkempt " gossoons," who
played on the mud floors of the cottages beside the pig
and the chickens.
I came the other day across this letter, which I wrote
from Dublin at that time :
" I think Dublin is very like an American or Canadian |
town in all its ways. The Dollings are a charming
family. They were originally French Huguenots, and
came over after the Edict of Nantes ; they have some
lovely old tapestry in their home, relics of their ancestors.
Mr. Dolling has a set of rooms built out at the back of
the house, where he receives all his soldiers and boys, j
and where I spend a good deal of my time when theyi
come. There is an ante-room, where they have tea ; |
and a snug sitting-room, where they adjourn afterwasds |
and smoke, and I sit in the big arm-chair. Through
this is a gymnasium ; through that again, his own bed
room ; and past that an Oratory. We had the Stations
Ji Memory of "SBrotfjer 5Bob." 273
there last night, and a lot of soldiers and boys joined
in most heartily. The Misses Dolling took me to see
S. Patrick s Cathedral, which is very handsome, and
the verger, with a ferocious look at me I suppose as
being a Sister pointed out the crimson velvet chair
where William of Orange sat. I was much more
interested in the memorials of Dean Swift. I have met
an Italian girl here, who can speak very little English ;
her father is an artist at Kensington, and she told me he
has an Italian friend who is very devout, and does beat
himself in the Pro-Cathedral.
" Mr. Dolling thought I ought to see a little more of
the country than was possible while staying in Dublin,
and as he was going for a couple of days to collect rents
near Dundalk, with Mr. Schroder, he asked if I would
care to go, too, and I think you may be interested in
hearing of a couple of days rent collecting. We left
Dublin early in the morning, catching sight of a large
party of police at the railway station what fine-looking
men the Irish Constabulary are ! and took the train
to Dundalk, sent our bags to the hotel, and took another
train on to our destination, where a bailiff with an Irish
car was waiting for us, and we had a most lovely drive
of four Irish miles. Such blue ranges of mountains in
the distance, with rushing, brown, peaty streams running
through the very greenest of woods ; here and there
patches of rich sepia-coloured bog, and then again
stretches of bright blue flax fields, formed a wonderful
harmony in all tones of brown, blue, and green and
oh ! such green ! Little thatched shanties, and formal -
T
$74 Memories of a Sifter.
looking, whitewashed police barracks were dotted about
here and there, and our road was bordered by a stone
wall, with a cross in one place, marking where a man|
was shot. We didn t meet much on the road: somel
tall policemen, armed to the teeth, a car now and again,
goats everywhere lying on the walls, feeding on the
road sides, and rambling about the fields, where alsc
were flocks and flocks of geese. Large bunches o:
yellow flowers a sort of hawkweed, I think, like we
saw growing so much in Skye grew along the roads;
marking such pretty bits of contrast to the blue, green,
and general tone of colour. Large pigs basked in the
sun, and lots of chickens scratched about in front ot
each shanty, and it was all so delightful. We were set
down at the bailiffs house, a three-roomed cottage;
all on the ground, with clay floors and a turf roof, ano
were warmly welcomed by his wife, a stout, bright-eyed
young Irishwoman, who gave us a good luncheon 0:1
brown bread, butter, and milk.
After this, " Brother Bob " went off with Mr. Bailif (
about his rents, and I went off with Mrs. Bailiff on i\
car to see a Roman Catholic Confirmation at p. littld
village a mile or so off. It was a great excitement tc
the neighbourhood, and all the population crowded ini
the little chapel. This was a white-washed, clay-floore
building, something like a barn, but instead of beii
oblong from east to west like an ordinary church, th<
width was from north to south, the altar being enck
in a circular railing against the east wall, thus dividii
the place into two halves, each half filled with seats
Jl Memory of "ftrotfor 5Bob." 275
rows, backed by a gallery across the narrow space
between the east and west, and so looking toward the
altar and each other, and admission was by a door at
each end. There were five Priests and a Bishop ; there
was a parish Priest, who seemed very feeble, and tottered
about among his flock, but there was a younger and
more active one in charge, who accompanied the Bishop
as he went from child to child catechising them, and
looked terribly anxious less they should not make right
answers. One small girl had not been to chapel as
often as she might, and the Priest asked her why, and
the Bishop said kindly, " Tell the truth, and shame the
divil, dear child," which brought out a blushing,
stammering reason, in the very prettiest brogue, from
the bare-footed little lasseen. Whereupon the Bishop
smiled, saying, " Ah, thin ! and you re not so bad as ye
might be." He and the five Priests all looked so big
and the children looked so small as they moved about
among them. When all the catechising was done, he
turned about and went up to the altar, washed his
hands in a cracked earthenware basin, picked up his
mitre and set it firmly on his head with both hands,
while the active parish Priest pulled a match-box out
of his pocket, and proceeded to light the candles, and
then walked round inside the altar rails, sweeping them
with his hand and looking at the people. Then the
Bishop called out, " Misther G., will ye stand by the
girls and kape them in their places ; " and Misther G.,
a fat, rubicund ecclesiastic stepped forward, saying,
" Yis, my lord," and then the ceremony proceeded.
276 Memories of a Sister.
When the Confirmation was over, everybody who had
seats to sit on sat down, the rest, myself among the
number, stood ; and the Bishop, pulling out a big red
handkerchief, blew his nose, and began to preach:
" My dear people, ye ll be glad to hear I m very much
pleased by the children s answering the Catechism,
indeed and I am. And, my dear people of K., ye ll be
glad to hear there are sixty boys confirmed and seventy-
six girls. But I ll tell ye what; there s a little boy
among ye says bad words, and if this little boy hears
me, I hope he ll not foul his tongue any more wid
them." Then, after speaking to the children, he added,
" And dear people of K., I hope ye won t belong any of
ye to any secret society, for they belong to the divil ;
and I hope ye won t drink whiskey, for there s many
a one dies dead-drunk of whiskey, and wakes up in the
flames of hell. And, dear people of K., there s one
more thing I would say to you, and that is, I will ye
would bury your dead in the morning, and not in the
evening. Ye git the Praste to come and say the howly
Mass at the house, and there s not above half-a-dozen of
ye come to it, and then ye kape the Praste gandthering
isn t that a lovely word ! about the place till the
evening for the burying. Now ye should be like the
dear people of I., who bring the body and lay it before
the blessed althar and have the howly Mass, and bury the
body in the morning. And now, dear people of K., good
bye ; I d come and shake hands all round, but I haven t
the time." And so this very homely, unsophisticated
Service, quite refreshing in its primitive simplicity, ended.
Ji Memory of " ftrotfor 5Bob" 277
" Brother Bob " had collected his rents, and we drove
to the station just in time to find the train gone, and
no other till some untoward hour of the evening, so
we hired another car and started to drive into Dundalk.
The driver, to all appearance a mere boy though it
transpired he had a wife and family entertained us
with stories of boycotting landlords, and of miraculous
cures wrought by some holy well, I think, in the
vicinity.
The next day we went off on a car to collect rents in
another direction. By-the-bye, have you ever been on
an outside car ? It is a most delightful thing to drive
in, so long as you can keep from bumping off, especially
when they fly round the corners, for you have to " hold
on by your eyelids," to use an old hunting expression.
We saw more lovely country and more blue mountains,
so much bluer than the Scotch ones ; and we saw some
very funny hovels about among the fields, with clay
floors, turf roofs, a pig boarded off in one corner, chickens
(coops and all) in another, a bed in the third corner,
a turf fire in the middle ; and generally each approached
by a black, sloppy manure heap, and a big pile of peats
stacked against a side wall. A gray brindled collie
usually guarded the whole. In some of the fields they
were pulling flax for linen ; but while we were walking
about a tremendously wetting shower came on. We
sheltered as best we could under a hedge, and the
farmer who was walking with us ran home, returning
with an overcoat for " Brother Bob," and a frieze ulster
which he clasped round my neck by the arms, making
278 Memories of a Sister.
me look from behind as if I was in the embraces of an
Irishman, and in this guise we strode across the peaty
fields to his farm, a three-roomed clay-floored house.
His wife, an old lady with a frilled cap speared with
steel knitting-pins, which gave her somewhat of a
ferocious appearance, was kindness itself, took off my
wet things to dry at the peat fire, dressed me up in a
shawl, woollen stockings, and big boots, and insisted on
my swallowing a glass of whiskey to prevent catching
cold, in addition to the good brown bread and butter she
set before us. I am glad to say, however, she supple
mented this with some nice hot tea such good tea.
After being thoroughly dried and renovated by these kind
people, we mounted our car, and so back to Dundalk.
In the evening I had rather an amusing experience.
Two of my boys, who had enlisted in the Hussars, were
at the Dundalk barracks ; they had been up to see me at
the hotel, with some other soldiers who had come to see
" Brother Bob," and he and the soldiers and I had supper
together amidst clouds of smoke. But he wanted me
to see the men at home, so after dinner, this last night
at Dundalk, we went on an outside car to the barracks.
I think it rather amused the people in the streets to see
me being jolted along in company with " Brother Bob,"
dressed in country gentleman fashion ; Mr. Schroder,
who wore a white hat with a black band, which gave
him rather a sporting appearance ; and a soldier, with
his round cap tilted very much on one side of his head,
and sucking the handle of his cane! I enjoyed my
barrack visit immensely, and the boys were pleased to
21 Memory of "Srotfier 5&ob" 279
shew me about, a sergeant s wife being immensely
kind to me. The next day we trained back to Dublin
and civilization.
At Father Dolling s home I had the pleasure of
meeting Mr. Darragh, who is now a Priest in Johannes
burg. It was a happy time, and I came away with a
pleasant memory of the bright, sunshiny household, and
of the wonderful power of this young man, who held,
as it were, the souls of so many boys and lads in the
hollow of bis hand, to mould them all for good.
Soon after he decided to give up his Dublin con
nections and devote himself to London work, and he
wrote me the following letter :
" 34, MOUNTJOY SQUARE, DUBLIN,
" September 4, 1881.
" DEAREST SISTER,
" I am so glad you like the dear Irish people,
they are very beautiful. I start to-morrow to bid all the
people good-bye, and Friday am home to say the
Stations for the last time. Saturday we have a great
meet in the gymnasium, where the lads have made a
stage, and then I start on Monday. You will think of
me bidding good-bye. You have done great good here,
but I will tell you all about this when we meet. Thank
you so much for coming.
" Ever your affectionate,
"BROTHER BOB."
In 1883, he was ordained, and from that date our
roads began to diverge. I went twice to see him at his
Mission in Maidman Street, Mile End, where the same
280 Memories of a Sifter.
work he had done among the Dublin soldiers and the
Borough postmen was carried on in more commodious
premises, and on a larger scale, among the roughs of the
East End.
I took the Mother from S. Margaret s, Boston, there
once, and she was so much struck with the reality and
thoroughness of his work how he lived his life in the
middle of these lads whom he had collected round ; for
besides those who came in nightly after work, he had
fitted up accommodation for those who were out of work,
who had nowhere to go, or who were in danger of being
dragged down by bad company. His work at Landport,
where he went on leaving Maidman Street, must have
been splendid ; but of that I personally know nothing.
After he left there he went to America, where he took
all hearts quite by storm, and they were very loth to
part with him, but he felt it his duty to come back to
England, and settled or perhaps more correctly I ought
to say, took up the work at S. Saviour s, Poplar. I don t
think he ever really settled after he left Landport. His
sisters keeping house, and so entirely working with him
heart and soul, enabled him to do many things which
a Priest living in a Clergy House, or alone, could not do.
He kept open table for all sorts and conditions of men,
and he was able to receive some of these sorts and con
ditions into the house to be under his own eye, where it
was necessary. Father Stanton, when hopeless and
despairing of being able practically to help some poor
weak body now and again, always said, " We will send
him to Bob. If any one can make anything of him,
Jl Memory of "5Brot5er 8ob." 281
he can." Father Stanton had the will and the power,
but he had not the working machinery that Father
Dolling had.
But though we rarely met, his kind feeling and
sympathy were always the same. He made a point of
going to our Autumn Bazaar, at the Grosvenor Hall,
every year, and in any way he could he was always
helpful. Only a few weeks before he died, when I had
not known of his breakdown and illness, I wrote, at our
Vicar s request, to ask him to come and preach at
S. Augustine s on the Eve of the Dedication, Sunday,
May 25th. He dictated back a few lines, saying :
" You know I will do anything in the world for you,
but the doctor says I have been feeding my brains with
my digestion, and I have promised him not to undertake
any extra work for a time.
" My best love,
" R. R. DOLLING."
The last line and signature were in his own hand
writing.
Before May 25th had come, his day of work was over,
and he was laid to rest beneath the pines at Woking,
leaving behind him many and many a sore heart among
the countless numbers he had helped for eternity ; and it
felt to those of us who knew and loved him, as if a great
light had gone out, and we were left in gloom and dark
ness.
He lives in my memory as a man who had a most
marvellous gift of insight into character, which, joined to
his great sympathy, enabled him to help all sorts and
282 Memories of a Sister
conditions of men in a way that few others could. There
was a personality in his religion, a sort of realization of
what Lacordaire would call " The Man, CHRIST JESUS,"
of the great humanity of our LORD, which somehow
seemed to bring him soul to soul most closely in his
dealings with others. One always felt of him what
Kegan Paul says of Charles Kingsley : " He was a man
of prayer and piety, filled with a personal, even passion
ate, love to CHRIST, whom he realized as his Friend and
Brother in a fashion almost peculiar to the Saints."
A great idea of his was, in his dealings with his boys
and men, to make them not only help themselves, but to
be helpful for others. I remember at Dundalk his want
ing sometimes a sheet of writing paper, and instead of
getting one would ask a soldier for a bit of his. I said
" Oh, can he afford it ? I have some in my writing
case." " No," he said, " it is good for him to give it,
and I know he likes to do it." So over and over again
he got them to write letters, and do numberless little
things which, as he said, " were good for them to do."
And with regard to generalities, it was wonderful how
he got the grasp of the situation. However involved and
complicated it might be, he seemed to see through all
the entanglements, and, vulgarly speaking, to " hit the
right nail on the head." His tact was extraordinary
he always said the right thing in the right place and at
the right time. He always had a ready answer, a ready
solution for every difficulty and every proposition.
I saw in one of the daily papers that someone who
went to consult him on a grave and religious matter, and
31 Memory of "Srotfier 5Bob" 283
found him sitting on a table and singing "Ballyhooly"
among his men, was astonished to find the deeply
religious tone he took about the matter in question, and
the sound practical advice he gave on it. To us, who
knew him well, this would be no surprise. It would just
be " Brother Bob." He had his Master s interest fore
most in his heart, whether he was singing "Ballyhooly,"
or hearing a confession, or preaching a sermon ; it was
all done for the greater glory of GOD and the salvation
of souls.
He passed to his rest in the Octave of the Ascension,
when all the earth was decked in its Whitsun bravery,
when the pyramids of the great chestnut trees blazed
with their candles of blossom, and rich masses of lilac
filled the air with sweetness. The soft airs blowing from
the Surrey downs sighed through the fragrant pines of
Woking, as the mortal remains of this faithful soldier
and servant of CHRIST were borne to their last resting-
place by some of those soldiers he had loved so well, and
for whom he had done so much.
Are not the feelings of many described in this verse of
a ballad of his own native land ?
" Who, as friend only met,
Sagart arun (Priest dear),
Never did flout me yet,
Sagart arun ?
And when my heart was dim,
Gave, while his eye did brim, . i.* 1
What I should give to him,
Sagart arun ? "
284 Memories of a Sister.
Memories of some connected
J~taggergton.
IN writing one s memories of people it is so difficult to
remember all those little scraps of conversation and
anecdote which give such a vitality to one s remem
brances. That most charming of books, Memoires de
Madame la Duchesse d Abrantes, would lose more than
half its piquancy if she had not stored by in her
memory and reproduced all those little conversations
and remarks of Napoleon, and Junot, and other smart
people of the day. Now, I have foolishly burnt nearly
all my letters and I have had some delightful ones,
especially from thieves and remember nothing, so can
only put before you some very poor, washed-out, unlife-
like recollections of the good, kind people with whom I
have come in contact.
Foremost among these is the kindly, genial first Vicar
of S. Augustine s, the Rev. George Hervey. His work
during the twelve years of his ministration was some
thing wonderful. It was a wild, godless district;
scarcely any children had been baptized, very few of
the people confirmed, but he was unremitting in his
labours and house to house visiting, and the influence of
his straightforward, hearty earnestness made itself felt,
Memories of some connected witfi Jtaggertfon. 285
and those who in the beginning were brought to the
church for his sake soon learned to love it for its own.
Those were the days when we had " Heathen Teas," and
collected the children by forties and fifties, gave them
tea, pinned their names on their pinafores lest we should
forget them, and took them across to the church to be
baptized. Then on one occasion there was a great
commotion. A girl belonging to S. Michael s Guild
died, and we had a walking funeral from her home, a
little sweet-stuff shop, by the Cat and Mutton Bridge,
to the church. It was just at the time of the " No
Popery " riots at S. Matthias , Stoke Newington, and
as we proceeded through the parish a mob collected and
followed, so that it was with difficulty the coffin-bearers
and ourselves could fight our way through them. One
of the Assistant Priests at that time, the Rev. W.
Ball Wright since a missionary in Japan walked
beside the Sisters, actually carving a way through the
mob with his big stick, now and then saying, " Keep
close together ; don t let them get in between any of
you." He had a loyal Irish heart, and helped us in
many ways in our difficulties and work with others.
Mr. Hervey was so particularly good to the old people,
and always so careful that each old lady should have
some special comfort at Christmas ; and at the annual
parochial excursions in brakes to Epping Forest, he
was also particular that each should have a comfortable
dinner at Queen Elizabeth s Lodge, and had a merry
word and joke for each of them. That was long before
the days of the present smart Chingford Hotel, and it
286 Memories of a Sister.
was not the place of resort that it is now. The quaint,
old-fashioned lodge, with its wide, shallow staircase and
tapestry-hung walls, stood in solitary grandeur among
the oaks, pretty much as it must have done when Queen
Elizabeth herself used to go a-hunting there. There
was no railway, and it was not the get-at-able place it
is now. Mr. Hervey always arranged these parish
excursions most admirably, and after tea the choir put
on their surplices and sung Evensong under the trees.
That reminds me that on one occasion some gipsies had
put up a great round-about close by the place where the
Service was held, and some of our girls had inveigled
another Sister and myself to take seats in this with
them. Imagine our horror, as we were going solemnly
round and round, to the tune of " Champagne Charley,"
to hear the choir beginning to sing Evensong a few
paces off under the oaks ! The machine could not stop
for a few minutes, and we could not jump off, and so
you can conceive our anguish !
At the time of the London Mission of 1869, when
Father Stanton was preaching at S. Columba s, Father
Hilyard (then of S. Laurence , Norwich) was assigned
to Mr. Hervey for S. Augustine s. It was a wonderful :
time, for Father Hilyard was a wonderful man. He
used to walk about the parish in his cassock and biretta, ,
talking to the costermongers and the roughs in the
streets, and his addresses to the throngs and throngs off
people who crowded into the church were simply
marvellous. The Mission ended on November 25th
with a procession through the streets to the church. It
Memories of some connected witfi Jlaggertfon. 287
was a sight never to be forgotten the dark, foggy
evening ; the crowds, rushing, pressing, hurrying,
screaming; the yellow lantern lights flickering on the
great cross which was carried in front; and following
(swayed this way and that by the surging crowd), came
the choir and clergy, white surpliced, and singing
hymns. When they reached S. Augustine s the door
stood wide open, choir and crowd went in; Father
Hilyard walked straight up into the pulpit, and gave
them such an address as I never shall forget.
Father O Neil, from S. John s, Cowley, also took a
Mission in Haggerston one June, and preached to
crowds, standing on a chair at the street corner.
He several times came to give us Retreats, and I
remember once how amused he was, watching old Toby
and me trying to catch a rat one of the many that
swarmed about. We had no idea he was watching us
from the window ! The last time we ever saw him was
when he came to speak at a crowded Mission Service in
S. Augustine s Schoolroom, and when his address was
over he asked the people present to kneel and join in
prayer with him for all those they loved, and many a
sobbing mother gave in the name of her son, strayed
away from the right, or exposed to hardship and
suffering in a foreign land.
Father O Neil was a good, kind friend to us. When
he was taking a Retreat here a lady came to speak to
him ; he was engaged, and asked me to give her some
good book to read while she was waiting. I gave her one
of Bishop Grafton s. " Did you tell her what part to
288 Memories of a Sister.
read ?" No ; I had left her to choose her own. " Never
do that again." he said. " Always point out some
particular portion, and say, You must read that. They
will read it, and it will do them good ; otherwise they
waste time in turning over the pages, and picking
bits out here and there."
Now these three are all gone to their rest. Mr.
Hervey, working up to the very last moment he had
strength, died of scarlet fever on March i5th, 1875.
The universal grief at S. Augustine s was great. He
had been a friend and a father to everyone old people,
boys, girls, and children and their love and reverence
for him was very great. It was a bitter, cold day when
he was laid to rest in the cemetery at Norwood. Dr.
Tidy took Sister Helen and me down in his carriage,
and, as we stood by the grave, he said, " There lies
buried the life and spirit of S. Augustine s." But not
so. His spirit is with us still, and the work which he
began so ably, and carried on so nobly, must still be
filled with his spirit.
Prominent among other Haggerston remembrances
rises the kindly, humourous face and colossal figure of
Robert Brett, that champion of the Church and patriarch
of North East London. What a splendid man he was !
I think his goodness was enhanced by his keen sense of
humour; and we remember so well the sparkle in his
shrewd gray eye as he made some caustic comment, or
criticised some work or action in his peculiarly kind
and humourous manner. Mr. Brett and another kind
Memories of some connected, wild Jtaggerjton. 289
friend, Dr. Frederic Wallace, were invaluable with
their help and organization all through that terrible
rime; and Mr. Brett s kindly counsel and help were
always at our service. But in the spring of 1874 this
friend, to whom we turned in all our needs, was called
home, and the red house on Stoke Newington Green,
which had been for years past the resort, not only of
ourselves, but of countless others in their troubles,
was closed.
His daughter, Miss Lily Brett, was one of our very
earliest and most kind helpers for many years. For some
time before her death she was Head of the Mission
House at S. Augustine s, Stepney, where she was as
much loved and appreciated as she had been by us in
Haggerston. She had all her father s keen sense of
humour, coupled with great practical judgment and
power of organization.
Robert Brett, in concert with the great city merchant,
Richard Forster, evangelized Haggerston. Through their
means the great waste of the original parish of S. Mary s
was divided into separate parishes, and a handsome
church placed in each. Haggerston concerns us most,
and we are apt to think of him more in connection
with that than of Stoke Newington ; but we must not
forget that it was through his exertions and influence
that S. Matthias was built, begun, and carried on in the
Catholic principles of his mother Church he loved so
well. Opposition, abuse, calumny, were all hurled at
his head, but he went calmly and bravely on, doing
what he felt to be right. To my mind there was always
Memories of a Sister.
something so colossal and grand about him ; he always
made me think of a magnificent Newfoundland dog
majestically going on its way through a crowd of
barking, yapping curs. He was indeed one of the
"giants" of those days. Those were happy, earnest,
fighting days. People not only talked, but they did.
Speaking of S. Matthias reminds me of the bright,
kindly, amusing, most prominent upholder of that
church, Mr. Robert Porter. There must be others
besides myself who can look back with pleasure to
those meetings at Stoke Newington. The preliminary
was Evensong at S. Matthias , and what an Evensong
it was ! No choir ever chanted Plainsong, or the
grand old Hymnal Noted melodies as they did ! The
social re-union and suppers took place afterwards at
Mr. Porter s ; and what a set of churchmen used to meet
there ! There was the host, with his keen, dry sense of
humour, and his wonderful capacity for singing Scotch
songs. Who but a true Scot can really sing a Scotch
song properly ? With himself was his charming wife,
one of the first associates of S. Margaret s, who with her
band of ladies did such wonderful church embroidery;
their sons and daughters, all wonderfully talented in
the matter of music, and possessing exquisite voices.
Among their guests were William Monk, of A ncient and
Modern celebrity, at that time organist of S. Matthias ;
Spencer Nottingham, the great authority on Plainsong;
the Bokenhams, ardent churchmen, gifted with splendid
voices; Mr. and Mrs. Hazard and what a capital
amateur actress she was! There was Robert Brett,
Memories of some connected wit6 Jtaggerston. 291
the " Pope of Stoke Newington," and his clever
daughter ; and a score of others whose names I cannot
remember. Dr. Neale now and then made one of the
party, when he came up to preach at S. Matthias , and
Dr. Littledale very frequently. The latter shone in
society, he was so full of such humour and anecdotes :
to hear him and Mr. Porter tell stories and retail jokes
and witty repartees one against the other was a treat
indeed.
And the Sunday afternoon gatherings in the garden
in summer were equally pleasant, when the men lay
on the grass and the ladies sat in chairs under the
great mulberry tree, talking of S. Matthias and church
matters. Speaking of mulberry trees, why are they never
planted now ? You find them in old-fashioned gardens,
or rather did, for they are mostly swept away now for
twopenny-halfpenny rows of stucco villas round these
north-eastern suburbs. I believe the Porter s dear
old garden, with its fruitful mulberry tree, is quite
done away with ; and the only one I know standing
hereabout is in the garden of some almshouses in
S. Mary s, Haggerston parish, and I don t believe if
it ever tried to bear fruit, the boys would give them
time to ripen.
Years ago, when we were left a little band of three
Sisters, without a penny and without a friend, excepting
our Chaplain, our Treasurer, the Vicar of S. Augustine s,
and good Mr. Brett, there was a certain young doctor at
the London Hospital, who was a member of S. Augus-
2Q2
Memories of a Sister.
tine s Church. He was bright, clever, capable, brimful of
energy and power, beyond the average ability of men, with
a heart full of sympathy, a hand replete with skill, and
a brain full of knowledge, and craving after knowledge.
Now this rising young doctor, born in 1843, Charles
Meymott Tidy, when he saw how things were with us,
boldly and generously came forward and declared himself
the friend and champion of the little band of Sisters.
And a friend indeed he proved himself for many a year.
Besides being a good friend to the Community, per
sonally, he was most kind and helpful in parish cases,
and more especially with regard to the Guild of S. Michael.
Some of us, and many of them, owe our lives entirely
to his skill and untiring ministry. He saw the Sister
hood grow from the little germ of years ago, and he saw
good and loving friends gather around, but we always
felt that the friends of our days of great poverty were
the friends to whom we owed the deepest debt of
gratitude, and as long as we live we shall feel our debt
to Dr. Tidy is untold, as one who came and helped us in
the stormy and troublous days of yore.
His father died one Christmas time, and with regard
to this he writes : " Christmas Day must always be
a sad one to us, and I scarcely know how it is, but the
loss to me becomes a greater loss as the interval becomes
greater. It would have been unbearable had I not felt
that it was the doing of One Who was too wise to err,
and too good to be unkind. Accept my best expression
of thanks for your prayers, and let me assure you the
Sisters are not forgotten in mine. I have always re-
Memories of some connected witd Jtaggerjton. 293
garded my connection with the Sisterhood as one of the
happiest events of my life."
Some years after, on his marriage, one of us sent him
a little design, and he wrote: "You are wrong in imagin
ing you are under any obligation to me, you do not
know, and never can know, the obligation I am under to
you, for I cannot tell you the influence the Sisters lives
had over me at a time when such influence was most
needed. It was most fortunate for me I ever had to do
with your Sisterhood. I shall value the painting much,
but there are other things for which I owe you deeper
thanks."
Always a true friend, yet as years went on his public
life took up more and more of his time, and as he lived
in the West of London after his marriage, we saw but
little of him. He was rising high in his special line
" toxicology and bid fair, I believe, to make himself
a great name as a Professor, when, after the loss of
his sweet young wife, his health began to break. The
last time we saw him was at the Christmas of 1891 some
three months before he died. He looked haggard and
ghastly, and one could see death written in his eyes.
He brought his little daughter to whom he was most
deeply devoted over to see us. It was wonderful
in the midst of the worldly, unbelieving people with
whom he had to mix so much, how marvellously he
kept the purity of his faith, and how utterly unlowered
was his very high religious standard. In the days of his
last illness, he always had his Prayer Book and Bible
beside him, and not long before the end came he said :
294 Memories of a Sifter.
"Oh, how hard it seems to die, and so young, too ! But
I am trying to put my whole trust in JESUS. Pray for
me, that I may put my whole trust in Him, and may
believe it is right ; but I am so young, and had meant to
do so much ! "
He entered into his rest March I5th, 1892, and thereby
we lost one more of the friends who had stood by us in
the day of battle, and screened us from the bitter blast
of adversity.
