Dwight L. Moody; his life, his work, his words ...

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THE LIFE OF DWIGHT L. MOODY.

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I. Beginnings 17

II. Ups And Downs Of Youth

NCLE," said Dwight to his mother's brother Samuel, who had come over from Boston to spend Thanksgiving Day with the family, I want to come to Boston and have a place in your shoe store ; will you take me ?" Mr. Holton had not formed a very favorable opinion of the boy, and made no answer. That afternoon he was told by a member of the family that if he took Dwight the boy would soon want to run the store.

That winter Dwight had an altercation with his teacher, and would have been expelled but for the intercession of his mother. During the remainder of the term he applied himself with great diligence, but it was his last year at school, and the time was too short to make much progress.

When the session ended he got together his best clothes, kissed his mother good-bye, received her blessing, and started out for Boston to make his fortune. He was now seventeen years old, and is described as a strong, robust lad, shabby in appearance and unpolished in manners. In a photograph taken at this period, he appears in an overcoat buttoned up to his chin, "with a beardless face expressive of the satisfaction which his good looks and his handsome dress afforded."

When he turned up at his Uncle Samuel's store in Boston that good man was quite unprepared to meet the situation. He could only inquire after the family and ask how Dwight proposed to get a start. The highspirited boy, who expected his uncle to take him in the store, replied coldly that he thought he could find work, and went his way. He spent several days looking for a position, but nobody seemed to want the plain, blunt youth, who showed himself so ill at ease among the well-dressed people of the great city. Meanwhile his funds were running low.

Of these trials he has left us a vivid picture. "I remember when I was a boy" — he was 'illustrating a point — "when I went to Boston I went to the postoffice two or three times a day to see if there was a letter for me. I knew there was not, as there was but one mail a day. I had not had employment, and was very homesick, and so went constantly to the postoffice, thinking perhaps, when the mail did come in my letter had been mislaid. At last, however, I got a letter. It was from my youngest sister, the first letter she ever wrote to me. I opened it with a light heart, thinking there was some good news from home, but the burden of the whole letter was that she had heard there were pickpockets in Boston, and warned me to take care of them. I thought I had better get some money in hand first, and then I might take care of pickpockets."

Finally, growing discouraged, he went to another uncle who lived in the city and told him he was going to New York. "Why don't you go to your Uncle Samuel for a situation?" that gentleman asked. "Because," replied Dwight, "I think he ought to make the offer himself." But his pride soon abated and he went.

"I am afraid," said Mr. Holton, looking him over, "if you come in here you will want to run the store yourself. However," he added, "if you want to come and do the best you can, and do it right, and if you will ask

' .<*"« • 5

LEAVING HOME.

me when you don't know how to do anything, or if I am not here ask the book-keeper, and if he's not here ask one of the salesmen, or one of the boys, and if you are willing to go to church and Sunday School when you are able to go anywhere on Sunday, and if you are willing not to go anywhere at night or any other time that you wouldn't want me or your mother to know about, why, then, if you will promise all these things, you may come and take hold arid see how you can get along."

Dwight promised, and he was at once installed as a boy of all work in his Uncle Samuel's shoe store. He soon managed to make himself so useful that he was made a salesman, and it is said that Mr. Holton had no reason to complain of any failure to fulfill the conditions under which he was received. "He was a sharp observer of human nature," says Mr. Daniels, "quick to take advantage of everything in his way ; always alert and ready in any emergency. His pride would not admit of his asking too many questions, and, as the business was new to him, he was often in doubt about prices and qualities, but what he lacked in knowledge he would make up in shrewd guessing. His idea of business was a struggle with mankind, out of which the hardest heads and the sharpest wits were sure to come with the largest influence and the longest purse. The quiet manners of his uncle he could never learn, nor did he desire to learn them. He went about his duties in the store very much the same way as he would have swung a scythe in a field of tangled clover or broken a yoke of wild steers. If any one offended his sense of honor he would fly into a fury at once; but the tempest of passion soon passed by."

