THE LITTLE CHILD. BY THE REV. DR. BUTLER, HEAD MASTER OF HARROW. γου ing, and were afraid to ask Him." His power melt or pierce through This strange power in a child depends not on the charm of his character. It begins from the very hour of his birth. Nay, the very fact of his birth is to minds duly taught a message from Heaven. Some of us may know the lines of Wordsworth : "A child, more than all other gifts * That earth can offer to declining man, Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts." Some of us may know the exquisite skill with which this truth has been embodied in a very touching work of fiction,† where an old man, soured by injustice, suspected wrongfully of a terrible crime, eating his heart away in solitude, and consumed by one base passion, the greed of gold, suddenly, in place of the gold of which he has been robbed, sees on his hearth, one cold New Year's Eve, an unknown, helpless, little child, and finds, We are not told of the result of this re- in the love and tenderness which she awakens, proof. Yet we can imagine, even if we cannot a balm for all bitterness, a fresh unfailing see, the looks, the changing looks of those fountain of life. It is a true Christian on whom it fell. We can scarcely doubt parable. The man seems lost in sordid lonethat from that day forward they knew some-liness, loathing life, hating man, crying out thing more of the inner nature of "the Kingdom of Heaven," and that again and again in after years, throughout their troubled and eventful lives, the picture of that little child, taken up in their Master's loving arms, would rise fresh before their memory, with power to touch, to chasten, and to subdue. Let me ask you now to follow me in thought as I try to place before you this precious part of our Master's teaching. on God. And then, not for the poor man's It is a marvellous power that God has given to children. If they knew that they possessed it, how it would astonish-yes, and how it would spoil them! It is their complete unconsciousness of wielding any spell at all that makes the spell which they wield Marner." From "Michael." + It is, I hope, scarcely necessary to mention "Silas the child was sent to me, and I've come to love her as myself, I've had light enough to trust by; and now she says she'll never leave me, I think I shall trust till I die." Let us think, now, for a few moments of some of the qualities by which a child exercises his power. When Jesus Christ took the little child in His arms to shame the disciples out of their selfish, ambitious dreams, what do you suppose it was that planted in the child's silent lips so eloquent, so withering a reproof? I should suppose its helplessness. Looking on a creature so weak, so dependent, how could they be thinking of their own strength? The truth is, in self-seeking moments we see the whole world with misleading eyes. They show us everything distorted, out of proportion. We fancy the one thing to be done is to make good terms for ourselves, and that all about us are engaged in the same struggle. We watch strong, busy men hurrying through the street. We hear of this man's successful enterprise, that man's rising fame, another's mounting fortune. "Each for himself" seems to be the law of life; everything for the strong, and for those who have the wit to use their strength cleverly. And then the scene changes. We turn the corner of the street, or we stand over a little cot in Our own house, or we see a little coffin carried on one man's shoulder to a churchyard, and, if I may so express it, another hemisphere of thought is revealed to us. Over" one half the world"—the vast region of weakness and helplessness—"nature" has hitherto seemed “dead” and silent. We have heard no voice from her, no assertion of her being. We have schemed, and felt, and dreamed, and talked, as if there were no such mighty continent, or as though it had never yet been explored, to add something to the store of our experience. But now, a child has been set in the midst of us." He stands there, sleeps there, perhaps suffers there, perhaps suffers there no longer, as the very representative of helplessness. He is not alone. He is there as an ambassador of all the weakness that requires manly protection, all the dependence that puts to shame self-seeking, all the tender buds that can never blossom or bear fruit unless the stern philosophy, 'Each for himself," is balanced and supplemented by that higher philosophy, "It is more blessed to give than to receive." "Whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me." This is but a part of the teaching of a 739 a child's helplessness. I would say a word on "For strange concerns he careth nought; We But if it is not fear of being informed against, We have spoken of the child's ignorance of evil. There are other forms of his ignorance from which we may also learn. We know what a war of controversy has raged around the subject of the education of the young. We know the hottest battle of that war, and where has been the hottest fire. It has been where the cry was for religious teaching. God forbid that I should say a word which even seemed to disparage true religious teaching. A generation of Englishmen and Englishwomen brought up to * By Gerhardt Tersteegen, translated by Catherine Winkworth in the "Lyra Germanica." 