Dear Sir:-I am much obliged to you for your kind and energetic letter; much, very much, is owing to your humanity and zeal, and though I cannot reckon deeply on the grat.i.tude of mult.i.tudes, yet I will hope that your name will, for years to come, be blessed by those children who have suffered, or would have suffered, the tortures of a factory. It is very cruel upon Mr. Sadler that he is debarred from the joy of putting the crown on his beloved measure; however, his must be the honor, though another may complete it; and for my part, I feel that, if I were to believe that my exertions ought to detract the millionth part from his merits, I should be one of the most unprincipled and contemptible of mankind. Ask the question simply, Who has borne the real evil, who has encountered the real opposition, who roused the sluggish public to sentiments of honor and pity? Why, Mr. Sadler; and I come in (supposing I succeed) to terminate in the twelfth hour his labor of the eleven. I greatly fear my ability to carry on this measure. I wish, most ardently I wish, that some other had been found to undertake the cause; nothing but the apprehension of its being lost induced me to acquiesce in Mr. Bull's request.

I entertain such strong opinions on the matter that I did not dare, as a Christian, to let my diffidence, or love of ease, prevail over the demands of morality and religion.

Yours, ASHLEY.

THE DIARY OF A PHILANTHROPIST

[Lord Shaftesbury's copious diaries were not intended for publication, but late in life he permitted Mr. Hodder to introduce selections from them in his authorized Biography. These extracts from the period when he was fighting the cause of the London chimney-sweeps, reflect the spirit of the great philanthropist, the legislator who at twenty-five proposed "to found a public policy upon the principles of the Bible."]

July 4th. Anxious, very anxious, about my sweeps; the Conservative (?) Peers threaten a fierce opposition, and the Radical Ministers warmly support the bill. Normanby has been manly, open, kind-hearted, and firm. As I said to him in a letter, so say I now, "G.o.d help him with the bill, and G.o.d bless him for it!" I shall have no ease or pleasure in the recess, should these poor children be despised by the Lords, and tossed to the mercy of their savage purchasers. I find that Evangelical religionists are not those on whom I can rely. The Factory Question, and every question for what is called "humanity,"

receive as much support from the "men of the world" as from the men who say they will have nothing to do with it!

I do not wonder at the Duke of Wellington--I have never expected from him anything of the "soft and tender" kind. Let people say what they will, he is a hard man. Steven tells me he left the Oxford Pet.i.tion at Apsley House, thinking that the Duke, as Chancellor, would present it; he received this answer, "Mr.

Steven has thought fit to leave some pet.i.tions at Apsley House; they will be found with the porter."

July 21st. Much anxiety, hard labor, many hopes, and many fears, all rendered useless by "counting out the House." The object of years within my grasp, and put aside in a moment. A notice to investigate the condition of all the wretched and helpless children in pin-works, needle-works, collieries, etc. The necessary and beneficial consequence of the Factory Question! G.o.d knows I had felt for it, and prayed for it; but the day arrived; everything seemed adverse-a morning sitting, a late period of the session, and a wet afternoon; and true enough, at five o'clock there were but thirty-seven members, and these mostly Radicals or Whigs. Shall I have another opportunity? The inquiry, without a statement in Parliament, will be but half the battle, nay, not so much--I must have public knowledge and public opinion working with it. Well, it is G.o.d's cause, and I commit it altogether to him. I am, however, sadly disappointed, but how weak and short- sighted is man! This temporary failure may be the harbinger of success.

August 24th. Succeeded in both my suits. I undertook them in a spirit of justice. I const.i.tuted myself, no doubt, a defender of the poor, to see that the poor and miserable had their rights; but "I looked, and there was none to help. I wondered that there was none to uphold; therefore G.o.d's arm, it brought salvation to me, and his fury, it upheld me." I stood to lose several hundred pounds, but I have not lost a farthing; I have advanced the cause, done individual justice, antic.i.p.ated many calamities by this forced prevention, and soothed, I hope, many angry, discontented Chartist spirits by showing them that men of rank and property can, and do, care for the rights and feelings of all their brethren. Let no one ever despair of a good cause for want of coadjutors; let him persevere, persevere, persevere, and G.o.d will raise him up friends and a.s.sistants! I have had, and still have, Jowett and Low; they are matchless.

September 16th. I hear encouraging things, both of my speech in the House of Commons, and of my suit v. Stocks. The justice of the suit is so manifest that even (so to speak) "my enemies are at peace with me." What man ever lost in the long run by seeking G.o.d's honor?

September 19th. Steven wrote to me yesterday, and gave me information that he had at last succeeded in negotiating the delivery of the wretched sweep behind my house in London. I had begun to negotiate, but the master stood out for more money than was fair, and we determined to seek the unnatural father of the boy, and tempt him, by the offer of a gratuitous education. We have done so, and have prospered; and the child will this day be conveyed from his soot-hole to the Union School on Norwood Hill, where, under G.o.d's blessing and especial, merciful grace, he will be trained in the knowledge, and love, and faith of our common Lord and only Saviour Jesus Christ. I entertain hopes of the boy; he is described as gentle, and of a sweet disposition; we all know he has suffered, and were eager to rescue him from his temporal and spiritual tyrant. May G.o.d, in his unbounded goodness and mercy, accept and defend the child, and train him up to his honor and service, now and forever, through the mediation and love of our dear and blessed Lord!

THE CRY OF THE CHILDREN

[Mrs Browning's poem belongs to this epoch and agitation.]

Do you hear the children weeping, Oh, my brothers, Ere-the sorrow comes with years?

They are leaning their young heads against their mothers, And that cannot stop their tears.

