Boyhood

Andrew Reed

In one of the closing years of the last century a couple of fair-haired children might have been seen playing about in the Spa Fields, or in the Temple Gardens, in charge of a nursemaid. The elder of them was a boy about eight years of age, the other a little delicate girl of about three. They were born in London, but because of their frail appearance and tender health, their anxious parents desired a purer and more bracing air for them than could be obtained in the City. The nursemaid was instructed to take her little charge out into the suburbs, that “they might be all day long out of the close city.” But sad mishaps were to follow this plan. One day the little boy fell into the river, and was discovered only just in time to be rescued by a gentleman, who happened to be passing, from a watery grave. We may fancy the consternation which prevailed in the little family circle when this adventure was related.

Another time, the nursemaid fell into so careless a way with these little ones, that they strayed away, and were decoyed to a distance by a tawny gipsy girl, who, taking a hand of each, led the unsuspecting children off towards the encampment. They were very soon out of sight and sound of the careless nursemaid, and, had the scheme succeeded, they would probably have been subjected to the indignities of ragged apparel, dyed skins and hair, and other treatment, in order to elude discovery. But providentially, a lady was passing in a postchaise; and observing, as she did, that the two children did not belong to the gipsy girl, she raised an alarm, by means of which she succeeded in restoring the little wanderers to their mother’s arms. After this, the two children were placed at school together for safety, and the nursemaid dismissed.

‘These children were Andrew Reed and his sister, Martha, the children of a watchmaker, residing in Butcher Row, St. Clement Danes. Mr. Reed occupied part of a building known as Beaumont House. It was entirely built of wood, “had many rooms with low ceilings, supported by heavy transverse beams, and furnished with rickety casements.” Beaumont House had many historic memories. It was built in Tudor times, and was the residence of the great Duke of Sully, who was the French Ambassador to England during the reign of James I. Here Andrew Reed the elder plied his trade of watchmaking; and here, on November 27th, 1787, Andrew, the little son, was born. Martha first saw the light in 1793, and a younger brother, named Peter, some years after. Beside these, there were several other children, who died in infancy.

They not only lived in an historic house, but they were descended from a family who were somewhat famous in history. The Reeds were distinguished among the yeonjea of Dorsetshire for honesty and uprightness, as well as for God-fearing qualities, and one of them — Lieutenant-Colonel John Reed — defended the town of Poole against all attacks, on behalf of the Commonwealth of England, m 1649. Among some old archives is still existing a “Covenant of the Mayor, Justices, Burgesses, Townsmen, Natives, and Inhabitants of Poole, to adhere to, assist, and maintain the present Governor, Lieut-Col. John Reed, April 16, 1649.” It would however, seem that after this struggle was over the Reeds retired into private life, and sought only to adorn their stations by quiet uprightness and self-denying religion. Some of them settled at Maiden Newton; and of them the clergyman of the parish was accustomed to say “that he was sure of a welcome, and found more godly discourse in the dwellings of these pious Nonconformists than in any other household of his parish.” Descended from such ancestry, it was no wonder that Dr. Andrew Reed became noted for piety and philanthropy.

Mr. Reed, the watchmaker of Beaumont House, was one of the Maiden Newton family. He journeyed on foot to London, set up his sign, and soon became united with a Christian Church. During one of his Sabbath errands of mercy he met with a Miss Mary Ann Mullen — an orphan lady — who was visiting and praying with a sick woman. This introduction led to a further acquaintance, and that to love. Miss Mullen was a schoolmistress — driven to this mode of gaining a livelihood because she had been robbed of her inheritance, and cast out of her home, on her father’s death, “with no worldly property but a fair name and a good character.” She was a member of Dr. Winter’s Church, and after attending to her school, gave all her spare time to works of charity. Mr. Reed found a treasure when he made Miss Mullen his wife, for through all the years that followed Mrs. Reed exercised her influence, and denied herself, in order to secure leisure and opportunity to both her husband and son for works of charity and usefulness. Being an orphan, she naturally cared for the orphan; and being a true Christian, she sought to train up her children in the way they should go. There can be no doubt that much of Dr. Reed’s after usefulness was the consequence of this early education and training by his mother.

