with the rich Dissenters, and hook them in, and he knows that Mr. C.'s ways will prevent it; so he has resolved to turn him off, and has written to the Bishop, making an especial charge against him for his violence against Dissenters, though he was engaged for the express purpose of opposing our influence.. He also tried to prevent his getting another curacy in the neighbourhood. So, at Mr. C.'s request (for he has become excessively friendly with me of late, now we are brothers in misfortune, though he tells me I shall be damned), I wrote a letter to Mr. Crompton, who wished to engage him. In this I said that Mr. C. had certainly been very violent against us; but I thought him far more consistent with the doctrines of the Prayer-book than those who professed greater liberality. I praised him for his plain-speaking, zeal among the poor, etc., and said that though opposed in doctrine, he had always treated me in the kindest manner. Mr. Crompton went to the Bishop armed with this letter and another; but the Bishop would not read either. So the congregation signed a memorial in his favour, with about six hundred names; and some arbitrators between the two parties decided that it should be sent to the Bishop. And they got me to write another letter, in which I spoke in the same way as before; and also said that as I mixed very much with the working classes, and knew their feelings, I could state from experience that, before Mr. C. came, almost all looked on the church as an engine of the State for the benefit of the rich; but that Mr. C. had shown them that there was at least one clergyman determined to do his duty; and said that though we were opposed on one point, yet we were each desirous of teaching men to live soberly, etc. (Titus ii. 12-14). This gave great delight to the leading churchfolks, who before were very bitter against me; so if it does no more good, it has at any rate removed prejudice. It's a new thing for a no-creedian parson to be recommending a Puseyite clergyman to the Bishop, is it not? Well, dear Charles, I meet you daily at the throne of grace, and if we could daguerreotype thoughts with the sunshine of love, you would be inundated with letters from me." G He had hoped to have had his last half-year "clear for finishing his work at Stand," but fresh work presented itself. In February the master of the Endowed School (in whose room, adjoining the chapel, the Sunday school was taught) was taken ill, and he felt obliged to undertake the school. Mr. Dean afterwards helped; but Philip took three days, having his own pupils another day. "This," he says, "and hosts of lectures, sermons, writing, and every kind of work, so filled my mind and time, that my business letters were as short as possible, and I scarcely wrote home. For half a year I never went to bed before twelve, often one, or even two. If this had been mere work, I could have stood it; but the unhealthy room and the great excitement of tuition were too much for me." He had been very anxious to state his views on the question between the Employers and the Employed, in reference to the mutual discontent which had prevailed during his residence at Stand. He wrote two lectures, with great care, and delivered them on consecutive Sunday evenings at the Mechanics' Institute, Radcliffe, after his chapel services. A report of them appeared in "The Inquirer," sent by his friend Mr. Howorth, and he refers to them, and to other matters, in a letter that he wrote to his sister Mary for her birthday: "The first lecture was very well attended (about three hundred), and though there were no mill-owners, yet there were some small manufacturers and the more thinking part of the work-people. Mr. Howorth came over, each time, with a detachment from Bury. Though the lecture took (with the extracts read and Scriptures, etc.) upwards of two hours, the people stopped to the end, and were very attentive. The trust-deeds don't allow of preaching or praying, by Dissenters, in any part of Radcliffe; however, I began and closed with a hymn, and read lessons, to show that I meant it to be taken in a religious way. I felt extremely happy in the freedom of being in my own hired room, and I did not make my 'liberty a cloak of licentiousness,' but, by all accounts, was very fair and calm. Of course, people expected a tirade against the masters; but in writing I was careful to speak more to the workmen; and I am very glad I spoke, for they would take from me what they would not from another, since every one thinks that I am going because the rich did not like me. It is true some of the worst said afterwards that I was paid by the masters to keep the men quiet; but the bulk knew that I had no interest to serve, and would hear some wholesome truths that they are not in the habit of hearing. And yet I spoke quite as plainly as I wished of the masters, and have eased my conscience. . . It is lamentable to see how a large part of the working classes are at the mercy of demagogues and unionists: they distrust plain doctrine as much as the rich do. Only the thinking part among them produce truly noble characters, who shine in great contrast to the masters in this neighbourhood. The second lecture was worse attended, partly because it was Simnel (mid-Lent) Sunday; the people there were very attentive, and particularly interested in the account of Mr. Hollins's mill at