In accordance with the terms of the agreement insisted upon by his uncle, Dwight became a regular attendant upon the Sunday School and services of Mt. Vernon Congregational Church, of which Dr. E. N. Kirk, a man of great eloquence, zeal and fervor, was pastor. It was not, it seems, a matter of choice. "When I first went to Boston," he said years afterwards, "my employer made me go to church. I used to go and sit in the gallery and very often fall asleep. One day while I was having a nap under the sermon I felt somebody poking me in the ribs, and when I looked up there was one of the deacons who had come to wake me, and was pointing with his finger at the minister, as much as to say: 'Attend to the preaching.' I felt as if everybody was looking at me, but I didn't know what else to do unless I gave attention to the sermon. Soon I began to listen to Dr. Kirk, and for the first time in my life felt as if he was preaching altogether at me." Dwight could make little out of his pastor's preaching, but it is believed by many that it was from Dr. Kirk that he imbibed much of the spirit which characterized his subsequent life. Speaking of what Moody owed to his pastor, Rev. Carlos T. Chester says — I quote from his article in the Sunday School Times — "If we were to take those lectures on revivals which the editor, the Rev. D. O. Mears, said embodied the observation and experience of Dr. Kirk's busy life, and at the same time revealed the principles upon which his success was built up, — hundreds of passages, as to method and spirit, could be quoted, which afterward found highest expression and realization in Mr. Moody's work. But, years before the lectures were delivered, he had heard the same inspiring thoughts put forth by his pastor with fire and feeling, in the old Mt. Vernon Church of his first love."

It was to his Sunday School teacher, however, Mr.

Edward Kimball, that young Moody was indebted for the word that ultimately led him to Christ. In his story of Moody's conversion, Mr. Kimball says that when the superintendent brought Dwight to his class he handed him a closed Bible and told him the lesson was in John. The boy took the book and began running over the leaves, beginning at the first of the volume. "Out of the corners of their eyes the other boys saw what he was doing, and, detecting his ignorance, glanced slyly and knowingly at one another, not rudely, of course, you understand." Mr. Kimball gave the boys a hasty glance of reproof and their equanimity was immediately restored. He then quietly handed Moody his own book open at the right place. "I didn't suppose," he says, "that the boy could possibly have noticed the glances exchanged between the other boys over his ignorance; but it seems, from remarks made in later years, that he did, and he said in reference to my little act in exchanging books with him that he would stick by the fellow that had stood up by him and who had done him a good turn like that."

At first he was a silent pupil, but one day he startled his teacher by the question, "That Moses, he was what you call a pretty smart man, wasn't he?" The question set the teacher to thinking about the boy, and his interest deepened with his thinking. He resolved to visit him at the store and to speak to him about his soul. Moody himself has told us the story: "One day I recollect the Sabbath School teacher came around behind the counter in the shop I was at work in, and put his hand on my shoulder to talk to me about Christ and my soul. I had not felt that I had a soul until then. I said : 'This is a strange thing; here is a man who never saw me until a few days ago, and he is now weeping over my sins and I never shed a tear about them.' But I understand it now, and know what it is to have a passion for men's souls and weep over their sins. I don't remember what he said, but I can feel the power of that young man's hand on my shoulder to-night. . . . Well, it was not long before I was brought into the kingdom of God."

Years afterwards a young man came to Moody one day in Chicago and introduced himself as a son of Mr. Kimball, his old teacher. "I am glad to see you," said Moody, "are you a Christian?"

"No, sir."

"How old are you?"

"Seventeen years."

"Just my age when your father led me to the Saviour, and it was just seventeen years ago this very day. Now, I desire to pay him by leading his son to Christ. Come, let us pray together."

The young man went away under deep conviction, and shortly afterwards became a Christian.

It has been said that when young Moody gave himself to Christ there was "not so complete a transformation as is sometimes wrought by saving grace." But to Moody himself there was no room for doubt that the change was genuine. "I used to have a terrible habit of swearing," he tells us. "Whenever I got mad out would come the oaths, but after I gave my heart to Christ he took the swearing all away, so that I did not have the least disposition to take God's name in vain." Nor was he content with giving up his evil habits ; he burned with desire to do something for his Lord. He sought opportunities to speak in the social meetings of the church, but these efforts brought him many discouragements. He had little or no command of language, and his sentences were awkward and broken. Besides, having been brought up by a Unitarian mother, he was not well grounded, in evangelical truths, and was always making mistakes. His shyness in the presence of the cultured was painful to witness. In short, his attempts at speaking were so pitiful that he was advised to hold his peace.

When he applied for membership in the Mt. Vernon Church — to use his own words — "they would not have me, because they did not believe I was converted." "In the roughness of the setting the diamond was not discovered." "I can truly say," wrote Mr. Kimball, "and in saying it I magnify the infinite grace of God as bestowed upon him, that I have known few persons whose minds were spiritually darker than was his when he came into my Sunday School class; and I think the committee of the Mt. Vernon Church seldom met an applicant for membership more unlikely ever to become a Christian of clear and decided views of the Gospel truths, still less to fill any extended sphere of public usefulness."

