Dusty Diamonds Cut and Polished: A Tale of City Arab Life and Adventure

by R. M. Ballantyne

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

  TREATS OF ALTERED CIRCUMSTANCES AND BLUE-RIBBONISM.

  Once again we return to the great city, and to Mrs Frog's poor lodging.

  But it is not poor now, for the woman has at last got riches and joy--such riches as the ungodly care not for, and a joy that they cannotunderstand.

  It is not all riches and joy, however. The Master has told us that weshall have "much tribulation." What then? Are we worse off than theunbelievers? Do _they_ escape the tribulation? It is easy to provethat the Christian has the advantage of the worldling, for, while bothhave worries and tribulation without fail, the one has a little joyalong with these--nay, much joy if you choose--which, however, will endwith life, if not before; while the other has joy unspeakable and fullof glory, which will increase with years, and end in absolute felicity!

  Let us look at Mrs Frog's room now, and listen to her as she sits onone side of a cheerful fire, sewing, while Hetty sits on the other side,similarly occupied, and Matty, _alias_ Mita, lies in her crib soundasleep.

  It is the same room, the same London atmosphere, which no moralinfluence will ever purify, and pretty much the same surroundings, forMrs Frog's outward circumstances have not altered much in a worldlypoint of view. The neighbours in the court are not less filthy andviolent. One drunken nuisance has left the next room, but anotheralmost as bad has taken his place. Nevertheless, although not alteredmuch, things are decidedly improved in the poor pitiful dwelling.Whereas, in time past, it used to be dirty, now it is clean. The tableis the same table, obviously, for you can see the crack across the topcaused by Ned's great fist on that occasion when, failing rather inforce of argument while laying down the law, he sought to emphasise hisremarks with an effective blow; but a craftsman has been at work on thetable, and it is no longer rickety. The chair, too, on which Mrs Frogsits, is the same identical chair which missed the head of Bobby Frogthat time he and his father differed in opinion on some trifling matter,and smashed a panel of the door; but the chair has been to see thedoctor, and its constitution is stronger now. The other chair, on whichHetty sits, is a distinct innovation. So is baby's crib. It hasreplaced the heap of straw which formerly sufficed, and there are twolow bedsteads in corners which once were empty.

  Besides all this there are numerous articles of varied shape and sizeglittering on the walls, such as sauce-pans and pot-lids, etcetera,which are made to do ornamental as well as useful duty, being polishedto the highest possible degree of brilliancy. Everywhere there isevidence of order and care, showing that the inmates of the room aresomehow in better circumstances.

  Let it not be supposed that this has been accomplished by charity. MrsSamuel Twitter is very charitable, undoubtedly. There can be noquestion as to that; but if she were a hundred times more charitablethan she is, and were to give away a hundred thousand times more moneythan she does give, she could not greatly diminish the vast poverty ofLondon. Mrs Twitter had done what she could in this case, but that waslittle, in a money point of view, for there were others who had strongerclaims upon her than Mrs Frog. But Mrs Twitter had put her littlefinger under Mrs Frog's chin when her lips were about to go underwater, and so, figuratively, she kept her from drowning. Mrs Twitterhad put out a hand when Mrs Frog tripped and was about to tumble, andthus kept her from falling. When Mrs Frog, weary of life, was on thepoint of rushing once again to London Bridge, with a purpose, MrsTwitter caught the skirt of her ragged robe with a firm but kindly graspand held her back, thus saving her from destruction; but, best of all,when the poor woman, under the influence of the Spirit of God, ceased tostrive with her Maker and cried out earnestly, "What must I do to besaved?" Mrs Twitter grasped her with both hands and dragged her withtender violence towards the Fold, but not quite into it.

  For Mrs Twitter was a wise, unselfish woman, as well as good. At acertain point she ceased to act, and said, "Mrs Frog, go to your ownHetty, and she will tell you what to do."

  And Mrs Frog went, and Hetty, with joyful surprise in her heart, andwarm tears of gratitude in her eyes, pointed her to Jesus the Saviour ofmankind. It was nothing new to the poor woman to be thus directed. Itis nothing new to almost any one in a Christian land to be pointed toChrist; but it _is_ something new to many a one to have the eyes openedto see, and the will influenced to accept. It was so now with thispoor, self-willed, and long-tried--or, rather, long-resisting--woman.The Spirit's time had come, and she was made willing. But now she hadto face the difficulties of the new life. Conscience--never killed, andnow revived--began to act.

