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ChapterIAfewdaysagoIstoodinaquietstreetinasmallmarkettowninthecountyofNottingham.Thedaywascoldandwet.Thestreetsofhetowndashedwiththerainandwind,presentedaverycheerlessaspect.Nogleamofflashingsunlight,nostretchoflivingbluerelievedthecloudedsky.Iacceptedtheday,withitslackofrelievingtints,asaparableofmylifeinitsearlierstages.Thoughtstoodeepfortearscrowdeduponmymindas,passingfromthestreet,Ienteredthroughalowpassageintoanopenspacebeyond.Takingmystandinonecorneroftheground,Istoodcontemplatingasmallbuildingnotfaraway.Itwaslittlechanged,thoughIhadnotseenitbefore,butonce,sinceIwasaboy.ItwasinthatroomwhereIwasborn.Apoor,weaklythingIwas,sotheysaid.SoneardidIcometolife’svergeinthedaysimmediatelysucceedingmybirth,thatthereportgotabroadIwasdead.StandingonthatNovemberdaynearmyhumblebirthplace,Iindulgedinday-dreamsofthepast.Howswiftlymemoryresurrectedthescenesofmylife!TheycamebeforemeinpanoramicformmorequicklythanIcanwrite.Facts,experiences,providences,mercies,stoodoutinwondrousarray.Throughall,andinall,Icoulddistinctlymarkthe“divinitythatshapesourends.”Providencewastooplainlywritonmylife’shistorytobeignored.Possibly,thehumblestlifeisfullofmarvels.OurtrivialitiesmaybeGod’scrises.Idonotthinkthereisadullorunmeaningthinginhumanexistence.Somemindsmaymissessentialcauses;agreatmind,never.Onemansays,WellingtonwonWaterloo,anotherBlucher;VictorHugosaysitwasafewdropsrain.JesusChristcaresmuchfortheunit,forHeknowsthattheunitmovesthemass.Whilestanding,asbeforeobserved,wrappedinthought,apooroldwomanlookedveryinquisitivelytowardsme.Shewasoneofthetenantsandnodoubtthoughtitstrangetoseemegazingatthehumbledwellinginthecorneroftheyard.Thatwhichtohermeantnothingwastomethewicket-gateleadingtomanystrangethings.Withasigh,findingthatotherswereobservingme,Iturnedaway.Iwasbornintheyear1851,onDecember18th,inthetownofMansfield.Myfatherandmother,towhomIshalldevotealaterchapter,wereofthepoorerclass.But,thoughpoor,mymotherwasaqueen,andhaditnotbeenforthedrinkandthepriest,myfatherwouldhavebeenaking.Butalas!alas!he,likemanyanother,wasspoiledinthemaking.LookingoverthepagesoftheMethodistRecordersometimeago,Isawabriefdescriptiveaccountofmyself,which,tome,wasveryinstructive.Itwastheissuefollowingoneofthe“QuietDays,”heldannuallyatStJames’HallforChristianministersandworkers.Thewritersaid:“Mr.Flanaganisatallman,withanearnestmanner,rathermysticalinhisthought.....hehaseyesofinexpressiblesadness.”IfthewriterhadseenthemerrytwinkleinthemwhenIlookedinthemirrortoseeifitwereso,hewouldnodoubthaveconfessedtoamistake.Butwhenthemomentarylaughhadpassed,Iwasstruckwiththe

