Chapter V: Homes and No Homes

“The grief that aits beside the hearth,
Life has no grief beside.”

TOWARDS the close of 1853, I commenced a Mothers’ Society, and the following letter will be found to contain an account of its establishment and early progress. It is addressed to a dear friend, in answer to a letter of inquiries from her. As similar inquiries have frequently been made since, by persons interested in the same way, I think it best to give the letter entire:—

7 St James Square, _Dec._ 8, 1854.

MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,—I fear you must have thought me very dilatory in
replying to your last kind letter, containing so many inquiries
respecting the Mothers’ Society. In consequence of your asking for a
_minute_ history of its rise and progress, and putting, besides, so
many definite questions, I felt that the limit of a common letter
would be quite insufficient, and I have therefore been compelled to
wait for a day of more than ordinary leisure. As, I see, you request
me to go back so far as to tell you what made me think such a thing
desirable or possible, I must, indeed, lose no time in beginning.

Although it must be more than ten years since I had the pleasure of
working with you in the management of the Bath Female Friendly
Society, I dare say you have not forgotten what queer characters we
used sometimes to come in contact with. I remember a few desperate
cases, where, when everything else had failed, we at last succeeded
in making some impression through their children. One of the most
remarkable instances of this kind I have related, just as it
occurred, in a letter which I addressed to the society, when I was
obliged to be absent a few weeks in the spring. {110} From that
time, I have always been deeply impressed with the idea that, under
judicious treatment, this softer and better portion of woman’s nature
might be so taken advantage of as to lead to excellent moral results.

But I never had any definite idea of reducing these thoughts to
practice; and they would, in all probability, have remained quietly
in my own mind if I had not come in contact with those whose juster
views of the value and shortness of life had led them to _work_, as
well as think, whilst it is day.

One afternoon, the autumn before last, I was sitting alone, and had
taken up the _Times_, when my attention was arrested by a speech from
the Earl of Shaftesbury. I forget the object of the meeting, neither
do I remember the exact words used, although the idea at once
impressed itself. He was speaking hopefully of the good effected
through ragged and other schools. ‘But,’ he said, ‘I have long felt
that until the homes of these poor children are better—until the
fathers and mothers are better men and better women—our schools can
accomplish comparatively little. I believe that any improvement that
could be brought to bear on the mothers, more especially, would
effect a greater amount of good than anything that has yet been
done.’

I laid down the paper, and thought for some time, wondering what
could be done, and wished that somebody would do something. But I
had advanced no further than this, when the arrival of visitors gave
my thoughts another direction.

The next morning, whilst I was busy with my children, I was told that
the city missionary wished to see me. The object of his visit was to
tell me that a large room in the neighbourhood was to be rented for a
Girls’ Evening School, and he thought it could be spared one evening
in the week for a Mothers’ Meeting. He knew some poor women who
would attend; and he asked me to take the management of it. From my
ignorance of the practical working of such a society, I felt very
much at a loss to know how to commence it, and was inclined to think
that I had neither the ability nor the time to conduct it.

I could not, however, but remember how remarkably my attention had
been several times drawn to this subject, and the various incidents
which had again and again impressed it on my mind. But the thought
that weighed most of all with me was—I knew I had a most entire
sympathy with poor mothers; that of all things in the world, I most
wished to try and do something to shew how much I cared for their
great difficulties and sufferings; and though I might fail to render
them much real service, I trusted the truthfulness of my feelings
towards them would manifest itself, and that this might lead to some
good result. At any rate, I resolved to try, and to trust that the
way would open, and that light would come.

It was on the first Monday in November 1853, that I walked to the
nicely lighted and pleasant room provided for us. About seven or
eight women were assembled, and two or three came in afterwards. I
thought they looked at me much as they would have done at the
entrance of the white bear from the Zoological Gardens, that
is,—provided he were caged; for the stare had no fear in it, though
abundance of curiosity.

They said they were glad I was come, for they did not know what they
were met there for; they ‘s’posed I did.’ I said, I was prepared to
explain it to them; but I wished to begin by reading a few verses of
Scripture. This they submitted to pretty well; but as soon as it was
over, they began talking all round to each other, in by no means
particularly soft voices. I knew that, as long as the game of ‘Who
can shout loudest’ was to be played, I had no chance; and not wishing
to shew my weak side at the first meeting, I remained perfectly
silent, and listened, as far as I could, to the observations which
were made principally _at me_, but not to me.