Mr. and Mrs. Reed began to see that it was neither safe nor wise to trust the children to the servant’s care after the incidents we have related in the beginning of this chapter. The brother and sister were put to good village schools at Mitcham, and permitted to pass the play hours together. Of this time Dr. Reed wrote in after life:” We were no longer in circumstances to tempt the bad passions into exercise. The hours not engaged by the duties of our separate schools were spnt together; we were nearly each other’s sole companions. With me she spun the top, trundled the hoop, and taught the kite to fly on the wings of the wind. With me she chased the butterfly, surmounted the stile and hedge, and wandered from corn-field to corn-field, collecting gay flowers; at last returning home each other’s king and queen, crowned with the garlands our busy fingers had weaved.

“Fancy, too, had her reign, and active pursuits would be resigned for those which would be more pensive. When the summer shower has been falling, we have sat gazing up into heaven, till we thought we saw it sprinkled from the hands of angels, and have run out to the garden that it might fall on us. Often have we sat beneath the elm-trees while the glorious sun was setting, imagining his rays, broken as they were by the branches and foliage, to be a thousand separate stars, and amused ourselves in a vain attempt to number them. We have wandered far from home, and penetrating the coppice-wood, and burying ourselves in the leaves, have represented the Babes in the Wood, till we reproached the birds for not bringing us blackberries. We have made to ourselves wings, and flown to every part of the earth with which we had any acquaintance; we have travelled to the edge of the world (which we could never think of but as a plain), and have shuddered to look down on nothing! What joys have been ours in the midst of these childish engagements! Free from care and from fear, we desired nothing, we regretted nothing.”

Of the home-life, and its Sabbath exercises. Dr. Reed wrote thus in after-days:” I recollect nothing at this period that gave me such an elevated idea of my father’s goodness as his acts of prayer; and my mind returns to few things in childhood with more pleasure than to many of our Sabbath evenings. At these seasons we were required to repeat what we could remember of the public services. We then went through our catechetical exercises; and at the end of these we generally took our places, my sister on the lap, and myself between the knees of our beloved parent His countenance, naturally grave, would wear a serene smile; and he would enter into familiar conversation with us, not talking about religion, but talking religiously, answering our questions or proposing his own. We then chose a hymn, and he sang it with us.

We thought no one could sing so sweetly. Afterwards he would press us nearer to his side, and say, with a feeling we could not then understand, * God Almighty bless ye, my children! ‘It was an hour of gladness.”

But young Andrew was growing up out of childhood, and getting past the status of the scholars at the Mitcham village school. It therefore became incumbent to find some other school more suitable for his age and requirements. It was a maxim with Mrs. Reed that “a good education is a fortune a child can never spend, and a parent can always bestow.” But the mother confessed that it was not so easy to give this education in those hard times; for in a diary which she kept at that date she wrote: “This we do at some sacrifice; for war taxes are fearful, and bread is 16Jd. the quartern loaf. Yet it was said in Parliament that the wheat wasted every year in hair powder would make more than a million loaves; and Mr. Pitt could not deny it. Still the best education we can get the lad shall have, for he is a boy of good promise.” In pursuance of this resolve, the lad was sent to a good classical school at Islington, kept by a Mr. Anthony Crole. There he remained two years. After this, he went for a short time to school at Hayes, but his progress was so slow that he begged his parents to take him back home again.

