How the Book Fund Prospers

From The Sword and the Trowel, January 1877

“RECORD OF COMBAT WITH SIN, AND LABOUR

for the* Lord.” These words on the cover of our magazine startled me the other day as I sat thinking over my work, and what I should say about it. I felt almost ashamed of my audacity m presuming to ask a place again amidst its pages, seeing that I am not strong enough to bear a “sword,” and my “trowel” is such a very little one that it can only hope to gather enough mortar to supply some few of the labourers who build up the living stones. But I remembered with exceeding comfort that, when the wall of Jerusalem was repaired, in Nehemiah’s time, the work of the daughters of Shallum was as faithfully recorded as the labour of the princes and the priests.

So I take courage to tell again of the Lord’s great goodness to me, and how marvellously He has continued to help and bless the Book Fund. As certainly as if He had stretched forth His hand from the heavens and given me a written commission for the service, so surely do I know that this work came to me through His indulgent love, and from the first moment of its existence to the present, He has guided, and supported, and blessed it, and every atom of the glory shall be His. He sent me the needful funds to carry it on, by. moving the hearts of His people to help me; for not one penny pf the ^926 received from August nth of last year till now was solicited except from Him. And He has heard and answered the prayer that a great blessing might follow the books into the homes of His dear servants, comforting their hearts and refreshing their Spirits, as well as aiding them in their preparation for the pulpit. I have two great heaps of letters from them, so heavy that I lift them with difficulty; and if all the joy and gratitude to God therein expressed could be written out* it would fill some volumes. Knowing how deeply interested

in these letters the readers of The Sword and the Trowel have hitherto been, I propose in this paper to give a series of extracts from them,* a set of word-pictures as it were, which I shall call

A GLIMPSE AT SOME ENGLISH INTERIORS.

Years aga, when I had the felicity of sharing my dear husband’s annual holiday, one of our chief pleasures consisted in visiting the picture gallery of every continental town we entered. There “walking circumspectly” over the shining, treacherous floors, we spent many happy hours, and enjoyed to the full the works of the grand old masters; but I am not ashamed to confess that I at least used to linger longer and more lovingly over a u Dutch Interior,” by Teniers or Ostade, than I cared to do over any “Madonna and Child” that Raphael or Rubens ever painted. These latter never stirred any devotional feelings within my soul, and failing this, they ceased to interest, and even grew tiresome by constant repetition. But it was charming to be absorbed in the “little beautiful works,” as an authority on painting calls them, which the Dutch masters loved to draw with such wonderful and tender minuteness of detail. The interior of a fisherman’s hut, with its quaint wooden cradle, and its basket of freshly-caught fish, would, on close inspection, reveal unsuspected objects of interest, and the picturesque farm kitchens, with their glittering array of bright pans, their wealth of delf ware, their chubby children, and their comely Vrows, were so homelike, and so natural, that the more one gazed at them the more vividly real they became, and it was an easy task to weave a tale of family joy or sorrow around each glowing canvas.

But now I want to show my friends, by pen in lieu of pencil, some scenes in English home-life where the tale of gladness or of suffering is even more plainly pictured, and needs no effort of the imagination to unfold it. A; hasty glance into a parlour, at the moment when a gift from the

* When the writers of these letters recognize their own compositions, they need have no fear of betrayed confidence; for with my oWn hands I have prepared all the copy for the printer, so that their names might, be unknown.

Book Fund has arrived; a peep into a study where the four portly volumes of “The Treasury of David” have just enriched the scanty store of books; a glimpse of a figure with bowed head and clasped hands, pouring out a heart full of gratitude before his God — these, and such as these, tell their own story, and as we pass from one picture to another, will only need a word or two from me to introduce them. I could show some where tearful faces gather, and a little coffin occupies the foreground; but these are veiled, and my hand dares not withdraw the covering.