And his brother, the Rev. Thomas Tidy, was a person
very dearly beloved in Haggerston. This old friend of
many years standing dear to all who knew him, and
especially dear to the men, among whom his work had
lain since they were little lads had been taken from his
labours in the 6 o clock brightness of the sweet summer
morning of June 6th, 1896, and S. Augustine s bell
tolled sadly through the fragrant atmosphere for the
" Happy soul ! with all sail set, just crossing into the
Far-away."
The very name of the Rev. Thomas Tidy touched
deep chords in the hearts of all who had known him.
Whether it was in his early days at S. Augustine s,
Kensington, in 1871, or his work in S. Mary s and
S. Augustine s, Haggerston, or his work for nine years
as Vicar of S. Clement s, City Road, from 1875, or the
work of the last years of his life in the retirement of his
quiet home at Hackney, there was a sympathetic spirit
of loving-kindness and tenderness in him, which " drew
all men to him," and especially those who had known
him at S. Augustine s, Haggerston. What he did for
Memories of some connected witd Jtaggergton. 295
the lads there, each individually, soul by soul, will never
be fully known until the restitution of all things.
When boyhood passed, and the days came for them to
be married, they would be married by no one else but
Mr. Tidy, and Mr. Tidy must have approved their choice
beforehand. The new home was not complete until he
had seen it, and no one but he must sign the sign of the
cross on the first baby s brow in Holy Baptism. In
sickness and health, in trouble or joy, in wealth or
poverty, they must each go and tell Mr. Tidy of how
things befell them, and have his sanction and approval,
his comfort and his sympathy.
And with what keen interest he was wont to talk
about his boys to those who sympathized with him !
How he remembered every little detail of their weal or
woe! How he never forgot to enquire after every
individual member of their family ! I remember in his
last illness how distressed he was at not being able
personally to answer a letter from an old boy on the
subject of his approaching marriage.
One of his boys now a middle-aged married man
said the other day, "There can never be another Mr.
Tidy ; there was a something that everybody, especially
us fellows, loved so much in him." Another one of
his earliest married boys says, "You know how far Mr.
Tidy would have travelled to^ see a single person in
trouble, be he rich or poor, high or low, pauper, peasant,
or lunatic. Then what a memory he had for each one
he had to deal with ! Often he told me, in the old Con
fraternity days at S. Augustine s, that he could tell every
296 Memories of a Sister.
lad who was there and think what a number there
often were! I suppose there are few boys and girls, men
and women, who will ever forget him after having once
known him ! And his courtesy was so wonderful ! Do
you remember his carrying the pail of water down the
church for the woman who was cleaning it, just because
he thought she looked tired and ill ? There are not
many parsons would do that! I suppose he never
preached what you call a really doctrinal or dogmatic
sermon, yet how truly and forcibly he could bring
home to one a great Catholic truth! And do you
remember the words in a sermon he preached in the
Priory Chapel on one Festival, speaking of the home
of Bethany and of Mary her silence was her eloquence ?
I shall always remember his manner of shaking hands
and saying, How are you ? and the sound of his
voice will ever live in my ears, more so even than
the look of his face."
He was a well read and deeply versed scholar ; all his
sermons, quaint and original as they were, were finished
off with a polish peculiarly his own. Dr. Littledale
said, speaking of him, that he was the best Hebrew
scholar in England. Keen-sighted and clever as he was,
with literary powers surpassing those of most men, he was
remarkable for his courteous kindness in thought, word,
and deed, and was never heard to make an unkind speech,
or indulge in a sarcastic remark at the expense of another.
And how dearly he loved animals ! Always a keen
interest in and kind word for every dog and cat ! I re
member one bright May morning, not long before his
Memories of some connected wild Jtaggerston. 297
death, he was sitting propped up in his chair in the
garden, watching with the deepest interest two hens
clucking over their little broods of chicks on the grass,
and was especially anxious the nurse should show me
a tortoise which was lying shaded from the sun under
some, as yet, uncut grass.
I shall never forget the last time I saw him. It was
a soft May morning ; the windows were open upon all
the greenery of the little garden ; the room was full of
sunshine, and the shadows from the trees outside danced
and flickered over the floor. He was sitting propped up
on a sofa, where the air could blow in upon his face.
A door opened into the hall, and the rattle and jangle of
the tramcars in Cambridge Heath Road came in at
intervals. At the bottom of the garden the trains
whizzed by on the Great Eastern Railway, and the
sparrows chirped and cheeped among the ivy. " How
nice they sound," he said, " and yet they are only
London sparrows ! " He lay back, pale, and thin,
and patient, but at intervals his own bright, cheery
self woke up, and he talked of his old boys, and where
they were, and what they were doing ; he talked of old
times, and of Paris a place he had always liked
and of a Service for the blind he had seen at S. Roch.
And then he talked of S. Alphege, South wark, and of
the wonderful congregation of the very poorest that
Mr. Goulden had gathered around him ; then he spoke
of the Haggerston churches. " I don t know what there
is about S. Augustine s," he said. " There is nothing
in the building to attract you it is poor in comparison
298 Memories of a Sister.
with some of the others S. Columba s, for instance
but yet there in no church appeals so strongly to
one s affections, or has such a place in one s heart."
We had had some lovely flowers sent us from the
country the day before, and had picked out and sent
him some bunches of white lilac for his sick room.
" Now," he said, " I will tell you a story. I woke up
this morning conscious of a sort of delicious fragrance,
and when I opened my eyes I saw a great mass of
delicious white lilac beside me, and I could plunge my
face into it ; it is not often one s half-conscious dreams
are realized on waking ! But we have flowers here, even
in our London garden." And he pointed to a little
bunch of lilies of the valley on the table. " Those grew
in the shade under our garden wall." His old keen
interest and sympathy with everybody and everything
were just the same in these last days as in the old times
when the boys clustered round him in the club-room, or
hung about his arms as he hurried to and fro from church.
He passed away on June 8, 1896, and we cannot
conclude our remembrance of him better than with the
following words, preached by him at the death of his
friend, the first Vicar of S. Augustine s, thirty years
ago, but which so well apply to him who, though now
dead, still speaks in the hearts of those who will ever
love and revere him :
" Yes ! he whom you loved so well has entered into
his rest all his labours for you are done ! He has smiled
his last smile at you here ! He can no more give you
again the old kindly welcome the sunshine of his face
Memories of some connected witfi Jiaggergton. 299
as he did at the door of the church! His next
welcome to you, his next waiting-place for you where
ye may meet him (if ye will) wearing the old smile, but
with an heavenly splendour, shorn of all marks of sick
ness, trouble, and of pain will be at the door of heaven
in the Paradise of GOD !
" Yes ! he has wept his last tear for you, and prayed
his last prayer for you here. One sermon he has left
behind him better than words more potent than speech
eloquent in itself ; it is not for the bookcase, but for
the heart on which ye may meditate at your leisure,
and ponder in memory with love which ye may read
over and over again. It will bring him back to you, and
his old warning words to you, his earnest counsels his
cheering comforts, and his tender ways ! That sermon
was not written, it was ever being preached by him as
he went in and out among you it was preached in
church, it was preached at home, it was preached in
the streets, it was preached in your houses. That sermon
was his life the life of a Christian Priest a holy,
a Goo-fearing, a CnRiST-loving man.
" I know no words of mine can tell his story ; the best
eloquence were silence! Be silent when thou treadest
the courts where the saints have trod before thee !
What can we know of a life that was hid with CHRIST in
GOD ? Live as he lived, and his joy shall be thine
thou shalt meet him among the palms ! GOD has taken
the shepherd away, that he may render to Him his
account of you. May the flock follow the shepherd who
has led them to the green pastures and still waters of the
300 Memories of a Sifter.
heavenly country to GOD S fields, where bloom the
flowers of Paradise, and where rest the Saints qf
GOD ! " " *
" Thus did he die,
That good old man. And for ourselves indeed
It could not be but we must mourn for him.
We miss his reverent greeting by the way ;
We miss him in the church s holy hours
From that gray pillar, and the altar rail."
So sings the poet of Haggerston ; and of no one could
his words be more applicable than of the dear old Vicar i
of S. Chad s, the late Rev. William Sharpe, who was
called to his rest on March 24, 1898. He was a very ideal
clergyman of the old school a perfect Priest, a perfect
gentleman, full of kindness and courtesy, his whole
heart centred in his church and in his people. He had
been there thirty-five years, and one can hardly realize "
the church without his venerable figure in the stalls.
I
r :
-
it
He took his own firm, decided line of churchmanship
years ago, and never faltered in his staunch adherence
to the Catholic movement, from his outset until the
end.
I remember so well seeing him the last time he wasi
present in S. Chad s, on the occasion of the dedication
of a new lectern by the Bishop of Stepney. It had
been a great interest to him during his illness to collect
the money for it ; and he was so thankful to be able to:i
take his accustomed place in church, and to read the<
Lessons from it. We all felt that was his farewell to the J -
church he loved so dearly. The next time he entered Jte:
. -.
Memories of some connected witfi Jiaggerston. 301
was when his coffined body was laid before the altar,
covered with snowy wreaths, while a weeping congrega
tion crowded the nave and aisles.
I saw him not so long before he died. He was sitting
by his study fire, with his desk of books before him
bright, gentlemanlike, and courteous as always ; keenly
interested in the putting-up of the lectern, and so pleased
in thinking that he and his son had read the First and
Second Lessons from it; and especially gratified that
some old friends at Norwich, whom he had lost sight
of for years, had contributed towards it. The talk
him, as a friend of mine says, "set all the lights of
auld lang syne a-shining." We talked of the early days
of Haggerston and the old times. I said, " We always
^-j think and speak of you as the patriarch of Haggerston."
Oh, no," he said, " I can lay no claim to that title ;
Mr. Morris, of S. Stephen s, came here some years
before I did."
From our own immediate neighbourhood we wandered
into talk about his old church, S. Gregory s,
Norwich, a photograph of which hung on his study
wall, and for which his love and interest were as keen
ef as for S. Chad s. When I rose to leave, he took my
hand and said, " I am an old man, and can only sit here
in my study and read, and wait for death. Pray for me,
ask all my people to pray for me, that the short
time still left me may be sanctified, and that GOD may
give me His grace that my end may be in peace."
And in peace, on March 25th, 1898, the long-suffering,
patient soul passed from the tired body, out of the roar
3 2
Memories of a Sister.
and bustle of Haggerston, into the Presence of the
Master Whom he had loved and served so long and
so well.
One of the Assistant Priests of the neighbouring parish
of S. Mary s, the Rev. F. W. Goodban, has been
appointed Vicar; and, well known and respected by
all around, is certainly the very best person to fill the
vacant place.
By a strange coincidence, the month of March seems
a fatal one for Haggerston. In March, the first Vicar
of S. Angustine s, the Rev. George Hervey, died ; in
March, his Assistant Priest, the Rev. James Allardice,
was drowned in the wreck of the " Queen Elizabeth ; "
in March, Thomas Saunders, a lay-reader, much beloved
by the boys of S. Augustine s, died ; in March, the late
most popular churchwarden, Mr. Charles Morris, died ;
and in March, Professor Meymott Tidy, whose early
interests were much bound up in S. Augustine s, died
also.
These all
" In the wild March morning have heard the angel s call,"
and therefore to Haggerston the month is a most sacred
and solemn one, as it links us all more closely with
those departed this life in GOD S faith and fear.
Another friend, a scholarly man, af great culture, was
the Rev. William Teale, who was some years at S.
Chad s. Most affectionate and kindly was he, and had,
moreover, the keenest sense of humour. He was a real
personal friend, and I remember at Christmas, when we
felt tired out, the great pleasure it was to receive his
Memories of some connected witfi Jtaggerston. 303
Christmas cards, as he always chose something quaint
and funny. He always so specially remembered all the
little courtesies of life, in the matter of birthdays, and
little festivals and souvenirs, on which occasions he
would send most graceful little notes, such as it was
a joy to receive and read. He went to his reward on
June 8th, 1893. The funeral took place at Brompton
Cemetery, the body being carried in procession from
S. Cuthbert s, Philbeach Gardens, where the last years
of his life had been spent. It was an intensely hot
summer day, and the sun poured fiercely down as
we walked through the streets in sad procession. A
large number of people from Haggerston and Shore-
ditch, to whom he had shewn countless little kindnesses,
and given much spiritual help, had gathered round
to see the last of their friend and helper. Father
Wainwright, of S. Peter s, London Docks, was among
the number, and I recollect how the bright sun brought
out all the greenness and shabbiness of the hat, which in
the spirit of holy poverty he will persist in wearing.
Dear Father Mackonochie used to look the same, and
both dear men looked as utterly unconscious and holy
under their shabby green brims, as the seraphic S.
Francis must have appeared in his patched and tattered
garments.
To us Father Teale was a terrible loss, for apart from
his being a counsellor whom we could trust, he was
a most real and personal friend.
304 Memories of a Sifter.
What loving memories all who knew him have of the
Poet of Haggerston, the Rev. S. J. Stone ! Like his own
sweet verses, his whole heart seemed overflowing with
love, and full of the beauty of nature. All the neigh
bourhood owes him an untold debt of gratitude for
planting a branch of the Jubilee Nurses in Nichols
Square, and thus forming what is now the Hoxton and
Haggerston Nursing Institute. How we ever managed
to help our poor sick people before these invaluable
Nurses came I cannot think ! We did the little we
could ourselves, just in our own parishes, but it was but
a tiny drop in the ocean of sickness and misery. Now
it rejoices the heart of every one to see the bright, cheery,
kindly faces of the Nurses going about on their errands
of helpfulness, and accomplishing on a very large scale,
with trained skilfulness, what we used to attempt on
a very small scale with anxious unskilfulness, and this
is all owing to Mr. Stone.
Soon after he had set this Nursing Home going he
left S. Paul s, Haggerston, and became Rector of All
Hallow s, London Wall, and there, still full of zeal for
the well-being of others and the intense love which so
specially characterized him, he organized those early
meetings and Services in the church for factory girls
who came into the city by the workmen s trains, and had
nowhere to spend their time till their shops were open.
He was a real poet indeed ; apart ffom his powers of
versification, his ideas were always so full of poetry, and
his verses have a special charm which must appeal to
every poetic mind. We shall always remember with
Memories of some connected wit$ Jtaggerston. 305
deep gratitude his great kindness to us when we were
publishing our little volume of Orient Leaves, and he, in
the midst of his last illness and terrible suffering,
wrote two sonnets for it as a preface, at the same
time giving us full permission to use any of his verses
for it, and bidding our little literary venture "Goo
speed." After its publication, not long before his death,
he wrote this letter :
" March 27, 1900.
" MY DEAR SISTER,
" I ought to have written before to thank you for
so kindly sending me the copy of Orient Leaves ; but
being in somewhat of less pain, I cheated myself with
the hope of being able to see you a vain hope for, as
this cancer is incurable, if I suffer less in one way, I am
the more troubled in another, and so I am not less
a prisoner. I am sending herewith, in case you may
like to have them, some verses I have written lately.
" Ever yours most truly in our LORD,
"S. J. STONE,"
His real deep love for animals was very great, and in
the Vicarage garden is buried a large brown Irish
retriever, for many years its master s faithful companion
and friend. A stone is let into the wall at the side with
this inscription :
" In the centre of this lawn lies
"SANCHO,
" A gentleman in all but humanity; thorough
bred, single in mind, true of heart ; for seven
teen years the faithful and affectionate friend
306 Memories of a Sifter,
of his master, who loved him, and now for him
faintly trusts the larger Hope contained, it
may be, in Rom. viii. 19-21.
" He died, April 26th, 1883."
Does this not remind us of Whyte Melville s lines on
his dead hunter ?
" There are men both good and wise who hold that in a future state
Dumb creatures we have cherished here below
Shall give us joyous greeting when we pass the golden gate. "
Who is there can say that Sancho has not already
given that dearly-loved master the "joyous greeting" with
which in old earthly days he welcomed him home on dark
wintry evenings on the doorstep of S. Paul s Vicarage ?
After a long period of most painful suffering, borne
with the utmost fortitude and saintly patience, it has
pleased GOD to call him home to Himself. His memory
will always be very dear, not only to Haggerston, but to
the Church at large, and his name will never be forgotten
wherever and whenever
"The Church s One Foundation"
shall be sung.
He was succeeded at S. Paul s by an equally devout
and saintly man, the Rev. H. W. Goodhart. We had
never come very much in contact with each other,
except at Children s Country Holiday, School Board,
and District Nurses Meetings, although we were close
and most friendly neighbours, for we each had our own
work, and he was wrapped up in his own parish and
people; but somehow, those of us who came across him,
where our works overlapped or interchanged, always felt
Memories of some connected wit& Jlaggerston. 307
him to be, so to speak, one of the hidden Saints of GOD
so kindly, so genial, so self-sacrificing, so perfectly
devoted, body and soul, to the service of his Master.
I have heard from friends in the city how very highly he
was respected and reverenced by many business men,
who, as a rule, did not care much for " parsons."
He never rested from his zeal to help souls ; he wrote
always to those whom he had prepared for Confirmation,
and who lived too far away for him to see personally,
reminding them from time to time about making their
Communions. The day after his death, a mother told
me he had only the week before been asking about her
daughter, and whether she still went to the Sunday
School. " No," said her mother, " she is now a teacher
in S. S. s," naming another school in a neighbouring
parish. " That is all as it should be," he said, " so long
as she is doing some good work for GOD."
It will always be a pleasure to us to remember this kind
appreciative letter he wrote about Orient Leaves :
" December 13, 1900.
" DEAR SISTER,
" Thank you so very much for your Orient Leaves.
I was looking at them last night, and they seem to me to
be a most helpful and strengthening selection. I am
most grateful to you for your kindness in sending me
a copy.
" Believe me yours very truly,
" H. W. GOODHART."
His illness was very short. The Vicarage door was
besieged by little crowds, all anxious to hear how their
308 Memories of a Sister.
beloved pastor was ; and when the news of his death
came there was universal grief not only among his own
parishioners, but all those who knew him.
Work is not measured by years, and the good work
for souls done during his few short years of residence in
Haggerston will never be forgotten, but will blossom
and bear fruit when pastor and flock meet together before
the Throne.
We feel how truly applicable to him are these words of
George Eliot s : " The man who left such a memorial
behind him must have been one whose heart beat with
true compassion, and whose lips were moved by fervent
faith."
Older friends. 309
Gtfer friends.
To talk of living friends is a difficult matter, for one
shrinks with a sort of modesty from saying all one would
like to say, and yet I cannot omit the mention of some
names just because they happen to be alive ! Foremost
of these is Father Stanton, who has been a friend, and
a true friend, through five-and-thirty years of ups and
downs, storm and sunshine, joy and sorrow. My first
sight of him was in the little parlour of the Mission
House, in Crown Street, Soho, soon after my brother was
first taken ill at S. Alban s, and I remember he said,
" Holborn is the healthiest place in London, for it stands
high on gravelly soil;" but I could not count him as
a friend till the days of our trouble in Haggerston, some
four years later, when what Dr. Littledale called " the
Roman stampede " had taken place, and we were left
almost friendless. To be left friendless was the passport
to Father Stanton s kindliness and sympathy, and I owe
more than I can say to his help and assistance at that
time.
In those late sixties and early seventies there was
a strong atmosphere of revolutionary socialism about,
with which many of the very keen, ardent, earnest young
people of that day were strongly impregnated, Father
Stanton and Dr. Littledale specially, and I followed the
lead. I remember Mr. Brett s look of lofty, half satirical
310 Memories of a Sifter.
contempt, when any of these ideas cropped up in conver
sation. One day, in the early spring of 1871, he called
to see me about some small-pox business, and hearing
I was engaged talking some "boy" business with Father
Stanton and Mr. Willington (another revolutionist), he
sent a slip of paper in by the portress with " Wanted, by
the Commune in Paris, two Radical Priests as Chap
lains," and they returned some sort of joking reply,
signed " Citizens Stanton and Willington." At our
boys Christmas gatherings Father Stanton, in those
early days, always came as a loved and honoured guest.
To boys and lads, no one can ever be what Father
Stanton has been, and is. As I heard it put at a lads
supper, " Father Stanton is Father Stanton, and all the
best speakers in the world could say no more." To me,
he always appears a second Lacordaire, with his warm
sympathies, his keen understanding, his warm heart for his
friends, and his special gift for dealing with, and winning
the hearts of young men. Bits out of his sermons seem
one s stand-bys in all the worries of daily life. Where
does he get them from ? Here is one which has been
a comfort to me for many a past year, "Suffering is
devotion Failure is success." And this other one also,
"The past is our sanctuary, the present is our oppor
tunity, the future is our hope." He has been a man of
the very highest ideals, he has suffered, he has sorrowed,
he has made the world a thousand-fold better than he
found it. As Madame de Sevigne says of Turenne :
On ne pouvait pas 1 aimer, ni etve touche dt son nuritt, sans
en etrc plus honnete homme"
Gtfar friends, 311
I first came to know the Rev. Stewart Headlam while
he was working with the Rev. Septimus Hansard, at
S. Matthew s, Bethnal Green. It was just about the
time that he published his little paper on "the Ballet,"
which gave offence to some people. I had heard very
much of the great good done by this young Priest in
visiting the various Social and Democratic Clubs, and so
coming in contact with a number of men who professed
themselves to be infidels and ran down church and
church parsons to the utmost of their power. But Mr.
Headlam s calm way of listening to all their arguments,
without appearing shocked, but entering into every one
of them, reasoning with them, and looking at things
from such a very straightforward, manly point of view,
went an immense way in making even the most violent
of them see there was another standpoint than that
from which they saw things. About eight or nine years
ago, he gave an address to some deputations from various
East End clubs, in Shoreditch Church, one Sunday
afternoon. The building was packed with a rough set
of men many of whom, I should imagine, had hardly
set foot in a church before. Each deputation had
marched in behind its own banner. They all sat sternly
silent, till the preacher ascended the pulpit, and gave
them a plain, straightforward Catholic address on the
Creed whittling down no point of dogma, but speaking
in a bold, manly way. And then rose the deep hum of
applause, the shuffling of feet, now and then a few hand
claps of approbation and approval, which could hardly
be calmed down even by the man who held them all
3 1 2 Memories of a Sifter.
enthralled. I remember it as one of the most wonderful
meetings at which I was ever present. He has always
proved himself a most kind and good friend, and it is
a pleasure to think that it has been our privilege to
come in contact with him. In order to try and meet
agnostics on their own ground, and to do something for
their betterment, he founded, some five-and-twenty years
ago, the Guild of S. Matthew, which has, I believe, been
a great help in drawing people to Christianity ; and he also
founded The Church and Stage Guild, which I know has
been a large amount of help to many, especially ballet
girls, and numbers have been brought to Confirmation
through its agency. As a member of the London School
Board, no man has worked harder. No man has more
helped and befriended countless poor teachers, just at the
time they most needed help and friendship. Upright,
honourable, of perfect rectitude, he has always proved
himself at the same time most truly kind and sympa
thetic. He has taken his own line of action on certain
points, which perhaps have not quite squared with the
world s judgment, but he has taken it as his own
conscience dictated, nobly, honourably, and from the
very highest standard.
He co-operated most heartily with Father Hogg, of
S. Alban s, Holborn who is also Chaplain of S.
Saviour s Priory in founding his admirable Guild of
S. Edmund, for Board School Teachers, and whose
interest in them he shared. Their work in ten years has
flourished and spread wonderfully among those for
whom the Guild was intended.
Gtfier
313
We have a near neighbour down in Shoreditch, a
doughty Crusader of the East End, the Rev. Arthur
Osborne Jay, Vicar of Holy Trinity, known to all the
neighbourhood as Father Jay, who has fought as hard
a battle as did ever the champions of Christendom of
old, against vice in its worst and lowest form, in its
very stronghold, and has, we are thankful to say,
come out victorious. Ten years ago he undertook
the charge of I think I am speaking advisedly when
I say it the very worst parish in all London. In
Haggerston, from which it is barely ten minutes walk,
" the back of Shoreditch Church " meant the epitome
of every vice and villainy in its worst form. It
meant the headquarters of dog-stealers, thieves, fight
ing men, and fighting women. Every " crook " and
"gun " who hung about the public-houses in Shoreditch,
who went to race meetings " on the make," and broke
into the houses in Haggerston and Dalston, lived "at the
back of the Church." The notorious "Blue Anchor,"
commonly known as "Bill Richardson s," where all
the prize-fights took place, was in Holy Trinity parish.
It was the ambition of every boy, if he wasn t a thief, to
be a boxer, and often they combined both. I remember
one little lad from Father Jay s parish came to the Priory
Club Room once, looked round and said, "My! what
a place for a twelve-foot ring ! " I may add, the little
lad is now, through Priory influence, a soldier and
a respectable member of society.
Of Father Jay s work you will read full accounts
in his pamphlets, Darkest London, and a Story from Shore-
314 Memories of a Sifter.
ditch, of how he met the lads on their own ground, and
by opening a club room, where boxing was combined
with temperance and no bad language, interested and
encouraged them by showing them that their favourite
sport might be indulged in as an amusement, in a Chris
tian manner, apart from drunkenness and swearing.
Being anxious to see his club really at work, he invited
me one evening to be present at one of the boxing
exhibitions which took place now and again at the club.
So I went in company with two young men who helped
me in our own club. Turning out of High Street,
Shoreditch, down a narrow alley by the " Bonnet Box,"
I found myself in Church Street, with lofty red-brick
church and club house looming high on the left. The
kindly face of the genial Vicar (Father Jay, as he is
lovingly called by all around him) appeared in the gate
way, welcoming those who entered. And we passed in, and
were admitted by a private staircase into a little gallery
looking down into the club room below, where we could
see all that passed without being seen ourselves.
In the centre was erected a platform, with rope and
posts a regular ring and tiers of railed seats round the
room were rapidly filling with spectators ; by 8.30 the
room was crowded with every variety of Shoreditch
rough costermonger, coal-man, butcher, etc., etc., with
unwashed faces, ragged coats, and stocks round their
necks. The buzz of voices rose and sank in waves and
murmurings, as individual after individual shouldered
his way in, hat on head, and pipe in mouth, nodding to
such friends as he knew, and scanning the ring with
Otfier 7riends. 315
a critical eye. A table was placed below the platform,
just outside the ring, at which two stout-looking, pot-
hatted, moustached gentlemen seated themselves, with
watches before them. As a thin-faced, slightly-built,
coloured man elbowed his way through the crowd, he
was greeted with cries of " Ching Ghook ! " being no
less than that boxing celebrity ; and a cry of " Cheese
it ! " from a railed gallery occupied by the better class of
spectators announced the arrival of a " pet " of Bethnal
Green, Bill Cheese by name.
At 9 O clock, a young man mounted the platform, and
announced that " The sports were about to commence,
and who would the gentlemen wish for referee ? For
his part he would suggest Jack Stevens" but cries of
" Ching Ghook! " from the gallery decided in his favour,
and the coloured man, smiling, moved towards the
platform. And now the work commenced in real earnest.
Two lads, stripped to the waist, emerged from the part
ing crowd, climbed over the ropes, and took their places
in their respective corners, seated on ginger-beer boxes
turned upside down. When their seconds had put on
and tied their gloves round the wrist, the timekeeper
announced : " Gentlemen ! Ted Brown of Spitalfields,
and Homes of Haggerston ! " whereupon the combatants
stepped forward, shook hands, retreated, and then began
to spar. At the expiration of three minutes the time
keeper called, "To your corners, my lads," and, pant
ing, each sat on his ginger-beer box, while their seconds
fanned them with handkerchiefs, rubbed the muscles
below their shoulder-blades, and sponged their mouths
3i6 Memories of a Sifter.
and faces out of a basin of water. The combatants
sucked the water out of the sponges, rinsed their mouths,
and spit it back into the basins ! In about (I think)
a minute, the timekeeper called " Time ! " and they set
to work again. The two seconds stood below, looking
under the ropes, telling their principals what to do, and
if one thought his man looked hot, he filled his mouth
from a tumbler of water, and sprayed it over him, after
the fashion of a Chinese laundryman sprinkling clothes.
Three rounds of three minutes each, and intervals of one
minute, being, so I heard some one say, Marquis of
Queensberry s rules, terminated the competition.
I ought to have stated that the prize for the com
petition was a silver watch, given by one of the club
members for that purpose.
When the third round was over they shook hands,
and the timekeeper called out, " Now, gentlemen, they
deserve a bit for their sparring; they say they don t mind
silver! Pelt them well with coppers!" Whereupon
pence and half-pence occasionally a sixpenny bit
showered into the ring, the more distant spectators
wrapping their contributions together in pieces of paper
before throwing. These are what is called their " nobb-
ings," and when they had scrambled after and pocketed
them, they acknowledged them with a " Thank you,
gentlemen, one and all!" stepped over the ropes, and
were lost to sight in the surging crowd, among which
Father Jay s trencher cap was conspicuous, as he
moved here and there, checking bad language or any
thing that seemed going wrong.