740 maturity without a devout and intelligent knowledge of the Bible, and then in turn bringing up their children in similar or even darker ignorance, is a prospect which seems to me as sad and terrible as it is, I trust, impossible. But I confess that, while observing the zeal with which some have sought, or seemed to seek, to convey to young children during the fleeting hours of a short school life, "all mysteries and all faith," I have often said to myself, O that our large-hearted and tender-hearted Master, Whom we all desire to serve and to imitate-O that He would, as of old, take a little child and set him in the midst of us; that we that we could see his ignorance, that we could be touched by his simplicity, that we could be awed and humbled by his manifest need: surely then much of the smoke of our conflict would lift, and the combatants would be convicted by their own consciences. There is another quality to which a large part of a child's power is due, I mean its truthfulness. I do not of course imply that children are not often tempted to untruthfulness. Childhood has its faults, but there is no need now to speak of them. Every parent, every brother, every sister knows what I mean when I speak of the natural, instinctive truthfulness of a little child. A child is not a diplomatist. He has no thoughts in reserve. pings and disguises. It is like the truthfulness of genius, the truthfulness by which the poet wins our love for all that is real and deep and homely, and, as Keble wrote on Wordsworth's tomb, "Lifts us as we read to holier things by taking the side of the poor and the simple." * Christian friends, let us admit it, it is not easy to live a thoroughly truthful life; to keep clear of feigned interests and sham beliefs; to speak of others behind their backs as we have spoken of them before their face; to say what we really think on questions of politics, and questions of religion, and questions of ritual, and questions of social duty. We like to take the measure of the person we converse with, and to adapt our words to his prejudices. In such coward moments let us remember that one of the highest and plainest duties of Christ's servants is to "constantly speak the truth;" and if our hearts are not naturally courageous, let us shame ourselves into courage by the picture on which I have been dwelling. Let us try to see our MasterHim who came into the world to bear witness to the truth-let us see Him as He takes a little child, and sets him in the midst of us, and exhorts us to be followers of his truthfulness and his simplicity. We might speak further of other spells. wielded by a child, of his loving ways, of his generosity in giving, of his delight in flowers and animals, and all simple things; of his grace, too, which is to many a household its one softening gleam of daily poetry. But we must hasten to the close. As I began by urging that there was a message from God in the birth of a child, so I would ask you whether there is not often a yet deeper-ay, and a yet more loving mes "He has no skill to utter lies; His very soul is in his eyes. He does not fence with words. He does not calculate whether they will please, much less whether they will mislead. He knows nothing of the modern discovery that language was given to conceal thought. He says what he feels-only a part of it, it is true, for his words are weak, and his feelings are strong-sage-in the death of one of these little but he says nothing that he does not feel. And as he is no diplomatist, neither is he a respecter of persons. He knows no distinction of ranks. He is the one perfect, harmless democrat. He loves servants and poor people that are kind to him just as he loves his richer friends. He interprets one class to another. He is a centre of union, a bond of charity. It is hardly too much to say that he "maketh men to be of one mind in an house." For observe, his truthfulness is not only or chiefly veracity in words. It is rather that higher truthfulness which sees things as they are, at their root, without conventional trap By Gerhardt Tersteegen, translated by Catherine Winkworth in the "Lyra Germanica." ones? In the whole armoury of the Almighty is there, let us ask ourselves, one weapon more mighty for the pulling down of strongholds than the death of a little child? What can ambition do against it? Or wounded pride? Or slighted sensibility? Or love of money? Or thirst for social distinction? How can any form of family estrangement hold out against first the drooping, then the decay, and then the final cutting down of one of these beautiful flowers that have told us