  "I must work," she said, internally, and conscience nodded approval. "Imust drink less," she said, but conscience shook her head. "It will bevery hard, you see," she continued, apologetically, "for a poor womanlike me to get through a hard day without just _one_ glass of beer tostrengthen me."

  Conscience did all her work by looks alone. She was naturally dumb, butshe had a grand majestic countenance with great expressive eyes, and atthe mention of _one_ glass of beer she frowned so that poor Mrs Frogalmost trembled.

  At this point Hetty stepped into the conversation. All unaware of whathad been going on in her mother's mind, she said, suddenly, "Mother, I'mgoing to a meeting to-night; will you come?"

  Mrs Frog was quite willing. In fact she had fairly given in and becomebiddable like a little child,--though, after all, that interestingcreature does not always, or necessarily, convey the most perfect ideaof obedience!

  It was a rough meeting, composed of rude elements, in a large butungilded hall in Whitechapel. The people were listening intently to apowerful speaker.

  The theme was strong drink. There were opponents and sympathisersthere. "It is the greatest curse, I think, in London," said thespeaker, as Hetty and her mother entered.

  "Bah!" exclaimed a powerful man beside whom they chanced to sit down."I've drank a lot on't an' don't find it no curse, at all."

  "Silence," cried some in the audience.

  "I tell 'ee it's all barn wot 'e's talkin'," said the powerful man.

  "Put 'im out," cried some of the audience. But the powerful man had apowerful look, and a great bristly jaw, and a fierce pair of eyes whichhad often been blackened, and still bore the hues of the last fight; noone, therefore, attempted to put him out, so he snapped his fingers atthe entire meeting, said, "Bah!" again, with a look of contempt, andrelapsed into silence, while the speaker, heedless of the slightinterruption, went on.

  "Why, it's a Blue Ribbon meeting, Hetty," whispered Mrs Frog.

  "Yes, mother," whispered Hetty in reply, "that's one of its names, butits real title, I heard one gentleman say, is the Gospel-TemperanceAssociation, you see, they're very anxious to put the gospel first andtemperance second; temperance bein' only one of the fruits of the gospelof Jesus."

  The speaker went on in eloquent strains pleading the great cause--nowdrawing out the sympathies of his hearers, then appealing to theirreason; sometimes relating incidents of deepest pathos, at other timesconvulsing the audience with touches of the broadest humour, insomuchthat the man who said "bah!" modified his objections to "pooh!" and erelong came to that turning-point where silence is consent. In thiscondition he remained until reference was made by the speaker to a man--not such a bad fellow too, when sober--who, under the influence ofdrink, had thrown his big shoe at his wife's head and cut it so badlythat she was even then--while he was addressing them--lying in hospitalhovering between life and death.

  "That's me!" cried the powerful man, jumping up in a state of greatexcitement mingled with indignation, while he towered head and shouldersabove the audience, "though how _you_ come for to 'ear on't beats meholler. An' it shows 'ow lies git about, for she's _not_ gone to thehospital, an' it wasn't shoes at all, but boots I flung at 'er, an' theyonly just grazed 'er, thank goodness, an' sent the cat flyin' throughthe winder. So--"

  A burst of laughter with mingled applause and cheers cut off the end ofthe sentence and caused the powerful man to sit down in much confusion,quit
e puzzled what to think of it all.

  "My friend," said the speaker, when order had been restored, "you aremistaken. I did not refer to you at all, never having seen or heard ofyou before, but there are too many men like you--men who would be goodmen and true if they would only come to the Saviour, who would soonconvince them that it is wise to give up the drink and put on the blueribbon. Let it not be supposed, my friends, that I say it is the _duty_of every one to put on the blue ribbon and become a total abstainer.There are circumstances in which a `little wine' may be advisable. Why,the apostle Paul himself, when Timothy's stomach got into a chronicstate of disease which subjected him, apparently, to `frequentinfirmities,' advised him to take a `little wine,' but he didn't advisehim to take many quarts of beer, or numerous glasses of brandy andwater, or oceans of Old Tom, or to get daily fuddled on the poisonswhich are sold by many publicans under these names. Still less did Pauladvise poor dyspeptic Timothy to become his own medical man andprescribe all these medicines to himself, whenever he felt inclined forthem. Yes, there are the old and the feeble and the diseased, who may,(observe I don't say who _do_, for I am not a doctor, but who _may_),require stimulants under medical advice. To these we do not speak, andto these we would not grudge the small alleviation to their sad casewhich may be found in stimulants; but to the young and strong andhealthy we are surely entitled to say, to plead, and to entreat--put onthe blue ribbon if you see your way to it. And by the young we mean notonly all boys and girls, but all men and women in the prime of life, ay,and beyond the prime, if in good health. Surely you will all admit thatthe young require no stimulants. Are they not superabounding in energy?Do they not require the very opposite--sedatives, and do they not findthese in constant and violent muscular exercise?"