Older friends.
Several couples followed all young lads, members of
the club and went in for the competition; and then
there was an interval for some exhibition sparring by
professionals of the neighbourhood, who had volunteered
their services as an encouragement to the young ones.
The timekeeper announced "Teddy Jones, champion
light-weight, who had been in Ben Hyam s competition,
and a gentleman amateur." Teddy Jones, a clean-built
little fellow, a native of Haggerston, came up smiling,
arrayed like the club lads, au naturel to the waist, but
the " gentleman amateur had evidently been engaged in
tha coal trade, and considered it needless to remove his
grimy shirt.
As the time was getting late this was the last we saw,
but we were wonderfully struck with the quietness and
order, and well-managedness of the affair. Father Jay
was here, and there, and everywhere ; nothing escaped
his ear and eye, and one could plainly see he was
regarded with love and respect, not only by his own
club lads, but by the rougher so-called "pros" who
dwelt in the neighbourhood, and had come in to help.
Under frightful difficulties he has raised the tone of the
parish immensely, and he is a keen Crusader in the
temperance cause.
As we wended our way from the dimly-lighted, forlorn-
looking, purlieus of Church Street, out into the bustling
thoroughfare where we caught our bus, we bore with us
a pleasing picture of the rough and troubled waves of
Shoreditch, calmed and quieted by the master spirit who
dwelt among them, and who used their own weapons as
318 Memories of a Sifter.
ploughshares to break up the sterile soil into Christian
fruitfulness.
The insanitary dens called dwelling-houses are now,
we are thankful to say, pulled down, and models are
erected in their stead. My subsequent visits have been
on less warlike occasions, to various social meetings, or
now and again on a Sunday evening, when it does you
real good to see the beautiful church, the hearty Service,
the poor, ragged, outcast congregation chiefly men and
lads an d last, but not least, to see Father Jay s beam
ing, kindly face at the entrance of the church, and
receive his hearty welcome.
What Holy Trinity parish was, Mr. Morrison s Child
of the Jago will tell you ; what its future will be, will be
owing to the work and influence of the "Champion" who
has fought so bravely for the right during the past
sixteen years.
One acquaintance we made soon after our first settling
in Haggerston, has proved himself a very friend indeed.
Years and years ago, in the old temporary S. Augustine s,
used as a school week-days, and a church Sundays,
I was presiding over some rather restless, fidgetty little
boys on the gallery near the door, one hot summer s
evening. As the congregation went out, a bright, cheer
ful, genial-looking gentleman slipped some money into
my hand as he passed by my little crowd, who were
shoving and pushing, and tumbling off the gallery in
their impatience to get out, and I ascertained from
Mr. Hervey that this was Mr. John Henry Skilbeck, a
Gtfier friends. 319
member of S. Augustine s Building Committee, and
a friend of Dr. Brett and others of that set. A few
months afterwards, when our majority joined the Roman
Communion, and we few were left, and as it were, "boy
cotted " by most people, who suspected we should follow,
he came forward to help Father Mackonochie and the
Priory with all his might and main. He became our
Treasurer, and more than that, a true and reliable friend,
who for thirty-seven years, through fair and foul weather,
storm and sunshine, ups and downs, has never failed us,
but pulled us through many a slough of despair, and
over many a stile of difficulty.
One more may I speak of, and that is our dearly-
valued, never-to-be-forgotten friend, Miss Lucy Taylor.
She was made of the good, stern stuff which belonged to
a former generation ; she was a thorough gentlewoman
of the old school a school which has now nearly passed
away. She had in her youth been much associated with
the early Tractarians, and her training had been given
by Mr. Yard, of Margaret Street Chapel now All
Saints . She had had to do with Miss Sellon s foundations
in the late forties and early fifties, and had thrilling tales
to tell of the old cholera days at Plymouth, and of
various Rescue Homes at Bristol and Devonport, where
she and a Sister had at times been sent to reside in some
empty house in a back street, and bidden to stay there
till Miss Sellon told them of the next move she wished
made whether to receive girls, or to go on elsewhere.
Miss Sellon must have been a marvellous woman, and
320 Memories of a Sifter.
the implicit obedience she demanded from her Sisters
must have been truly wonderful. One of the Miss
Taylors joined the Devonport Sisters, and went out to
Honolulu, and one nursed in the Crimea through the
war. They must all have been strong, capable women.
Our Miss Taylor, together with Colonel and Mrs. Grove
Morris, first organized the Priory November Sale of
Work, at the West End, and when our dear friend, Mrs.
Robert Tomkinson, most kindly took it into her manage
ment, Miss Taylor presided over the Poor Stall there for
many years. When she was, in 1888, freed from family
duties, she went to work with Canon Williams, at
Knowbury, near Ludlow, but always came to us for the
Sale of Work and Christmastide. On^ of our Sisters
worked a short time with her at Knowbury, and some of
the happiest times I have known have been my brief
autumnal visits there. That part of Shropshire is lovely,
with crimson-studded apple trees lying in the green
hollows, the odd lumpy silhouette of the Malvern Hills
to the south, and westward, range after range of low
ridges stretching away to the Black Mountains, while to
the north the rugged outline of Clee Hill, stood a great
mass of Dhu stone, against the northern horizon. I
remember, as we stumbled along the dark lane fro
church in the blackness of the autumn evenings, ho
the white northern light used to shine above the roug
outline of Clee Hill. How many old-world stories and
anecdotes of Church History, in the days of Fuse
and Keble, have we not heard while wandering ov
the wild, semi-moorland fields, when the western hills
Gtfjer friends.
321
were wreathed in rosy mists against the background of
glittering gold ?
She rests in peace now, after a life spent entirely for
others, and our memory of her is that of one of the most
utterly unselfish, kindly characters we have ever been
privileged to meet. Surely we have been blessed in our
friends
Memories of a Sister.
fligdt Sefiool Jorttf years
Jigo.
31 Story of Sofa.
ONE winter I forget the exact date a Night School
for the bigger lads was to be held in S. Mary s School
room, Crown Street. Printed prospectuses were issued,
stating that the sum of one penny per week, or a half
penny a night, was the fee, and these were posted
around, chiefly in the coal shop at the corner, to
entice the ragged young gentlemen who frequented the
neighbourhood. Two gentlemen volunteered between
them to run the affair. Chapel Place, the court where it
was to be held, was indelibly fixed on their memory as
being the region where stray rotten cabbages and other
vile missiles were ejected at their hats as they walked
down to church on Sunday mornings.
It was a raw, damp evening in late autumn, when the
first opening was to take place. Flaunting girls in rags
and dirty finery were hanging about, talking to vicious
looking lads at the corner, every now and then screech*
ing and racing down the street, pretending to esca
from the dirty, white-faced boys who, pipe in mouth, anc
hands in pocket, leisurely followed them. Round anc
round Chapel Place the ragged children were racing,
hooting and yelling, utterly heedless of the objurgatorj
ft Mgdt Scftool 7orty years Mgo. 323
remarks passed upon them by their mothers as they
lingered on the doorsteps gossiping each with her neigh
bour in the misty twilight.
My duties compelled me to act the part of janitrix,
and also to see that all was ready in the schoolroom,
desks arranged, slates, copy books, ink, chalk, black
board, &c., and also to have all the gas alight. It was
always a weird, uncanny journey along those ghostly,
echoing, narrow old passages, winding from the Church
House, behind the chancel, into the schoolroom. As
you trod the mouldering boards your footsteps echoed as
if there was someone on the track behind you; queer
cracks and booms came from the ancient panelled walls,
odd shadows lurked at the corners, and you felt an
undefinable feeling that you might meet you knew not
what emerging from a dark, mysterious cupboard at the
back of the altar, under the narrow staircase leading to
the dark, cobwebby organ loft. And then the school
room in the twilight, with its sky-lights above reflecting
the straggling rays of moonlight, and sometimes odd
flashes, from surrounding windows, of lights glancing in
and out, of mysterious sounds and scrabblings on the
roof, for, verily, the whole surroundings were but one
vast den of thieves. Below, the room looked so drear
and ghastly, with the rows of desks all bare and desolate,
and the far corners shrouded in gloom, through which
the ticking of the old clock made itself heard ; and then,
outside, all the thieves shrill whistles, the running, and
yells, and bad language made you feel as if it was but
one step from desolation into pandemonium.
324 Memories of a Sifter.
Pretty sharp raps at the outer door from the gentlemen
teachers soon made one feel in a present, very workaday
world, and on my unlocking the door I saw the two
high hats (everybody wore high hats then !) shining
under the gas lamp, and a crowd of dirty, ragged, white-
faced lads,
" Hobbledehoys,
Half men and half boys."
gathered behind.
" Now then, Tom, they blokes is come to open school ;
who s going in for A B C ? "
" Come along, Sam, it ll be such a lick ! " cried
another.
" Toe the line ! " shouted a third.
The high hats entered, and were deposited by their
owners carefully on the top of the cupboard, the only
safe place in the room. The forms were moved about
a little, the desks adjusted, and they chatted and walked
about examining the maps, the door meantime open, but
no one entered.
Footsteps and voices, half murmuring, half defiant,
sounded from outside; but a full quarter of an hour
elapsed, and no one appeared.
Then three shock heads were poked in round the
corner, followed in a minute by three very dirty, ragged
bodies.
"Well, my lads, come to school? " asked one high hat.
"Ay; how much? We see d the bill outside, and we ve
come."
" A penny a week, school open two nights a week."
Jl ffigdt Sedool 7orty years Hgo. 3*5
44 Blow d, Bob ; only a brown ! " said the eldest,
a devil-may-care sort of looking fellow, totally enveloped
in a casing of coal dust.
" All right, Jumbo, give us a brown, and I ll pay you
yesterday morning. Ha, ha, ha ! "
"Git along, don t you see the gentleman s a-waiting?"
said Jumbo, with a wink, pulling out a greasy halfpenny
and two farthings.
" Is we to sit in them deskies ? " he asked, indicating
them with his thumb; and, on being answered in the
affirmative, they squeezed in, sat close together, con
versing in low whispers, and taking in with a few sharp
glances the appurtenances of the room.
" Wonder what they give for these here deskies !
A clock, too ! Wonder what books they ve got ! Think
they ll clout us ? " " Not if I knows it ; like to see
any one clout me ! " " Think Jim Seaham 11 come ? "
" Not he ; they ve got a barney down Princes Row, and
Jim 11 sure to be in it! "
The teachers waited, and presently two more shock-
headed, hollow-eyed, unwashed, hobbledehoy pupils
entered.
" We may as well begin," said one of the gentlemen,
glancing from the clock to his watch, to make sure it
was the right time. " Stand, boys, and I will say
prayers."
There was a shuffling in the desks, one of the boys
knelt on one leg, three sat down, Jumbo knelt in the
most approved manner, and they all held their hands
before their faces, we being vaguely conscious that
326 Memorict of a Sifter.
Jumbo was grinning at us through his distended fingers.
When prayers were half way through, the door gently
opened, and a rotten herring came flying in, and hit the
reader in the eye. A hoarse laugh, and pungent odour
of tobacco coming in white whiffs through the keyhole of
the hastily closed door, followed this proceeding. Two
of the boys laughed. Jumbo started up, crying, "It s
that Jim Seaham ; won t I clout him ! " and rushed out
of the door. Prayers were hastily concluded, the boys
regained their seats, and sat looking as if they expected
some fun. The door re-opened, and Jumbo lounged in,
saying, " Taint no good ; won t I slip into him when
I catches him though ! Won t I just muzzle him ! "
" You slip into Jim Seaham ! why, he d lick two of
you ! " said one of them.
" Hush, hush, boys," said one of the teachers. " Go to
.your place, a-a-what s-your-name, and we ll begin."
" As there are such a few lads, Conrad, I may as well
leave you and go into choir to-night," said his friend, as
S. Mary s Church bell began to ring, and passing through
the schoolroom into the passage behind the organ, he
disappeared.
"You will be able to stay, Sister, in case more come? "
asked Mr. Conrad, and I assented.
There were only five, and Jumbo, despite his coal
dust, and a certain wicked look in his eye, reminding
you of a horse about to kick, was such a prodigy of
right-mindedness and stand-by-the-teacher sort of a
fellow, that, though he might be an awful blackguard
and, what could you expect out of such a neighbour-
Jl ffigdt SeM Vorty Wears Hgo. 327
hood ? we should be sure to get on all right, and we
could reckon on him to help with the others. I passed
out some books, Mr. Conrad tested their capacities,
selected Jumbo s set as first class, which he would take
himself, and consigned the two latest arrivals to me as
the second class.
We were silent a brief space. My class were looking
at a woodcut on the first page of their books, and Jumbo
was spelling m u s t horse when there was a scuffle
in the court outside, the door burst open, and in rushed
a big, red-faced woman, dragging a lad of thirteen by the
collar. " Now, then, sir, I said you should come to
school, and come you shall ! How much is it, sir ?
A penny ! And mind you just looks after him, and give
it to him well, for he s a precious young radical, he is.
/ don t know what to do with him, more don t his father.
I wallops him well when I catches him. I ve had eleven
on em, and brought them all up myself, and, thank GOD,
I always kep em under while I had em. I d master
them if they was as big as a house ! " And, to do her
justice, I believe she would.
Wiping her face with her apron, and cooling down
a bit, she turned and caught sight of me. "Ah, yes,
Sister, you know what he is. Didn t you come to our
house week afore last, and see him dressed in my old
petticut ? Cos why ? His father d torn up his trousers
cos he went down Newport Market with a lot more from
Butcher s Row, kicking up no end of a shindy ; and his
father being in drink was a bit severe, and swore he
shouldn t go out at all."
328 Memories of a Sister.
Yes. I did remember going to Mrs. Seaham s one
evening to enquire about the non-appearance of little
Tommy at the day school ; and seeing a nondescript
creature standing at the window, and expecting, in reply
to my query as to name, to hear some feminine appella
tion, was taken by surprise when an unmistakably boy s
voice answered, with a laugh, "James." His father had
repented of his rash action, and Master Jim had a place
all ready to go to when the necessary garments could be
obtained, which, of course, we furnished from the Mission
House stores.
"He s going on for fifteen. He used to go to S. Giles*
School some time since; but he was such a bad boy,
always playing the charley, and now he s had bits of
places here and there. He s just like his brother Sam,
as is locked up, I m always a-telling him. Please GOD,
I could only catch him thieving, I d give him in charge as
sure as he s born ; but the young varmint is too sharp
for that by half."
" Did you give Sam in charge ? " asked Mr. Conrad.
" Lor bless you, sir, yes. Sam s been on board the
Cornwall, at Purfleet, these fifteen months. He was
locked up for thieving some lumps of lead like, and
precious glad I was too, for now he s off my hands, and
they ll put him aboard a vessel off there. Now, good
night, sir! good night, Sister! I ll leave my young gentle
man along o you, and you can just tell me how he
behaves," and with an additional bang to the youth, she
departed.
" I say, Jim ! Hulloa, Jim ! Old gal brought you here
ft ftigdt Sc&ool Forty years Kgo. 329
after all. Won t he there," indicating Mr. Conrad with
a backward jerk of his thumb " clout you, that s all !
Blow me! Fine, ain t it, a-coming foi a schollard?"
were the exclamations of a rather brutal looking, big
headed lad, who had come in with Jumbo.
Jim Seaham stood unmoved, glancing with a pair of
bright gray eyes from under a tangled mass of sandy
hair.
" What s your name, my boy ? " asked Mr. Conrad.
" White-headed Bob," was the grinning reply.
" Come, come, come, no nonsense your name is
James "
" Jim Seaham, please sir," shouted Jumbo. " I say,
Jim, can t you speak up proper to a gentleman ? "
" Come here, Jim, along o* me," responded the first
speaker. " You get off there, he s my mate, not your n."
And Jim, seeing he was there for the time, albeit ia
opposition to his own wishes, appeared determined id
put the best face he could on the matter, and lightlj
leaping over the desk, ensconced himself by his pal, and
began a long narration, couched in street-boy slang, con
cerning a row which had just taken place in the Five
Dials.
The small party of scholars were not augmented by
any fresh contingents the first evening, and I believe it
was chiefly owing to that fact that everything proceeded
harmoniously and peacefully. Jumbo was evidently the
potentate ; his winks or his frowns ruled the throng, with
the exception of Jim Seaham, who seemed to go pretty
much on his own lines and do as he liked ; but anyways
330 Memories of a Sifter.
we had a fairly quiet evening, concluded with prayers,
after which there was a trifling struggle for caps. Mr.
Conrad s hat was knocked on the ground, where, under
pretence of picking it up, Jim gave it a kick which sent
it rolling under the gallery, and the whole party rushed
out, giving the door a parting slam, followed by sundry
shrill whistles through the keyhole, and cat-calls round
the court.
" Not a bad beginning, eh ? " said Mr. Conrad, when
he emerged from the further end of the room, red-faced,
begrimed with much dust, and rubbing huge particles
of the same off the ruffled nap of his hat. I agreed with
him, and told him that as his friend Mr. Knox would be
able to assist him, and the Sisters had so much on their
hands already, we would merely prepare the room, light
gas and stove, and give him the door-key. A message
came one evening, after some while, appealing for help
with a junior class, and I was deputed to be the one to
go and help. When I went into the schoolroom;
I found Mr. Conrad installed on a chair, with his feet on
a form in front of him, and a row of ragged, shock-
headed young fellows, with primary reading-books in
their grubby hands, ranged before him, and a couple of
smaller lads mounted on high stools on either side of
him. Bang went the door, and a string of roughs out of
Star Court filed in with their caps on, some sparring up
to Mr. Conrad, some jumping on one leg, some on two,
and all winking at the other boys.
" Now boys, now boys ! take your places ! " cries the
teacher ; but as fast as one sits down his neighbour gives
ft Wgfit School 7or1y years Hgo. 331
him the leg and trips him up. A session is at length
effected, partly with Mr. Conrad, partly with his friend,
who, I observe, has a cane in his hand to enforce his
orders. One refractory " Star-Courtier," with one eye,
and a mat of straight black shiny hair combed over his
forehead, insisted on holding a conversation, garnished
with all sorts of questionable adjectives, with the row of
neighbours behind ; and at length Mr. Knox, after much
expostulation, waxing wroth, said he had better take his
slate and work his sum alone at the further end of the
room, and taking his arm proceeded to lead him off.
This was rather an embarrassing affair, as the young
gentleman insisted on hopping the whole length of the
room on one leg, and Mr. Knox had to walk very slowly
to keep pace with him, the class meantime cheering
rapturously, and taking advantage of his temporary
absence to throw their pencils about, aiming pretty
dexterously at the teacher s ear. One young coster, the
pride of Star Court, who rejoiced in the name, real or
assumed, of Winkles, had a mouth reaching from ear to
ear, and smiled persistently through everything.
" Now boys," said Mr. Knox, wiping the perspiration
off his face, when he had installed the lad at the other
end, and left him to carry on a vehement telegraphic
communication of winks and other facial signals with
his brethren in the desks. " Now boys, we ll try some
more summing to-night. Can any of you do reduc
tion ? "
" Dunno," said Winkles ; " but I could redooce a
pen orth of pudd n if anyone liked to take me on."
332 Memories of a Sister.
My class of smaller ones now engrossed my attention
too completely to be able to notice more for some time,
and when I looked again I saw Winkles mounted in
great dignity on a high stool in command of a spelling
contingent.
" Spell medder ! " he thundered forth.
" Shan t ! " said one.
" Spell it this very minute ! "
The lad put out his tongue and made a face.
"I ll tell Mr. Conrad!" cried the indignant teacher,
and rushed off to the gallery where he was presiding
over a class with a black-board.
Back he rushes with Winkles to enforce authority
(Winkles high stool had been kicked over the moment
his back was turned), and the minute Mr. Conrad s face
was turned from the occupants of the gallery, they put
the blackboard upside down, the chair with its four legs
in the air on top, and executed some step-dancing behind
it. Mr. Conrad meantime explains to Winkles class
how " meadow " is spelt.
" I see, sir ! " they all shout.
" Don t say, I see, boys, but spell it ! "
" I see, sir ! " etc., etc., ad. lib., and back he went to
find his own class in a state of revolution. A friend
looked in to help presently, and relieve Winkles of his
charge, but the friend s temper was not equal to the
demands upon it, and he boxed somebody s ears, who
ran out muttering denunciations.
Ten o clock came at last ; some knelt down to prayers,
some wouldn t. The stampede was pretty much the
31 ffigdt Scdool Jorty years Jlgo. 333
same as the entrance had been. Mr. Conrad s friend
shook hands and departed, leaving the two gentlemen
and myself to put things in order and turn out gas.
But a dull murmuring of voices, followed by cat-calls
and whistles, and shuffling of feet, told us something was
happening in the Court outside, and in a minute Jumbo
ran in saying, "They blokes had waited on the gen elman
as clouted Toff Whites, and ave bin and knocked his hat
off, and they re a kicking of it round Chapel Place, and
they ve hunched the gen elman along with it!" Out
flew Mr. Conrad, cane in hand, but the troop had fled
into the purlieus of Star Court, where they had pro
bably entrenched themselves, hardly even the policeman
himself dared to intrude.
The Night School flourished during the winter. I
suppose in those days of nothing to amuse the people,
and nowhere for them to go, it was a warm, lighted
place for them to turn into of an evening. Jim Seaham
only honoured it a few evenings with his presence, con
cluding with knocking over all the forms within reach,
and then going into the Court and collecting sundry of
the canaillt over whom he was a sort of chief, and
making a frightful noise at the door. Long-suffering
Mr. Conrad ran out to stop it, but Jim dodged down,
slipped between his legs, and threw him on to the muddy
pavement over his back.
On Sunday evenings they were allowed to come
into the schoolroom for an hour before church time.
One evening, Mr. Conrad being away ill, one of the
choinnen took his place. The class marched in like
334 Memories of a Sister.
a herd of wild deer, and seeing a stranger seated in their
teacher s chair, stared at him defiantly for a second or so
in silence, then one shot a pea in his eye and said, " Say
Tom, whose that there bloke? " He not approving this,
tried to turn them out, and there was a regular free fight,
sometimes teacher up top, sometimes scholars, and
Winkles tore down a rolled-up map of Europe from the
wall and used it as a sort of battering ram, to keep the
teacher at bay should he regain his legs, the rest
meantime kicking his hat round the room, and the
regular classes of Sunday scholars watching with mingled
feelings of delight and awe. In the midst of the melee
the door leading from the Church passage burst open,
and in walked Mr. Williams, one of the clergy, a
powerful man, who held his own amidst the roughest of
the rough. He soon awed them, called for silence, and
began prayers.
Jumbo made a noise. Mr. Williams sent him out into
the passage and told him to stop there while he said
prayers, during the saying of which, however, Jumbo
opened the door, and made faces at the others. Amidst
the burst of hoarse tittering consequent on this, Mr.
Williams calmly finished up the prayers, then leaped up,
seized a cane from the cupboard, collared the hapless
Jumbo, and thrashed him with all his might, Jumbo
holloaing, " I ll tell my father ! I ll tell my father ! "
" Will you ? " said Mr. Williams. " Then here s some-
thing more to tell him," and the cane descended again,,
and again, and again. " Now tell your father that, and
that, and that!" and then shut him out into the Court.
K ffigfit Scdool yor1 V years Kgo. 335
The effect was great. Most of them looked frightened ;
one shouted, " Leave him alone, can t you ! "
" Who are you ? " said Mr. Williams.
" His brother."
" Well, if you re his brother, and aren t quiet, I ll beat
you too ! " and then he struck the cane on the desk till
they were all awed, and the poor little day school and
choir boys who huddled round me looked terrified.
Those were indeed the " auld fighting days ; " but at
that time, in that neighbourhood, it seemed nothing but
force of arm would lick some of them into anything like
shape. Since those days nous avons change tout cela ; but
Mr. Williams was perfectly adored by all the lads of the
Courts and Newport Market when he had once shewn
them that he was master, and meant to remain so. Some
time after, when some new ones coming in and beginning
to make a disturbance, were threatened by him, they
called out, "Hit him! Who s he?" but the old lads fired
up, and said they d fight them if they touched the parson.
In the summer, when S. Mary s Parochial Excursion
to Richmond took place, the best of the Night School
were to go too, and the contractor for brakes being short
of conveyances, a cleaned-out coal van with an awning
was provided for them, of which the young gentlemen
did not approve.
" What ! going in that ere ! Not if I know it ! Why,
last week I seed it a-carryin cqal ! "
However, they at last condescended to make use of it,
and Mr. Conrad and Mr. Knox, long-suffering as ever,
accompanied them. We caught glimpses of them now
336 Memories of a Sifter.
and again, evidently enjoying themselves to their hearts
content, riding donkeys with festoons of pink paper round
their caps. They all shouted together for tea, till the
vision of Mr. Williams and a big stick coming through
the trees silenced them. My boys and I, by some
chance, returned in the van with them, and they
seemed very harmless and thoroughly happy. They
mostly sat with their legs dangling outside, yelling at
the top of their voices :
" Polly Pluck, she s such a duck,
O goodness, gracious me ! "
And
" Where have you been all the day ?
Donkey riding, donkey riding,
That s the order of the day !
Donkey riding, donkey riding,
Where have you been all the day ?
Down the alley, kissing (or kicking) Sally, &c."
I don t believe I heard a bad word from one of them the
whole return journey. They had been very much
pleased to welcome Mr. Conrad home from his summer s
holiday, and saluted him with " Halloa, Mr. Conrad,
where have yon been? Ramsgate? Dover? Brighton?"
" No, boys, no ; I ve been to Wales."
" Well, and how did they feed you ? plenty of
pudd n ? Why, you ve got quite a red face ! "
I have often wondered since what has become of these
poor lads, but whatever has, I am sure they will always
remember the kindness and interest of Mr. Conrad and
his friends.
Jl 2)ay at Rye Mouse. 337
at Rye Jiouse.
31 Story of Jiaggerston, 1885.
THE morning of June i5th looked cloudy, and many
anxious little faces were pressed against the window-
panes to see what sort of a day it was likely to be,
whether they should take a thick jacket and waterproof,
or whether their ordinary costumes would suffice for the
great event of the excursion of the girls of the Arch
Guild to the world-famed Rye House. Weather-wise
fathers looked and commented, anxious mothers laid out
wraps and umbrellas by the side of the little luncheon-
baskets ; but girlhood, always illuminated by the golden
rays of hope, predicted the day would be lovely, and
protested against being "bothered with all those things."
Sundry small young ladies rose at all sorts of unearthly
hours, and were too excited to think of getting washed
and dressed, but counted up pence and farthings in
airy attire, and calculated the number of swings and
donkey rides their wealth would procure them. Nine
was the hour fixed for the start from S. Augustine s,
York Street, Haggerston, and thither trooped damsels
and maidens, and divers married past members, who
had consigned their chicks to the care of " Grandma,"
and were coming out, meaning to have a good time
of it, and enjoy themselves like girls again, for once in
338 Memories of a Sister.
a way. What a proud and happy moment when the
brakes thundered along and drew up in front of the
church, the horses champing and jingling their bits,
and stamping and pawing the ground as if they were
longing already to be on the road ; and oh ! the pleasur
able moment, the intense excitement of mounting up
into the brake amidst the cheers of the assembled crowd
of envious boys who had come to see the girls off!
Each girl duly hoisted up with her luncheon on her
lap, and her chosen partner beside her, felt in her glory.
Big ones were in chummy little coteries in the front, and
rows of happy younger faces lined the inside. There !
The gas factory clock is striking nine, and all the
school-bells have left off ringing, the Vicar (Mr.
Burrows), and Father Mackonochie have mounted to
their places in front of the third break, the Sisters
are duly packed inside with the young ones, the boys
slam-to the doors, and all are ready for a start, but there
is a missing bandmistress ! Fancy, a lost bandmistress !
One is constantly seeing advertisements of missing bags,
and purses, and lockets, and jewellery, dogs, and some
times children, but never a lost bandmistress ! What
could be done ? One of the girls has a picture in her
home of the " Lost Duchess," a young lady in a big
hat and feathers, with very large eyes and a very small
mouth, her general expression conveying the notion that
she might be lost for ever in the wood where she was
straying before she could gather her ideas together to
tell how to get out; but whether a lost bandmistress
would look at all like a lost Duchess was another ques-
Jt Stay at Rye Jioufe. 339
tion. Where was she lost ? In the wilds of Dalston or
the trackless regions of Stoke Newington ? Was she
lost in the howling wilderness of Kingsland, or had the
precincts of De Beauvoir Town environed her ? It was
wrapped in mystery ; all that was known was, she had
not been seen in Haggerston.