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writer’spenetration.For,the“sadeyes”andthetendertone,nodoubt,aretheunconsciousreflexoftheagonywhichtouchedmylifewhenachild.“Reversiontotype”isafamiliarphrasetostudentsofscience.Sometimesaforgottenformoffamily-likenesswillresurrectitselfinanindividualaftergenerationshavecomebetween.Andchildhood,withitswealorwoe,itsblessingorcurse,willoftcastthelightorshadeacross“thesoberpathofmanhood.”Therecollectionofagreatpure-heartedjoywillsometimessuddenly,“Flushthefacewithsoul;”whileremembranceofadeadlysmartwillfillthecountenancewithcloudsasdarkandthickasthefrontofastormysky.SoitmaybethatwhentheeyeoftheMethodistjournalistcaughtmylook,themindwasdisturbedbyoneofthosepainfulflashesofthoughtwhichbringbacksovividlythesorrowsofanearliertime.Poetshaveglorifiedchildhoodinimmortalverse.Theyhavesung,“inaccentsbeautifulandsweet,”oflife’sgladinnocenceininfantdays.Thepoeticoutlineforchildhood’shomeisfamiliartousall:—“Thebanksofgreencoveredwithwildflowers,thecottageinthequietglen,withitstrellis-workofbeauty,themorningprayer,thepureassociations,theevening’sbenediction,thelandscapeoffieldandmeadows,withthenaturalbackgroundofvalleyandmountain,whosebroadpeaksalmosttouchedtheclouds;whilebeforethecottagedoorwouldbetheshinglybeach,themurmurofthesea-waves,thehumof‘lily-muffledbee,’thewildbird’ssong,themerrylaughterofinnocentchildren,allblendinginharmoniousconfusion,makingearthaveryParadise.’’Yes,suchapictureisveryfamiliartous.Oh,ifitwereonlytrue!Withsomeitmaybe.Butforthousandsofchildrenitremainsforeverapoeticdream.Tomeitwasso,andto-dayIthankGodIamaman;amanwithpowertothinkandactforGodandright.ThereasonIlookwithunwishfulheartonmyearlydaysisbecausethefirstfringeoflife’sshadowtouchedmewhenachild-ashadowwhichinlaterdaysalmostdeepenedintothedarknessofeternalnight.Mypoorfather’shabitsofdrinkingandcrueltycausedapaintoodeepforwordstofastenonmyyounglife.Manyanightmydearmotherandherchildrenhavebeenturnedoutontothecold,pitilessstreettowanderaboutuntilthemorning,ouronlyshelterbeingthefrailcoveringofanold,tatteredshawl,orthefriendlyshadowofthehouses.Here,protectedfromthefrost-wind,orblindingsleet,wewouldwatchforthedawnofday.Oh,howoftenwhenaboyhavemymother’ssufferingsseemedalmosttofreezemyblood.Manyatimewhenquitealad,IhaveclenchedmyfistandwishedIwasaman.Andnow,afternearlythirtyyearsofChristianservice,possessedofallthesoftenedfeelingswhich

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maturedexperiencebrings,IdeclarethatifIhadtolivemylifeoveragain,andIcouldchoosebetweenthetwo,Iwouldratherbecastonthecitystreet,fatherlesandhomeless,thanbethechildofadrunkard.WhenIcameintoexistencetheframeworkofthesoulwassofragile,thedoctorsaidIcouldnotpossiblylive.OnemorningitwasreportedthatIwasdead.Myelderbrother,leavinghomeforwork,reportedthenewstohiswork-mates,anditwasacceptedastrue.ButIamheretostatethatthatreportwasfalse.Agood,kindaunt,wholivesstill,alwayssaysitwasshewhorestoredmylife.For,tryingsomesimpleremedy,itprovedeffective,andIrecovered,totheastonishmentofall.Whenaboutsixyearsofagemyfather,havinglosthissituationthoughintemperance,andmymotherhavingaconstantstruggletokeepherchildrenfromwant,shetookmetoliveforashorttimewiththekindauntreferredto,whosehomeatthattimewasinBelvidereStreet,Mansfield.MyauntoccasionallyattendedtheoldPrimitiveMethodistChapelsituateinQueenStreet.ThiswastomeahappyProvidence,andoneforwhichIshalleverfeelgrateful.ThefirstSundayIwasinmynewquartersmyaunttookmetotheschool,andrelatingtothegoodsuperintendentthereasonsformybeingwithher,askedifhewouldpleaseadmitmeasascholar.“Yes,”saidMr.JoshuaRouse,“withpleasure.”Nearlyfortyyearshavepassed,butIcandistinctlyremembertheplacewhereIsat.TheBoys’BibleClass,ofwhichlwasamember,occupiedthecornerunderthestairsontherighthandsideleadingintothegallery.Thewell-set,black-haired,stern-featured,butkind-heartedsuperintendentstandsclearlyoutlinedbeforemyimagination.Icanrememberwellhowmyheartpalpitatedbeneathmythreadbarejacket,when,oneday,Mr.Rousecomplimentedmeonmysingingataschoolanniversary.Hewasaloverofdiscipline,punctualtothemoment,gentleasamother.Ionlyattendedtheschoolafewtimes.Myfather,havingfoundwork,claimedmeagain.AyearorsoafterIhadleft,mymotherhappenedtopassthroughMansfield.Itwassummer-time,andthedaywasverybeautiful.Suddenlythestreetbecamefilledwithhappychildren.ItwastheannualtreatofthePrimitiveMethodistSundaySchool.Mr.Rouseandhisbandofteachersweretherearrangingforthepleasureoftheirlargeflock.Standingatthedoorofthehouse,Ilookedwistfullyatthegladcrowd.“Wouldyouliketogo?”mymotherasked.“Ishould,mother,”Ianswered.InstantlymymotherwasbythesideofMr.Rousepleadingmycause.Icanhearhimnowashesaid:“Anyboywhohaseverattendedthisschooliswelcometocomeandjoinus.”