The first “Interior” which I point out to you is shining with the brightness of domestic love. The little room may be poorly furnished, and the bookshelves, I know, are sadly bare (how can they be otherwise, when the minister’s income has the very uncomfortable habit of oscillating between £40 and £60 a year?); but you can see with what intense delight that kind and happy wife is assisting to unpack the treasure of new books which will cheer her husband’s heart, and make him feel a richer man for some time to come. There is a Sword and Trowel lying on the table, and .... but you shall look for yourselves: —

The receipt of your communication this morning was a surprise. A pleasing and agreeable surprise; for I had no idea that my kind, good wife had written to you. Often have I seen “The Treasury of David ’* advertised, and have secretly desired to have it. But in order to be happy I am compelled to nip my desires in the bud, lest they should grow to be troublesome. My soul’s desire for books has to be slain, which is wearisome work, so that some passages of Scripture, in an improper sense, have a secret meaning to my soul. “My soul is weary because of murderers.*’ “Happy is he that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones but in this case I have to thank you and my dear wife that my desire for “The Treasury of David” has not perished with the rest; a little Moses saved, and I trust will prove a blessing. Please accept my hearty thanks. May the Lord abundantly bless you in your mission, and move the hearts of His children to contribute. Much pleased to see a sketch of your lemon plant, and to find it flourishing: I have often thought and wondered whether the little thing was still fdive. .... No one but the Lord, and the partner of our joys and sorrows, know the struggles of a minister. Thank God for a good wife. Minster churchyard, m Kent, has a monument to the wifd of a minister, of whom it is recorded, “She cheered him with her smile, sustained him with her counsel, and aided him in his ministry for thirty-six years.” And she is not the only one. .... After examining th6 work. I am constrained to write again and express my high appreciation

of it. I am impressed with the immense amount of labour which must lave been expended in its production — the mines of truth it contains. It is indeed a treasury of things new and old — to me a treasure indeed. Others have laboured, and I am favoured to enter into their labours. It is the most valuable work I have, the Bible, of course, excepted. The whole church owes Mr. Spurgeon a debt of gratitude, not only for his own thoughts, but also for bringing up from the past the thoughts of the thoughtful of other ages. It will, it must, be a lasting benefit to thousands, and ought to be on the shelf of every minister. Yours is a noble work, to distribute to those who cannot afford to purchase. Pardon me for writing a second time. If I were to hold my peace the stones would cry out.

There is so much homely, yet pathetic grace in the next picture, that it must attract all eyes, and hearts also, I hope. How true to nature, and how touching is the chief incident — the evening stroll down the brightly-lighted streets of the town, the unmistakable gravitation of the poor minister’s mind and body towards the fatal bookstall, and the overwhelming anxiety of the tender wife to avert the threatened peril to her scantily-filled purse!

Being the wife of one of those ministers whom God has put it into your’ heart to help, I feel that I owe you a debt of gratitude, and as my heart is too full to hold all it feels, I pour it out before God and you whom He has chosen to carry out a work so noble. A thousand thanks

for your timely aid I am the mother of seven children — six are

yet with us — the eldest is fifteen, the youngest is just over eight. While rearing these children up to now, mine has been a life of hard work and self-sacrifice. Our salary in the past has been much lower than it is now, but still we have to struggle to make ends meet as family wants increase year by year. My husband is a great lover of books, and I am almost ashamed to confess that when walking in town with him I have very carefully avoided going into the streets where the book stores were kept, knowing it would be hard work for him to pass them by. Many times after receiving our quarter’s salary it has puzzled me to know how to divide it — the quarter’s school bills nearly due, one must have a new suit of clothes, another a dress, the twin boys must have new boots, caps, etc. I assure you that to spare a little for my husband’s library I have had to be servant, tailor, and dressmaker, and very frequently have my hands been in the dye-pot in order to send my family out respectable.

We cannot help saying, “Well done! good wife, good mother; the Lord reward thee ‘ in that day ’ 1”

Now we come to a small but choice picture. The minister sits in his study (a cosy one), and we rejoice to see his shelves moderately stocked with books; he has just had the

In the Service of the Fook Fund. pleasure of adding “The Treasury of David,” and Watson’s 4C Body of Divinity” to his store; he is writing rapidly, and this is what he says