But " Time and tide wait for no man," and three
brakes full of eighty-seven girls can wait for no woman,
not even a lost bandmistress. Slash go the whips,
forward plunge the horses, and the wheels fly along
Great Cambridge Street, and we re really off. Away
along the Queen s Road, whence crowds of city clerks
are hurrying disconsolately to business, past Abney
Park Cemetery, where rest the bones of Dr. Watts,
and we turned off along the high road to Stamford
Hill. Great excitement ! Halloa! What is that puffing
and panting and steaming along ? Why it is a steam
tram, plying its way to and from Ponder s End.
" Let the steam-pot
Hiss till it s hot,
Give me the speed of the tantivy trot,"
is the opinion of the girls as they rolled past in gallant
procession. Here are market carts laden with long
sweet grass from the country, and tired labourers lying
on the green freightage; traps, wagons, gipsy-carts
selling baskets, more steam trams, houses building with
bright new red bricks, old-fashioned houses standing
back in gardens, smart newly-painted shops. Here we
come to the "Bell" at Edmonton, whence you almost
expected to see the anxious face of Mistress Gilpin peer-
340 Memories of a Sister.
ing for her spouse ; we stop to water the horses at the
" Golden Fleece," and then set forth country wise again ;
past Queen Eleanor s stately cross at Waltham, and
Paull s lovely gardens at Cheshunt, out into the open
country, and so on to Broxbourne. What delights have
greeted the eyes of all along the road ! Screams of
admiration have been elicited by the vision of pink and
creamy roses clustering on the cottage walls, of labur
nums weeping tears of gold from among the white and
rosy chestnut blossoms, of cedars of Lebanon standing
stark and stiff, like murky warriors of a by-gone age,
among the green -lined spreading wych elms by the road
side. Cows, calves, pigs, old hens and broods of little
chicks, nay, even two guinea fowls and a staggering
long-legged foal, were vouchsafed to their wondering
gaze. The dust was prodigious, powdering every
body s clothes, and getting into everybody s hair and
eyes, and down their throats, till at a second stoppage
by the roadside to refresh the horses, there were cries
from each brake in various degrees of anguish for
something to drink. All the stores of sherbet at the
little village shop were speedily called into requisition,
and cries for " Lady with sherbet ! " echoed along the
brakes, which were lined with little outstretched heads
and hands, and the good woman was at length fairly out
of breath with trotting about with her glasses of white
fizzy beverage. Cheers of delight greeted the finger
post in the hedge, which pointed " To the Rye House,"
only exceeded by a cry of admiration as they sighted
a gorgeous turnip-field in flower, one blaze of yellow in
R 3) ay at Rye Jiouse. 341
the sunlight; and just after they rolled over the railway
bridge, who should they see, standing at the top of the
steps, but the lost bandmistress ! There she was,
smiling and nodding and waving her sunshade ! She
had been too late to start with the party, and had come
down, by rail, and had been waiting for them the last
hour-and-a-half.
How pretty the Rye House looked with the shining
river bordered with long flowering sedges, and the
gardens, rich in roses spread along the banks. What
a pleasure it was to alight and shake the dust off them
selves and one another, and move off in little parties of
twos and threes to ramble through the gardens and
investigate the various assistances towards spending
a happy day. And they were many. Rows of grinning
" Aunt Sallies " at the end of little avenues hung with
red and white calico ; magnificent swings hung into [the
great trees which must have been flourishing at the
time of Monmouth s plot; a solemn array of dummy
niggers with balls to throw at them, and when you hit
a head it dropped backwards as if its throat was cut,
with a horrid grin. Rather an alarming amusement for
little girls, was it not ? A party of the older girls, with
the two clergy and the Sisters, having seen all the young
ones thoroughly enjoying themselves, started off to "do"
the place thoroughly. What was the first object of
curiosity to be seen ? A smart little shanty stood before
them with a large placard over the door announcing
that for the sum of twopence sterling, the great " Bed of
Ware " could be seen. The great " Bed of Ware ! "
34* Memories of a Sifter.
Everybody had heard of that, but nobody had seen it,
and now was the time. A little stuffy, poky shanty it
was, which gave you the impression that the " Bed of
Ware " had never had thorough ventilation since the
days of Shakespeare.
It was a marvellous sight, hung with old tapestry,
with pillars and head-board of carved dark oak, a curious
memento of bygone days. Hard by it hung a piece of
tapestry of apparently the same date, which the show
man informed us represented " Narcissus, who fell in
love with his own h image in the water." The hapless
youth, arrayed in pink and blue, was craning his neck
between two yellow ochre coloured pillars to get a sight
of his visage in the water below, while an adoring damsel
was turning herself round a pillar behind, admiring
evidently the back of Narcissus s head as much as he
did his own view of the front of it. A very surprised
looking spaniel, with elevated eyebrows, and a good deal
of white about the region of the eye, was contemplating
the scene in the midst. There were also sundry pieces
of old oak carving distributed about, and a picture of
Queen Anne worked in floss silks, in which she looked
very much embarrassed whether by the cares of her
realm or the magnitude and stiffness of her attire we
were not able to decide. Much as we admired all these
articles of vertu, it was refreshing to get out into the grass
and breathe the pure air ; and then we proceeded to the
banqueting hall a splendid place, I don t know how
many feet long, with tattered banners and portraits of
the old parliamentary worthies. Long wreaths of ivy
Jf ay at Rye Mouse. 343
had grown in through the windows, and festooned the
walls inside in a most graceful manner. The girls were
much amused at a full-length portrait of a lady, labelled
"Tillie Kittle;" and then, "Now for the dungeon!" they
cried. " How many of us are there going m ? Why,
twenty-four, to be sure!" they said to the old man at the
wicket. Through an ancient archway, up a narrow
winding stone staircase, and we emerged into a good sized
room, and the old man mounting after us, proceeded to
hold forth on the objects we saw around. The bed,
hung with red damask, had been the property of Queen
Elizabeth ; two enormous cavalier s jack boots, besides
a pair with studded soles, once the property of Prince
Lee Boo ; sundry portraits and pictures bearing on
the date of the Rye House plot; a rusty iron gibbet,
which had held many a ghastly head, and a large tapestry
" which, though worked in the dark h ages, I wish to
beg you to observe the beauty of the work, the subject,
the Goddess Ceres spreading plenty on the earth." At
the foot of the bed were two figures, roughly fashioned
out of the rODts of a tree, representing Herodias s
daughter with S. John Baptist s head and I forget wha*
the other was.
Our cicerone expressed great indignation at some
casts of the heads of Greenacre and some other
murderers which had found their way in here, but
which, he said, "I never notice, as not bearing on
the historical subject of the room." The room itself,
by-the-way, was the identical one where the Rye House
Plot was hatched. A low-browed door, opposite to the
344
Memories of a Sifter.
one by which we had entered, led to a subterranean
passage, used doubtless many a time in days of "auld
lang syne." Down, down, down we went, preceded by our
guide with a flickering cresset light, as we descended the
narrow winding stairs, hewn in stone. One girl, the
youngest of the party, was frightened, and had to be
passed up again, and it really was rather awful descend
ing in the darkness into you knew not where. At last
the steps came to an end, and there, in the angle of the
wall, was a little iron-barred window, showing inside
a grim dungeon, dimly lighted by a pale yellow lamp,
and revealing a ghastly skeleton seated in a niche, the
head bent forward, and looking as if the body, which had
long ago clothed the crumbling bones, had perished in
the agonies of hunger, barred up in the close and damp
dungeon, shut out from the light of heaven and the
freedom of the trees, buried away from all he loved, until
Death the releaser stole in with a silent step and bore
him through the gloomy portals. A winding passage in
the rock, hung with dripping stalactites, barred in the old
days with an iron portcullis, took you to the open air.
It was delicious to get out of the weird, ghostly pas
sages, and the mouldy old relics of the past, into the soft
summer air, with the light flecking the trees and
green-sward; and the girls elected we should go for
a good walk along the riverside towards S. Margaret s.
So " along the riverside we strayed," and gathered
handfuls of lovely forget-me-nots, and bugloss, and flower
ing rushes, and watched the swallows skimming around,
darting hither and thither, almost touching the sunny
J? Stay at Rye Jiou$e. 345
ripples of the Stort. The girls laughed and chattered,
and gathered flowers for the Sisters, and large bunches
of grass for Toby and Sandy at the Priory, and com
mented on the wondrous neglect to all the beauties of
nature shown by the two clergy, who strolled ahead,
looking neither to the river and the blooming meadows
on their right, nor to the luxuriant watercress beds on
their left, but having what the Chinamen call a regular
Chin chin, with heads bent down and black coats flutter
ing as they walked. " Talk about us women talking," said
Jane, "why they re no better than a pair of old ladies!"
That they were not quite so oblivious as the girls feared
was evident when they sat down on the towing-path till
the rest came up, and one of them drew a pair of glasses
from his pocket, and invited them to take a view of the
surrounding country.
All pleasures have an end, and the warning watches
of the Sisters suggested they ought to be Rye House
bound for tea, which most comforting meal was pro
vided in a large, bran -new, old banqueting hall in the
gardens, and a very comforting affair it was. A capital
teal Bread and butter and cake were partaken of,
and if Susan did eat more than Mary, it was no fault
of Mary s, as she ate as much as she could.
One of the Sisters had to catch an early train, soon
after four, to go home, and thus left before the meal was
quite ready ; but while sitting, thirsty and hot, awaiting
the arrival of her train, her soul was much comforted,
and the railway officials much amused, by the advent
of an honorary member and a bandmistress bearing
346 Memories of a Sister.
a tea-pot they had captured from one of the waiters,
a cup and saucer, etc., and had thus run all the way
from the Rye House to the station to provide this
most exhilarating cup of tea for her on the platform.
Pleasant walks, swings, aunt sallies, etc., passed away
the time till seven, and then the happy family packed
into the brakes, and rode homeward in the gloaming,
singing as they went. It was indeed a medley of song.
Snatches of popular songs " In the Gloaming," "Silver
Moonlight," "Dream Faces," "Wait till the Clouds Roll
by," being diversified with the teetotal chant of " Shut
up your public-houses, we don t want none o your beer,"
and snatches of Salvation melodies. Homeward bound,
they rolled along the way trodden in days of yore by
luckless Johnnie Gilpin. Homeward through Dalston,
till Great Cambridge Street was sighted and reached by
ii p.m., and they all parted, after having spent a
thoroughly enjoyable day.
ZBabies Outing. 347
babies Outing.
7? Story of Jiaggertfon.
: - Now, Sister, fix some Saturday afternoon when I can
bring a waggonette and take some of the babies out for
an afternoon to Lea Bridge," said our kind friend Mr.
Swann, and so we fixed an early date in July for this
afternoon of delights. Such a picking out of the babies
who could go, and who could not go, ensued ! Such
furbishing up of garments and doing up of hats, and
extra pinnies worn all that week to keep the frocks clean !
Friday evening came ; a lovely evening, the sunset over
the backs of the houses behind S. Chad s Church a trifle
too red to look quite pleasant; however, nothing to
signify; sure to be fine to-morrow. Weather prog
nostications were not always certain, and a London haze
often makes the sky look redder than it really is, and so
all unpleasant forebodings were banished, and charming
anticipations of how babies would enjoy the drive in the
waggonette, and seeing the trees at Walthamstow, and
the green grass and the blue sky, filled our expectant
minds.
Patter, patter, patter, sounded on the window-panes
the next morning. "Oh, what a good thing the rain
has come so early," we cried ; " it will be all over by
twelve o clock." Towards ten it cleared up a bit,
348 Memories of a Sifter.
towards twelve a watery sunbeam struggled on to the
dripping roof. Hurrah ! the babies will have a glorious
afternoon. Great care was taken over dinner, and
bigger bibs than usual, lest stray morsels should soil the
clothes. That important meal over, we again inspected
the weather, but Great Cambridge Street is always
rather a dull looking street, so we must not judge of
the country by the gray sort of feeling pervading all
outside. " It ll be a lovely afternoon," we again cried,
looking at the pools of muddy water in the gutters, and
the general black, greasy look of the pavement, and we,
therefore, concluded to dress the babies in their out-door
garments, and planted them at the window to watch for
the advent of the waggonette. Shrieks of delight from the
window told us it had arrived, and Mr. Swann marched
in, rather the knight of the rueful countenance, as the
horse a white one had tumbled over, turning a corner,
and covered its off side with mud, and the waggonette
was not such a big one as he had expected, and it
looked as if it was going to rain ; however, we ll hope
for the best. And so we did. We deposited Tommy, in
all the glories of a new hat with magenta ribbons, in one
corner, and Emmie, her little pale face covered with
smiles, and half buried in the depths of a " Granny "
bonnet, was dumped down beside him, with the two
pairs of little legs sticking straight out ; then came
Willie and a whole squadron of youngsters ; and lastly,
Miss Smith and ourselves got in, the former carrying little
Charlie, the sickly baby of the lot, on her lap, when he
immediately stuck his finger into his mouth and
SBabies Outing. 349
surveyed the world with rather a woebegone aspect. Mr.
Swarm ensconced himself near Tommy, two friends who
accompanied him mounted the box, the driver plied his
whip, and off we started, amidst the envy of the groups
of Saturday afternoon shoemakers who were smiling
derisively at the corner of the street. " Looks as if
they was off to the Derby, don t they ? " " Here,
brass up, guv nor, and we ll drink a safe return to
you and the kids," etc., etc. ; but we solemnly trotted
away with our mud-stained steed, while great drops
of rain began slowly to fall. " Ah ! just a passing shower ;
nothing more;" said Mr. Swann, and on we proceeded
along the Queen s Road, past the German Hospital, turn
to the right along the busy thoroughfare of Hackney,
and so on to Clapton, where by the time we reached
Clapton Pond, the rain was not drops, but a downpour.
The children grew fidgetty. "What is one man s
food is another man s poison," and what is meat and
drink to a brood of young ducklings is hardly the
same to a waggonette of small children. Sweet little
Emmie smiled through everything ; sturdy little Tommy
defied the weather, and clung to Mr. Swann; but
the majority of the young people emulated the weather,
and the rainfall without was equalled by the tear falls
under the umbrellas. Charlie diversified the aspect of
things generally by choosing this auspicious place to be
awfully sick, which, as we were tightly packed, did not
conduce very highly to the general comfort. It took us
some moments to get over the effects of this ; and even
Mr. Swann, who is usually equal to any emergency,
350 Memories of a Sifter.
could only gasp feebly, "Children and dogs, they say, are
best left at home," which, as the expedition was for the
children, and the children only, was hardly quite apropos
to the occasion. The next turn to the right was Lea
Bridge Road, down which our Bucephalus splashed over
his fetlocks in mud, with a slow, heavy, " two farthings
and tuppence " trot. Other pleasure seekers were out
besides ourselves and our babies ; indefatigable bicyclists,
smart, rakish looking ponies dragging traps with three
or four stout men weighing thirteen or fourteen stone
apiece, other traps with less desirable looking ponies,
and filled up with young lads and lasses, coster donkeys
and barrows, and sundry young men giving their dogs
an airing, all tumbled and jostled, and elbowed along
the muddy road in the direction of Lea Bridge ; but on
went we, past that Capua of our young men and maidens,
the Ferry-boat, over Lea Bridge, whose waters were
covered with scullers and out-riggers, we thundered
along the road to Walthamstow.
Bills in divers windows announced that tea was to be
had inside, and drawing up at one of these we dis
mounted, Mr. Swann and his friends handed us one by
one the children, like so many bundles of firewood,
which we, on receiving, conveyed upstairs to the room
where we were to have tea. A large, bare-looking room,
with a round mahogany table in the middle, a grand
piano at one end, a long mirror over the chimney-piece,
wherein we caught glimpses of our desponding counten
ances, and two windows looking into the gray sky
outside, with the rain splashing through the chestnut
5Babies Oirting. 351
trees into the streams of yellow water which swirled along
the gutters below. We deposited the children in rows
on blankets which we had spread on the carpet, and the
advent of cake, bread and butter, and sweet tea, wreathed
every face with smiles, and we at last believed we were
altogether having rather a good time of it than otherwise.
Tommy did his part valiantly as a trencherman; Emmie
coquetted with a piece of cake and looked lovely with
the pink colour the rain had brought into her little wan
cheeks. Charlie only looked so-so ; but Willie swung
round the room with his one available leg, and thought
he was having a " high old time." Tout casse, tout lasse,
tout passe, is true of most sublunary matters, but it was
not the case with our friend the rain that day, which
swished against the window-panes and bubbled and
gurgled against the sills outside as it spattered down
into the street, and " Hame, hame, hame, fain wad
we be."
But nature s sweet reviver, tea, had steeled our souls
and nerved our hearts to the task of returning and
return we must ere the shades of evening fell so the
white horse, cleaned from his muddy stains, and also
refreshed with a feed, reappeared at the door ; and,
having duly wrapped up our charges, we replaced them
in the waggonette after the same firewood-loading
fashion, our friends climbed to their seats, the steed
bestirred himself, and farewell to Walthamstow for that
day.
Why we were to return home a different route I never
exactly ascertained. Whether it was a whim of our
352 Memories of a Sifter.
charioteer, or whether it was selected to escape the
increasing Saturday crowd thronging Forest-wise, or
whether he really lost his way, I know not ; but we
found ourselves in the gloaming, driving alongside
a sort of stream or canal, beside which the road ran in
dangerous proximity, without a rail or guard of any sort.
Having escaped this danger we got out into some fields,
where our further progress was crossed by the seemingly
impassable barrier of a flowing river. Where were we ?
Temple Mills, was the reply. Temple Mills ! We had
heard the boys speak of that as a holiday ramble, but it
seemed to us a terrible long way from Great Cambridge
Street. Everything looked moist and sloppy and damp,
from the dripping sky to the soppy grass. There was
a sort of inn, or public-house, with a few Saturday
loungers around it, but both they and it looked gray
and misty in the generally pluvious state of the surround
ings. "How are we to get across the water?" asked
Mr. Swann. "Ford it, sir," was the reply, and down the
bank we plunged and into the dark, dreary waters. It
was an awful moment ! We clung to the children, and
they clung to us. The horse went in deeper and deeper,
and less and less of the wheels were seen. We didn t
seem going straight across either, but the driver began
going, as we thought, down stream. The water came up
higher and higher, and the old white horse stumbled.
Suppose we all tipped over, how many, and which
children could we save, or could we save ourselves or
anybody else ? If we screamed for help, who would come
to us ? Supposing even eventually we were saved, how
5Babie$ Outing. 353
many children would survive the shock of the water,
and how many would be crippled with rheumatism for
life ? O why didn t the driver go right across, instead
of imperilling us all with these zig-zag gyrations midway
in the flowing river ? Suppose the water burst in at the
back and washed us all out, or the horse tumbled down
as he did in Coleman Street ! Suppose ! oh, a hundred
suppositions shot through our brains! I don t think
any of us spoke, and the rain pattered all around and
made tiny little wavelets on the water. Bump, struggle,
tumble more of the horse seen, more of the wheels out
crack went the whip, the waggonette upheaved, and
behold us emerging from the water s depths and valiantly
tugged up the bank by our gallant steed ! Good old
white horse ! " That bloke as drives that there trap, he
knows the ins and outs of that ford uncommon well ; he
kep right along it coming accrost," was the commenda
tory speech of two young Arabs, kicking their shoeless
heels on the grass. Right thankful were we to find our
selves on terra fivma once more, and feel that the dark
stream rolled behind us, and we and the babies were
safe.
The shades of night were falling fast as we sighted
the lights o London, and most of the little heads were
leaning against us and each other in profound slumber ;
Tommy s little round face and pursed-up button mouth
upturned to the umbrella which canopied him over
head, while his fat legs reposed on Mr. Swann s knees.
Gas-lights and shop-lights, and Saturday night stall-
lights, and red and white tramcar light?, cheered our
354 Memories of a Sifter.
vision as we rolled through Clapton and Hackney into
the obscure expanse of the Queen s Road ; and how
welcome a moment when we drew up in dear, dingy
Great Cambridge Street, and the open door revealed our
own homely gas-light streaming in soft effulgence out on
to the muddy pavement.
Home we were, and the bairnies safe and sound, and
not a man Jack of them the worse on the morrow tor the
Babies Outing.
Our ftougder fteigdbours. 355
Our Rougher ffeigfibours.
THE title of a most interesting book which we remember
finding great pleasure in reading once upon a time, when
" all the world was young," was Our Feathered Neighbours
in the old days when the perusal of it gave an extra zest
to our rambles through the sweet, spring woods, carpeted
with moss, and primroses rearing their heads from among
the ruddy drifts of last autumn s leaves ; for was not
every budding tree garnished with dainty nests contain
ing precious treasures, concerning whose owners, and
their habits, the book enlightened us ? Did not our
rambles on sultry summer days along the green " ridings "
of the Midlands, when the fragrant wild roses tossed their
sprays one bower of blossom athwart the tall hedges,
thick with maple and spindle berry, as yet attired in
sober green, but not many months hence to shine in
all their splendour of gold and scarlet, where now the
delicate green beeches raised their straight heads above
the tangled foaming mass of pink and white, and fell in
fleckened shadows on the daisy-studded turf : did not our
hearts rejoice as we heard the sweet notes of the black
bird, which now and then darted across, above our heads
from hedge to hedge, and the plaintive wood-pigeon,
from among the thicker trees beyond, with its sad,
monotonous cry of " Take -two -Taffy ! " " Take-two-
356 Memories of a Sifter.
Taffy?" And then, later on, when the orange-hued
harvest moon shone across the level meadows, where the
feathered trunked elms stood gray and purple against
the pale green sky, the mournful wail of the corncrake
came, borne across the dewy twilight. Did not Our
Feathered Neighbours teach us to love and appreciate and
understand these birds ?
Here, our lot is cast among our human neighbours, of
whom I may say, as a man remarked to his mate when
he pointed at my garb one day in the Queen s Road, " It
takes some of all sorts to make up a world," and the
sorts we come across in our Eastern world, are, some of
them, very queer sorts.
Now, to treat of our present neighbours, we will begin
with a certain Jack. He is not commonly known by the
name of Jack, but by a friendly nom-de-guerre expressive
of his great personal strength and prowess, and in this
particular he does not stand alone, as sundry other
of our rougher neighbours rejoice also in soubriquets
expressive of special personal qualities or qualifications,
much in the same manner as the knights of old each had
their special designations, such as, " Duke William
Longsword," " King Malcolm Canmore," etc., etc.
Among his friends were two Jones brothers, who both
sell fish, both drive first-class ponies in coster s barrows,
both are adepts in the noble art of self-defence ; the
distinction between the two is, that one, who has a
lump behind the ear the consequence of some sparring
match is known by the name of " Lumpy," while his
brother, a great trencher-man, is usually denominated
Our RougQer ffeigddours. 357
"Scorf," that being a local term for what they would
call in the vernacular, "putting away the victuals!"
A lad, whose habits and conversation are rather erratic,
and not always quite to the point, is more widely known
by the name of " Balmy " (mad), than by that in which
he was registered at his birth.
We had heard of this Jack, from one and from another,
as a sort of hero. He had begun life, as most of them
do, by picking up a living in all sorts of queer ways:
earning a bit here, by doing a little sparring, doing an
odd job there, and latterly by being what is termed in
these parts the " Chucker-out" at a place of amusement
largely frequented by the neighbourhood. Here his
herculean feats, and prodigious strength, both in the
matter of ejecting the unruly, and presiding over the
nearly equally unruly who remained within, have become
a sort of by-word. The Jeuttesse-dorec, who compose the
audience, consist chiefly of the tricolour jersey-bedizened
young costers, and the white-aproned, long-fringed girls
of Hackney Road and Bethnal Green, of whom the fact
that they can show fight as well as the men is proved
by one young Amazon knocking down a fighting-man
who said what he had no business to say to her, in
some place of amusement. Hearing so much of the
celebrated " Chucker-out " made us anxious to make
his personal acquaintance, and a mutual friend promised
to effect the introduction, which was, however, delayed
by Jack s request, as he said he " couldn t go to see no
lady till his hair had grow d enough to part," the
necessities of his occupation compelling him to keep it
358 Memories of a Sister.
closely cropped. At last, one January afternoon, he
arrived, and his introducer afterwards informed us that
some one having given him an old pair of gloves, Jack
thought it meet and right to put them on for the
occasion, which was done by two able assistants, who
buttoned them, with instructions that he was to take them
off before shaking hands. He admired them all down
the Hackney Road, till, turning up Great Cambridge
Street, he remarked, " I d better begin to get these off
now, so that I can shake hands with the lady ; " and it
was lucky he commenced thus early in the day, as it was
found to be a labour of both time and difficulty. " And,
I say," he proceeded, "if you hear me a-going to say any
word I didn t ought to, you just scrunch my foot agin
the table ! "
Picture to yourself a tall, broad-shouldered young
fellow of seven or eight-and-twenty, with a muscular
neck, swarthed in a white " belcher," surmounted
by a rough, good-humoured face, a nose so macerated
as to be of no particular shape whatever, and a pair of
honest, kindly brown eyes. He soon became very
friendly, carrying on the greater part of the conversatio:
himself; informing us how, when matters got very roug!
at his place, he had to put on a " knuckle-duster," a so:
of metal case for the fingers, " for they are a rough lot,
they are, it s all I can do to keep em out at times. Yes :
I ve been in sparring competitions many a time. I
sparred along o Lumpy last week," and from descrip
tions of various vicissitudes he had gone through, ht
proceeded to expound his ideas on subjects in general.
Our Rougder ffeigfibours. 359
He had such a genial, good-humoured way, one could
not help liking him, and he was specially kind to the
dogs, for dear Toby was alive then, and, in company
with Sandy, sniffed round his legs. " See ! " said he,
pointing with his thumb to the old dog who was
looking up with his honest eyes into the kindly face of
the " Chucker-out," " He s a nice un, I like him, he s
a good sort of dog, he is ; but the other joker," pointing
to Sandy, who, with furtive and suspicious glances, was
dodging round the other side of the table, " don t like
the look of his eyes, he might give me a sly nip, he
might." We have since heard how specially kind he is
always to dogs and children, of how he got into some
row at " Rocky Charlie s (Carlo Rocci), him as keeps the
ice cream shop," about some dog he saw a man ill-
treating there ; and later still, he saw a man unkind to
a boy "he was an orphan, he were ; ain t got no father
nor mother" and took his part in a way that proved him
no inefficient knight-errant in the cause of the oppressed.
"He is a good chap!" is the remark we have constantly
heard ; " if he s only twopence in his pocket he ll give it
away to a pal in distress." Since his first visit he
frequently comes, now and again, and has been heard
to say to a friend that " days were when I would have
punched one of them Sisters agin the wall, but now I d
bash any one I see d insulting them ! "
Jack has a wide acquaintance among a certain set of
sporting celebrities ; he introduced a smiling, good-
humoured, fair-faced lad to us once, as being a cele
brated walker, he d walked in some match at the
360 Memories of a Sifter.
Aquarium, and he was going down to Northampton
to walk. "He s a good little chap, he is, and I ve a mind
to go with him, and see he don t come to no harm,"
patting him on the shoulder, while the young pedestrian
grinned from ear to ear. We also heard, through him,
of some other youth who had gone in for some sparring
competition, and won some small sum, and " he s a good
sort of a young chap, he is, for fust thing he says was,
half of this ll go for new togs (clothes) and half for my
poor old mother ; now, no chap couldn t say fairer nor
that."
As our friend s visits increased, so his outer man
improved. His hair managed to develop a most
perceptible parting, the " belcher " had disappeared and
was replaced by such a " masher " collar as at times
threatened to cut his head off; and most careful was he
to appear inwardly as well as outwardly in proper trim,
for once when he had promised to come, and did not put
in an appearance, a messenger brought word that " Mr.
Jack had been a little bit ckrvated the previous night, and
thought he had better not come."
He told us once, "Things was bad, and two chaps
come for me, and they says, Come down to Birming
ham, says they, we may get a job there. And one
bloke says, says he, I ve got two pun laid by, and that ll
take us down. So we went, and when we gets there, we
found there wasn t a job to be had at no price, and we
hadn t got no money, not nothink, and we d got lodgings
at Birmingham and hadn t got no money to pay with.
And one bloke, he says, Til tallygram to my old woman
Our Rougfier ffeigdbours. 361
in Bethnal Green ; I ve got a quid laid by, and that ll
fetch us home. Well, we sold some of our togs, and
raised a shilling for the tallygram, and we sent it off.