  With many similar and other arguments did the speaker seek to influencethe mass of human beings before him, taking advantage of every idea thatcropped up and every incident in the meeting that occurred to enforcehis advice--namely, total abstinence for the young and the healthy--until he had stirred them up to a state of considerable enthusiasm.Then he said:--

  "I am glad to see you enthusiastic. Nothing great can be done withoutenthusiasm. You may potter along the even tenor of your way without it,but you'll never come to much good, and you'll never accomplish greatthings, without it. What is enthusiasm? Is it not seeing the length,breadth, height, depth, and bearing of a good thing, and being zealouslyaffected in helping to bring it about? There are many kinds ofenthusiasts, though but one quality of enthusiasm. Weak people showtheir enthusiasm too much on the surface. Powerful folk keep it toodeep in their hearts to be seen at all. What then, are we to scout itin the impulsive because too obvious; to undervalue it in the reticentbecause almost invisible? Nay, let us be thankful for it in any form,for the _thing_ is good, though the individual's manner of displaying itmay be faulty. Let us hope that the too gushing may learn to clap onthe breaks a little--a very little; but far more let us pray that thereticent and the self-possessed, and the oh!--dear--no--you'll--never--catch--me--doing--that--sort--of--thing people, may be enabled to get upmore steam. Better far in my estimation the wild enthusiast than theself-possessed and self-sufficient cynic. Just look at your gentlemanlycynic; good-natured very likely, for he's mightily pleased with himselfand excessively wise in regard to all things sublunary. Why, even hehas enthusiasm, though not always in a good cause. Follow him to theraces. Watch him while he sees the sleek and beautiful creaturesstraining every muscle, and his own favourite drawing ahead, inch byinch, until it bids fair to win. Is _that_ our cynic, bending forwardon his steed, with gleaming eyes and glowing cheek, and partly openmouth and quick-coming breath, and so forgetful of himself that heswings off his hat and gives vent to a lusty cheer as the favouritepasses the winning-post?

  "But follow him still further. Don't let him go. Hold on to hishorse's tail till we see him safe into his club, and wait there till hehas dined and gone to the opera. There he sits, immaculate in dress andbearing, in the stalls. It is a huge audience. A great star is toappear. The star comes on--music such as might cause the very angels tobend and listen.

  "The sweet singer exerts herself; her rich voice swells in volume andsweeps round the hall, filling every ear and thrilling every heart,until, unable to restrain themselves, the vast concourse rises _enmasse_, and, with waving scarf and kerchief, thunders forth applause!And what of our cynic? There he is, the wildest of the wild--for hehappens to love music--shouting like a maniac and waving his hat,regardless of the fact that he has broken the brim, and that the oldgentleman whose corns he has trodden on frowns at him with savageindignation.

  "Yes," continued the speaker, "the whole world is enthusiastic when thekey-note of each individual, or class of individuals, is struck; andshall _we_ be ashamed of our enthusiasm for this little bit of heavenlyblue, which symbolises the great fact that those who wear it are racingwith the demon Drink to save men and women, (ourselves included,perhaps), from his clutches; racing with Despair to place Hope beforethe eyes of those who are blindly rushing to destruction; racing withTime to snatch the young out of the way of the Destroyer before he layshand on them; and singing--ay, shouting--songs of triumph and glory toGod because of the tens of thousands of souls and bodies already saved;because of the bright prospect of the tens of thousands more to follow;because of the innumerable voices added to the celestial choir, and theglad assurance that the hymns of praise thus begun shall not die outwith our feeble frames, but will grow stronger in sweetness as theydiminish in volume, until, the river crossed, they shall burst forthagain with indescribable intensity in the New Song.

  "Some people tell us that these things are not true. Others say theywon't last. My friends, I know, and many of you know, that they _are_true, and even if they were _not_ to last, have we not even now groundfor praise? Shall we not rejoice that the lifeboat has saved some,because others have refused to embark and perished? But we don't admitthat these things won't last. Very likely, in the apostolic days, someof the unbelievers said of them and their creed, `How long will itlast?' If these objectors be now able to take note of the world'sdoings, they have their answer from Father Time himself; for does he notsay, `Christianity has lasted nearly nineteen hundred years, and is thestrongest moral motive-power in the world to-day?' The Blue Ribbon, myfriends, or what it represents, is founded on Christianity; thereforethe principles which it represents are sure to stand. Who will come nowand put it on?"

