THE CHILDREN'S FRIEND.

Otago Witness, Issue 2813, 12 February 1908, Page 80

THE CHILDREN'S FRIEND.

DR BARNARDOS LIFE STORY.

The life story of the late Dr Barnardo is one that could not fail to be of interest. Few people could have been found better qualified to tell that story than Mrs Barnardo and the Rev. James Marchant, who have collaborated in a work, entitled "Memoirs of the late Dr Bnrnardo," that Messrs Hoddei and Stoughton publish, with an introduction by Di Robertson Nicoll.

— Converted by a Tragedian. —

The Daily Telegraph in an interesting review says : — Dr Barnaido was an Irishman — though of foreign descent on his father's side — an Irish Protestant of Dublin, in which city he began his evangelistic work at a very early age. tFor he was 'converted' — as he used to relate with joyful conviction — when he wae 17 years old, by an address delivered by one John Hambleton, the converted tragedian, and at once began to teach in the ragged schools and preach in ,th*e open air. Hearing of the remarkable work of George Muller, of Bristol, Barnardo wrote to him for advice. Muller, thinking that Barnardo was too young to preach, advised him to study the Bible in private, but, with a few others, he hired a room and worked steadily for two or three years, until in 1866 he felt a call to go to China as a medical missionary. With that end in view he came to London, and entered the London Hospital as a student. But philanthropic and evangelistic work occupied much more of his time than lectures and study. He became almost at once superintendent of the Etnest Street Ragged School, and penetrated into many of the worst haunts of the neighbourhood, in order to say the word in due season.

— Fight in a Drinking Saloon. —

He has himself described one of his early adventures. Entering a low drinking saloon, which was crowded with youths and young women, he jumped on a table and shouted that he had come to sell Bibles and Testaments. A scene of wild uproar followed, during which Barnardo begged for a hearing : —

But it was labour lost to attempt

reasoning with such a crew. "Chuck 'im down !" "Bonnet 'im !" "Put 'im

out !" were the only replies to my ap-

peal. To get silence I volunteered a solo. They joined in the chorus up-

roariously. All my expedients failed, and I was getting exhausted, feeling that no good could be done among them. Foi the most part all in the room were under the influence of drink, and al-

though many were boys and girls, they

•uere wild with excitement and beyond control. Ciowding round the table, pulling at me and at the books, that hap-

pened which might have been expected. In short, I presently found myself on the ground with the flat part at the table pressing upon me, its legs bring in the air, whilst sevcial of ( lie biggoht lads leaped inside it, dancing v "devil's tattoo," to my grcvit disconifoit and injury. When f re.iehcMl my lodgings it

was found that I h.wl li.wl (wo of my ribs broken, but I was not (lamjcroti.wly injured, and after the exhaustion of thp

shock had passed over and firm band

ages h<id been applied I folt but little inconvenience from 1 lie fractuie, although it was quite six weeks before I regained my strength. A constable waited at my rooms to know if I would prosecute the ringleaders, but he re-

ceived from me, as soon as I was sen-

sible, an emphatic refusal. When this became known, liis rooms were daily besieged by relays of young roughs inquiring after his health, and his popularity was assured-

—The Start.—

Soon afterwards Barnardo and a few fellow-students determined to start a ragged school of their own in a humble way.

There was a very old dilapidated shed to let, which had been used not long before as a stable for costermongers^ donkeys, there being a street market not far off. After some debate we rented this 6hed. It cost us 2s 6d per week. This sum was contributed fiom our joint

funds. When we obtained possession we found there was no flooring. Rough cobblestones and earth would hardly do ! So we had to look about for a carpenter, and found a journeyman who undertook the job of putting a rough flooring down. I forget what it cost us. I think it came to something like two or three pounds, but I know that that bill made a considerable hole in our very limited resources. None of us had much money to spare. When after the flooring was done other repairs were needed, we decided that we could not afford to hire labour, and we must do them ourselves. And we did. We set to work right manfully. The rafters were cleaned and whitewashed, and the walls were lime-whited. We bought a couple of lamps second-hand, and these we hung with wire from the rafters, and they shed sometimes a spluttering radiance on the audience beneath. Then we had to get seats and books of same sort. Altogether 6u"r resources were 3eeply involved by the great expense of tne new undertaking. Well, into this old, disused, and transmogrified donkey-shed, as soon as it was ready, we gathered a crowd of idle, ill-washed children on

two nights a week and on Sundays, arranging the week-nights so that two of us should be on duty at a time, while on Sundays we all were there. A crowd of unkempt youngsters filled the place as soon as the doors were open.

— "Little Jim."