But Saturday night come, and no letter hadn t come, and
Sunday morning, and not nothink. Well, I went round
to some chaps as I knowed, to Alf. Greenfield him as
fought Jim Smith and he were very good to me, and
give me half-a-dollar, and says he, There ain t nothink
doing here, still, as you are a mate, I might find a bit of
a job for you. No, says I ; I come down here along
of these two blokes, and I can t leave em ; it wouldn t
be right, like. So I goes to another young chap, Sam
Brown him as fought Long Bob and he said he was
very bad off, but he give me a tanner, and Sunday
night we set out to tramp it. We walked miles and
miles along the road, with dust enough to choke you
a long, straight road, like, with tallygrapht wires
a running along it, and the heat was awful. Then,
when you come to stop and rest, we hadn t a morsel of
grub, only two penn orth of bread and cheese, and we
shared that among us. We couldn t get a drop of
water. We knocked at a door in a village we went
through, and an old woman looked out, and I says, Give
us a drop of water, missus, and she shut the door right
in our faces thought we were tramps, I suppose. By
Toosday my feet was all blistered from toe to heel. We
come to a village, and there was a round well at one end,
and a tin can a standing agin it. It was like heaven to
us ; we drank as much as ever we could, and we rinsed
our hands and faces, and then one of us had a little bottle
362 Memories of a Sifter.
see ! no bigger nor my hand and we filled that with
water and put the cork in, and put it in one of our
pockets, and tramped on again. There wasn t no shop,
nor pawnshop, in the village, only a few small houses,
like, or we d have pawned our coats for a bit o 1 grub.
The next place we stopped at by the road-side we took
out the bottle and put our fingers to measure where we
should each drink, and you should have seen how we
watched one another to see one bloke didn t drink a drop
too much. Presently we come to a big town, and we
sold some of our togs, and found a doss house four-
pence a night. It was a rough place, kept by Romanys
(gipsies). The bloke put up a bit of a bed for us all
laths but I didn t like the look of the people around.
I thought they d be sure and take somethink from us,
and I does up my boots in my coat, and puts it for
a pillow, like, under my head they didn t give you no
pillow. Next morning I ask the chap for a towel and
a lump of soap, and he says, Towel, and a bit o soap !
Why, what do you expect for fourpence ? Well, I d
a bit o soap tied up in my shirt, and I d this here little
handkercher, and we went in the yard and had a wash
and wiped ourselves on the handkercher look at it !
Then we went on to Coventry, and then a bloke sold his
togs, and we got the money to ride back to King s Cross.
I m blessed if I wasn t glad to be back in London agin!"
To leave this Ajax, and look around the host of
myrmidons, there are the "two Toms," "Big Tom" and
" Little Tom."
These " Rougher Neighbours," especially the coster-
Our ftougfier ffeig&bours. 363
mongers, are all wonderfully good-hearted, and kind and
helpful to each other, in their own rough and ready,
and, perhaps, we may add, semi-barbarous way. If
a " pal " is in difficulties, or in sickness, or anything,
his mates immediately get up a " Lead " to give him
a little something and set him going again, but all this
has to be done in a public-house. Have you ever seen
a " Lead " ticket ? Here is one for a sample :
"THE HALF-WAY HOUSE,"
GOLDSMITH S ROW, HACKNEY ROAD,
PROPRIETOR - - - PAT CONDON.
FRIENDLY MEETING
will take place on
SATURDAY, DECEMBER 5th,
for the
BENEFIT OF THOMAS JONES
(Better known as Ginger),
Who is in great difficulties, and having a wife and 3 children
to support, hopes his friends will rally round him on this
occasion.
Chairman TOMMY KING.
Vice F. SIMM. Conductor W. BRAY.
This case is strongly recommended by the following
gentlemen -.Little Tom, A. Brown (better known as Pepper),
Lumpy Smith, Ted Harvey, Mike Nolan, Long Jim, Bros.
Payn, and E. S. Wright (who will play a solo on the bones).
Is it not kind of these dear costermongers to help each
other, and do the best they can for each other in their
poor way ?
364 Memories of a Sifter.
The " Little Tom " mentioned on the above " Lead "
card, is a " pal " of " Big Tom s," and they have both
"done a short time," i.e., seen the inside of a prison.
They both used to visit us one winter, at which times
" Big Tom " sometimes read aloud interesting facts from
the paper, distributing the sentences, and pronouncing
the words as seemed best in his own eyes. He was
a young fellow of two or three-and-twenty, a carman by
trade, his wife was a fancy box maker, and they had
two children. " Little Tom " looked like an unfledged
sparrow, to look at, you would judge he had barely
attained his sixteenth birthday, and if he stood on tiptoe,
he might possibly reach your elbow ; nevertheless, " Little
Tom" is a married man with a strapping "missus,"
who walks to Paddington with a large basket of glass
and china for sale. Tom calls himself an engineer, but
was, like many more, out of work in the winter, though
Jack, in his kind-hearted way, tried to get him work;
and Tom told us he wouldn t mind what he did, so long
as he could get something " Why I d even wear a top
hat and get a place as driver, sooner than do nothink ! "
He was not, however, destined to the humiliation of
wearing a high hat, as he found a situation as engineer
at Enfield, and we trust he kept it.
And there is another face rises before me a face
like a turnip in shape and colour, with a gash for
a mouth, and two round holes for eyes a body clothed
in garments utterly at variance with each other and with
the wearer, having been destined for a gigantic man,
but by the fickle hand of fortune, placed upon a figure
Our Rougher ffeigfibours. 365
some five feet two. The wearer does nothing if he can
help it, and has thence earned the title of " Lord," being
a gentleman at large. He picks up a living in the
summer on race courses, holding horses, selling cards, or
anything. He exists in the winter by helping at cook-
shops, where he gets his victuals, and lodging such as
it is. At one cookshop he slept with the pig, which the
landlord was fattening. He had seen the inside of many
prisons. They have supplied him with food and shelter,
and what would you have more ? He is perfectly happy,
always smiling ; if you ask him how he is, " Oh, first
class, getting on a treat ! " Barring good-tempered
insouciance, I am afraid I cannot point out many good
qualities in him. His best friend, a young shoemaker,
said, "You see, he don t get on first class, he was always
so limited in his conversation, like ! " The last I heard
of him was, that he went over to America we helped
him a bit on the way and since then, absolute silence.
We can only suppose that his powers of correspondence
are as limited as his conversation was.
And now for another, with whom we had a better
acquaintance not quite so much of a personal friend as
Jack, but still more than a mere acquaintance like the
others. Jack, however, whatever his faults may be, was
as honest as the day, but our friend Harry belonged to
the tribe of the light-fingered ones. Time after time he
had been in prison for petty thefts. " I don t know how
it is, I can t keep off of it," he said, when he came out
the last time but one, to thank us for looking after his
wife and children. He is only twenty-three himself!
366 Memories of a Sifter.
"Why, you see, it stands like this if anyone was to
give me five-and-twenty quid down, and set me up
in a business, like, I couldn t stick to it ; I feel that
excited, I must go and try my luck again, and chance
being took. Yes; I know it ain t right, but you don t
know what it is to feel like it ! Yes ; I know you say
I ought to think of my missus and the little ones when
I m put away ; but she s a real good un, is my missus,
and she s true to me. I ve knowed some chaps wives
when their blokes has got locked up, they go on anyhow,
and I call it down right cruel, when a young chap goes
out a thieving to keep his wife and family, she shouldn t
keep herself to herself, when he s put away. Some chaps
ain t got no work, and ain t got the heart to go and
thieve ! Yes ; its very true what you say, but you see
I was brought up anyhow ; dragged up, you may call it.
My mother was no mother to me, and my father, he
shoved us out in the streets to get on the best way we
could. I don t know how I picked up a living, I m
sure."
We suppose he had been brought up in utter ignor
ance, and, besides possible latent kleptomania, he had
a strong spice of love of adventure and recklessness
engrained upon it. His eyes glistened and his face
brightened up, as he related tales of daring and hair
breadth escapes, very much in the same manner as
Sinbad the Sailor or Robinson Crusoe might have
related their adventures. "Things don t go far, once
you come to share them out," he said ; " silver ain t
worth much, but bless you, you don t make much on
Our Rougfjer ffeigfibours. 367
anything ! I know some chaps round City Road way
as had got a lot of silver bracelets and things, and they
melted them down a new frying-pan comes in as handy
as anything, and you can do it yourself, you know! "
We shook our heads, and said we did not see there was
any prospect, at present, of our being likely to try the
experiment. " Well, you see, these things was worth
twenty pound or so, but when you come to melt them,
why they don t fetch more than five pound, and then
they had to go shares among four on em ! Only
a thick-un, and five blow apiece (one pound five
shillings) ! That time as there were them riots on,
a bloke as I knows, he shoves his hand through a
jeweller s window and cops hold of a tray full of
diamonds, but they warn t no use to him, for the mob,
they chucked up the tray and the diamonds was all
thrown about, and trod in the mud."
" Come, Harry, do give up this life, and try and keep
square," we said to him one October, when he came out,
gaunt, close-shaven, and bright-eyed. " Well, I ll try,
I will indeed. I ll chuck it all up, and get right away
over the water, and get a little job there." And we
saw no more of him for a while.
One cold, gray December Sunday, coming out of
S. Augustine s, we discovered a tall figure standing at
the corner of the street, who proved to be none other
than Harry, who, greeting us hurriedly, said, " Sister, do
you mind going to see my sister s child, she s very bad,
and she does cry so to see one of you." Of course we
said we would, and having ascertained the street lay some
368 Memories of a Sister.
twenty minutes walk away, hurried there a narrow, dirty
street, with unkempt women, and staring children on the
doorsteps. When we knocked at the number indicated,
a sobbing woman opened the door, who led us into
a dirty, back room, where the wasted form of a little girl
lay, a fragile, waxen corpse, with parted lips, and rings
of flazen hair curling over the pillow. " Poor little dear,
she died half-an-hour ago," sobbed the mother. And
then she told us how the little one had been all keen
and excited for her school examination, and how she had
sickened and taken to her bed, and how yesterday she
had begged and prayed her mother to let her see one of
those "kind ladies with black on their heads and white
round their faces." And the mother had said, " She
means the Sisters, pretty dear, I don t know no Sisters,
but I ll get my husband to go and find some out, and
ask them to come." And he had set forth in quest of
some Sisters last night, and at length found some ; where
he went, or whether he left the right address, no one
knew, but the little one lay waiting, with flushed cheek,
and eager, impatient eye, and no one came. In the
morning Harry had come in to see his little niece, " and
I told him how Lizzie did fret so to see one of them
Sisters of Mercies, and as how we d sent somewheres,
and they d none of them come. And he ups and says,
says he, * I knows of a Sister as would come any time,
night or day, I ll wash myself and go round at once and
ask her, and then poor little dear, she died not half-an-
hour after he was gone. He s a good-hearted chap, is
Harry, and always ready to do a kindness to anyone, it s
Our Rougfar ffeigfibours. 369
a pity the poor chap can t keep square, for he s a deal
kinder and better to me and my little ones, though he s
only my sister s husband, than my own brothers are."
We laid out the little emaciated body, fetching night
dress and sheet from the Priory, and placed it on
a ricketty table in the front room, with a few Christmas
roses a friend had sent us within its crossed hands.
That there is " honour among thieves " has certainly
proved true in Harry s case. One February evening,
we were told he wanted to speak to us, and went outside
into the passage, whereupon he pointed out the defici
encies in the fastenings of the door, using his long,
slender hand to show us how little use the chain was for
protection, and strongly advising our having an iron bar
across. " You see, you can t be too careful," he said.
" Come in, Harry, a little while, and tell us how you re
getting on," we said. " I can t, Sister, I ve a job on just
now ; don t ask me to stop now, but I ll call in again
another evening but. Sister, be sure and have a bar put
on the door, and take care of yourself! " and, with a shake
of the hand, he flew down the steps and was lost in
the darkness of the February evening.
The next morning, the news flew round of a most
daring robbery committed in Hackney Road, the capture
of the thieves, and specially of the head of the gang,
a young man noted for his prowess and daring exploits.
The evening papers contained detailed accounts of the
whole affair, ending up with "the prisoner recognised
the constable and ran away, but was captured after an
exciting chase." When apprehended he said, "All
a B
370 Memories of a Sifter.
right, don t show me up, you have got me straight."
Poor, dear Harry ! if he had only listened to our en
treaties and gone right away.
We went to see him one bleak March day, in Hollo-
way Gaol. It was a long, weary tram drive, and a still
drearier-looking place at which we arrived. An open
space, crowded with people from very respectable,
shamefaced, sad-looking visitors, to jaunty-looking girls
and impudent lads, come to visit a " pal " who was
doing his time (a not unfrequent occurrence to them).
A friend who kindly accompanied us got Harry s dinner
from a public-house across the way, and the plate of
roast meat, swimming in gravy, covered over with
a piece of newspaper, was consigned to me, and with
that in one hand, a tin of beer in the other, and a piece
of bread under my arm, I took my place with " the rest
of the gang " at the gates. Every few minutes a small
door opened and a warder admitted four at a time, but
I, mindful of my sloppy burdens of beer and gravy,
could not push forward very well, and consequently
numerous detachments of fours were received, till the
warder called out, " You ve been waiting a long time,
Sister, will you come in, who do you want to see ? "
I gave him name and number, and the gate closed
behind me, and I found myself in a covered sort of portc
cochere with a small waiting-room on each side. In the
left hand one a fire was burning I suppose it was where
the janitor usually sat in the right hand were some
warders handing out blocks of wood, painted black, with
numbers in white letters, corresponding with the different
Our Rougher ffeigfibours. 371
cells, and on my stating again name and number,
I received one of these, and was told to follow the other
visitors, which accordingly I did, now laden, in addition
to the gravy streaming plate, splashing beer, rolling
bread, and my own umbrella, with this oblong block
which had to be carried in a prominent position, and
presented at intervals to divers officials who lay in wait
at sundry doorways, corners of passages, tops and
bottoms of spiral iron staircases, to demand prisoner s
name and number, and your own name and abode.
Patient travelling, constant showing of the black piece
of wood, and considerable detriment to ones clothes from
the combined streams of beer and gravy shed during the
ascents and descents of the steep staircases, at length
terminated after the last ascent in a long stone passage,
whence a warder, pointing to a flight of stone steps, said
No. was the cell first to the left.
Descending, I found myself in a long stone corridor,
round which an iron railed gallery ran at the distance of
nine or ten feet from the floor, and small doors with tiny
trap-doors in them, lined each side of the corridor.
No. was certainly painted over a door, but how I was
to communicate with the inmate was a problem, as there
was no visible communication. The little wooden door
evidently covered the grille, had no apparent handle,
neither had the door itself. In despair, I knocked, and
Harry s familiar voice said, " Is that you, Sister ? "
"Yes; and I ve brought your dinner, but I can t get
it in." " All right, wait a bit and some one ll come."
A warder in a minute came along the gallery, and,
372 Memories of a Sifter.
seeing my plight, descended, unlocked the door, handed
in the dinner, giving me a dirty plate and can in
exchange, opened the trap-door, which through a screen
of perforated zinc, gave you a dim view of the white
washed cell, and Harry in his shirt sleeves. " I m all
right, Sister, it s my luck you see there s nothing for it
but to wait quietly till my time s up. Ah, I wish I d
followed your advice, but I did mean to turn it up after
this last, and then, you see, I got copped, and here I am.
You ll be good to my wife, won t you, and I should like
you to have little Ada, and take care of her till I come
out, and you ll mind what I said to you about having
bars put agin your doors, and mind you take care of
yourself." He said how he should like his pony and
cart sold for the benefit of his wife, and sent some
messages to a friend, adding, " I hope he will never
come into this place." After some twenty minutes talk,
a bell rang, and he said, " There, that s for you to go ;
please shut this little trap-door, and good-bye, and GOD
bless you, and mind you take care of yourself." And so
we left him, poor fellow.
You will be glad to hear that we succeeded in getting
little Ada into an Orphanage in the country, and she is
now a housemaid, in a very good position.
How can we conclude what we have had to tell you
of our Rougher Neighbours, better than in the words of:
Charles Kingsley ? true, noble words, as his always
were :
" How many men there are going wrong very wrong
and yet in the midst of all their sins, there is something
Our RougQer ffeigfibours. 373
in them which will not let us give them up. Perhaps an
honest respect for good men, and for good and right
conduct : loving the better life, while they chose the
worse. Let us believe that GOD will not give them up,
any more than He gave up the penitent thief. If there
be something in them that we love, let us believe that
GOD loves it also, and what is more, that GOD put it in
them, and let us hope that GOD will take care of it, and
make it conquer, as He did in the penitent thief."
374 Memories of a Sister.
"
5&Mes" Supper.
IT was the evening of the " Blokes " Supper. I call
them " blokes " advisedly, because there is no other
cognomen exactly suitable for them. The feast is
entered in S. Augustine s Parish Magazine as the Coster-
mongers Supper, but that is a very incorrect definition.
Some are costermongers, it is true, but a great many
work in the wood-yard, on the canal, and some in the
lower branches of the boot line, and all are, in a greater
or less degree, infected with the disease called kleptomania.
They remind me of those great hulking dogs kept by
the gipsies in Epping Forest called " lurchers," half
sporting, half thieving animals, and our " blokes " (for
"bloke" is really the only true name for them), are, in
mankind, very much the same species, half coster, and
other employments allied to the coster, and half thief,
but not half bad sort of fellows, and far better behaved
than many young men in a much higher sphere of life.
Well, January 6th was the day appointed for the supper,
and great excitement prevailed among the masculine
frequenters of Goldsmith Row as the festival drew near.
The Mission of the Good Shepherd Sister was waylaid
by youths in tricolour striped jerseys, entreating for extra
tickets for special friends. " Such a poor young chap,
Sister, he ain t had no work, and he ain t had a square
"&Mes" Supper. 375
meal for I don t know when." On the evening of the
day, Mr. Jack Brown, the sort of Adonis of Goldsmiths
Row, the admired of all the girls, and the pride of
Lizzie s heart, for his height and his sparring, came up
to the Priory and begged for a ticket for " a young chap
as he know d, who had his ticket thev from him by
a bloke. " Who could refuse him ? He departed,
not only with a ticket for the aforesaid young chap, but
with one also for another young chap whose virtues and
necessities were painted by him in glowing colours.
Half-an-hour before supper time Mr. Joe Smith and
a friend appeared at the Lodge, begging for eight more
tickets for some deserving young chaps, on whose
account the supper tables had to be slightly re-arranged.
Eight o clock, and apres cela k deluge. In they poured,
white-faced, hollow-eyed, gaunt, haggard, pinched up,
unkempt, with ragged coats, revealing glimpses of the
tricolour jerseys beneath, and handkerchiefs round their
necks all lads of from eighteen to twenty-four years of
age, but the greater part stunted and dwarfed in growth
through privations and want of food. Conspicuous
among these myrmidons towered the athletic form of
Mr. Jack Brown, quite the hero of the evening.
Quietly and orderly as any well-drilled school-boys,
they entered the Lambs Club Room, hung up their
hats, and took their places at the two long tables.
Some of the Lodge members and some ladies from
the West End assisted in covering the board with joints
of roast beef, crisp, brown, and juicy, and delicious
long legs of pork, reposing in beds of sage and onions.
376 Memories of a Sifter.
Dishes of potatoes, baked and boiled, and refreshing-
looking piles of greens flanked the joints ; while jugs of
ale and lemonade stood on the sideboard ready for use.
The Vicar of S. Augustine s said grace, and took the
head of one table ; Mr. C. Astley Morris, the Church
warden, proceeded to dispense slices of beef at another ;
the Rev. H. G. Maxwell, late Chaplain of Coldbath
Fields Prison, and one of the Sisters, carved respectively
pork and beef at the other end of the tables. Pig dis
appeared, beef disappeared, potatoes vanished, hunks of
bread were seen no more, and then, in all their glory,
the Christmas puddings appeared upon the scene, and
were loudly cheered as they entered. They, too, had
their little day, and then their memory was a thing of
the past.
And then came the time for action, and the command
to call all hands and clear the decks. A detachment of
the members of the Lodge had come down to assist, and
it did not take long to place the tables round the room,
and range the forms down the centre, leaving a space
for performances ; and three chairs, facing the audience,
where a self-constituted chairman and two supporters
one being Jack took their places, like the Lion and the
Unicorn supporting the Royal Arms.
One of the members of the Lodge meanwhile walked
through the ranks, dispensing pipes and tobacco among
the company, amidst imploring cries of " Shag up,
guv nor! "
Mr. Maxwell meanwhile found several who had been
under his ministrations during their residence at the
"&Mes" Supper. 377
expense of the Government. " I seed him, that there
joker, when I was run in that there time. He were
minister there, and said the prayers to us," was faintly
remarked by " one of the crowd."
Songs were first on the programme. The chairman,
gorgeous in a pink-and-white paper cap, rapped with his
hammer, and said he called on Mr. Bill Giles for a song.
Mr. Bill was seated on a table in company with a
number of others, decked with a yellow paper crown,
and swinging his legs contentedly. His mother is
considered the best fighting woman in the neighbour
hood, and Bill himself is a notorious character for the
frequent and effective ways in which he fights his mother
up and down Goldsmith Row, on the slightest provoca
tion. Being possessed of such an Amazonian mother,
true to human nature, which usually clings to an ideal
the antithesis of what it possesses, Bill sung in a sympa
thetic manner a touching little ballad of " The Violets
on his Mother s Grave," that mother who brought him up
so tenderly, and made him love his Bible. Poor, dear
Bill, the choice of such a song showed the depths of
tenderness in his heart ; and what might not the tender
ness of a true and loving mother have made him ? Much
applause followed this song, for your true " bloke " loves
the sentimental, and another gentleman being called
upon, sung " The Ashes in the Grate," a song replete
with emotion of old loves and memories dying out " like
the ashes in the grate." Song followed on song, any
comments elicited a sharp rap from the chairman s
hammer, and a loud " Order, gentlemen, no remarks, if
378 Memories of a Sister.
you please ! " As the chairman called upon each, so he
duly appeared and sang his song, with the exception of
one who had just come out from " doing his time," and
therefore declined, naturally, to render his close-cropped
head conspicuous by standing up and singing. Thus
the evening wore on, until, we suppose, the triumvirate,
who sat, paper crowned, on the three chairs facing the
audience, deemed a change of programme necessary,
and the chairman accordingly rose and said :
" Gen elmen, ladies, and friends, having all enjoyed
ourselves so far together, some of the gents will oblige
with having a little sparring ; clear back a bit ! " and
waving his hand, the lion and unicorn shoved back both
audience and forms, so as to make a wider arena, and
then the chairman called on Mr. Jones and Mr. Taylor
to come and have the first turn. Up rose two lads one
with a shock head of very fair hair, looking like a bottle
brush, with a wizen face and little sharp, weaselly eyes ;
the other, a thin, white-faced, dark-eyed fellow who both
stepped into the ring and commenced "peeling," dis
playing striped tricolour jerseys under the shabby torn
coats they had doffed. The lion and the unicorn, acting
as seconds, assisted in the preparations, by releasing
a pair of dirty boxing-gloves from a handkerchief, and,
shaking and spreading out till they fluttered like banners
in the breeze, a red and a white handkerchief, which
both looked as if they might be made of silk. The
chairman, who was to act as umpire, calmly surveyed
the proceedings. When all was ready, and each in
their respective corners with their backers, he thundered
155* "5BMes" Supper.
379
forth, "Let go, gents!" and the combat began. How
they sparred round, how they lunged, how they dived,
how one got his head " into chancery," and how the tide
of battle rolled, requires a more sporting pen than mine
to describe ; but after a short space occupied by these
evolutions, the umpire sung out, " Have a blow, gents ! "
and the pair dropped back into their original corners, on
to the knees of two of the crowd, while the lion and the
unicorn each rubbed up his man, and flapped his face
with the crimson and white handkerchiefs. These
heroes having sufficiently displayed their powers, they
were rubbed down and re-habilitated, and the chairman
called on the Brothers Giles to oblige. The Brothers
Giles, being men of war, hastened to obey the summons,
which ended in the complete triumph of Mr. Bill over
Mr. Ted in the noble art of self-defence. A member of
the Lodge offered himself to enter the arena with the
" lion," and both being prepared, the chairman said
solemnly, " Gentlemen, a little spar between two
friends ! " This concluded these Olympic games, and
the company returned to the singing, and the festive
party broke up a little after eleven with three hearty
cheers for the Sisters.
One of the "blokes" had said afterwards, "Them
dinners was nice, it made you feel quite like a lamb ! "
I suppose the poor fellow meant they stilled the gnaw
ing feeling of hunger in his stomach, and, oh! what
a terrible feeling that must be ! And they looked like it,
too, some of them.
One of them, the round-faced, spotty one, who looked,
380 Memories of a Sifter.
as a Sister said, " like a devout dumpling," murmured
to one of the ladies : " I do like them women " then
as if afraid he had spoken disrespectfully he added,
"they are nice, kind ladies." It appears he had confided
to one of the Sisters that he was desirous of making a
speech, "as well as the other chap," to show his appreci
ation of the dinners, but somehow it never came to
anything, as he had never screwed up either his courage
or his eloquence to speaking point.
" But, Sister, I should like to join your Society," he
had proceeded, and as he did not state in what manner
he wanted to join the Community, whether as a sort of
Lay Brother, or Associate, or what, the matter dropped
then and there, and Tom ended the interview by borrow
ing a book to read, and sending word the next day by
his mother how much he liked it, and had got as far as
page fifteen.
The other day a poor, rough looking young man
entreated for a little help towards getting together " a few
greens on a barrer, then you see, Sister, I can go on the
hawk, and sell a bit here, and a bit there, if only I had
a few ha pence to start me."
The few ha pence was a matter to be considered ;
however, Charity prevailed over Prudence, and they
were consigned into the " bloke s " grimy hand, and he
promised faithfully to " bring the barrer round a Toos-
day, and shew you how I m getting along, like."
Well, "Toosday" arrived, but no "bloke." The
sorrowful Sister shook her head, and feared she had been
taken in, and bitterly regretted the loss of the halfpence
"5BMes" Supper. 381
from the Special Winter Fund. On Wednesday evening
came a ring at the Priory bell, and the little portress
announced : " Please, Sister, there s a young man
wants to see you."
" Some one who wants a dinner ticket, I suppose,
Carrie," was her reply. " Tell him to wait a minute."
When she went to the door in the gray light of the
cold March evening, there stood Charlie, smiling, dirty
and ragged, with a friend equally ragged, dirty and
smiling.
" Well, Charlie, how is it you never came to see me
on Tuesday ? "
"Ah, Sister, I knew you d think I d been and had you,
and it was all a make up, but I went down to Gravesend
with the few bits of things you give me the money to get,
and I got on fine, and got a bit o* grub, and I thought,
well it seems a pity to have the journey back to tell
Sister ; I hope she won t think bad of me, and so I
stopped till I was sold out, and now I can get on famous,
and I come to kindly thank you, and tell you I was
a-doing well," and with a hearty hand shake, and a
beaming countenance, Charlie shuffled off in the direc
tion of Hackney Road.
We were glad to hear our little help had started one
poor fellow, and kept him going, too, for we hear from
others that he is really getting on all right.
382 Memories of a Sifter.
JsGmaelites Sunday
Evening.
Story of January, 1892.
HALF-PAST eight on a bitter cold March night, the wind
swept down Great Cambridge Street in icy, cutting gusts,
scarcely a soul who could help it was out ; red lights
glimmered through the drawn curtains of such Hagger-
ston windows as were fortunate to possess curtains, and
the chanting of Lenten hymns from the churches rose up
into the frosty air. It was a sort of night that people
speak of when they say they would not throw even
a dog out. But, despite the keen and bitter blast which
blew so pitilessly, a crowd of poor, ragged, starved-look-
ing men were clustered round the door of S. Saviour s
Lodge that small white-faced building which humbly
stands besides the tall red Priory, like a sickly child
leaning against a buxom, rosy parent. And a very hard
working busy bee of a child it is, for under its sheltering
roof much very important business is carried on. In its
upper story is situate the workroom where old ladies can
earn a little something to help keep their pots boiling,
and downstairs is the headquarters of the Lambs Club,
as nice a set of young fellows as you could come across
Jsjjmaetites Sunday Gvening. 383
in a day s march, and the parlour and library is also the
rendezvous where many old friends of the Priory, who have
known it from their boyhood, meet, together with their
wives, and gather round the fire for a little social chat,
and for the sake of " auld lang syne." But our business
just at the present moment is not with the Club members
and the folk of "auld lang syne," but with certain regions
below, whence issue weekly at mid-day most delicious
soupy and meaty odours, and more than odours, good
bond fide viands for the sustenance of the sick and needy.
But just at present, this Sunday night at half-past eight,
the soup and meat are in abeyance, and the rich aroma
of coffee steams up the area into the nostrils of the
expectant throng outside.