  "I will!" shouted a strong voice from among the audience, and up rosethe powerful man who began the evening with "bah!" and "pooh!" He soonmade his way to the platform amid uproarious cheering, and donned theblue.

  "Hetty," whispered Mrs Frog in a low, timid voice, "I think I wouldlike to put it on too."

  If the voice had been much lower and more timid, Hetty would have heardit, for she sat there watching for her mother as one might watch for aparent in the crisis of a dread disease. She knew that no power onearth can change the will, and she had waited and prayed till the arrowwas sent home by the hand of God.

  "Come along, mother," she said--but said no more, for her heart was toofull.

  Mrs Frog was led to the platform, to which multitudes of men, women,and children were pressing, and the little badge was pinned to herbreast.

  Thus did that poor woman begin her Christian course with the fruit ofself-denial.

  She then set about the work of putting her house in order. It wasup-hill work at first, and very hard, but the promise did not fail her,"Lo! I am with you alway." In all her walk she found Hetty a guardianangel.

  "I must work, Hetty, dear," she said, "for it will never do to make yousupport us all; but what am I to do with baby? There is no one to takecharge of her when I go out."

  "I am quite able to keep the whole of us, mother, seeing that I get suchgood pay from the lady I work for, but as you want to work, I can easilymanage for baby. You know I've often wished to speak of the InfantNursery in George Yard. Before you sen
t Matty away I wanted you to sendher there, but--" Hetty paused.

  "Go on, dear. I was mad agin' you an' your religious ways; wasn't thatit?" said Mrs Frog.

  "Well, mother, it don't matter now, thank God. The Infant Nursery, youknow, is a part of the Institution there. The hearts of the people whomanage it were touched by the death of so many thousands of little onesevery year in London through want and neglect, so they set up thisnursery to enable poor widowed mothers and others to send their babiesto be cared for--nursed, fed, and amused in nice airy rooms--while themothers are at work. They charge only fourpence a day for this, andeach baby has its own bag of clothing, brush and comb, towel and cot.They will keep Matty from half-past seven in the morning till eight atnight for you, so that will give you plenty of time to work, won't it,mother?"

  "It will indeed, Hetty, and all for fourpence a day, say you?"

  "Yes, the ordinary charge is fourpence, but widows get it for twopencefor each child, and, perhaps, they may regard a deserted wife as awidow! There is a fine of twopence per hour for any child not takenaway after eight, so you'll have to be up to time, mother."

  Mrs Frog acted on this advice, and thus was enabled to earn asufficiency to enable her to pay her daily rent, to clothe and feedherself and child, to give a little to the various missions undertakenby the Institutions near her, to put a little now and then into thefarthing bank, and even to give a little in charity to the poor!

  Now, reader, you may have forgotten it, but if you turn back to near thebeginning of this chapter, you will perceive that all we have beenwriting about is a huge digression, for which we refuse to make theusual apology.

  We return again to Mrs Frog where we left her, sitting beside hercheerful fire, sewing and conversing with Hetty.

  "I can't bear to think of 'im, Hetty," said Mrs Frog. "You an' mesittin' here so comfortable, with as much to eat as we want, an' tospare, while your poor father is in a cold cell. He's bin pretty bad tome of late, it's true, wi' that drink, but he wasn't always like that,Hetty; even you can remember him before he took to the drink."

  "Yes, mother, I can, and, bless the Lord, he may yet be better than heever was. When is his time up?"

  "This day three weeks. The twelve months will be out then. We mustpray for 'im, Hetty."

  "Yes, mother. I am always prayin' for him. You know that."

  There was a touch of anxiety in the tones and faces of both mother anddaughter as they talked of the father, for his home-coming might,perhaps, nay probably would, be attended with serious consequences tothe renovated household. They soon changed the subject to one moreagreeable.

  "Isn't Bobby's letter a nice one, mother?" said Hetty, "and so wellwritten, though the spellin' might have been better; but then he's hadso little schoolin'."

  "It just makes my heart sing," returned Mrs Frog. "Read it again tome, Hetty. I'll never tire o' hearin' it. I only wish it was longer."

  The poor mother's wish was not unnatural, for the letter which Bobby hadwritten was not calculated to tax the reader's patience, and, as Hettyhinted, there was room for improvement, not only in the spelling but inthe writing. Nevertheless, it had carried great joy to the mother'sheart. We shall therefore give it _verbatim et literatim_.

