Part 14

Once, in another letter, she gives us a beautiful bit of her own soul's experience on this subject:--

'I had such a view of His love and faithfulness on the journey from Wellingborough, that I thought I would never doubt again about anything. I had the carriage to myself, and such a precious season with the Lord, that the time seemed to fly. As the lightning gleamed around I felt ready to shout, "The chariot of Israel, and the horsemen thereof." Oh, how precious it is when we see as well as believe, but yet more blessed to believe and not see! Lord, work this determined, obstinate, blind, unquestioning, unanswering faith in me and my beloved friend, and let us two dare to trust Thee in the midst of our peculiar trials. As I looked at the waving fields, and grazing sheep, the flashing sky, a Voice said in my soul, "Of what oughtest thou to be afraid? Am I not God? Cannot I supply thy little, tiny needs?" My heart replied, "It is enough, Lord; I will trust Thee, forgive my unbelief."'

LOVE

The truest love must ever seek the highest good of its object; sometimes even with forgetfulness of important smaller advantages.'--MRS. BOOTH.

The second great quality in Mrs. Booth's character, as given by the first General, was her love.

'She was love,' he says. 'Her whole soul was full of tender, deep compassion. Oh, how she loved, how she pitied the suffering poor! How she longed to put her arms round the sorrowful, and help them!'

'How,' asked Mrs. Booth once, 'are we to put heart into people? Even grace seems to fail to do so in many instances. I think it needs mothers to do this from infancy upwards.'

You will recollect that Mrs. Mumford fostered this 'heart' and love in her little girl; and you will remember how keenly Katie felt, blazing up into wrath at any story of wrong or injury, and ready to sacrifice her life for those she loved. This spirit grew with her. She could not help caring and struggling to help all who needed her. The General often told her in later years that she was killing herself by carrying every one's burdens. Then she would try to leave off for a little, but her heart was too strong, and she could not hold it back.

When but a child, running down the road with her hoop and stick, she saw a drunkard being dragged off to prison by a policeman. All the people were jeering and mocking at the poor friendless wretch. Instantly Katie's pity and love fired up. She dashed across the street, and marched along close by the man's side, so that he might feel that at least one little heart cared for him, and wanted to help him.

To the end of her life she carried this deep, tender pity wherever she went. She loved the poor. 'With all their faults,' she said, 'they have larger hearts than the rich'; and she loved them for it.

Where any one had a warm heart, she could forgive and overlook many mistakes; but with cold, narrow, 'fishy' souls, she had neither sympathy nor patience.

Our Army Mother's help was practical. She did not only give money or pity, but she--so to speak--rolled up her sleeves and helped the suffering herself.

Every sort of suffering and need appealed to her. If an animal was wounded or in pain, she stopped, and herself relieved it as best she could; and to the last, if she saw a horse or any creature being ill-treated, she would not hesitate to rush out and stop the driver, or in some way force him to leave off his cruelty.

She was not only kind and helpful to those she liked, but every living thing that suffered had a claim upon her, and the greater the need the more tender and ready was her help.

Mrs. Booth was a people's woman, and she was never weary of scheming and planning how to help the poor in the most practical way.

'When I see people going wrong,' she said, when but a girl of twelve, 'I must tell the poor things how to manage.'

Dirt and sin, and drink and misery, could not quench this love; it was a part of her very nature. Long, long before Slum Sisters were ever thought of, Mrs. Booth did their work herself, just because she so loved the poor, and longed to help them. You shall read the story in her own words:--

'I remember in one case finding a poor woman lying on a heap of rags. She had just given birth to twins, and there was nobody of any sort to wait upon her. I can never forget the desolation of that room. By her side was a crust of bread and a small lump of lard. "I fancied a bit o' bootter (butter)," the woman remarked apologetically, noticing my eye fall upon the scanty meal, "and my mon, he'd do owt for me he could, bless'm--he couldna git me iny bootter, so he fitcht me this bit o' lard. Have you iver tried lard isted o' bootter? It's rare good!" said the poor creature, making me wish I had taken lard for "bootter" all my life, that I might have been the better able to minister to her needs. However, I was soon busy trying to make her a little more comfortable. The babies I washed in a broken pie-dish, the nearest approach to a tub that I could find. And the gratitude of those large eyes, that gazed upon me from out of that wan and shrunken face, can never fade from my memory.'

Before public Meetings took up so much of her time, she delighted in this house-to-house visiting, and went especially for the drunkards, over whom God gave her a wonderful power.

'I used to visit in the evenings,' she says, 'because it was the only part of the day in which I could get away; and, besides, I should not have found the men at home at any other time. I used to ask one drunkard's wife where another lived. They always knew. After getting hold of eight or ten in this way, and getting them to sign the pledge, I used to arrange Cottage Meetings for them, and try to get them saved. They used to let me talk to them in homes where there was not a stick of furniture, and nothing to sit down upon.'

In this way our Army Mother sought and cared for the drunkards long before Drunkards' Brigades were dreamt of.

When, at a later time in her life, she first heard of the wicked and cruel way in which young girls are trapped and drawn into sin, Mrs. Booth's soul was filled with a whirlwind of holy indignation.

'I feel as though I could not rest, but as though I must go and ferret out these monsters myself,' she wrote. 'Almost everybody, notwithstanding the indignation, seems so content with talking. Nobody appears willing to take the responsibility of doing or risking anything. Oh, what a state the world has got into!'

But, deep and practical as was her love in earthly things, her passion for lifting and leading souls into Salvation and Holiness was a thousand times more intense. 'If we only realized, as we ought, the value of souls, we should not live long under it,' she said; and she herself realized it fully enough to make her fight on ceaselessly in spite of intense weakness. 'If it were not for eternity,' she often sighed, 'I should soon give up this life.'

It was love for souls which made her go from town to town, care-worn, weary, often quite unfit to meet the immense congregations which came to hear her.

It was love for souls which kept her sitting for hours at her writing-table, when she should have been resting, trying to help those who turned to her for counsel and direction from every part of the globe.

It was love for souls which gave her many a sleepless night, and chained her to her knees, weeping and pleading, agonizing with God on behalf of the people she was to face the next day.

And this love for souls grew even stronger as death came near. 'Eva,' she exclaimed to one of her daughters, as she lay racked with agonizing pain, 'don't you forget that man with the handcuffs on. Find him. Go to Lancaster Jail; let somebody go with you, and find that man. Tell him that your mother, when she was dying, prayed for him, and that she had a feeling in her heart that God would save him; and tell him, hard as the ten years of imprisonment may be, it will be easier with Christ than it would be without Him.'