The crowd stretched right across the street, and the
foremost ranks wait on the doorsteps, noticeable among
whom are a sickly-looking ragged lad on crutches and a
giant hollow-eyed bricklayer, who has starvation written
on his seamy, unshaven visage, and misery in the many
chinks of his barely-hung-together garments. A silent,
patient mob they are, pressing close together, stamping
to keep their feet warm, now and then exchanging a
sentence in a low voice, but, as a rule, voiceless ; what
should they have to talk about ? Does one man, borne
down by the weight of his own misfortunes, care to hear
another retail his bad luck ? Each heart knows its
own bitterness, why meddle with another s, or encourage
another to meddle with his own ? A little shiver passes
along the ranks as some more cutting gust whirls over
the Queen s Road Bridge, fluttering the rags and the
384 Memories of a Sister.
unkempt locks, but they are all men who have learnt to
suffer, and to suffer in silence.
Presently the behind ones perceive a sort of stir in the
ranks nearest to the door, as if they heard somewhat
moving inside, and in a minute a warm glow of orange
light shines out into the black street, and cheery, bright-
faced Mr. Ekins, one of the Priests of S. Augustine s, has
flung wide the portals, and is calling out, " Now, you dear
chaps, come in ! " Wedged tight, the phalanx moves
onward and upward, up the steps, over the lintel (well-
nigh squeezing the bright-eyed little Priest to death),
along the warm passage, down more stairs no, not to
the right, that leads to the kitchen, the stronghold of the
coffee but across a small yard to the left, into a long, low,
gas-lighted room, packed with rows of chairs and tables.
Here they fall into the kindly hands of some cheerful,
good-hearted young men, all members of the Lodge, who
pack everybody as closely as they can go, as space is
somewhat limited, talking and smiling and chaffing the
while to cheer up the poor, woe-begone creatures. Of
these helpers, one is a postman, one a hairdresser in
the Hackney Road, one a bootmaker, and so on. Once
seated, wedged close together, here a little tiny man,
all rags, near him a tall, big, sad-looking one, who
has evidently seen better days, and appears ashamed of
his present poverty, and all very much of a muchness,
they fix their attention on some large coffee urns
sizzling away in a corner, surrounded by piles of
white cups and saucers, over which we preside, and
some assistants (wives of the Lodge members), all
7?n Jsfimaelites Sunday Gvening. 385
just ready for the ensuing fray, with large white aprons.
To right and to left of us are big tin platters, piled
up with good thick slices of bread-and-butter regular
" door-steps " the manufacture of which had been the
handiwork of two of the Club lads, who gave up their
Sunday afternoon to working the bread-cutting machine
upstairs, and then to spreading the slices.
When everybody, cold and frozen and hungry, had
been admitted, Mr. Ekins returned and desired all to
stand for grace, after which the bread-and-butter battle
began. And it began, and was fought through in a
most systematic manner. Each aide-de-camp had his
and her own department. We and the lady portion
poured out and sugared the fragrant coffee, which was
then handed round in order by some of the young men
and the clergyman, while other of the young men con
stituted the bread-and-butter contingent, and handed it
around. It was all steamy and hot and cheery, and
everybody looking bright and smiling, after the cold,
dark street, and the lodging-houses or, in many cases,
no homes at all that these poor chaps came from.
The Lodge young men carried plates of good, solid
slabs of bread, coated with good, solid layers of butter,
and gave them out with some good-tempered, laughing,
chaffing speech ; other young men helpers ran down
the room with smoking coffee, hot and hot ; others
bustling down into the kitchen with empty urns,
and bustled up again, staggering under the mighty
weight of the odorous liquid ; and then, at the final, all
the tea-party handed up cups and saucers, which were
20
386 Memories of a Sister.
i
stacked by the young men into tin baths, and so
carried off to the lower regions. As for room there
was literally none ! Everybody was packed as close
as close could be, and rows of men were even seated
on the stairs ; but that made it only " the more the
merrier ! "
The next proceeding was the announcement of the
clergyman that those who liked to stay for the little
"talk" upstairs were cordially invited, and those who
would rather go were at liberty to do so, and we are glad
to say that only a small proportion availed themselves
of the opportunity of departure. And now began
Bother phase of this delightful tea-party, and that
was the handing up the forms and chairs into a room
Above, whither the guests were to adjourn for their
"talk." The young men passed each chair and form
one to the other up the stairs, and they were then passed
on from hand to hand till the room above was filled, and
then all the company followed up the little narrow
staircase, which debouched into a lofty room, called the
" Baronial Hall." It was the same size as the club-
room below, and had brick walls, coloured light red, and
hung with many pictures gifts, chiefly from our " Old
Boys," I suppose, to us and at the further end was a little
stage with a river scene, draped on each side with red
plush, and furnished with a piano, which altogether gave
the place a warm, bright appearance. At the top of the
staircase a young man stood with a bundle of hymn
books under his arm, and handed each one as they
ascended.
Jin Jsfimaelites Sunday Svening. 387
All seated, a sliding-door on the stairs opened, re
vealing a warm, cosy parlour, from whence emerged
a keen, energetic-looking, middle-aged Priest, our kind
and helpful friend, the Rev. H. C. Williams, who, with
a kindly smile and a shrewd eye, walked up to the
top of the room, and, after greeting the men, gave out
a hymn. Several girls, Lodge members, also came up to
help with the singing, and one presided at the piano,
accompanied on the violin by a young man, son of one
of the Hackney Road tradesmen, and sundry others.
The hymn was followed by a very hearty, manly,
straight-to-the-point talk from the middle-aged clergy
man. He spake as one man to another, heart to heart,
full of sympathy. He began by catching their attention
and interesting them by some topic of the day, and then
drew them up to higher things.
After the sermon, there was a great treat provided in
the shape of a very kind, talented gentleman who had
come all the way from the West End to sing to these
poor Ishmaelites. And he sung in a way to make them
all feel there was a "Better Land," to make them realize
there were better things ; now sweetly and tenderly, now
rich and deep, the cadence of his tuneful voice rose and
fell. How they listened ! How the poor old hard-lined
faces relaxed and brightened ! How the sad, hopeless,
dim eyes glistened and kindled ! How hope seemed to
be newly awakened in each breast as the ripe tones rang
forth, and he handled the keys of the piano with the
crisp and mellow touch of a master ! and at the conclu
sion of each piece he sung, the pent up emotions burst
388 Memories of a Sifter.
forth into a chorus of applause and clapping ! Thought
I, if West End people only knew what a little real good
music is to the poor Ishmaelites of the East, I feel sure
they would make efforts to come out and brighten, if for
a few minutes only, these sad and hueless lives ! All
thanks to this good American who came that wild
March night and cheered these poor brethren. The
Creed and the LORD S Prayer, repeated, standing up,
clause by clause, after the Rev. R. Ekins, concluded the
evening.
And so from the warmth and the harmony and the
picture-hung walls, from the white-capped Sisters and
kindly Priests, from the sweet-toned singer and genial
young helpers, these poor, dirty, ragged creatures passed
out into the dark and stormy night.
" Marching, this host of mankind,
A feeble, wavering line,
Where are they tending ? "
Where ?
I came, the other day, across these verses quoted in a
newspaper, and they struck me as so applicable to these
poor bodies :
" Dunno a heap about the what an why,
Can t say s I ever knowed.
Heaven to me s a fair blue stretch of sky,
Earth s just a dusty road.
" Dunno about life it s just a tramp alone,
From wakin time to dawn.
Dunno about death it s just a quiet stone,
All over grey wi moss."
But nights like this, small spots of light in the midst
of their gloomy lives, must help to lead them upward and
Jin Jsdtnaelites Sunday Evening. 389
onward, and the sweet tones of the singers and the
kindly, heart-stirring words of the preacher, and the
tokens of fellowship and goodwill from the young men
and maidens, must help them on their way to their
FATHER S Home, where one day the helper shall meet
the helped in the glory of eternal brightness.
390 Memories of a Sister.
Some
OUR " lady " friends are not behindhand with their
brethren in their fighting powers, especially those
bedecked with white aprons, monstrously huge feathers,
and bird s-eye handkerchiefs across their shoulders, and
who rejoice in the noms de guerre of " Bogie," " Bony,"
" Emma," etc., and some of them will fight any man.
One, indeed, split open her father s head because he
asked her whether her mother was in.
Among their number is a dark-eyed damsel with
whom we are slightly acquainted, whose husband was
"doing time " some while back, and Polly had obtained
a quiet lodging with a respectable middle-aged couple,
where she could go on with her work, and serve up till
such time as " her chap " should come out.
One day the appalling news came that Polly was
locked up ! Polly, who had kept herself to herself, and
was working so steadily to put by money. How came
Polly to be in such a plight ? The landlady was much
exercised at the event, and a Sister, to whom she came
with the news, promised to go with her and do her best
for Polly s release at the station-house, when, to their
united joy, Polly herself, a free woman, appeared on the
scene, and in a voluble manner narrated the whole of
the circumstances.
Some $irh. 391
" You see, Sister, this is how it was. Me and Annie
was standing talking on Saturday night in the Hackney
Road, and Sam Jones he comes along, and he was eating
of a saveloy, and he ketches holt of me and Annie to
swing us round, like ; and I says, Let go of me, let s
finish this, for I was eating a trotter when he come up :
so then he says to Annie, Come along, old girl, and he
swings her round ; and just then some toff come along,
with a albert and gold watch. Sam, he lets go of Annie
and snatched the watch, and he calls out to me, Ketch
hold of this, and I thought as how he meant the saveloy,
but he chucks the watch and runs off down that narrow
street agin the tea grocer s. Some bloke, some pal of his,
ketches the watch and goes after him ; and just then the
cop comes up, and he heered Sam say to me, Ketch
hold of this, and he said as how I d been working along
of him and had done it. I says, No such thing, get
along o you ; but he says, Shut up there ; none o
your tricks, you come along o me ; and he took me off
to the lock-up. What made it worse was, Mrs. Turner
(that s my landlady) she and I put our halfpence to
gether, and she d been and got a beautiful pig s head for
a shilling, and says she, Poll, old girl, you and I ll have
a rare treat for dinner to-morrow, being Sunday, and
I thought, Well, there s no pig s head for me now !
Well, Sister, they kep me in the lock-up Saturday night
and all Sunday. There was a woman in with me, and
the "cops" (policemen) were very good; they give me
some rugs and a pillow to sleep on and keep me warm.
There was a lot of chaps in the cells near been took up
392 Memories of a Sifter.
for tossing and being boozed and they keep on hollering
and asking everyone what they was in for, and they
hollered to us to know what we d got to keep us warm ;
and the woman as was in along o me, she says, they ve
give her two rugs and a piller; and they carried on
awful, and said the "cops" favoured such as me, and
went on shocking. Well, on Sunday, Mrs. Turner she
came to see me, and she brought me a lump of the
pig s head ; she says, You shan t go without, my girl,
though you are in this place. Well, you see, Sister,
when I was took up before the magistrate, she spoke up,
and says as how I didn t have nothink to do with it,
and they let me out to go along of her, and I hope
things ll go along pleasant, like."
These girls had their club rooms, where they could
dance and romp off their wild spirits; and it really takes
one out of one s self to see their hearty, happy enjoyment
of their evenings. One of the Sisters working there
wrote, " On Thursday we had a nice little addition to
our party ; a Hoxton lot came trooping in, introduced
by Mary Anne (the girl with the fringe over her eyes) ;
among them a dark, daring-looking girl who danced
herself into the room in the most audacious manner,
with a hat that would have satisfied even Sister .
A murmured Oh my ! of admiration from the whole
room, and every eye was on that hat of hats. It was
large and white, with two great white feathers which
went all round and back again, and lopped over behind.
Need I tell you the dancing ceased, the girl was sum
moned, the hat was most reverentially taken off gently
Some $irh. 393
would not have expressed it and with awe they hung it
upon the wall, to be admired for the rest of the evening ;
it would have been profanity indeed to have placed it
with the other poor, shabby, old hats! Miss
and I did enjoy the whole thing right well, and only
wished you had been there; it would have done your
heart good. I only hope we shall keep this Hoxton
lot, they are all much of a muchness, but this black
girl with the hat is what even they would call a hot
f un. "
Here is a little memory of one of their parties:
One New Year s Eve thirty girls of the Mission of the
Good Shepherd were to come to S. Saviour s Lodge to
tea and have a jolly evening, the Lodge being for that
night vacated by the mankind who usually inhabit it.
The Lambs club-room down stairs was to be the scene
of the feast, and a long table groaned under the profusion
of dishes of ham, and plates of cake and bread and butter,
divided at intervals with pyramids of oranges, and
glistening down its length with gorgeous crackers pink,
purple, and gold. A quarter-past eight, and punctual to
the tick of the clock came footsteps on the steps, and
sundry clumps and rings at the door, and the guests
began to arrive in detachments of threes and fours.
Guest after guest arrived, all sharp and punctual,
none thinking it good form to come late. Some in
white aprons nice, clean, white aprons! some in cross
overs, some a bit smarter with a bow pinned on, but all
with the straight, manelike fringe combed well down on
their foreheads. " What cheer, Polly, old girl ! " " Hulloa,
394 Memories of a Sifter.
Sue, how are you coming up ? " were the greetings. Half-
past eight, and the M.G.S. Sister announced that all
were there except four, and they would be sure to come
later on, when they could get away ; and so, accordingly,
the party adjourned below stairs to tea. Hot tea, ham,
and bread and butter unlocked the tongues which had
erst been tolerably silent, and the fun began to be fast and
furious. The last saying out (the refrain of a music hall
song), "Later on!" was bandied round and seemed to
afford a capital joke. " Some more tea, Polly ? "
" Later on ! " "Alice, here s a bit more ham ! " " Later
on, later on ! " " How are you getting on, Jenny ?*"
" All right, later on ! " " Do you think Lizzie ll come to
night ? " " Later on," etc., etc.
Tea and all the edibles soon disappeared, grace was
said, and the party ascended into the " Baronial Hall,"
and hardly up before all arms were akimbo, and they
were footing away at a jig with all their might and main.
Down went the Sister to the piano, and they began to
have a real good time of it. Presently, some of them,
half exhausted, discovered the presence of some easy and
rocking-chairs in the room, and accordingly ensconced
themselves in them in every variety of posture ; one
damsel, whose mother has the loudest tongue, and best
pair of fists for fighting in Reform Place, seated herself
in a rocking-chair, well back, with a knee square to
each corner, and feet dangling down a little beyond each
of the forelegs. " Hullo ! How d ye like London ?
I could do with this ; but mother says I musn t ; later
on, later on ! " etc., etc. One by one having jigged
Some r. 395
themselves breathless, sought refuge in a chair, and
drawing them into a half-circle, the Sister proposed
a song. One square, broad, stout girl, with the regula
tion fringe, and a red button nose, began an Irish song
in a voice which sounded as if she had "holloaed greens,"
in very foggy weather. " Stop that, Sal, taint a nice
one," was murmured round. " Oh, go on, let s have
another," and a tall, comely-looking maiden, with a neat
white apron, and a splendid set of teeth, began " The
Wanderer " in a rich, contralto voice ; this was followed
by an extraordinary but perfectly harmless ditty, yclept,
"Over the Convent Wall, I heard a Peculiar Call."
One young lady sung through a verse of a song, but in
attempting some high notes her voice cracked. The
audience laughed and cried encouragingly, " Go on,
Lizzie, old girl." " I ain t a-going to, I shall chuck it
up," but she thought better of it, and started again with
some power in her upper notes.
The rest meantime sucked oranges, leant back well in
their chairs, with their heels out, made audible remarks
on the singers, the songs, and each other, and threw
orange peel across at one another. What struck one
most was the utter absence of any self-consciousness on
the part of any single one. They ate and drank utterly
regardless of lookers on ; they danced with a perfect
abandon, and when, with a simultaneous movement they
wearied of that, they sat down just where they pleased,
and fiow they pleased, and ate oranges in the manner
that seemed to them the best. When singing was
proposed there was no diffidence displayed or pressing
396 Memories of a Sister.
required. None of as you usually find in dealing with
girls " Oh, do sing, just to please us, you know," was
required to start them. Not at all. Here they sat in
a circle, and when the spirit moved a girl to sing, she
opened her mouth without the slightest prefix and began
to sing. If dissatisfied with her own performance, she
" chucked it up." Comments (freely given) from her
neighbours were apparently unheeded by her, and so
long as she pleased to sing she sang, and when she
ceased, another girl began her song, and sang it right
through, utterly regardless of her neighbours. Nomads
as they may be when their foot is on their native heath,
the trottoir of Goldsmiths Row or the Hackney Road,
they are perfect sirens with deep contralto voices
when they elect to give tongue, and troll forth a ditty.
One sweet-looking, graceful, supple girl, with a bright,
rosy face and dark hair, which would curl naturally in
spite of the fringe regulations, sang a song, with a jftdling
chorus, and then danced a step-dance, which brought
down the house with applause. Versatility is a peculiar
characteristic of the feminine mind, and of the untutored
feminine more so, therefore of a sudden the circle was
dissolved and a wild waltz was commenced, which the
Sister at the piano endeavoured to keep within the
touch of time ; this yielded to the fascinations of a jig,
and the finale was a ring with every girl s arm linked
round her neighbour s waist, dancing backwards and
forwards, up and down the room, singing, " We re all
Very Fine and Large." Invitations had been issued for
their " blokes " to come to supper the following Thurs-
Some tyrh. 397
day, and they were very anxious that their own especial
chap should be identified. "You ll know Jim, when you
see him ; he s a tall chap the tallest what s a-coming ;
and, I say, Sister, he spars beautiful ; I ll ask him to
bring round his sparring gloves, and he ll spar for you."
Eleven o clock concluded this very delightful evening,
and by half-past all the guests had departed, carrying
off a sausage-roll apiece by way of a finish.
As the Vicar of S. Augustine s was just beginning his
sermon at the crowded Midnight Service, always held
on New Year s Eve, he was aware of the church door at
the west end opening, and he heard a solemn tramping,
advancing steadily up the north aisle. Turning in
that direction, he spied a troop of M. G. S. girls, who
advanced steadily in single file and took their places
near the pulpit, and thus the dawn of the New Year
found there the daughters of Heth, as their namesakes of
yore, making supplication to the Mighty Prince who had
come to dwell among them this blessed Yule-tide.
Of late years these girls have not abounded so much
in this neighbourhood. Reform Place is pulled down,
and baths and wash-houses occupy the site, and the
Sister who used to devote herself so entirely to them
has the pressure of the Rescue Home on her hands,
besides other important work.
398 Memories of a Si
Saved.
A STORMY, gusty evening in Liverpool Street. The
moon shines out fitfully from between the scuds of gray
and white clouds which are driven wildly across it, bring
ing, now and again, a sweeping shower of sou -west
rain pattering on to the pavement. The two great
railway termini of Broad Street and the Eastern Counties
send forth dismal shrieks and groans and whistles,
while ever and anon a heavy rumble denotes the de
parture or arrival of a train. The Underground Station
on the left-hand side vomits forth, and receives as
incessantly, streams of humanity, appearing from and
disappearing into the bowels of the earth. The hand of
the Great Eastern clock points to the hour of eleven, and
those theatre-goers who are anxious to catch suburban
trains before the last overcrowded one, are beginning to
throng the thoroughfare. To throng the thoroughfare,
did I say ? Surely I spoke unadvisedly. The thorough
fare is already thronged, and with as ghastly a gathering
as heart can well imagine. Girls, from the tender age
of seventeen to the hardened woman far on in the thirties,
pace to and fro ; girls bedizened with pearl-powder and
bismuth and rouge, and all the make-up of their hateful
calling ; girls in high hats, wreathed with flowers and
crowned with feathers, with seal-skin jackets and silk
Saved. 399
and satin gowns, with bracelets and bangles shining on
their arms, and necklaces and lockets and brooches
sparkling on their persons girls more or less denuded
of all that makes maidenhood and womanhood lovely.
Women, the star, the motive-power of man for good,
lying, the light extinguished, a stumbling block, to trip
up the feet of the unwary. The Indian proverb truly
says, "The hearth is not a stone, but a woman." See
here those who should have been the hearth -stone, the
centre of life and warmth and illumination to true, honest
men, and confiding little children, become broken,
smirched, befouled stumbling-stones to humanity ! A
good woman can work more than a good man. A fallen
woman sinks deeper in the mire than ever a man can.
Surely the Lilith of the old legends was not merely
a creation of the brain, a pure myth, an evanescent
imagination. Some wise seer must, in bygone ages,
have painted woman s character, composed of angel and
serpent, with wings to soar above the capacity of man;
or, stripped of the wings and angelic attributes, unlike
man, she has no power to stand, but sinks, snake-like,
prone to earth ; and from this ancient saga, painted in
the rude words of a long- forgotten language, was con
solidated an individual woman, and they called it
Lilith.
Of these poor girls in Liverpool Street each has her
own story. In most cases it was but one step, one little
sliding step, and she fell, fell as an angel fell from
heaven. Here is one, a fair young face, with soft brown
curls and would-be wistful eyes. She is only eighteen.
400 Memories of a Sister.
She was a servant in a family in Dalston. She had her
evening out, and she had heard talk of the many clubs
about. She had heard there was dancing and singing
and amusement ; and she dearly loved amusement.
She had heard that they were bad places, that bad men
and bad girls went there ! But what were bad places
like ? She should so love to peep in and see. She was
nearly seventeen, and could take care of herself, she
would just look in perhaps have a dance oh, how she
loved dancing ! and then come out and get home by
eleven o clock. And she went, and she had a dance,
and her partner offered her something to drink ; it was
something she had never tasted, and he said it was nice,
and she thought she should so just like to taste it, and she
did. She did not get to Dalston at eleven o clock that
night. She came to herself in a strange place with her
character gone. She wept bitterly ; tears were of no
avail. Tears which would fill the bed of a dry river
course could not replace those angel wings which that
one yielding to curiosity had shorn from her.
Look at that girl beside her. A fair-haired, vacuous-
looking girl, with bright blue eyes, and a pleasure-seek
ing face. She has a home and parents and a sorrowing
sister not far off. She loved pleasure, she loved gadding
about at nights, going to theatres, to music halls. One
night she stopped out later than usual. Her father was
a hard man ; he swore he would keep his door open for
no girl. The mother begged, the sister implored ; it was
no use. Late one night Lizzie, thoughtless, wild, reck
less, imprudent, but pure still, came home and knocked
Saved. 4 oi
at a barred door which neither mother nor sister dared
open. She turned away, and now has joined the terrible
throng that pace the streets around the precincts of the
three railway stations. Up and down, up and down,
seeking whom they may devour, their horrid laughter
echoing weirdly under the gaslights.
Stay what is this sombre - looking figure walking
slowly up and down the pavement opposite, now halting
by the fishmonger s shop, now turning and scanning each
group that flits past, looking eagerlyfor some face ? It is
a Sister of Mercy.
A young man, crossing to Liverpool Street Station,
wending his way regardless of the beckoning voices and ?
glances that throng his path, catches sight of her, and
hat in hand, steps up.
" Excuse me, Sister, but surely you come from S.
Saviour s Priory ; is there anything I can do for you ? "
" Nothing, thanks ; I am looking for one of my girls
who is lost."
And he bows and passes on.
Looking for the sheep which was lost from the Mission
of the Good Shepherd, and this sheep (unlike so many of
the others here) had taken her step wilfully, knowingly.
She used to be wild and careless, she used to crave for
fine clothes and ease and comfort and pleasure. She
used many and many a time to sorely grieve and make
sad the heart of the Sister. She was not like some of
those friendless ones, who had gone astray for want of
a warning hand to prevent, a warning voice to check.
She wandered away from the fold of the Good Shepherd,
2 D
402
Memories of a Sister.
and into what abyss had she not fallen ? And so the
Sister went forth to seek her lost sheep, to seek her in
the stormy night in this promenade of sin, and try and
compel her to come back.
The Sister was looking wistfully for her girl, but a sad,
wan face was looking wistfully at the Sister. Apart
from the groups of flashy girls, cowering from the glare
of the gaslight, standing against a dark recess of the
wall, was a young woman of some six or seven-and-
twenty pale and thin and sad-looking, with quivering
lips and mournful eyes plainly dressed, but with
clothes well put on. Standing and trembling, with
dilated eyes, fixed like a hunted animal, upon the Sister,
she remained silent. The Sister, after another searching
glance around, turned and repaced back in the direction
of Bishopsgate. In passing, her cloak touched the poor
woman cowering against the wall. A hand softly pulled
it, and a voice faintly said, " Sister ! " The Sister
turned, and met the full gaze of the wistful, pleading
eyes. An idea flashed across her. Did she know
Lizzie ? " Can you help me, can you tell me anything
of Lizzie ? " she said.
" Lizzie ? Oh, no ; I know no one here ; I have
never been to this place before at night, and, oh, it
is so terrible. Oh, Sister, what shall I do ? I never
spoke to a Sister before, but I have always heard
you are all so good and kind. Do help me, do tell
me what to do ! "
" Turn round and walk with me, and tell me about
yourself," said the Sister. And so they paced on up
Saved. 403
Bishopsgate, and this poor waif on the ocean of life told
her story.
" My husband is ill, so ill, dying for want of nourish
ment ; I am earning a little by my embroidery, but it is
so badly paid, and I do not know what to do, how to
raise any money. I have pawned everything to-night
I felt almost out of my mind." And then, in heart
broken accents, she confided how she had come out in
desperation to-night, feeling she must get money
somehow. "And, oh, thank GOD, I have seen you ! "
Thank GOD, indeed, that she had. The lost sheep the
Sister had come to seek was not found, but she found
instead this poor soul, torn and bleeding in the wilder
ness, just in time to save her precipitating herself
headlong over the fearful precipice into the Slough of
Despond below.
" Give me your address," she said, " and I will come
and see you to-morrow, and " a look into the woman s
haggard, steadfast face, told her the tale was true " here
is a little something to get your husband what is necessary
till I come, but have you no friends to whom you could
apply, or to whom I could apply for you ? "
" None," said the poor creature, sadly.
"Good night, and GOD bless you, and go straight
home, and I will come and see you in the morning."
A sudden gust of wind whirled a rack of ashen cloud
from off the face of the moon, and the white light shone
down, blanching the muddy street, casting dense black
shadows across the pavement, and playing in broken
reflections on the little pools of water. The woman
4 o 4
Memories of a Sifter.
flitted across the street, and was lost to sight in one of
the dark courts which pierce the walls on either side of
Bishopsgate.
The next day was Sunday, a bright autumn Sunday.
All the clouds of last night had been swept away. The
Sister took the envelope on which she had hastily
scribbled the woman s address, and set out down the
Hackney Road, cityward. Tram after tram met and
passed her on its road to the Lea, laden with lads and
girls eager for their morning s holiday. The doors of
Mr. Cuff s Baptist Chapel were thrown open, and streams
were pouring in ; the great man himself was advertised
to preach that morning. Numbers who would not set
foot within any other place of worship were drawn
within those walls by his rough, humorous eloquence.
Here were a knot of lads going to witness and possibly
take part in a Sunday morning boxing competition, in
a hall that was hired out for that purpose on Sunday
forenoon, a dissenting meeting in the afternoon, and
a dance and sing-song in the evening. As they
shouldered past the Sister they were talking loudly
of the chances Tom Tobbins had against Little Patsy,
and whether Toff Jones would really condescend to
put in an appearance, or whether his name was only
printed on the bills to make them "go off." Next,
a party of more middle-aged men, with hands in pocket
and " nose- warmer " in mouth, one of them dragging
a red-eyed, short-tailed white fox-terrier by a string,
hurried on to Club Row, to negotiate concerning some
traffic in birds and dogs.
Saved. 405
i
" Bloomin* pubs don t open till one o clock ; we ll get
a pint of four ale and a quartern of jackey (gin) first one
we come to then," said one.
"Yes; that s the best of them clubs, you can get
a drop of something any time of day or night there.
Any three members can force em to open. I did join
one, but my old woman she kicked up such an awful
shindy about it, I was bound to give it up."
Hastening past them came some girls, silk-handker-
chiefed, long-fringed, and surmounted with hats adorned
with monstrous plumes.
" I say, look alive, Jenny, there s our chaps got to
meet us agin the corner of Goldsmiths Row ; we ve got
to look sharp, or shan t I just catch it from Bill ; he give
me a black eye week before last, cos he thought I d been
a-stopping to speak to the bloke at the greengrocer s, and
come too late to meet him. I never wanted to speak to
no bloke."
" Ah, Ted s all the world the same. The potman next
door said something to me as I were cleaning the door
step, and I up and said I d fetch him a smack across the
chops, and Ted he come by and thought I was a-larking
with him, and he were that wild " And here the con
versation became inaudible as the girls were swept along
in the stream of humanity, outward bound towards the
Lea. Two young publicans dressed in the height of
sporting fashion, tight trousers, light cloth-topped boots,
pot hats, dogskin gloves, and a button hole a-piece were
laughing over some adventure of the previous evening.