At last, they seemed rather struck at the isolation of my position,
and there was a lull. Then I told them I certainly had not called
them together without having something to say to them. I had far too
high an estimate of the value of their time. As soon as they caught
the idea that some kind of improvement was contemplated in their
domestic affairs, they began again. If that was what I was after, I
should have had such and such an one, ‘she sarved her children
dreadful.’ Then followed no end of narratives of the wickedness of
their neighbours; and many of the cruelties that mothers can be
guilty of, came out in detail. One woman said, she was ‘always
a-trying to do ’em good, and told ’em what they should do; but,
instead of doing it, they jist up and sarced at her in a minnit.’ I
was the more amused at this last expression, as I thought it rather
aptly described my own position just then, though I must, in justice,
pause here to remark that, with only one exception, I have never
_from the very first received direct impudence from any of them_.
When the hour expired, and we rose to depart, I knew that very few
who were there would return; but I requested them to send those very
wicked neighbours of theirs; and as they themselves seemed impressed
with the desirableness of doing so, I left, with the hope that the
publicans and sinners might be brought to hear, though the Pharisees
would not.

As I am giving this history simply from recollection, having kept no
kind of memoranda, I cannot be certain of perfect correctness when I
speak of numbers; but I remember the attendance became less and less,
until—I think it must have been about the fourth evening—I entered
the room at the usual hour, and no one was there. The general
arrangement of the room had been even more than usually carefully
attended to, through the thoughtfulness of our kind city missionary.
It was well lighted, and the fire burned cheerfully. My chair was
placed in a ‘chosen spot,’ and a Bible lay on the table before it;
but no one came. I opened the Bible, and read; and though I cannot
give any effect to this narrative by speaking of the remarkable
appropriateness of the passage that happened to fix my attention, I
distinctly remember losing, under the influence of its holy power,
all sense of vexation and disappointment; and the solitude soon
appeared in the light of a most valuable opportunity for praying,
long and earnestly, for those I so much desired to serve. I felt
perfectly resigned to His will; either to fit me for it, to raise up
others, or to give me to see clearly that this was not the work He
had appointed me to do. About a quarter of an hour before the time
for closing, a woman came in with a bottle of medicine in her hand.
She had been coming to the meeting; but her husband had been taken
ill, which had obliged her to go in search of medicine for him
instead. On her return, she thought she would just step in and see
how we were getting on. I had noticed that this poor woman had
seemed far more interested than any one who had yet attended; and I
was glad of an opportunity of becoming better acquainted with her.
She told me that her husband had formerly been an infidel; but
through the influence of a tract that was left at the house, combined
with the effect of the visits of the missionary, he had become an
entirely changed character. She described, with great simplicity,
how the alteration gradually manifested itself; how, at first, he did
not like her to see him praying; and how she took care to keep out of
the way at the time. Then he came to praying before her, and then
with her and the children; and now, no day passed without their
united supplications ascending to the Author of their mercies. Then
followed the description of what John used to be, and what he now
was; what the house was then, and now. All this was narrated with
beautiful simplicity. I never felt more emphatically that ‘surely I
know it shall be well with them that fear God, which fear before
him;’ and that the only cure for the sting of poverty was, that every
family should be governed by the principles which influenced this. I
need hardly add, that the meeting that night was for my benefit.

But I am entering too much into detail, and must pass on more
rapidly. About six weeks after that solitary evening, there were at
least twenty-five present; and let me give you an idea of the
improvement in their manners. I was a minute or two late. They were
nearly all assembled. As I entered the room, they all rose, and
remained standing till I was seated. And this was by no means in
consequence of any lectures I had given them on manners: I should
have considered it as much as my place was worth to have offered such
instruction.

From having frequently heard a difficulty as to the time which these
meetings took from their work, I thought of a plan for supplying
their fingers, whilst their minds were occupied in listening to what
was passing in the way of instruction. Various materials for
clothing were provided, and issued to members of the society, as
required by them, at a reduction of twopence in the shilling. Good
patterns were also provided, free of charge. In this way, during the
winter, most of these women made several garments for themselves and
their children; and as the payments were usually only a few pence at
a time, the total cost appeared to them very trifling. In addition
to this, a Savings’ Bank was established, and some of the depositors
saved as much as seven or eight shillings.