His chief lieutenant among the boys was a young street arab named Jim Jarvis, who first showed him the sleeping places wheie the destitute children of the slums were to be found in scores any night throughout the year. The story is well known, but it will bear repetition :—: —

The pattering naked feet of alert little Jim led the way to a wilderness of old sheds, tumbledown outhouses, and wreckage lying near Houndsditch. At first there appeared no sign of boys " sleeping out," as he had said. The searchers struck matches, and peeped

under barrows and behind boxes and

piles of odds and ends, and peered into hidden nooks and shaded crannies and coiners. But not a boy was to be seen. No sleeping child could be sighted sleeping behind or under any poor screen anywhere. He began to doubt whether Jim could make good his word to show him " lots on 'em." " Stop a minit," said Jim, " and come arter me." Quick as a ferret Jim was away up, over, and along a boundary wall. He had stuck his naked toes into the spaces between the worn brickwork and mounted the wall which supported sheds by the side of an old and mouldy wharf. With, the aid of a stick he helped up his new friend. And there, as the moon shone out, the seeker-out of the "lost" saw right before him a woebegone group of 11 poor boys, of ages varying from 9 to 18, sleeping in all postures, in the gutters of the iron roof, clad in thin rags, with not a shred more to cover them, exposed under the open sky to all winds and weathers — a spectacle to angels and lo men, and enough to break any heart of love ! "Shall I wake 'em up, sir?" asked Jim, as one of the sleepers moved. To Jim the sight was customary enough ; this was one of his own familiar sleeping haunts. It evoked no sentiment in his heart, inured as he was to such experiences. " Shall I wake 'em up?" "No, no!"' replied the awestruck visitor. And the two descended quietly and went away. — " Saved My Farthings." Very touching is the story Barnardo used to tell of his first unsolicited gift towards his new work. He had been addressing a meeting on behalf of foreign missions, but had introduced into his speech some telling references to his East End experiences :—: — When the meeting was brought to a conclusion, I was leaving the platform, and had just reached the arena, when a young woman came up to me. She looked of the servant girl class. I remember that she had a good and simple face, and that her eyes were filled with sympathy. "Please, sir,'' she said, "may I speak to you?" I said, " Certainly." She went on : ''I came here to help the missionaries. I have been praying for them for years. I am only a servant, and I cannot give much, but I have saved all my farthings for them. Bßutt t sir," she continued, " when I heard of you, I thought that we had the heathen not only abroad, but here, at our very doors, and J wondered if you would let mo give this which I had brought for the heathen to your poor children." And in a moment, before I could reply, she had placed in my hands, wrapped up in paper, whnt was clearly a parcel of coins. 1 felt not a little embarrassed. When at last I reached home. 1 opened the packet and found that it contained 6£Jd in farthings ! I knew not what to do or what to think with regard to this gift Presently, however, it came home to me that I had been asking God for guidance and help. and that this was His way of giving both. Here was a small gift, a humble one, and from a humble person. But it might be the seed of a great deal. So 1 reverently wrapped the coins up in a paper and laid them in a drawer,

where they _ remained some time

The incident helped to decide Barnardo's future. Abandoning for ever the thought of going to China, he straightway determined to devote his life to the destitute children of England, and especiplly to those of the metropolis. He resolved that the doors of his homes should always stand open, that no reilly destitute child should ever be i msec! admittance. In 1870 he opened hib first home at 18 Stepney Causeway; in 187^ he bought the Edinburgh Cft&tle publirhouse. and transformed a flarinjj g\a

palace and low music-hall into a. great centre of evangelistic work. The money came — somehow. It often seemed to drop from the skies just at the critical moment.

— A £1000 Gift. — More than once, when the treasury was empty, or when the hour for completing a purchase was on the point of striking, the necessary cheque arrived, and arrived, as Barnardo firmly believed, in direct answer to prayer. For example, one day a lady called to see him :—: — Standing at the door of my office, while tears rolled down her face, she said : " I bring you this money because your doors are never closed to any poor child. Go on with your blessed work. Never turn away one destitute child. God will surely help you !" And. to my astonishment she placed in my hand a Band of England note for £1000. I had heard "of such things, but never before had an incident of this kind befallen me. I fairly gasped for breath, while wonder and gratitude struggled for expression. My visitor gave me, however, fresh cause for such

feelings as she added, " And I rejoice to know that your children are kept free from the workhouse badge or taint, and that you seek to bring them up in the fear of the Lord " ; and then another note for £1000 was placed in, my not unwilling hand. I now resigned myself to the inevitable. I could only feel, though I dare not say it aloud then, " O Lord, how wonderful are Thy ways" ; and" certainly this feeling was increased to utter bewilderment when my visitor slowly took a third note for £1000 from her bag and placed it where the other two already

were — in my hands. Declining to gi\e her name or to accept a receipt, bi „ assuring me that she was familiar wit i every detail of our work, and hn<' visited it, and inspected it, and prayed for it, my visitor turned away and was gone. — Secret of Success. —

Mr Robertson Nicoll says that the secret of his wonderful success was his invincible zeal :—: — The great apparent characteristic of Dr Barnardo was ardour. He flamed up into vehemence very easily. Love, pity, wrath, scorn manifested themselves in turn almost volcanically. These bursts soon subsided, but very readily recurred. Dr Barnardo was a man of strong opinions on many points. Latterly he became somewhat deaf, and was wont to carry a fearful and wonderful instrument, which he described as an ear-trumpet. I never saw him use it for the purpose of hearing, but he employed it freely in thumping the back of his companion, whether to enforce the point of a joke or of an argument. He would run round the table pouring himself out, and then, as his climax approached, he seized his eartrumpet firmly. But one soon noticed that this great effervescence was not first or last among his qualities. He had that strange tenacity possessed by a few, to which it seems as if almost everything yields at last. Dr Barnardo* had taken up his life work in life, and he clung to it aril the time.