This evening I have received the four much-desired volumes. Heartily I thank you, and unfeignedly bless the Lord, joining in the prayer so kindly recorded in Vol. I. that the precious contents may tivail me. Here is a mine of gold — Ihope to dig up nuggets for my people. How the cream of the gospel stands thickly on this unadulterated milk! Prayer and meditation shall chum it into butter; nay, shall I not give them butter and honey till they all know how to refuse the evil flesh-pots of Egypt, and choose the good things of the land where David -dwelt, where milk, and honey flow? Your noble efforts for ministers will be a blessing to both mind and body. It is rather trying to the nerves to be clearing the ground with a borrowed axe, carving wood with one’s fingers, and working at the pump when the sucker is dry. But now, through Mrs. Spurgeon’s loving work, poor men whose thoughts stand still for want of gear-oil will have heart and mind set spinning like the “Chariots of Amminadib” I

There is one difficulty I experience in arranging this little gallery of home scenes, which arises from the loving gratitude of the sketchers themselves. Some of the most interesting and touching letters I receive contain so many gentle and gracious personalities, that I am obliged to conceal them from public view, and for this reason many a bright picture enshrined in the privacy of my “sanctum” can never leave it to touch other hearts as it has touched mine. I hope, however, that those I am able to present to my friends will interest them greatly, and next in order I place one which has two aspects — winter and summer; for, thanks to the kindness of dear friends, I was able, for a time at least, to make the sun shine on the hitherto cheerless prospect Would to God I could do more, not only for this “good wife,” but for the many others who I know have terrible reason to be “afraid of the snow for their households.” Just think of the dear little children patiently lying in bed while their scanty clothing was being washed!

Forgive me for troubling you with a statement of our poverty. Many times I have felt prompted to ask if you have a fund for supplying poor ministers’ wives and children with clothes. If so, I sincerely trust you will have compassion on us, for we are in great need. My husband has been in the ministry more than twenty-six years, and has ©ever received more than £$ per month. We are seven in family, ana I am such a sufferer from rheumatics that I cannot do the house-work;

and as we cannot pay for hired help, our eldest girl, who was in a situa* tion, is obliged to come home again. If you can help us in any way, it will be very, very acceptable; for the winter is near, and firing and house-rent are high, and my dear husband’s clothes are getting as bare as our own.

I am going to try to drop you a few lines, but do not know how sufficiently to thank you and dear friends for your great kindness to us. We were all of us overjoyed; it is an old saying that it is always darkest before the dawn, and we found it so; for when your present came to hand the dear little ones were in bed that we might wash their clothes, as we had not change of raiment for them. But you may depend there was no more sleep for that day when they were told that Mrs. Spurgeon had sent money to buy them new warm clothes. Since then

we have received a cheque from Mr., and a box of very valuable

clothing from Mr. — — , which we feel sure is through your sympathy.... We sincerely hope that none of the kind friends who have helped us will ever know one-tenth of the trouble that we have had; yet we never had so much joy as this week has brought us!

Although I have scores more of such letters, I am afraid I must close my collection here, lest I tire my reader’s patience, and trespass too far on my Editor’s precious pages. It has been a joy inexpressible to minister, even in the least degree, to the crying needs of the pastors who have sought the aid of the Book Fund; but I cannot forget that there are hundreds still unsupplied, and if the Lord permit and spare me, I hope to do more this year than was accomplished in the past I depend wholly on the Lord to move the hearts of His people to help me, and I know He “will not fail me,” nor “forsake the work of His own hands.” 4,967 volumes have been distributed, 701 ministers have received grants of books, and as I am corresponding secretary, as well as treasurer, manager, etc., my friends can imagine I have had full employment. The only part of the work delegated to another is the packing of the parcels, and this service is always performed as a “labour of love” by the willing hands of the dear friend to whose devoted affection I already owe so much. Who should be my u director in chief” and my “referee” in all perplexities but my dear Editor? To him I run in search of counsel, comfort, or wise advice, and need I say I always find it?

Dear friends, farewell. As on former occasions, so now, I must beg that the effort to place before you some details of my work may be viewed with lenient and indulgent eyes. “John Ploughman’s Wife” may well be forgiven when she humbly acknowledges that the “pen of a ready writer” is not to be wielded by her feeble fingers; yet, notwithstanding conscious inability and weakness, she confidently hopes that some “honour, and glory, and blessing” will be laid at the Lord’s feet by this tribute to His wonderful lovingkindness, shown so manifestly in the continued prosperity and vigour of the Book Fund.

“Remember me, O Lord, for good.”