As the summer advanced, the attendance, of course, lessened. The
greater part of the poor people living in the Potteries, being
brickmakers, can follow this occupation only in the summer, when they
work early and late; and the wife often works too. We therefore
thought it best to give up meeting, from July to the end of
September.

As we parted, one of our members, a good woman, who had interested me
very much, came to me, and, with tears in her eyes, spoke of the
happy hours we had enjoyed there, and said the time would seem long
till we met again. We then little thought _how_ long it would be.
The Potteries was one of the first places visited by the cholera that
year; and this good woman, to whom I was most sincerely attached, was
one of the first victims. She was attacked one morning, and died in
the evening. A sickly child, too, who had been long the object of
the greatest care and solicitude to his poor mother, followed her in
a few hours, and one grave received them both.

When we assembled in October, in addition to the inroads which death
had made, a few members had left the neighbourhood; but still so many
returned, and brought with them so many companions, that I saw it was
quite impossible to carry on the society longer single-handed.
Neither was there any occasion for doing so. Several ladies kindly
offered their assistance, and we are now regularly organised.

Another great advantage which we now enjoy is, that, within the last
few months, a new clergyman has come to the parish, who, by his
occasional presence among us, and the kind interest that he takes in
all connected with the society, is a source of much encouragement to
us, as well as valuable assistance.

And now having given you an account of what may be called the
building up of these meetings, I will answer your next inquiry—‘How
do you manage to interest the mothers?’ I must begin what I have to
say on this subject by stating that I believe there is no society in
existence where there is so little difficulty in creating an
interest, as in a society of mothers. In fact, you have not to
create, but to take advantage of what already exists. A woman who
will come to such a meeting at all, will be sure not to be perfectly
indifferent to the improvement of her children; although it is
lamentable to see how habitual selfishness will sometimes almost
obliterate even this first principle of nature. But, believe me,
there are few cases, very few, where, under right influence, this
feeling cannot be restored, and brought into living action, and
always with great benefit to the general character.

We commence by reading a passage of Scripture, and with prayer. In
the prayer, besides mentioning the peculiar difficulties and
sufferings incident to a poor mother’s life, any cases occurring
amongst them particularly demanding sympathy are mentioned, in order
to be made the subject of our united supplications. I believe that
this has done much to give a kindly interest in one another; for the
instances we have had of their sympathy for each other in times of
distress have been truly beautiful.

When they have all settled to their work, and the money affairs are
over, I generally make a few inquiries as to what occurred at the
past meeting; whether any plan then recommended has failed or
succeeded. For instance, a better domestic observance of the Sabbath
was the subject for two evenings. This led, among many other things,
to a conversation on the best way of arranging about the Sunday
dinner; so that it really might be the best in the week, and yet
leave as little work as possible connected with it to be done on that
day.

Experiments in cooking, and, indeed, anything belonging to their
pre-eminently practical life, they seem much to enjoy, and they are
eager to relate, at the next meeting, either success or failure.

I find that, when they can be induced to make the effort, their
experience helps them to arrive at conclusions of far more value than
any mere theoretical suggestions; and I have often the pleasure of
seeing the ideas which I may have thrown out serve them as a kind of
scaffolding, useful only as enabling them to erect a building more
adapted to their own mode of life and circumstances.

A few evenings since, I was saying to them how much better it would
be to try to employ and direct children’s energies, than to be so
often punishing them for inconvenient manifestations of them. I
shewed them the German plan of amusing children for a length of time,
with little bundles of sticks that could be arranged in a variety of
forms; also, how to cut out paper, patchwork, &c. I said—

‘You will find that children will keep themselves amused much longer,
and far more earnestly, if you will treat their rational play with
some respect, and not do violence to their feelings, by applying to
it such terms as “mess, stuff, bother.”’

One woman looked up from her work, having evidently thoroughly
received the idea, and said—

‘There, now, how often I’ve said to ’em, “Get along with your
bother:” I jist wish I hadn’t.’

At the next meeting, I asked this woman if she had tried any of the
amusements; she said—

‘O ma’am, I have never had such a week before with the children; they
builded all over the table two or three times a-day; and I told them,
when they made a very nice house, to let mother see; and the little
“critters” were so pleased, and “_we haven’t had no beatin_.”’