most of what we know of the "precious things" of the Paradise of God? We re be seen at Rydal, but I quote from the Dedicatory Preface to Keble's "Praelectiones,' "Ut legentium animos semper ad sanctiora erigeret, semper a pauperum et simpliciorum partibus staret." * I have not before me the exact words of the inscription to has regained the Paradise of an unbroken unity by bending over some early, but neverto-be-forgotten grave! My friends, in speaking to you of the teach member how our own Poet, who interprets, as no preacher can do, the genuine religion of the domestic affections-we remember how, in one of his loveliest songs, he shows us the power of this master spell. The husbanding of a little child, I believe that I have been and the wife are no longer one at heart: some strain, some jealousy, has come between them. But there is one reconciling mediator whom they cannot resist : "For when we came where lies the child * speaking to you part at least of the Gospel of Christ. I am sure that in our busy, jaded, prosaic, self-seeking, conventional lives we need again and again to have held up before us the freshness, the carelessness, the poetry, the simplicity of those "little ones" whom Jesus loved. He loved them as a man, but He loved them also as the Founder of a Church. Strange power to be wielded after death! He saw in them witnesses to that spirit Napoleon + declared that the spell he exer- which He most longed to diffuse and percised over the affections of his soldiers would petuate. It was the language not of tenderend with his life; but the little child knows end with his life; but the little child knows ness only, but of yearning also, and of prono such limit to his sway. How many a phecy, when He said, in those precious words Christian family, separated by distance, once pronounced over us at our baptism, divided perhaps by some root of bitterness," Suffer the little children to come unto me, * Tennyson's "Princess." and forbid them not, for of such is the King + See "Table Talk of Napoleon the First," (the Bayard dom of God.” Series), pp. 118-121. NEW A DOUBLE MEMORIAL OF NEWSTEAD ABBEY. WSTEAD Abbey has long been one of the great historical mansions of England. Its origin takes us back to the twelfth century, to the days of Henry II., and to the efforts made by him, through the building of religious houses and such-like acts, to expiate the murder of Thomas à Becket. When the monasteries were broken up in the reign of Henry VIII., Newstead was given to the Byrons of Rochdale, and it remained in their possession for the greater part of three centuries. The history of the Byrons is well known, but we must briefly rehearse it. The family receiving a peerage in 1643, kept up no little style at Newstead during the time of the first five barons. The fifth baron received the unenviable title of "the wicked Lord." At a meeting of the Nottinghamshire Club, at the "Star and Garter" in Pall Mall, he had quarrelled with his neighbour, Mr. Chaworth, of Annesley Hall, and swords having been drawn on the spot, Mr. Chaworth was slain. Lord Byron was sent to the Tower, and tried by the House of Lords for wilful murder; but eventually a verdict was given for manslaughter, which, in the case of a peer, was equivalent to acquittal. After this, he retired to the Abbey; was gloomy and irritable; did a number of strange things, which the popular imagination exaggerated into horrors; set up in his grounds statues of satyrs, which were called his gods, or his devils, as the case might be; and earned the sobriquet which stuck to his name. A brother of this lord, Admiral Byron, attracted public interest through his shipwreck and sufferings. The father of the poet, son of the Admiral, having carried off to the Continent the wife of a nobleman, married her, on her being divorced by her husband, and of their short union came an only child, Augusta. Being deep in debt, and anxious to clear it off, he married, as his second wife, Miss Catherine Gordon, heiress of Gight, in Aberdeenshire. The property of this lady he squandered, and so ill were they assorted, that she soon left him, retiring to a poor lodging in Aberdeen, where, on an income of less than £150, she brought up her only child, the famous poet. "Geordie Byron, as he was familiarly called, went to the school of "Bodsy Bowers," in a dingy lane called Long Acre, and then attended the Grammar or High School of Aberdeen, mingling freely with the boys of the town, the father of the present writer having been one of his class-fellows. On the death of his grand-uncle, in 1798, he succeeded, in his eleventh year, to the title, and to the Newstead property. Some twenty years after, he sold the property to his friend, Colonel Wildman, who is said to have expended £200,000 on the restoration and repair of the Abbey. 