Stockport, with which I closed. We had one of Mr. Greg's knights of the silver cross present. I feel glad at having done what I can towards diffusing just views on this (here) most important question; for I am persuaded that the direct influence of Christian feeling is the only cure for these awful evils. . . . "You would be entertained to see the scholars at dinner. No sooner do I give notice of the half-past twelve, than they scamper to the little room, bring out stools in a circle round the fire, and fall to. Some bring a pudding in a basin or tin, and eat it with a stick-knife; others, bread and meat; others, eggs and bread; now and then a black-pudding makes its appearance, with a nudge of bread, or a delicate omelette in a saucer. Then some have bottles of milk or treacle-beer; while others come to my water-jug with, 'Please, sir, may I sup?' I sit on an elevated stool, smiling benignly on my young family, and joking the greedy ones; and feed sometimes on currant-bread, sometimes on rice or oatmeal, or such other concoctions as the wonderful art of Susan suggests. Sometimes she gives me her company at this period, when I walk with her in the field or garden, eating en chemin; then I sometimes play a bit with the * See "A Layman's Legacy: Samuel Greg," p. 330. boys before work begins again, to the great scandal of Mr. Dean, who thinks that 'familiarity breeds contempt.' The boys are very fond of me, and I of them, but I have not yet got them into discipline. They have been so trained on the fear-of-beating system, that when that is removed they are destitute of moral sense, and it takes a long time in getting up a desire for right in boys that have neither bowels nor conscience! However, I don't despair; only give me time: and a little temporary disorder, if I can only succeed in arousing their consciences, is better than making them quiet under fear of the whip. They write letters once a week; and I set them once to tell me what I should do, to get the school in order. One recommended beating; one, separation; one, setting impositions; one, keeping them in; one, a very good Methodist lad, said, 'I do not think I can do better than quote the words of the inspired writer, "A rod for a fool's back," etc.' So I wrote him a terse answer, to the effect that Solomon's plan for teaching children was no rule for us; that Christ never beat boys, nor told us to beat them; that if he loved me he would behave well, because I wished it, etc. My plan is to keep them in, in play hours; and they like least of all to be kept in after three o'clock, till all the work is done. Then I keep the greatest sinners to the end, and always have succeeded in making them penitent before I go. I had a great stir with the arch-sinner yesterday, who, being clever, an only son, and one of the congregation, expects to have his own way, and I expect he won't. He was kept last, but was in a great rage, throwing his slates about, etc.; so I held him, and looked at him without moving a muscle for a few minutes, till he was quite softened, and then talked to him; and soon he was in a state of great penitence. Another boy, whom I had set some sums to do before he went, was in the sulks, and sat stupidly still. He would not move, nor answer me, nor do a figure, nor go to warm himself, though he was shivering and crying. A tremendous thunder-storm came; but he was immovable. quietly went on with my work for upwards of an hour, when at last he said, 'Please, sir, there's a mouse!' Useful animal! I I immediately took up the strain, entered into an interesting conversation about mice, and very soon the sums were done, and he was as affectionate and penitent as possible. But I shall never stop if I tell you all the school gossip. When I get among boys, I always want to be a schoolmaster." After referring to deaths in his congregation, he adds: "Monday brought the sad intelligence of Herbert's [Martineau's] death. I loved him as a brother, and wrote to him every week, I think, and I am so glad to find that these letters, and presents of shells, etc., were a great comfort to him. I think some of you sent a drawing which pleased him very much. I never knew such an angelic spirit in human form; day and night he has been in my thoughts and prayers, and his heavenly face and the expressive tones of his voice haunt me like an unearthly vision. I wish you could have heard him sing his favourite hymn, Thou who didst stoop below.' Except when our own father was removed, I never felt such a rending of my heart before. The feeling is as though heaven had been tabernacling on earth, and was taken back again; and if I feel it so, what must his parents suffer!"* Years after, he records that it had made a void which had never been filled. He kept Herbert's notes, and cherished his memory to the last. "I never knew" (he wrote in 1847) "such a boy as he was, so very pure and loving, and beautiful and holy he seemed one of those angelic spirits that God sometimes sends down for a little time to show us that there really is a heaven." 66 The following are his impressions on hearing a lecture by Mr. George Dawson on German Literature : "I was a little disappointed with his manner; there was not that * Over his grave in the burial-ground of the Ancient Chapel, Toxteth Park, is this inscription : "O life too fair, upon thy brow We saw the light where thou art now. |