  Brankly Farm--Kanada.

  "Deer Mutrer. wen i left you i promisd to rite so heer gos. this Plaseis eaven upon arth. so pritty an grand. O you never did see the likes.ide park is nuffin to it, an as for Kensintn gardings--wy to kompairthems rediklis. theres sitch a nice little gal here. shes wun of deermis mukfersons gals--wot the vestenders calls a wafe and sometimes astrai. were all very fond of er spesially tim lumpy. i shuvd im in theriver wun dai. my--ow e spluterd. but e was non the wus--all the better,mister an mistress meryboi aint that a joly naim are as good as gold tous. we as prairs nite and mornin an no end o witls an as appy as kingsand kueens a-sitin on there throns. give all our luv to deer father, anetty an baiby an mis mukferson an mister olland an all our deerteechers. sai we'll never forgit wot they told us. your deer sun Bobby."

  "Isn't it beautiful?" said Mrs Frog, wiping away a tear with the sockshe was darning in preparation for her husband's return.

  "Yes, mother. Bless the people that sent 'im out to Canada," saidHetty, "for he would never have got on here."

  There came a tap to the door as she spoke, and Mrs Twitter, entering,was received with a hearty welcome.

  "I came, Mrs Frog," she said, accepting the chair--for there was even athird chair--which Hetty placed for her, "to ask when your husband willbe home again."

  Good Mrs Twitter carefully avoided the risk of hurting the poor woman'sfeelings by needless reference to jail.

  "I expect him this day three weeks, ma'am," replied Mrs Frog.

  "That will do nicely," returned Mrs Twitter. "You see, my husbandknows a gentleman who takes great pleasure in getting con--in gettingmen like Ned, you know, into places, and giving them a chance of--ofgetting on in life, you understand?"

  "_Yes_, ma'am, we must all try to git on in life if we would keep inlife," said Mrs Frog, sadly.

  "Well, there is a situation open just now, which the gentleman--the samegentleman who was so kind in helping us after the fire; you see we allneed help of one another, Mrs Frog--which the gentleman said he couldkeep open for a month, but not longer, so, as I happened to be passingyour house to-night on my way to the Yard, to the mothers' meeting, Ithought I'd just look in and tell you, and ask you to be sure and sendNed to me the moment he comes home."

  "I will, ma'am, and God bless you for thinkin' of us so much."

  "Remember, now," said Mrs Twitter, impressively, "_before_ he has timeto meet any of his old comrades. Tell him if he comes straight to me hewill hear something that will please him very much. I won't tell youwhat. That is my message to him. And now, how is my Mita? Oh! I neednot ask. There she lies like a little angel!" (Mrs Twitter rose andwent to the crib, but did not disturb the little sleeper.) "I wish I sawroses on her little cheeks and more fat, Mrs Frog."

  Mrs Frog admitted that there was possible improvement in the directionof roses and fat, but feared that the air, (it would have been morecorrect to have said the smoke and smells), of the court went againstroses and fat, somehow. She was thankful, however, to the good Lord forthe health they all enjoyed in spite of local disadvantages.

  "Ah!" sighed Mrs Twitter, "if we could only transport you all toCanada--"

  "Oh! ma'am," exclaimed Mrs Frog, brightening up suddenly, "we've had_such_ a nice letter from our Bobby. Let her see it, Hetty."

  "Yes, and so nicely written, too," remarked Hetty, with a beaming face,as she handed Bobby's production to the visitor, "though he doesn'tquite understand yet the need for capital letters."

  "Never mind, Hetty, so long as he sends you capital letters," returnedMrs Twitter, perpetrating the first pun she had been guilty of sinceshe was a baby; "and, truly, this is a charming letter, though short."

  "Yes, it's rather short, but it might have been shorter," said MrsFrog, indulging in a truism.

  Mrs Twitter was already late for the mothers' meeting, but she felt atonce that it would be better to be still later than to disappoint MrsFrog of a little sympathy in a matter which touched her feelings sodeeply. She sat down, therefore, and read the letter over, slowly,commenting on it as she went along in a pleasant sort of way, whichimpressed the anxious mother with, not quite the belief, but thesensation that Bobby was the most hopeful immigrant which Canada hadreceived since it was discovered.

  "Now, mind, send Ned up _at once_," said the amiable lady when about toquit the little room.

  "Yes, Mrs Twitter, I will; good-night."