742 In 1861, on the death of Colonel Wildman, the property was acquired by the present owner, Mr. W. F. Webb, who has been not less liberal in completing the work which his predecessor began; so that Newstead Abbey is now one of the handsomest, as it always has been one of the most interesting, mansions in England. In his youth, Mr. Webb was one of the greatest hunters of his day, and in South Africa had met Dr. Livingstone, from whom he received much kindness, and for whom, like all who were at any time in contact with him, he had a great affection. On occasion of Livingstone's second visit to England, Newstead Abbey was his headquarters, and here he wrote his second book, "The Zambesi and its Tributaries." He resided at Newstead from September, 1864, to April, 1865, endearing himself to all, high and low, in and around the house, and leaving behind him a memory fragrant with his beautiful qualities -his childlike simplicity and openness, his joyous and radiant temper, his trust in God and love to man, and his unquenchable desire to spread the blessings of freedom and salvation to the uttermost ends of the earth. Newstead Abbey is thus especially associated with two great names-Byron and Livingstone.* Inside and outside there are memorials of both. Inside there is the Byron room and the Livingstone room. Outside there is Lord Byron's oak and Dr. Livingstone's Wellingtonia. The rooms, as far as possible, are precisely as they were left by their respective occupants. In the Byron room are the pictures which adorned his room at Cambridge; also a picture of Jackson, the pugilist, his lordship's "corporeal pastor and master," and of Joe Murray, his butler. The furniture is mostly as he left it-all simple and without pretence. The Livingstone room is situated in the Sussex Tower; it contains the bed on which he slept, the table at which he wrote, with the inkstand and other writing materials which he used. There is a cedar cabinet in the room, with carved figures, representing the scenes of the Prodigal Son. The window commands a view of the Gigantea Wellingtonia which he planted in 1864, and which, despite the somewhat rough embrace of the west wind, promises to be ere long a noble tree. In the same neighbourhood is an oak planted * Many other celebrities, indeed, have resided in it, for there are Charles II.'s room, Edward III.'s room, the Duke of Sussex's room, and Henry VII.'s lodging, these apartments being named from their distinguished quondam occupants. But it is with celebrities of a more recent day-Byron and Livingstone-that we are now concerned. by Lord Byron when he first came to Newstead in 1798. In the corridors of the house there are also Byron relics and Livingstone relics. There is the table on which Byron wrote part of Childe Harold; sundry swords and sticks; the last cap he wore in Greece, brought home by Fletcher, his trusty valet; a copy of his earliest poems, and sundry autographs and MSS.* The Livingstone relics also include the last cap which he wore, with its faded gold band, brought home, as is so well known, by his faithful attendants, Chuma and Susi; swords and knives, too, used by him in Africa; a spear, thrown at him in his last journey, that very nearly put an end to his life; a photograph of a facsimile of the hut where he died; a piece of the bark in which his body was wrapt, and of the cord with which the box containing it was fastened. The external memorials of both the great men are thus remarkably similar, and so far as such memorials go, both have got fair play at Newstead. And yet, when we think of the two men, it is a great contrast that is brought to our mind. Few lives could have been more unlike each other than the lives of these two men. At first, no doubt, both had to bear the same struggle with poverty and hard lines, and to Byron's mother the struggle. was undoubtedly more trying than to the parents of Livingstone. To be reduced from wealth to poverty by the selfishness and injustice of an adventurer, who instead of bringing to her the affection and protection of a husband, came with the greed and rapacity of a wolf, was undoubtedly a grievous trial, only too likely to excite one to impatience and bitterness. It would have needed a very gracious influence to counteract the tendency of such treatment to sour the heart and fret the temper, and to that Mrs. Byron seems to have been a stranger. The impatient and fretting example of the mother, with whatever of other hereditary influence may have come from her, and without any of that great corrective which Divine grace supplies, made her son liable to fits of the same unhappy temper. In the case of Livingstone's parents we find the gracious influence in full operation, that enabled them to bear their burdens patiently, and to look habitually on the bright side of things. Their example of self-control was not lost on Livingstone, and when the Divine power came to work directly in his heart, it * The monk's skull, used as a wine cup in Byron's days, has been put out of sight by the present proprietor, who has no wish to perpetuate so offensive a tradition. |