"Well/ 1 never 1 To think of Fred Brown s old man
406 Memories of a Sister.
turning up just at that moment, and Fred as on as he
could be, and asking the old boy what he d take. The
look the old un gave him, as he said, I m a
teetotaller, " etc., etc.
Mumble, jumble, such are the varied polyglot patches
of conversation which falls upon the Sister s ear, all
unheeded, as she speeds her way along, not forgetting to
cast a keen eye around in case she may light upon her
lost girl. Diverging from Shoreditch down Commercial
Street brings her into the Hebrew region, and plunging
through labyrinths of narrow streets, she encounters
slip-shod, large, round, portly matrons, and lovely
Oriental, lithesome girls, who might almost have stepped
out of the Arabian Nights, only, even both older and
younger, having the glamour of dirt. A sudden turn
out of a side street brought her into a court. A group
of dirty children inducted her into an inner court, a long
narrow slip, where some unkempt women were drawing
water from a tap, and gossiping as they filled their jugs.
" Mrs. Gordon ? Yes ; her husbaad s very bad, she lives
agin there," said one, jerking with her thumb over her
shoulder ; and three or four heads, hearing a stranger s
voice, leant out of the upper windows to hear what was
going on.
A poor den it was, indeed. The man, a young,
emaciated-looking man, lay asleep on the wretched
apology for a bed. The woman was huddled up by the
fire, trying to prepare some food against he woke. The
warm autumn sun poured in through the curtainless
window, on to the cracked walls and broken deal table.
Saved. 407
The discordant voices of the children at play, the women
cackling over the tap in the court outside, were borne in,
mingled every now and again with a gruffer sound, as
some man emerged from his dwelling and pushed his
way through the narrow alley into the street beyond.
" And now tell me all about yourself," said the kindly
Sister, and the poor woman, pushing back the hair from
her wan face, and screening her husband s face with her
hat to keep the sun off, sat down and told her.
Her tale was short, sad, and soon told. The Sister
sat and considered what was best to do ; the sick man
turned over restlessly in his sleep and beat his thin arms
about on the pillow. A streak of yellow sunshine crept
farther along the table and lay in a broad golden ray
across a little bunch of flowers the Sister had brought
flowers sent by little country school children far away
a regular cottage posy, a bit of southernwood, some
straggling sprays of honeysuckle, one with scarlet
berries on, a blue pansy or two, and some white camomile
flowers. The woman sat gazing on them, and as the
subtle scent of the flowers pervaded the dingy air,
mingled with the peal of bells outside from Spitalfields
church, her thoughts stole back to Sundays long ago,
to the honeysuckle, purple clematis-wreathed little house
in the country village, to the little garden with its fruit
trees, where clumps of southernwood and thyme, and
sage and other odoriferous herbs nestled at their feet,
and the striped York and Lancaster rose her father was
so fond of, growing by the little arbour where he smoked
his Sunday pipe. And, mingled with these peaceful
408 Memories of a Sifter.
reminiscences, came a vision of another one, of a hand
some face, with violet eyes and dark curling hair, of
evenings in the little, low drawing-room, when his hands
stole cunningly over the piano, accompanying the sweet
soft tones of his tenor voice; her father s anger, her
mother s sad, disapproving looks and words ; the hurried
meetings under the tall hornbeam hedge which parted
off the little paddock from the garden, and then the
promise made to meet and marry him in London. Oh,
how long ago it seemed ! And then the disillusionment,
bit by bit, little by little ; the friends he brought home,
the drink and cards ; how business was neglected and
put off for race meetings and evenings out ; and then the
baby (thank GOD for it now) died, and then the crash
came, and they moved about from lodging to lodging,
living on her embroidery. Her father had forbidden her
ever to communicate home : she had had a few letters
by stealth from her mother, and then a curt message
from her father saying she was dead.
Some of Fred s old friends had got him an engage
ment to play at some little music-hall every night, but
that didn t bring in much. The money, when it was
paid, generally went in drink and treating his friends to
drink. Then he caught cold one cold night, and his
place was filled up. He got employment at last again
in a very low club in the East-end, playing from eight in
the evening till two or three in the morning : a horrible
den, and there was a row one night, and he was hurt
and brought home, and here he had been laid up here,
in this miserable, wretched hole and things had got
Saved. 409
worse and worse, till that desperation of last night, when
she went out in sheer despair, and oh, thank Goo-
met the Sister ! She shuddered, and buried her face in
her hands.
" Maggie ! " said a feeble, querulous voice from the
bed, and she turned round and flew to his side, gently
soothed him, and gave him what was needed.
The Sister looked up. "Give me your father s
address," she said, " I will write to him."
" It is no good," feebly said the poor thing.
" We don t know yet ; give it to me, and give me at
the same time the clergyman s."
They were given a far away little country village
in the shires.
" There is some beef tea and necessaries for your
husband," said the Sister, placing them on the table, and
you shall hear from me soon, and she disappeared into
the dingy court outside.
The return post brought a letter from the old country
Rector. Mr. Garrett had moved some distance off, and
was dead, but the daughter had married a rich horse-
dealer in an adjoining county, and he had communicated
with her, and a few days brought a letter, a kindly
pleasant letter, full of joy at hearing of her sister, and
begging them to go down. And they went down, and
Fred regained health and strength, and better still, began
a sober, steady life. I believe now he plays the organ
in some country church near, and I also heard rumours
of his giving music lessons in the neighbourhood, where
by he ekes out a living.
410 Memories of a Sister.
And poor Lizzie, the primary object of the Sister s
search, is she found ? I am sorry to say not, but a day
may come when better things may be brought home to
her, and, like Magdalene, she may be brought to the
feet of her Saviour.
Jim. 411
Jim.
FROM the unknown wilds of the far East a boy was
taken into the Newport Market Refuge starved,
emaciated, ragged, filthy beyond conception, steeped
in wickedness and degradation a sort of cross between
" Smike and Jo," with a large smattering of the " Artful
Dodger " and " Master Bates " thrown into the com
position. It was there I first made his acquaintance
indeed for some time we had a good deal to do
with conducting his education, for it was before the
days of School Boards, and under our tuition, with
a plug of tobacco well secreted beneath the regions of
the tongue, he learned to write a tremulously semi-round
hand, and, after a fashion, to reckon up sums on a slate,
Maybe, owing to the presence of the forbidden weed
lurking in his mouth, and also the rations of treacle-
pudding in which he perchance indulged, the conscious
ness of his proximity was always impressed upon you by
the strongly combined odours of treacle and tobacco,
which, however pleasing apart as separate fragrances,
hardly united the exact perfume you would choose to
inhale. The narrative of his early experiences he
related both to us and to his companions, and it appeared
by his account, that, though not actually the leading
man at the Britannia Theatre, Hoxton, still his
412 Memories of a Sister.
presence there as taking a part in the performances
had been considered highly beneficial to the tone of
the theatre generally. At the breaking-up day at the
summer holidays he improvised, and personally superin
tended, a marvellous little sketch, with some terrific
combats with the broad-sword (two wooden laths), con
cluding with an awful appearance of himself, smothered
in flour, as a ghost. Possibly the affair bore a far-off
resemblance to the " Corsican Brothers " he may have
seen at the Britannia.
During the few months he was at Newport Market
Refuge he had improved, was cleaner both in clothes
and habits, and the good nourishing food supplied him
did away with the necessity of putting tobacco into his
mouth to quell the pains of hunger, and at last we
thought we might fairly recommend him as page-boy to
a situation somewhere near Eaton Square. Thence he
came to see us the first opportunity he had of getting
out, sitting by the driver outside a hansom cab he had
chartered, radiant in buttons and a shiny top hat.
But, alas ! the buttons blossomed for but a while, and
he appeared on the scenes, saying the family had gone
abroad and left him ; subsequent investigation proved
the real fact of the matter having been, that the master
of the house considered the proper way to convey the
tea things out of the drawing-room was not by sliding
down the banisters, and on this point he and Master
Jim having had a difference of opinion, they agreed
to part.
He was housed in the House of Charity, in Soho
Jim. 413
Square, until another situation could be found him, and
then went as knife-boy to a hotel at Ramsgate, promis
ing on his departure to do better. There he remained
from September till about Christmas, when he wrote to
say he was apprenticed to a fisherman and gone for
a sailor ; and shortly after Christmas he appeared in all
the glories of a sailor s suit, a brown face and long hair,
and, of course, as usual, no end of marvellous stories
and romances to relate. The tale of his transition from
the knife-board to the deck of a fishing-smack was, that
he left the hotel because he did not get enough money,
was walking on the pier, when a policeman met him and
apprenticed him to his present master a tale, like all
his, to be taken with more than a grain or two of circum
spection. He said Mrs. Brown, who lived in Five Dials
hard by, would take him in, and in a couple of days his
holiday would be over and he should return to his
fishing-smack. But the appointed day came, and Jim
was still smoking his pipe round Crown Street, with
young Brown, and when questioned as to the cause of
his non-departure had a glib and ready reason at his
tongue s end. However, in a few days came a ring at
the bell of the Mission House, in Crown Street, and
I was called for, and found a stout, brown-faced
seafaring-looking man standing in the passage, who
asked if we had seen anything of his apprentice, Jim,
who had run away over a week ago, and sold some
clothes and a pair of boots to pay his fare. I then,
of course, related Jim s sudden appearance on the scenes,
together with the tangled skein of the whys and where-
Memories of a Sister.
fores of his still remaining there. " Ah ! he s a bad un,
he is ; my missus she come along o me, and we says,
says we, We ll find that there chap if we have to tramp
all Lunnon for it. You ve been a very good friend to
him, mum, you have, and he s deceived you awful.
He s got a likeness of you, he has, and he was always
a-saying, That s Sister , wot s been so good to me,
and a speaking likeness it is ; I should have knowed you
anywheres, mum, by it ; but for all he spoke about your
goodness, he s been a-deceiving of you, mum a-deceiv-
ing of you, the artful villain ! And deceiving of me, too,
for he s bin and took and sold a good suit of clothes
and a pair of boots to pay his railway fare up here;
and have him I will, the rascal, as sure as my name s
John ! "
We searched, and the smackowner searched, but
as well search for a pin in a hay-field as for a boy
in Five Dials. Mrs. Brown, on interrogation, said,
" Lor bless you, Sister, he s arter no good, that chap.
I was a-sayin to Mrs. Smith, like, as I didn t believe
none of his tales, and my belief was as how he d been
and run away, and how as I d put on my bonnet and go
down to Newport Market and tell Mr. Williams of
him, and she and I just stepped in next door for a minute
to see Mrs. Jones s baby, and, would you believe it ? the
artful villain was down in the lodgers kitchen, and heard
every word we said, and took himself off clear. Ah !
they re a bad lot, them boys round here. There s my
Tom ; his father says he minds neither GOD nor devil,
and he ll just tell Mr. Williams at the Refuge of him ;
Jim.
415
but, Lor bless you, he don t care ! His father s stripped
him, and tied him again the bed-post and flogged him.
But what s that to him? Please GOD, if he d only thieve
summat, I might put him away ; but, Lor bless you, if
they re too artful for that, what are you to do ? "
What, indeed ? Neither help nor counsel being pro
curable from this good dame, the matter had to be left as
it was. The smackowner departed to whence he came,
and Jim was gone entirely.
Jim had disappeared, driven away by the apparition of
the skipper of the fishing-smack, and terror of being
handed over to the arms of justice with regard to the
matter of the sold wearing-apparel.
But though he had disappeared, like Don Roderic,
King Arthur, and all other renowned champions of
history, there were floating legends regarding mysterious
appearances of our hero around the Five Dials. Tom
Short announced, " I see d that there Jim a-sittin on
a post again the doctor s shop ; he d got his hair all cut
short, like, and he was a-smokin a pipe, and a-telling of
me and the other boys as how he d been to sea, and
he and the captain hit a man on the head with the
anchor to get some bread, and as how they got caught
by the pirates in the West Injies ; didn t he, Farden ? "
Farden (short for the soubriquet of " Farden-a-dozen," by
which name he was popularly known as selling apples
for a farthing a dozen in the Dials) winked his movable
eye (the other looked persistently round the corner),
shifted one ragged leg before the other, and said, in a
voice hoarse with the " holloaing greens " on a Saturday
416 Memories of a Sifter.
night, " Yes, he did, and he said, Jim did, as how he
wished he d as many fardens as he d killed pirates, but
Punch Habbijam, he said, as how it was most like as
he d had three months for thieving, " and I think Mr.
Punch Habbijam s surmise was probably the most
correct one, and was certainly the verdict given by this
juvenile aristocracy of the Dials.
Seven years rolled on. The associates of Jim s early
days grew hoarser year by year with holloaing their
wares around the purlieus of Newport Market, varying
this somewhat monotonous occupation by intervals, more
or less brief, of visits to one of Her Majesty s houses,
where they were entertained by H.M. officials on bread and
skilly, and had time for calm reflection over their last
adventures, and also leisure moments to concoct fresh and
similar schemes. We had migrated eastwards to Hag-
gerston, and, amid the various interests and demands
upon our time and sympathies, had well-nigh forgotten
even the existence of Jim, till one winter morning a
letter arrived at the Priory in an official-looking envelope
with On H.M.S. printed on the top, containing news
from Jim that he was lodged in York Gaol, and was
to come out the following March, and implored the
Sister to write to him.
We reproaching ourselves bitterly for having for
gotten our erring boy did write, and begged him to
come and see us when he came out.
Well, one " wild March morning " came a ring at the
Priory bell, and a gaunt, hollow-eyed, rough-looking
man asked for Sister . When she went into the
Jim. 417
Mission Room to see him, he sprang from the form
where he was sitting down, stood upright before her, and
saluted prison fashion. If he had looked like " Smike "
in his early days, he now looked uncommonly like " Bill
Sikes." Some hot coffee and bread and butter and the
Mission Room fire seemed to thaw his frigid prison
demeanour, and in half-an-hour he began to talk like the
Jim of old days. What had he been doing all this
time ?
" Well, I tell you what, Sister, I ll be square, like, with
you, and I ain t a-going to keep nothing from you.
Remember that time I run away from sea and came to
you in Crown Street ? "
" Yes, I remember, and the captain came after you,
and you ran away again, and none of us could ever find
you."
" Well, I was a-going to tell you as this is how it was.
I run away, for I didn t want that there bloke to get me
and put me by for nailing them togs, like, and I knowed
this part, as I come from Old Street Road afore I went
into Newport Market Refuge. Well, you see, I went
down Whitechapel way, and knocked about anyhow,
and got along of some old man who said as how he d put
me in the way of a living. He was an artful one, he
was, what you call a gonough, got his living by
thieving, like, and he said as how he d teach me to
be a gun, that s you know, Sister what you call
a thief. Well, I got along of him and a rare gang of
them, and one night they took me along Commercial
Road, and they dropped me in at a window see ? and
418 Memories of a Sister.
I fell right in and lay there a-bottom of the window in
the room. / didn t know what to do, and they whispered
through the window to ketch hold of something and
come out sharp. Well, I looked round ; I didn t know
what to ketch hold of, and it was all dark, like, and
I felt something hanging again the wall, and it felt like
a woman s gownd, and I ketched it up, and got out of
the window, and we all run, and when we looked it was
a woman s velvet gown, belonging to some sheeny -
Jew woman, you know and had a gold locket in the
pocket. Well, you see, we went on that way a bit, till
one night, down near Ratcliffe Highway, I was a-going
out along of this old man, and there warn t no one else
with us, and I cut a woman s pocket out, and cut her
1 poke that s what you call her purse, you know.
When I came to look in it, there was nine shillings in it,
and the old man, he says, Let s go shares, Jim, says he.
Wait a bit, says I, we ll go down here and go shares,
where no one can t see us ; and I took him down a dark
passage, like, and give him a good bashing, like, on the
head (he was a very old man, you see), and clean knocked
him down stunned, like, and I took to my heels and run.
Well, you see, Sister, after this I didn t care much to
stop in them parts, and I went to Flower and Dean
Street, down Commercial Road way, and there I worked
with another lot."
"Worked with another lot?" said we, who had
rather shrunk back from the close proximity to an
individual who had been capable of emulating Eugene
Aram by decoying an old man down a dark alley and
Jim. 419
there breaking his head open, but to whom the word
"work" gave the impression that he had turned over
a new leaf and gone in for genuine honest labour.
" Well, don t you see, Sister, taint square work ! me
and some more guns we worked, like, together. Ot
course, you don t know what we mean by work. Say
there s three to work it. Well, one he goes before, to
be on the look out ; next one, he has to snatch the watch
or chain, do you see ? and then slings it to the man
behind, who runs. This is what we call working to
gether. I met a chap onst, with a gold-looking watch
and albert ; I walked right up to him and snatches hold
of it, slings it to my mate, and he bolted. The man he
tumbled to it. Where s my watch gone ? says he.
Lor, sir, says I, lost your watch ? Well, you should be
j careful among such a set of chaps as these. Look here
now, I ll go with you to the station ; and so I goes on
talking, like, to him, to give my pal time to get right
away. But, Lor bless you, when we come together again
and come to look at the blooming watch, twarnt gold at
all ! "
" Well, Jim," said we, " did you never get caught
and put in prison before this last time for all these
things ? "
" Well, you see, Sister, I fell that is, the cops
(police) got me several times, and I did s4iort times,
and my pals was a-waiting for me again 1 I come
out, and they says, Come along, Jim, we ll work
this fake up, but this last time I done five year,
and they tell me if I fall again, it ll go hard with
420 Memories of a Sister.
me. But, Sister, I ll be square now, and I ll never
do no more gunning. "
" Why not emigrate, Jim ? Start afresh in a new
country, away from all your old, bad companions. I ll
see what we can do about getting you off."
Jim snuffed and rubbed his face and hands, and stared
at the floor, and didn t seem to like the idea very much.
" Why not, Jim ? You can never do in London ; far
better go."
Still he hesitated and made excuses. At last, as if
making up his mind, he said, " Well, I ll tell you what,
Sister, I ll be square with you, I won t keep nothing
from you ; but, you see, I ve a young woman, and she s
kept square for me and waited for me all this time I ve
been away, and she come to meet me when I come out,
and I don t want to leave her."
" Will you marry her, then, Jim, and turn over a new
leaf and try to get an honest living, if we help you ? "
" I ll marry her, Sister ; she s been a real good girl to
me. She met me when I come out, and she d saved
a bit of money ; there was some chap a real square
chap, he was who wanted to marry her ; but she says,
No ; she d wait for her Jim."
" That s right, Jim, and you ll keep straight yourself,
won t you ? "
" I dunno ; seems I can t help snatching. What s
a bloke to do ? There ain t no other way of living when
once you ve been put away. The cops, they all know
you. One thing, you can always make money by
snatching. Sometimes I got as much as 5 some
Jim.
421
nights ; but, Lor 1 , it never seemed to stay by you. If
I got it one night I lost it the next ; drank some and
chucked the rest about somewheres. Then, you see,
Sister, it can t go on for long ; a chap must fall soon,
like me and my mates have done many a time ; and, you
see, the next time as I fall, it ll be a tenner" (ten
years).
Well, the result of this interview with its painful
revelations, was that he promised to bring the girl the
next night, and we, on our part, promised to see about
the banns being put up at once.
A nice, comely, smooth-spoken girl she was when she
appeared. Parents who cared for her she seemed to
have had no more than he had. She and her three
sisters had been brought up in Barnet Workhouse. She
ran away and went to service. She had left a situation,
and was near the " Angel," in Islington, one evening.
Some rough girls were talking to her and wanted her to
join them in a lodging. Jim spoke to her ; she said he
seemed a quiet, respectable young man ; she thought he
might be some sort of a clerk. He got a room for her in
Flower and Dean Street. She never found out that he
was a " gun " for some time after she knew him, and
that was by some large bales of cloth being shoved in at
the window.
Through the kindness of some friends, funds were
collected sufficient to purchase the wherewithal of a
prophet s chamber for them, viz., a bed, a table, and
a candlestick, to which Lizzie, in the pride of her heart,
and savings of her earnings, added a " mantel mirror."
Memories of a Sifter.
The eventful morning dawned when the wedding was
to take place. Lizzie was dressed in a neat dark dress
and jacket, and the kind fingers of the governess of
S. Augustine s School had furnished up a little black
bonnet. Soap and water had done their utmost to
improve the appearance of the pair. He looked radiant,
and, pointing to her when we came into the church,
said, " My, don t she look flash ! " The Service over,
the happy pair went to walk in Victoria Park before
returning to set their room in order, and in the evening
partook of the wedding tea which had been provided in
lieu of the proverbial breakfast.
The next day nothing was seen of them. The day
after Lizzie appeared disconsolate.
" Where was Jim ? "
" Well, Sister, I feel almost ashamed to tell you ; it s
a dreadful thing, and I feel that upset about it. It was
this, you see : Jim, he meant for to keep square and not to
snatch ever again, and says he, There s races to-day
at Epsom. Is there ? says I. Yes, says he, and
I m a-going to them races, and going to take those three
cards and do a trick or two, and see if I can t pick
up something ; but I ll keep square, Liz ; I won t
along with them guns again ; I promised Sister
keep square, and so I will. So off he goes, and I se
no more of him, and he never come home last night; and
a young man as knowed him came round to our place,
and he says, says he, Does Jim live here ? Yes, says
I, what do you want ? Are you his wife ? says he.
Yes, says I. Well, then, says he, I ve bad news for
Jim.
423
you. I ve come to tell you your husband s got a week
for the three-card trick. You don t say so ! says I ;
whatever ll the Sister say ? Yes, says he ; he d got
a bit of a crowd round him, and was working all fair,
and up comes a man in plain clothes some tec, I
suppose and he set the cops on Jim, and they ve
give him a week. So there s sad news for you, Sister.
What do you think of us now? "
We were terribly grieved, though thankful that it
had been only swindling the public, and not " snatch
ing," a distinction without much of a difference, and yet
a distinction between robbing an unsuspecting person in
cold blood, and cheating those foolish young men who
put themselves in the way of being cheated by attempt
ing to meddle with the three-card trick.
The week over, out came Jim, cowed, depressed,
sorrowful, penitent, hopeless, standing erect and saluting
in the old prison way when he spoke. What could be
done for him ? Enough pence were given him to procure
some fish, and he hired a barrow and attempted to sell
them in the streets ; but in the evening he carted his
barrow down at the Priory door, saying it was no use.
" Tain t no use, Sister ; the cops won t give you
a chance of a stand. Move on here, move on there ;
they all know me ; they says I only want to get a crowd
round to get a chance of picking their pockets." So it
was very evident that would not do.
It is hard enough to get employment for a man with
a character, but for a man without one almost hopeless ;
but at last, a very kind, good friend managed to get him
424 Memories of a Sister.
on as assistant to some engineer in a factory. Jim vas
handy, quick, civil, and obliging, and, when he choose to
be, could be most amusing. Wherein the office consisted
I know not, but the person filling it always rejoiced in
the name of " Strappy," as his province was to attend to
the straps connected with the machine, and it was the
verdict of the whole workshop that "that there Strappy
was just the right sort of chap."
Things really seemed flourishing now. Jim kept from
the drink (which had always been one of his failings),
his wife earned a little at needlework, they bought a few
more household goods, and, go up to their room what
time you choose, it was always to be found scrupulously
neat and clean.
Yet trouble came. Jim came round one evening,
evidently the worse for drink, saying, "I ve chucked that
job up ; taint no good trying nothing."
" Why, Jim, when all was going on so well, and Mr.
Richardson spoke so very well of you, and all the men
liked you so much ? "
" Tain t no use for a bloke like me. It s very hard.
It was just this way. Some woman as I used to know
down Flower and Dean Street was so awful wild that
I took up with Liz, and she knew what I used to be,
and that I had done a lot of times, and she found out
where I worked, and she come round when all the blokes
was a-coming out, and she carries on, and tells them all
what I was ; and now it s a nice old time for me. I
can t go back no more. It fair give me the hump, I tell
you; and I ve took a drop more than I ought, Sister, and
Jim. 425
after all I ve promised you, too ; but what s a chap to do,
when it s all again him ? Oh, there s lots more old
pals of mine the same way. If some one as knows you
don t round on you, the tecs (detectives) do. There was
a nice young chap done his five years, and got a job
when he come out, and them p lice, they went round in
plain clothes to the bloke, his governor, and they says,
Have you Tom Sparks a- working for you ? Yes,
says he, and a very respectable, hard-working young
chap he is. Well, look after your money, and mark
it, says they; and then there was that poor young
chap s character clean gone, and he had to leave ! "
What was to be done now ? That door was closed,
and there did not appear to be another one to open.
Some one suggested the Steam Navigation Company,
Jim s getting a berth as fireman on board one of their
vessels, as he understood something about that line of
business. But that, again, was a difficult matter ; and,
while the subject was pending, it was the hardest work
possible to keep Jim from the drink, or from joining his
old associates, who seemed to waylay him at every
opportunity.
The door of help at length appeared in the shape of
engineer at some sugar factory, and everyone hoped Jim
was fairly launched again. Things did go steadily on
for some time. Jim kept clean and neat, and looked
thoroughly respectable. He minded the Priory door
while some unruly boys classes were held, and sum
marily ejected any refractory pupil. He likewise assisted
at some of the boys hastily-got-up theatricals being
426 Memoriet of a Sifter.
sometimes a brigand who had to be shot by some valiant
cavalier ; sometimes the victim of some nigger barbers,
who, under pretence of shaving him, lathered him with
flour just whatever pleased the boys most, that was he,
although on one occasion when he was shot he fell, not
only on the platform intended for his reception, but very
nearly headlong down a flight of stairs leading to the
Mission Room below.
And a jealous guardian was he of the Priory rights
and belongings. One of his old Crown Court friends
a potman in Soho came over to see us, as he
used to know us there, and Jim found out that he
meditated stealing some little article while we were out
of the room. " Come, none of that," said he. " Don t
play none of them mean tricks. Smack it on, and go
and sneak summut outside if you want it, but don t
touch nothing here."
The temptation to join the exciting old life of his
former associates must at times have been very great,
especially at race times, when they used to go round for
him, and want him to go and try his luck. One Derby-
day three came round for him in a hansom cab.
"Regular swells," his wife said, "they might have been
lords if you hadn t known, and nothing would do for
them but that Jim must go with them."
One day he came in looking very depressed.
" I m stone broke, and got the hump. Glad I didn t
go out on Monday. An old pal, who had done his time,
every ha porth of it, come up, and sent round for me to
go with him. It fair needled me to see him sparring
Jim. 427
round and a-buying new clothes ; and there was me, as
clever a man as him or any one of them, in these old
togs. I felt I d half-a-mind to chuck it all up and
go in with them at the old game. However, I m
glad I didn t, for I heard on Friday he d fell, and
got two years."
" Yes, I m glad you didn t go," said we. " I sup
pose this poor man could not get anything to do, and
was obliged to take up his old ways."
"Well, it s just like this, see. They knows when
a bloke s time s up. and they watches for him again he
comes out, and they gives him a thick *un (sovereign)
or so to set him up, and go off on the old fake. When
I was in York Gaol, the chaplain he says to rne, You
warn t a-praying in chapel, Jim, says he. No, says I
to myself, that I warn t. I was a-thinking what
a barney I d have when I come out. You re a real
bad un, says he ; * you ll never come to no good.
Well, says I, I knows there s a lady as prays for me
night and morning, and her name is Sister , and
she ll never round on me. "
" When one door shuts, another opens," says the pro
verb ; and though the door which had, during sundry
epochs of Jim s life, opened upon him had been that of
a prison, that seemed shut at present, and his door of
escape from falling back into his old thieving life was
that of some engineer s work in Shoreditch. Halcyon
days had now arrived. A snug little room was rented,
kept neat and clean by Lizzie s hands ; Jim went to his
day s work an honest respectable labourer, and returned
428 Memories of a Sister.
in the evening feeling he had really earned his money by
the sweat of his brow, and not taken it by the dexterity
of his ringers. We felt happy. There seemed a
prospect of peace and prosperity for the present. One
April evening they were all busy at the Priory, preparing
for an Eastertide Guild Reception, fixed to take place at
S. Augustine s that evening. The door-bell rang
violently, but as that happens about forty times in the
course of an hour during the day, it was supposed to be
only one of the many applications which daily throng
the Priory; but a summons to the door speedily dis
pelled every dream we might have had of Jim s peace
fully having settled down in a quiet rut. There was
a cab, and in it Jim, yellow, green, purple in the face,
kicking and struggling, with a very black tongue hang
ing out of his mouth. There was Lizzie, neat and
white-aproned as usual, holding him on one side, and on
the other a red-faced woman, on whose bloated features
drink was visibly stamped. What was the matter?