Next, Andrew was put to his father’s trade, and with his usual love of thoroughness, he took a pride in becoming an expert clock and watch maker. Still, his opportunities of mental development and education were not permitted to end. His father took him to various scenes, now become historic, and recounted to him such stirring episodes in our nation’s story as the Gordon riots, and the trial of Warren Hastings. Indeed, he went with his father to see the rejoicings at the West End upon the acquittal of Hastings. Mrs. Reed took her son to see the newly-erected statue of John Howard, in St. Paul’s, in 1796. He was also acquainted by means of various little conferences in his parents’ parlour with some of the fathers and founders of the London Missionary Society. Soon after this Mrs. Reed took her son to witness the setting apart and sailing of two young men for the missionary work, and next morning, being the Sabbath, she spent some time praying that Andrew might grow up to be a God-fearing and God-serving man. So passed the time until he left his father’s roof to be regularly apprenticed to the watchmaking trade under another master. This step was rendered necessary by the fact that Mr. Reed spent most of his time in preaching to various village congregations around London, the family obtaining their support from a “Staffordshire warehouse,” conducted by Mrs. Reed, in order to set her husband at liberty to follow his preaching labours. But the new associations of his master’s house were not such as tended to the moral benefit of the youth. He was led astray, both by example and influence, in the direction of worldly amusements and pursuits. Writing in his diary at this time, he said: “By the wicked behaviour of my master’s son, I was led astray, and this year (1802) I went twice or thrice to the play-houses; but restrained by my conscience, and many admonitions from home, I was constrained to pray against my temptations. One Sunday I heard a sermon from Mr. Lyndall on these words, And the door was shut’ (Matthew xxv. 10), which made a great impression, on my mind, and forced me to pray. But Monday came, and with it worldly scenes, and I partly stifled my convictions. Providentially, going home that night to my father’s house, I saw a pamphlet — Dr. Watts” Advice to a Young Man,’ which my mother was going to send to me. I read it; conviction of my sins took fast hold upon me, and I spent the night in prayer. I resolved to read Mr. Alleine’s ‘Alarm to Unconverted Sinners,* which led me to make this covenant.” The covenant referred to his future life and conduct, and contained a solemn surrender of himself to God. It was signed in this manner-” This is my act and deed. A. Reed, aged sixteen November next. June 8, 1803.”

After this crisis. of decision for God, he resolved to sacrifice everything which could be the cause of temptation at this juncture, even to the loss of his apprenticeship. It shows the confidence and affection which existed between himself and his parents in a striking degree; and proves that he was certain of their approbation. He requested his master to cancel his indentures, and agreed to sacrifice the premium paid with him, provided he could return home free. The master agreed, doubtless wondering what sort of a principle actuated young Reed; and then the lad walked home with the cancelled indentures in his pocket. He explained to his parents that he had taken this step in order to be released from ungodly associations, and “whatever the pecuniary loss, they were secretly grateful for his decision.” A neighbour, prompted by kindness, offered to bind Andrew to himself, free of all expense, but as the transaction was to be of nominal character, the lad respectfully declined the offer. He would not bear the name of an apprentice where he did not intend to serve. Still, it was a serious and perplexing time for all.

Andrew had, however, achieved some proficiency in the watchmaking art. His children long possessed watches made by him, bearing his name, and proved to be trustworthy as timekeepers. A story is told of his skill having been held in such high esteem by those who had occasion to test it, that it speaks conclusively of the pride and diligence displayed by him in the calling. A pair of ancient dames, living on Highgate Hill, invited him to come once a year, and put their old upright clock into complete repair. It was their humour to make him take a whole week about it, during which time he lived with them; and when he departed with a new guinea in his pocket, they repeated the old declaration. “No one shall make or meddle with our time-piece, but young Andrew Reed, the London clockmaker,”

But now he was at home, in a fair way to become neither watchmaker nor anything else; and with his usual seriousness, he sought solitude and prayer, while he contemplated the future. A public fast-day drew on — fast-days being very frequent then, owing to war: and he spent the day in Highgate Wood, resolving to ask God for special providential leading at this juncture. As one result of this day’s fasting and prayer, he returned to his father’s house, resolved to become a thorough master of his trade, and to await whatever opening might present itself. At the same time, he continued his studies; read very diligently all that came in his way; learned shorthand; and laid a good foundation for future usefulness. That all this would ultimately tend to the profession of the ministry was not very difficult to foresee. His father was “instant in season and out of season” in preaching; his mother not only laboured hard in business to keep the father free to study and preach; but yearned and prayed also over her boy, that he might grow up to be a good and useful man.

About this time Andrew became a Sunday-school teacher at a small village school at Scotland Green, Ponder’s End. So attached was he to this school, that he walked out to it each Sunday morning, summer and winter, by eight o’clock, breakfasted at an old woman’s cottage, and opened the school by nine o’clock. The school soon increased; and so fond were the little scholars of their self-denying teacher, that they would flock out to join him as he passed their cottage- doors. Other youths, like-minded, joined him, and before long, beside a class for mutual study of the Bible, and regular visitation of the scholars, a Sunday evening cottage service was established for the reading of the Scriptures and the “Pilgrim’s Progress.” Thus the pursuits of the boy were shadowing forth those of the man.