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SoIjoinedtheranks,andspentoneofhappiestdaysofmyyounglife.Yearsafterwards,whenthelightofGodenteredmysoul,Iwentfourteenmilestoseethedearoldsuperintendent,andtellhimthatmysinswereforgiven.StandinginhisshopIgavemytestimony.Theoldmanwept,thengavemesomesoundadvice,whichIhaveneverforgotten.ThelasttimeImetMr.RousewasatafamousDistrictMeeting,heldatNewark-on-Trent.TheyearIdonotremember.Somemightymenwerethere.ItwasinthedaysbeforeNottinghamDistrictwasdivided.Thecampmeetingwillneverbeforgottenbythosewhowerepresent.AtthefirststandoneofthepreacherswastheRev.ParkinsonMilson.HistextwasRev.i.6,“AndhathmadeuskingsandpriestsuntoGodandHisFather;toHimbegloryanddominionforeverandever.Amen.”Oh,howtheglorydescendedasthepreacherrangthechangeson“kingsandpriestsuntoGod;”andupontheglorythattheredeemedwouldrenderuntoChristandtheFather.Thecampgroundbecameatemple,andthegloryOfGodfilledeverypartthereof.AtanotherstandtheRev.R.TaylorpreachedonRev.xxii.14,“BlessedaretheythatdoHiscommandments,thattheymayhavearighttotheTreeofLife,andmayenterinthroughthegatesintothecity.”

IstoodclosebythestandwhenMr.TaylormountedtheWaggontopreach.Hewasverypale.Hishandstwitchednervously.Turninground,hesaidtoMrs.Sharp,ablessedwoman,“Prayforme.”Hispreachingwaswithpower.Ashedescribedthepathwaytotheglory-land,andthetriumphantentranceoftheblood-washedspirit“throughthegates,”therewasamightymove,andgreatgraceresteduponthepeople.AtnighttheDistrictMeetingLovefeastwasheldinParliamentStreetChapel.TheRev.JohnBarfootwastheleader.Beingveryfeeblehecalledoneortwobrethrenupontotherostrumtoassisthim.Thewriterheaskedtoleadthesinging.ItwasduringthislovefeastthatJoshuaRouse,whowasseatedinthecommunionbelow,roseuptogivehistestimony.Clearandtenderwerehiswords.Hisvoicetremulouswithage,venerableinappearance,heseemedlikeoneoftheprophetsrisenfromthedead.Hetoldofhisfriendshipwith

HughBourne,ofhisserviceinthequietsphereoftheSundaySchool,ofsomeofhisboyswhohadturnedoutwell.Then,suddenlylookingatme,asIstoodnearMr.Barfoot,hesaid,“Yes,there’soneofmyboys.”Itwasanincidentthatmovedmemuch.IamnotsurethatfromthattimeIevermetMr.Rouseagain.Buttoreturn.OneSundayafternoon,whileattendingtheSundaySchoolinQueenStreet,Mansfield,theteacheroftheclasstookforlessonachapterwhichinthosedayswasaverygreatfavouritewithSundaySchoolteachers-thethirdChapterofJohn’sGospel.Tome,atthattime,thoughyoung,theBiblewasaninterestingBook.Interesting,notbecauseIreadit;Ididnotreadit.Myfather,beingaRomanCatholic,hadforbiddenmetoreaditatall,butmymotherhadkeptacopyoftheScripturesbystealth,andtheBookwasevertomeakindofcurio.Myfather’steachingrelativetotheEnglishBibleIwillmentionlater.Readingthechaptermentioned,Ibecamedeeplyinterested,andwhenI