What had happened ? Had he had a fit, or what was
amiss ? Voluble Lizzie launched out a long story of
how " Jim had gone in to have a drop of something at
the corner, like, and if there wasn t that very woman who
was jealous of Jim marrying her ! same one as got him
the sack from the other place, and how as she got Jim
to drink along of her pretended to be friends, like you
know ; and how as she, unbeknown to him, dropped
some sort of powder into his glass, which made him all
bad, like, and he was brought in by two men. It give
me that turn, like, I didn t really know what to do; there
Jim. 429
r
was Jim a-calling out as he was poisoned, and his throat
was all a-fire ; and I says, I ll take you to Sister ;
and he says, Yes, take me quick; and this lady" (point
ing to the red-faced woman) "as lodges in the house
says she d come along of me." Jim s moans and groans,
and yells and kicks, and contortions of face and body in
creased in sound and magnitude, and at every fresh
ebullition the bloated-faced lady held a black bottle over
him, and poured a few drops of water into his mouth.
Telling the cabman to drive to the London Hospital,
we dismissed the lodger and took our place by Jim,
who clutched my arm like a vice, screaming, " I m
poisoned, and she s done it ! " The prompt remedies
applied at the hospital rid Jim of whatever poison he
had swallowed, and, with a few directions from the doctor
for his treatment, they departed. But the event seemed
to have upset him, and the days of peaceful labour were
over.
Talking things over with him, it was pointed out that
in drink lay a good deal of all his misfortunes ; had he
not drunk with this woman, she could not have poisoned
him. Why not take the pledge ? " Ah, why not ? "
said Jim, starting out of his despondent attitude, and
smoothing his well-oiled hair over his forehead. " Why
shouldn t I ? Then, when a bloke comes along and asks
me to have a drop, I can tell him as I m on the teetotal
job." Jim was in sheer earnest now, and took the
pledge and signed his name, and peace was again
restored. But his path seemed as thick beset with
thorns and briars of temptation as was ever that de-
43 Memories of a Sifter.
scribed by Thomas the Rhymer ; and Jim was frail and
weak, and the very sound or sight of yum was too much
for him ; as he told Mr. Skilbeck once, " I could take to
it like a duck to a pond I could swim in it ! "
Engineering is thirsty work, and Jim succumbed to
the seductions of the treacherous spirit, and went, as he
himself expressed it, " fair on the booze." The pledge
was broken, work was lost, furniture broken up, and he
was like a madman, given up to the evil influences of
drink. Then he moved away the Sisters did not know
whither.
One day Lizzie came round with a doleful tale of how
Jim had been " beside himself with drink, and had
bashed up every stick of the home, been out with bad
company, and pawned all his clothes, and was now in
bed ; and, Sister, 1 clursn t ask you to go and see him,
for he says he never wants to see you again, and he ll
chuck yoii right down the stairs."
" Never mind, Lizzie ; Jim won t do that ; let s go
round and see him."
It was a burning summer day, and the streets of
Bethnal Green and Whitechapel through which we
threaded our way were pervaded with glare and dust
women sitting on the door-steps, children playing on
the pavement, and crowds of thirsty men trying to solace
themselves in the public-houses.
Up a narrow street, crossed over by the Great Eastern
Railway, and up a narrow court we proceeded. There
lay Jim, covered over by a ragged quilt. The fierce
mid-day sun poured in at the window on his savage,
Tim. 431
ugly face. To judge by all appearances, he had touched
neither soap nor water, comb nor brush, nor felt the
touch of a razor for days ! Filthy, defiant, brutal looking,
with hands bearing the same date of non -ablution as his
face, there he lay. Speak ? Not he. Acknowledge the
presence of a visitor and his old friend? Nay. He
clawed the clothes over his head, and buried himself in
the dirty blankets. It was plain nothing could be
elicited from him, and the only thing was to go glad to
have found out his abode, and intending to pay him
another visit very shortly.
And the next visit was destined to be in a very
different place, where Mr. Jim had no longer the free
control over his own actions which he had possessed in
Whitechapel. Jim had got all wrong, and his com
panions had got hold of him, and, to quote his own
mystical language, he " fell," otherwise, was taken up
and committed to Coldbath Fields. Lizzie, clean, neat,
and with a flow of graphic language which never deserted
her, arrived with the news that " Jim was took ; he had
got mixed up with some of them chaps, and they had
been out with that there board, and there was de
tectives there, and they came down upon them ; the other
chaps got away, but Jim was took with the board. "
To explain what the board is, and to give an account
of how the public viewed the affair, we quote from one of
the daily papers of the date :
" James T , labourer, was charged with gambling
with a horseracing-board and carrying on a system of
swindling by means of a secret spring. Detective-
432 Memories of a Sister.
sergeant B said that on Saturday afternoon he saw
a crowd of persons near the corner of S Street, and
on approaching, he saw the prisoner with a board
before him, on trestles. On the surface of the board
were eight divisions and horses painted on each of
different colours. Above were revolving hands. Some
of the company present placed a penny in each com
partment, and if the hand stopped at any of those they
received double. Witness watched the game, and was
satisfied there was some trick attached to it, as the hand
generally stopped at the compartment not covered, so
that the parties (mostly lads) lost their money. The
prisoner had confederates, and he allowed these persons
to win. As soon as witness had the assistance of another
constable he seized the board and secured the prisoner.
It was just in time, as some of the persons had dis
covered the fraud, and would have lynched him.
Witness here exhibited the board for his lordship s
inspection, showing a secret spring under the board
attached to a button at one corner, which communicated
with the hands, and by being pressed caused them to
stop at any compartment the operator pleased. It was
a complete system of swindling, and had been carried on
surreptitiously for some time. The prisoner here said
he was a hard-working man, and being out of employ
lately he had assisted in the game. The board, how
ever, did not belong to him. He was identified as
having been convicted for felony, and several times
under the Vagrant Act. The prisoner said he had
worked hard since then, and gained an honest
Jim. 433
livelihood. He was sentenced to six weeks hard
labour."
Poor Jim ! It was better than if he had stolen again !
While he was in the House of Detention, Lizzie had
to take him his dinner, and the day she brought the
news, we accompanied her to Clerkenwell. There is
a cook-shop close by the Sessions House, and there we
turned in for a plate of food which we carried round
with us, and a difficult operation it was, too, as the
plate was very shallow, and the gravy very abundant,
and to jostle along through the crowd near Clerkenwell
Green in the middle of the day, balancing a plate thus
filled, was trying work.
Our interview was conducted through iron bars, and
as
" Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage,"
there was no limit to Jim s tongue, as he bestowed a good
deal of abuse upon the warder with regard to the bread
he had been given for breakfast: "A lump of toke that
hard, I should like to have chucked it at him ; there
it is ! " pointing to a corner of the cell. " / ain t a-going
to eat no toke like that for no one ! "
But he softened a bit before we left, and we
suspected the tone of bravado was assumed to hide
all he might be feeling. We only saw him that
once in the House of Detention, for he was committed
just after.
Poor, poor Jim ! A woebegone, sorry man was he
when he came out, grieved and ashamed and abased at
3F
434 Memories of a Sifter.
having abused all the kindness shown him by the Sisters;
and now the weary work began again of looking out for
something to do.
By Mr. Skilbeck s kindness he was got off as a fireman
on board a vessel belonging to the Steam Navigation
Company, and went long voyages to Australia and Florida,
and shorter ones to the Levant. Marvellous letters
were written home, both to the Sisters and Lizzie, and
more marvellous still were the yarns he recited when
ashore ! And thus good days came again, and Jim kept
steady, till, one unfortunate day when he was due to
depart, his fearful enemy drink overcame him again.
Good resolutions fled, temperance promises were broken,
the " Dr. Jekyll " portion of him was wholly lost in that of
"Mr. Hyde," at "one fell swoop." Not being at his post,
another fireman took his berth, and Jim was left, " sans,
berth, sans character, sans hope, sans everything,"
plunged in bitter remorse, utter despair, and hopeless of
all things. Mr. Skilbeck, who had so often be
friended him, here came to the fore, and paid his
passage as an emigrant to Australia. Lizzie was to
have gone as well, but was pronounced by the doctor to
be too ill to have her certificate of health as an emigrant
signed, so went to stay with her brother in the country
till such time as Jim should send for her. In June, 1883,
then, Mr. Skilbeck s clerk saw Jim on board, and off
at Gravesend. We heard of the vessel s safe arrival in
Australia, but from that day to this not a line has been
received from him, nor do we know whether he is dead
or alive.
Jim. 435
Poor Jim ! he was like " Ginx s Baby " one of the
waifs and strays of humanity, tossed about on the waves
of this troublesome world, now obscure by billows of the
deepest darkness, anon drifting gently into the shimmer
ing rays of light streaming down from above. Like
another of his handicraft of yore, he had at times drawn
very near the Cross, and we can only live in hope, and
pray that when his end comes or if may be it is already,
even his last look may have been turned towards that
Cross, and that his last thoughts may have been,
" LORD, remember me when Thou comest into Thy
Kingdom 1 "
436 Memories of a Sister,
Yal: a Memory.
IT is of a dear and valued friend, with whom I was
intimately acquainted, that I wish to write and tell you
the simple tale of his little life his joys, his sorrows,
his pains, his pleasures cut short in the springtide of
youth and happiness by an untimely death. Of four-
footed friends we have had, in our time or rather their
time many : not only the cats and dogs who have
formed, at different periods, a part of the Community,
but the many outsiders with whom we have come in
touch, and with whom we have been on the most
amicable terms. Pie-bald, tabby, tortoiseshell, and black
cats ; sound cats, sickly cats, injured cats, and mangy
cats ; cats with commendable tempers, and cats who spit
if you looked at them ; cats with bushy tails, and cats
with broken or half tails ; cats whom the dogs flew at, and
cats who flew at the dogs ; all, indeed, who have come
over the garden wall, whether as a matter of curiosity
and investigation, or whether prompted by need of
sympathy or the call of hunger all these have been at
various times placed on our list of friends, including also
starved and squalid cats, curled up in impossible places
to try and get out of the way of boys. Dogs, although
the acquaintance has been more limited, have been
rather nearer and dearer to us than even our pussy-cat
YaL- a Memory. 437
friends dogs who let you pat them as you passed in
the streets; dogs who were found dying of starvation
and had to be consigned to the police for conveyance to
the lethal chamber at Battersea, or else temporarily
nursed up and provided with a home ; dogs who lived in
people s houses where you visited, and who greeted you
as a welcome guest ; dogs whom your heart went out to
on account of their honest faces, although opportunity
might not occur for a pat or a word all these have been
friends. I think, beyond cats and dogs, we have not
known many four-footers very intimately. I once drank
tea with a goat in Haggerston the family and I had
tea-cups he had a basin set between his front legs on
the table, and behaved himself in a most exemplary
manner, although there lurked a sort of mischievous
look in his eyes, probably from the consciousness of
having eaten up part of the family washing that after
noon when it was hung out to dry in the backyard. But
until we became acquainted with Val, we never had
a pig on our visiting list. And this is how it all came
about :
The cottage garden at Herne Bay possesses some out
houses in every way suitable for a pig s residence, and
a kind-hearted rector, not so many miles off, proposed
sending a black Berkshire to inhabit this eligible home
an offer which was accepted with delight by the Sister-
in-charge. The pig was promised on February i4th,
and, therefore, Val seemed the most suitable name to
call him by. I think it was the rosy month of June that
Master Val was taken away from wallowing among the
438 Memories of a Sifter.
straw in the bosom of his family, and, with much squeak
ing and many protestations, was hoisted into a dog-cart,
to be driven by a groom to Sittingbourne Railway
Station. Half-way down a steep hill, which required all
the man s attention and power of wrist to hold the horse
from stumbling, he became suddenly aware that Val had
got out of whatever he was packed in, and was medi
tating a leap from the cart, and an attempt to return to
his family and friends ; there was nothing for it but to
drag him up on to the seat beside him, and hold him fast
by the ear till they got to the bottom of the hill, where
he could stop and re-pack him. How he got into the
train, and how he bore his railway journey, I never
heard, but he was welcomed most warmly at the cottage,
and was soon quite at home in his own house, revelling
in quantities of fresh, clean straw. What a happy
summer he had ! what a proud and happy pig he w r as,
and how proud the Sisters were of him, and how pleased
all the guests at S. Saviour s Grange were to go and see
him ! " Have you seen Val ? " was one of the first
questions asked when a new guest arrived. And to see
Val was really to see something out of the common.
The Sisters always said he understood all that was said
to him, and you could hold regular conversations with him
as he would grunt an assent or dissent to all you said.
He would run to meet you directly he saw you through
the palings, and was sometimes in the humour for con
versation, sometimes in a playful mood. He could play
just like a kitten or a puppy with little bits of stick, and
had such a cunning little look in his eye, just as if he
Val: a Memory. 439
were wondering whether you enjoyed the game as much
as he did. It was a happy summer.
But happy summers, like all other pleasant things,
come to an end. The plums and peaches on the garden
wall had been gathered and sold, the cabbages were
touched with early frost and the tips of the leaves curled
up and blackened ; the hodge of sweet-peas showed only
brown pods instead of the pink and lilac blossoms which
had scented the whole garden ; even the parsley did not
look quite so fresh and crisp as it had done some weeks
ago. The apple-leaves turned brown and yellow, and
were blown across the onions into the ash-strewn garden
path ; and the rose tree, whose long, green, red-thorned
suckers climbed over the summer-house, where the
babies prams and bassinettes were kept, only had one or
two sickly-white roses, which looked as if they felt
themselves quite out of place so late in the year, and had
made a great mistake in flowering at all. And Val ?
Poor, dear Val ! The faces of the Sister and the house
keeper at the Grange grew very sad and thoughtful, and
they held mysterious whispered conversations together,
sometimes also, I am afraid, with a gentleman in a blue
linen coat, who lived in the town, and was often seen
with a steel hanging at his side. Val gambolled and
grunted and played and talked, but he could not dispel
the sad look which overshadowed their faces. The
guests had nearly all gone, and the one or two there
were remaining all looked sorry, somehow, when they
spoke of Val. One, I believe, who had known him less
intimately than the others, was overheard to say,
440 Memories of a Sifter.
" Sister, shall you eat any of him ? " " No, my dear,
decidedly not," was the prompt reply ; " why, it would
be like eating a slice of a friend ! we don t want even to
see a bit of him." Autumn advanced, and the sunsets
over Sheppy Island grew more west and less northward,
and the Blean Woods changed from yellow to red, and
from red to brown, and the cold white mists came
creeping like stealthy ghosts over the wide fields, where
in summer the larks had sung so sweetly, and the
Grange and cottage gardens were black and dull, for
the frosts had nipped everything ; and the little
wooden out-house in the corner of the cottage garden
was empty. The straw was swept up and stacked away ;
the little trough had been scrubbed out and leant against
the paling ; and, as the Sister walked beside the celery-
bed, there were no little grunts and snorts of joy at the
sound of her footstep, no little round black snout pressed
against the barrier, no pair of little twinkling, humorous
eyes to watch her with delight. Val was hanging up
like the Jacobites of old, " hung, drawn and quartered "
in the butcher s shop, and some heartless person^ who
ate various roasted portions of him told the housekeeper
afterwards, that he " tasted very good 1 "
ft <Peep into $reen Street, fletdnal reen. 441
3PL *Peep into $reen Street,
ffietfinal $reen.
GREEN Street is a most wonderful place ; it is so full of
shops, so full of traffic, so full of rough-looking men, and
rougher-looking women, so teeming over with children,
so full of life and bustle and colour, that it is quite
a channel of vitality, and really does one good to walk
down it. There are big shops, brimming over down to
the ground with the most gorgeous china, such pretty
shapes, such pretty colours, tea services, jugs, and basins,
every variety of basin and basins are, to my mind, most
fascinating things and here, in the Green Street shops,
you have such a variety of choice ! And the tin shops !
Pots, kettles, teapots, saucepans, all of burnished tin, and
all looking as if they cried out, " Come and buy me! "
What a tempting place for a young coster and his lady
love to saunter down on a Saturday night and pick up
" the sticks " towards making the home ! For besides
these magnificent shops, there are all sorts of fascinating
articles displayed on barrows and that cheap ! A friend
of mine got the very cunningest little soap-dishes off one
of them the other day, and purchased a meat dish of
a colour and pattern that set one envying, for some in
credibly small price. I don t know what you can t get
on these stalls. Pieces of oilcloth just the sort you
442 Memories of a Sister.
want for short lengths cotton, print, pictures, candle
sticks, all manner of odd-come-shorts that you couldn t
pick up anywhere else. And everything looks so bright,
even the very omnibuses which run along it are of the
most brilliant yellow.
The object of our journey down Green Street the
other day was to see our old friend, the late matron of
the Hostel, who has taken a coffee-shop down there. A
nice little coffee-shop we found it, a corner house, with
a great gigantic griffin of a public-house standing at the
opposite corner, puffing and swelling itself out with all
the inflation of plate-glass and blazes of gas-light. Our
friend had found it a hard matter to transform the dingy
little hovel she found it, into the neat, clean abode it is
now. Rows of tables, a few pictures on the walls, and
large, plainly-printed cards with " No gambling allowed,"
and " To prevent mistakes, pay on delivery." Some
rough, honest-looking men of the labouring class were
having their tea as we passed through the shop on our
way to the bar parlour behind, among the tea and coffee
urns and the bread and butter appliances, and engaged
in a conversation, continually interrupted by " Give us
another slice, missus ! " "I say, missus, give us all the
change in coppers, I ve got to take my young woman
out to-night, and she ll give me no peace if she thinks I ve
got a bit of silver about me." Little " Toots," formerly
the Hostel dog, assists in the coffee-shop with her
mistress, and keeps a vigilant eye on each man until he
has paid, and is out of the place.
" The set of customers are pretty rough," said Miss
Ji *Peep into $reen Street SBetfinal $reen. 443
C- -; "mostly what they call brickies, that is,
I suppose, men that load and unload carts with bricks,
etc. They come in to breakfast at five in the morning,
and you can hear them moving about outside and talking,
waiting to come in, long before."
" Why don t you open sooner, then ? "
"Oh, its illegal ; you re not allowed to open before
five. The girls and I have to be up at four to get the
tea and coffee and things ready, and then, when we open,
there is a rush ; it s all you can do to get them served,
and you d be surprised to see what a lot some of them
carmen, and brickies especially, can eat. A couple of
pints of tea isn t it odd how most of them prefer tea to
coffee ? we have to make nearly double as much tea
and bread and butter, thick, doorsteps they call them,
then herrings, and kippers, and bloaters, and some of
them two or three eggs, and rounds of toast. I couldn t
make out, when I first began, what it meant when a man
came in and said, A pint o tea, two slices, and
a magistrate. A magistrate, I said, whatever s
that? Well, I found out at last, it meant a haddock.
We allers calls them magistrates, he said. Then they
often say, A pint o tea, and smash us a egg in it,
missus. They are a rough lot, but I ve always found
them very civil to me. There s one man, a stout, strong-
built young fellow, they say can fight any number of
policemen ; very similar to one of those you saw sitting
there when you came in. He doesn t come now ; they
say he was such a terrible man outside, but in here he s
as quiet as anything. The roughest lot we ve had are
444 Memories of a Sifter.
boys who live by selling old iron ; they re mostly in rags,
as if their clothes were falling to pieces, but they seem
able to spend 3d. or 4d. on their breakfasts. One or two
of them used to use terrible language, and say things
that made you turn cold all over ; but one morning I
went to them and said, Do you always talk like that ?
because, mind, if you do, you musn t come in here.
Well, they ve been quite respectable in their talk ever
since ; you know they saw I meant what I said, and
wasn t going to stand any nonsense. The boy that
talked the worst had such a pretty, innocent-looking
face.
"The men all seem to have what they call fancies.
that is, birds or dogs, and sometimes they bring their
birds in with them in little cages, tied up in a handker
chief.
"The worst of all about here seem the girls and
women. They go crowding into that big public-house
ever so early in the morning ; you see women, nearly all
rags, taking their little babies in with them. It makes
me quite sick to see it, and then, at night, the screaming
and noise in the street is shocking. You hear a man s
voice saying, Come here at once, or I ll hit yer ;
and then the wife, Shan t come in till you treat me
to that half-quartern of rum as you promised, and then
such language and carryings on till you hear the police
man s step coming along, and then its all skurrying of
feet running off different ways. I wish something could
be done for the women and girls ; you can t expect the
men to be better till they are."
Stray Reminiscences. 445
Stray Reminiscences.
LOOKING back over all these past forty or more years of
a Sister s life, it is wonderful to think, in spite of hard
ships and all sorts of discouragements, and all sorts of
what at the time seemed worries how much past
happiness and sunshine one has to be grateful for. In
the old Soho days, when we and our workers had to
sleep, four of us huddled up in one small back room, one
on the couch in our general living and eating room,
and one on a mattress on the floor of the Superior s
bed-room, while the rats .scuttled in the dark, gloomy
passages below, and the police chased the thieves over
head, how thoroughly we enjoyed it all, even when it
came to sleeping in starched, cold, ragged garments
borrowed from the poor clothes-cupboard, because we
had given away our own, or being reduced to such
straits in the food line that we had to send out to
the pie-shop at the corner for penny pies, and then
found cockroaches in them, till kind, good Admiral
Cospatrick Hamilton found us out, and helped us, not
only with money but with friends. We I say we, but
the others have passed away always found him one of
the best and kindest and most helpful of friends, equally
good to us in Haggerston as he was in the old Soho
days. The present Lord Halifax, then Mr. Charles
44 6 Memories of a Sister.
Wood, was also a fellow-helper in Soho. I recollect he
and Mr. George Lane Fox coming round with Mr.
Chambers to see the Church and Schools one afternoon.
Mr. Wood was most kind and interested in everything
and anxious to help, so he arranged with the Sister-in-
charge to come, I think it was two days in the week,
while he was in town, and take my class of boys ; and
a pretty troublesome set some of them were. I came in
contact with him again a year or two after, at the
Cholera Hospital in Spitalfields, where he was helping
in the men s wards, and he worked as energetically at
unpacking blankets and doling out food and medicine
as he had done among the unruly boys of Soho. Miss
Sellon had and perhaps wisely, too forbidden her
Sisters to speak or to be called away from their meals,
as it was difficult to find time to get them at all. One
of the head Sisters of a ward was eating her dinner, and
I was sorting medicine-bottles, in the room where the
store cupboards were, when in rushed Mr. Wood. A
fresh case had been brought in. Father Grafton (who
was also nursing) wanted blankets immediately to roll
the poor fellow in where could he find them ? The
Sister, in strict obedience, was obliged to go on eating,
and could only point, and shake her head as Mr. Wood
touched one cupboard after another, interrogatively. He
in despair turned to me to find if I knew. No, I didn t ;
and so the pantomime went on, till at last the Sister
nodded, the blankets were produced, and when I had
found the medicine I wanted, I returned to the ward in
time to be able to assist with the bed -moving and
Stray Reminiscences. 447
re-arranging. He and I met the other day at an E.C.U.
meeting in Haggerston, and it was amusing to talk over
old times, and to find he remembered the names of some
of the most troublesome Soho boys. There are lots of
little reminiscences which keep cropping up in one s
memory as one looks into the misty recesses of auld lang
syne, especially of the Soho days.
One of our most energetic helpers there was a Mr.
William Lowe, of High Holborn ; he was the only
man besides the Rev. J. Williams, of whom the big,
rough boys were really afraid, because, like that gentle
man, he could use his fists as well as his tongue. In
the early sixties there was a great commotion because
he put a notice in his window that the shop would be
closed on Ascension Day. " Ascension Day ! What do
you mean ? Why, the Queen s Ascension Day is June
24th, not next Thursday ! " He stuck to it though,
and carried his day. I remember the indignation at
some parochial or church meeting at S. Mary s, when I,
perfectly unconsciously, said, " Oh, Mr. So-and-so keeps
a curate." This was received with a cold stare of dis
approbation, especially by the curates, till Mr. Williams
put in kindly, " Don t you see, Sister comes from
the grass country, and there they always speak of the
Squire keeping so many hunters and the Rector so
many curates." I was relieved, for I couldn t think
what I had said amiss ! Those were days when people
got up for a five o clock Celebration on purpose to see
a Priest vested in a chasuble, which in the early sixties
was only ventured on at that early hour. We had been
448 Memories of a Sister.
used to see it, for Dr. Neale had always worn the full
Eucharistic vestments in the Oratory at S. Margaret s.
There were often very odd cases in the House of Charity,
of all nationalities, and Mr. Chambers always sent the
children to our school during their residence there.
Among them was a Polish family. The father rushed in
to Mr. Chambers one day, waving his hat in his hand,
crying, " I vill join your Church, de Protestan Church !
I did go to de Fader Barge (the Priest at S. Patrick s)
for relief; I did say, You give me somethink or I vill go
to de Protestan Minister at de corner of de street.
Fader Barge did say, Dere is de door ! so I am come."
Dear, kind-hearted, old Father John ! Of course he
gave him something, of course he took him into the
House of Charity till he could set him up in a little
shop ! and the children came to us, stolid-looking, white-
faced, blue round-eyed, flaxen-haired girls and a boy.
The Polish papa appeared at the Mission House door
one day, hat in hand, gesticulating and bowing, and
said, " I have to tank you. I have open a littel shop,
for vich I pay von littel five shillings ; I sell de littel
herring, de littel sprat, von, two, tree littel orange. I do
not come to beg, von day I vill give you somethink."
The last time I saw him was ten years afterwards, crying
in the hall of the House of Charity, on the day Father
John was buried. Sometimes very sad things happened,
and here is one. A nephew of a well-known baronet
lived in Princes Court, one of the worst slums in
Newport Market; he was married to a disreputable
woman, and they kept a disreputable house. Mr. Tuke
Stray Reminiscences. 449
(at that time one of the clergy of S. Mary s) had tried
again and again to win him over to better things, but he
would listen to nothing. He stood at the street door
the best part of the day, surrounded by bull-dogs. He
was hated by the boys of the neighbourhood, as he
stopped their swearing, and so in revenge they managed
to poison one of his dogs. Shortly after he was taken
ill, and was quite delirious, and the boys, knowing
he could not interfere with them then, holloaed and
shouted under his window. It was more like Dante s
" Inferno " than anything earthly. The swearing and
shouting of the boys in the court, the howling and
raving of the miserable man inside, and the whining
and howling of the dogs crowded round him. Mr.
Tuke did all he could, but it was no use, and he
died unconscious.
Soho and the old Crown Street days have passed
away, and though at times there were scenes and
circumstances unutterably sad such as this last one of
which I have spoken there was the rosy glow of youth,
and love of work, and in so many cases such happy
results of combined love and work, that its memories
are always unspeakably pleasant. Re the subject of
work, reminds me the last time I was inside S. Mary s,
Soho almost a new S. Mary s, though a little bit of the
dear old place was left I was much struck by an
address I heard Mr. Cartmel Robinson give, on " Work
and Labour." " Wovk was work that you did with your
heart and soul in it, the true gift of GOD, the crown of
manhood ; but degenerated into labour when it became
2 G
45 Memories of a Sister.
mere mechanical drudgery and weariness. Work bore
the mark of personality ; labour was the toil of
compulsion." I think I have quoted the words
rightly, but it must be quite six or seven years ago
since I heard them, and I have always thought of
them with pleasure.
Since putting together these papers, another old friend,
the Rev. George Prynne, has passed away. One s short
period of work with him at S. Peter s, Plymouth, during
the autumn and winter of 1867-8, is a very bright time
to look back to. He was always so intensely kind, so
truly sympathetic and genial, and he had a wonderful
way of gaining the hearts of all his workers. Beneath
his particularly sweet and gentle exterior, there existed
that wonderful strength and force which enabled him to
fight so boldly and uncompromisingly in the very early
days of Church revival.
Also, may I mention another name ? of an old and
valued friend, to whom I owe much of my Church teach
ing in my pre-Sisterhood days, and that is the late
Rev. Charles Gutch, of S. Cyprian s ? I first knew
him in Cheshire, at the time of the Crimean War,
and his strict and holy life was a lesson in itself
to us as children, and to all those among whom he
ministered.
Nearly all the friends of one s own generation have
passed away, and one feels disposed at times to say
Stray Reminiscences. 451
with Jacquou le Croquant, " Comme la lanterne des tre-
passes du cimetiere, je reste seul dans la nuit, et j attends
la mort," yet it is only sometimes, for one s mind is stored
with happy memories of by-gone days and by-gone
friends, and the greatest of all joys "I dwell among
mine own people," among the friends, new and old, of
the dear East End.
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