About a quarter before nine o’clock, our missionary comes in, and
concludes all with a concise, well-adapted address, and a short
prayer. I must take this opportunity of stating, that I attribute
our success, under God’s blessing, quite as much to the excellent
influence which he has exercised without, as to anything that has
been done within. In visiting the women, and inducing them, in the
first place, to attend the meeting, he has taken a part which I could
not; and, by his wise and timely suggestions, he has often saved me
from mistakes.

We did not start with the rules as they now exist,—we were not then
ripe for them; but as the right time came, I introduced them, and
they were passed with the full consent of the whole meeting. Hence
the mothers view themselves—and justly—as governed by their own laws.

I see, you still further inquire how, with so many domestic claims of
my own, and not enjoying good health, I find time to attend to such a
society. Now, in alluding to this, you no doubt were influenced by
the recollection of Mrs Jellaby’s celebrated establishment; and have
been thinking, when you pay us your long-promised visit, whether you
will be able to trace a resemblance in my children to the poor little
neglected ‘Peepy;’ how much semi-cooked meat you will have to eat;
whether the potatoes will sometimes be lost by being placed in the
coal-scuttle, and so forth.

After all that has been written and said, both for and against
mothers of families being allowed to do anything besides ‘minding
their own business,’ it seems to me that the question resolves itself
simply into this:—Is the occupation in unison with home duties, and
can it chime in with them? or is it something that will divert the
thoughts and actions into an entirely different channel? Now,
although we may imagine it possible to work one’s own mind up into a
strong interest in some ‘Borrioboolah Gha,’ it is rather too much to
expect that the minds of those about us will be equally interested.
But if you could see the great pleasure which my children derive from
hearing about the society, and working with me, you would be the
first to beg me to continue it for their sakes. On the morning
succeeding a meeting, they come round me with numerous inquiries
after some mother or baby, whom they have learned to know through
hearing me speak of them. They have, of their own accord, set apart
one day in the week for working for the little children of those
mothers who are very poor; and when, the other day, they heard me
speaking of a poor woman who was lamenting she could not read, they
immediately offered to go two or three times a-week to teach her.

It seems to me, that the few hours a-day which we set apart for
teaching our children, (for ‘school,’ as we call it,) has far less to
do with the formation of their character, than that which they see
and hear constantly going on around them. It is the every-day
incidents of life that impress children; and if it had only been for
their sakes, I do not know that I could have thought of anything
better fitted to prepare them for what I wish them to be,—followers
of Him ‘who came not to be ministered unto, but to minister.’

There is another thing that helps me. You know, our servants are
neither ‘necessary evils’ nor ‘natural enemies;’ they are, indeed,
our friends and helpers; and from remaining with us so long, they
become as much interested as we are, in everything that is going on;
and, by their sympathy and thoughtfulness in clearing away
impediments, they render us most valuable assistance. Thus, no
mornings are taken up abroad in inquiring for characters, or at home
in what is called ‘looking after them.’

Another plan I find very useful is, not to allow every day to be
encumbered with every kind of work. One day is set apart for
everything connected with this society, which has then the best of my
thoughts, and as much work expended upon it as can be given without
interfering with regular duties; and if it attempts to intrude itself
upon the wrong day, it is told to ‘bide its time.’

‘But the “ill health” you mention?’ Yes, that _is_ a drawback, yet
not entirely so. It is certainly true that I have sometimes risen
from my bed to attend the meeting; but then I always tell the mothers
so, and appeal to their compassion; reminding them, that though I
cannot speak loud, they _can_ be quiet; though I cannot enforce
order, they can maintain it; and I really believe that the secret of
our so soon getting into order was the working of the spirit of
sympathy with me. As soon as they felt that something depended upon
them, they set about it in good earnest. But that I may not by this
convey to your mind any wrong idea of the kind of discipline
necessary, I will just say that such appeal must always be made _en
masse_; that anything approaching to a monitorial system would be
ruinous in such a meeting, since nothing requires more watchfulness
than to keep down the spirit of jealousy. A good president must be
really absolute, though as little apparently so as possible.

Long as this letter is, I will not apologise for it. I feel that to
you there is no occasion for apology; for I have perfect confidence
in your sympathy. I could write another still longer; and it would
give me far more pleasure to do so than this has given. It would be
full of incidents, shewing how the sunshine of kindness will bring to
life that which, having been so long covered up by the frost and snow
of neglect, had been supposed to be extinct.

But adieu, my dear friend,

Yours most affectionately,
M. B.