The young lambs are bleating in the meadows, The young birds are chirping in the nest, The young fawns are playing with the shadows, The young flowers are blowing towards the west;

But the young, young children, Oh, my brothers, They are weeping bitterly!

They are weeping in the play-time of the others, In the country of the free.

Do you question the young children in the sorrow, Why their tears are falling so?

The old man may weep for his to-morrow, Which is lost in long ago; The old tree is leafless in the forest, The old year is ending in the frost, The old wound, if stricken, is the sorest, The old hope is hardest to be lost!

But the young, young children, Oh, my brothers, Do you ask them why they stand Weeping sore before the bosoms of their mothers In our happy fatherland?

They look up with their pale and sunken faces, And their looks are sad to see, For the man's h.o.a.ry anguish draws and presses Down the cheeks of infancy; "Your old earth," they say, "is very dreary,"

"Our young feet," they say, "are very weak; Few paces have we taken, yet are weary- Our grave-rest is very far to seek; Ask the aged why they weep, and not the children, For the outside earth is cold, And we young ones stand without in our bewildering, And the graves are for the old."

"True," say the children, "it may happen That we die before our time; Little Alice died last year, her grave is shapen Like a s...o...b..ll in the rime.

We looked into the pit prepared to take her; Was no room for any work in the close clay!

From the sleep wherein she lieth none will wake her, Crying, 'Get up, little Alice, it is day.'

If you listen by that grave in sun and shower With your ear down, little Alice never cries; Could we see her face, be sure we could not know her, For the smile has time for growing in her eyes!

And merry go her moments, lull'd and still'd in The shroud by the kirk chime.

It is good when it happens," say the children, "That we die before our time.

Alas! Alas! the children! They are seeking Death in life, as best to have; They are binding up their hearts away from breaking With a cerement from the grave.

Go out, children, from the mine and from the city; Sing out, children, as the thrushes do; Pluck your handfuls of the meadow cowslips pretty, Laugh aloud to feel your fingers let them through!

But they answer, "Are your cowslips of the meadows Like our weeds anear the mine?

Leave us quiet in the dark of the coal-shadows, From your pleasures fair and fine!

For oh," say the children, "we are weary, And we cannot run or leap; If we car'd for any meadows it were merely To drop down in them and sleep.

Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping, We fall upon our faces, trying to go; And underneath our heavy eyelids drooping, The reddest flower would look as pale as snow.

For all day we drag our burden tiring Through the coal-dark underground; Or all day we drive the wheels of iron In the factories round and round.

"For all day the wheels are droning, turning; Their wind comes in our faces, Till our hearts turn, our heads with pulses burning, And the walls turn in their places; Turns the sky in high window blank and reeling, Turns the long light that drops adown the wall, Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling, All are turning, all the day, and we with all; And all day the iron wheels are droning And sometimes we could pray, 'O, ye wheels' (breaking out in mad moaning) 'Stop! be silent for to-day!'"

Aye, be silent! Let them hear each other breathing For a moment mouth to mouth!

Let them touch each other's hands in a fresh wreathing Of their tender human youth!

Let them feel that this cold metallic motion Is not all the life G.o.d fashions or reveals!

Let them prove their living souls against the notion That they live in you, or under you, O wheels!

Still, all day the iron wheels go onward, Grinding life down from its mark; And the children's souls which G.o.d is calling sunward Spin on blindly in the dark.

Now, tell the poor young children, Oh, my brothers, To look up to Him and pray; So the blessed One who blesseth all the others, Will bless them another day.

They answer, "Who is G.o.d that he should hear us, While the rushing of the iron wheels is stirr'd?

When we sob aloud the human creatures near us Pa.s.s by, hearing not, or answer not, a word.

And we hear not (for the wheels in their resounding) Strangers speaking at the door; Is it likely G.o.d, with angels singing round him, Hears our weeping any more?

"Two words, indeed, of praying we remember, And at midnight's hour of harm, 'Our Father,' looking upward in the chamber, We say softly for a charm.

We know no other words except 'Our Father,'

And we think that, in some pause of the angels' song, G.o.d may pluck them with the silence sweet to gather, And hold both within his right hand which is strong.

'Our Father!' If he heard us he would surely (For they call him good and mild) Answer, smiling" down the steep world very purely, 'Come and rest with me, my child.'"

"But no!" say the children, weeping faster, "He is speechless as a stone; And they tell us, of his image is the master Who commands us to work on.

Go to," say the children, "up in heaven, Dark, wheel-like turning clouds are all we find.

Do not mock us; grief has made us unbelieving; We look up for G.o.d, but tears have made us blind."

Do you hear the children weeping and disproving, Oh, my brothers, what ye preach?

For G.o.d's possible is taught by his world's loving, And the children doubt of each.

And well may the children weep before you!

They are weary ere they run; They have never seen the sunshine, nor the glory Which is brighter than the sun.

They know the grief of man without its wisdom; They sink in man's despair without its calm; Are slaves, without the liberty in Christendom; Are martyrs, by the pang without the palm; Are worn as if with age, yet unretrievingly The harvest of its memories cannot reap- Are orphans of the earthly love and heavenly Let them weep! Let them weep!

They look up with their pale and sunken faces And their look is dread to see, For they mind you of their angels in high places With eyes turned on Deity.

"How long," they say, "How long, O cruel nation, Will you stand to move the world, on a child's heart-- Stifle down with a mailed heel its palpitation, And tread onward to your throne amid the mark?

Our blood splashes upward, O gold-heaper, And your purple shows your path!

But the child's sob in the silence curses deeper Than the strong man in his wrath.

VIII

LORD PALMERSTON THE MORAL INFLUENCE OF ENGLAND

[In March, 1849, Lord Palmerston dilated as follows upon the moral greatness and influence of England.]