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leftthe,schoolthewordsofthesixteenthverse,“GodsolovedtheworldthatHegaveHisonlybegottenSon,thatwhosoeverbelievethonHimshouldnotperishbuthaveeverlastinglife,”werefastenedonmymind.Manyyearsafterwards,whenoppressedwithadeepsenseofmysin,itwasthetruthcontainedinthewordsofthisversewhichledmeintopeace.Thereareseveralscenesofmychildhoodwhichstandoutmostprominentlybeforeme,eachofwhichcarriesitsownpeculiarinfluence.ThefirstImentionmadeapowerfulimpressiononmymind.IthappenedwhenIwasabouttenyearsofage.Mylifeuptothispointhadbeenawearyburden.Kicksandcurseswerefarmoreplentifulthankissesandblessings.Theangelofmylifewasmymother.Shewastomethelivingembodimentofallthatwasgood.Myfather’sexampleandcreedmadeitimpossibleforhertofulfilallherdesireinthematterofherchildren’seducation.Tome,whenbutaboy,myfatherandmotherappearedtoservetwodifferentgods;theoneCatholic,theotherProtestant.TheconductofmyfatherledmetodespiseboththecreedandtheGodbywhichhesaidhislifewasruled.TheChurchthatgavehimabsolutionfromallpastguilt,andpromisedtodosoagainonpaymentofacertainsumofmoney,was,eventomyyoungmind,aninstitutionforthelicenseofsin.Mymother’slife,sofullofsorrow,butfilledwithbeautifulkindness,impressedmefromchildhood,andIresolved,whenquiteaboy,thatifeverIdidloveaGoditshouldbetheGodofmymother.Thisconvictionwassofirmlyfixedinmymindthatitpowerfullyinfluencedmyfuture.Myfather,alarmedatthehereticalinfluencessurroundingmylife,andwishingmetobebroughtupinharmonywiththeteachingsofthe“TrueChurch,”tookmeonedaytohavemeenteredasascholarintheCatholicday-schoolofthetownofPreston,inwhichwethenresided.Handingmeovertotheschoolmaster,heenjoinedhimto“makeofmeatrueCatholic.”Iwasnottherelongbeforetherewastrouble.Ihatedtheschoolandallconnectedwithit.Ihadeverbeforemymindwhattomewerethetwochiefexpositionsofreligion-myfatherandmother.IknewneitherChurches,creeds,norGods,beyondwhatIsawinthem.Mattersattheschoolsoonreachedaclimax.Iwasmarkedasareligiousleper.ACatholichasafinescentforheresy.ToseethebigotryofCatholicismoneshouldhavegonetosomeofthepublicschoolsfortyyearsagowherethepriestandtheschoolmasterruled.AndevennowinsomeoftheIrishquartersyoumayfindboyswhowillfightwhiletheycanstandforwhattheycall“theirreligion.”SomesneeratthePopeorthepriestdiscoveredme.FromthattimeIbecamethescapegoat.Theboyswouldnotassociatewithme.Iwasoneverypossibleoccasionsalutedwithsuchphrasesas,“Gitout!”“Yah!Youheretic!”“Goon,youapostate!”“YouProtestantdog!”ButcursingisnotastrangelanguagetoaCatholic.FromthePopedownwards,thethingrunsintheblood.ThespreadoflighthascheckedtheactionoftheRomishChurchinthisdirection.Butthegrammarswhichcontainherrulesofwrathareallontheshelvesreadyforusewhenopportunityoccurs.Protestantismhassimplysealedherlipsforthemoment,anddriventhecursebacktotheheart,butitisthere,stillready,likeacrouchinglion,tospringonitsprey.Oneday,intheschool-yard,wordscametoblows,andIamafraidIgottheworstofit.Butifmyfistswereuseless,mylungswerefree,andIdidnotforgettousethem.AllthewayhomeIpractisedthemwithdueeffect.Arrivingthere,Iroaredasthougheveryboneinmybodywasbroken.Iknewmyfather’stemperament,andwished,formyownsake,tomaketheworstIpossiblycouldofthe

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treatmentIhadreceived.Seeinghimenterthehouse,Igaveoneortwoextra,“yells,”speciallygotupfortheoccasion.Heexcitedlyinquiredwhatwasthematter.WithallthecolourmyIrishimaginationcouldputintoit,IdescribedthebeastlytreatmenttowhichIhadbeensubjected;ofcourse,punctuatedwithoneortwoemotionalbreakdowns,asthoughthebarerecitalwastoomuchforme.“An’amtheytrateyelikethat?”heshouted.“Comewidme!Bejabbers!I’llcrushthelotofthim.”Outofthehousewewent;hetearingofflikemadinthedirectionoftheschool,andIfollowingbehind,spurringhim,onwithanextraroarortwoasthoughtheverymemoryofwhatIhadenduredcouldonlybethoughtofwithhorror.Arrivingattheschool,heshoutedforthemaster,anybody,everybody,tocomeoutnntothe“strate.”“BytheHolyChurch!”saidhe,“I’llplayDonnybrookonthefaceofanymanthatwillcomedownhere.”Butthemasterhadmoresense.Formyfatherwasnomeanantagonist.Noonehavingacceptedhischallenge,afterventinghisspleenoutsidethebuilding,hereturnedhome.Enteringthehouse,hetookmebythecollarofmycoat,andpushingmeacrossthehousetowheremymothersat;said:“Here,takehim,andbringhimupinwhatreligiony-uplase,I’llhavenomoretodowidhim,"andasIhaveoftensaid,“FromthatauspicioushourIgotquitofthePope,thepriest,andtheRomanCatholicChurchforever.”(Tobecontinued.)__________________________________________________________________________________ReferencesPrimitive Methodist Magazine 1901/22