His Uncle Samuel Holton said that when Dwight read his Bible aloud he could make no more out of it than he could out of the chattering of blackbirds. Many of the words were so far beyond the youth that he left them out entirely, and many of the others he fearfully mangled. There can be no doubt that his knowledge of the principles of Christianity at this time was exceedingly meager. When he appeared before the committee he had been a Sunday School pupil but a few weeks. He was unable to state what it was to be a Christian, nor could he say what Christ had done for him. "Mr. Moody," asked a member of the committee, "what has

Christ done for us — for you — which entitles him to our respect?" He answered, "I don't know; I think Christ has done a good deal for us, but I don't think of anything particular, as I know of." Under these circumstances the committee wisely deferred recommending him for admission into the church, and two of its members were designated to watch over him with kindness, and teach him "the way of God more perfectly." This was in May, 1855. When he appeared before the committtee again in March of the following year, he appeared to have more light, and without confusing him with mere doctrinal questions, the committee decided to recommend him for admission. Eight years afterwards Moody expressed his gratitude to one of the officers of the church for the course that had been pursued in his case, and said that it was his conviction that its influence was favorable to his growth in grace. He believed that pastors and church officers generally were in error in hurrying new converts into a profession of faith.

From this it will be seen how little ground there is for the saying so often made that the "staid and stiff New England orthodoxy was so barren that it would hardly admit to the Lord's table so devoted and earnest a servant of Christ as Dwight L. Moody." As a matter of fact, Mt. Vernon Church was a revival church, and was organized for the purpose of retaining in Boston Dr. Kirk, who was for years one of the most useful evangelists of his time. "If there ever existed a man in New England," says Dr. Buckley, "who was free from the spirit of 'staid and stiff New England orthodoxy,' it was Dr. Kirk."

When Moody was holding a meeting in London, one day he paused near the close of the service and said abruptly: "I see in the house an eminent Christian gentleman from Boston. Deacon Palmer, come right to the platform; the people want to hear from you." Mr. Palmer came forward reluctantly, and began a brief talk by referring to the fact that he had known Mr. Moody at home, and had indeed belonged to the same church with him, when Mr. Moody interrupted him.

"Yes, deacon, and you kept me out of that church for many months because you thought I didn't know enough to join it."

When the laughter of the audience had subsided, Mr. Palmer happily replied that all must agree with him that it was a great privilege to have received Mr. Moody into the church at all events, "though with great misgivings and after long delay."

III. Getting A Start In Chicago

N the autumn of 1856 Moody went to Chicago — as every young man of his day wanted to do — to grow up with the country. Perhaps fhe restraint which he felt in Boston had something to do with it. He was tired of being reminded of his unfitness for whatever he attempted, and longed for a place where people were not so particular. Two or three testimonials which with his Bible constituted his chief earthly possessions, secured for him a position in a shoe house, where he soon became known as one of the best salesmen in the city. His employer, Mr. Wiswell, who received him with misgivings on account of his blunt speech and impetuous manner, recalls that he was the same zealous and tireless worker in business that he afterwards became in religion. It was his pride to make the largest sales of any employe in the house, and his associates say that he was always breaking the record.

Soon after his arrival in Chicago he connected himself with the Plymouth Congregational Church and at once 'began to look about for an opportunity to do mission work. He first rented four pews in the church and undertook to fill them with young men at the Sunday services. Then he beg^an to speak in social meetings, but his unconventional way of saying things soon got him into trouble, and he found that in Chicago as well as in Boston there were good brethren ready to advise him to leave the speaking to those who could do it better. Then, as if one church could not keep him employed, he began to attend Sunday School at the First Methodist Church, where he identified himself with a mission band, a company of young men who visited the hotels, saloons and other public places to distribute tracts and invite people to public worship. Here he became deeply interested in Sunday School work, but his restless nature would not allow him to be content as a pupil and as yet he was unqualified to teach. Always quick to recognize his place he soon hit upon the idea of becoming a Sunday School recruiting officer. On one of his recruiting excursions he found himself • one day in a little Sunday School in North Wells street, where he offered to take a class. The superintendent told him that he had more teachers than he knew what to do with, but offered him the privilege of teaching any new scholars he might bring. On the following Sunday the new teacher appeared leading a procession of eighteen bare-footed, ragged, dirty street urchins, whom he undertook to form into a class. He soon found, however, that he could more easily gather a class than teach it, and he turned over these recruits to o<ther teachers and went out into the streets again to find more. Encouraged by his success in this line he resolved to start a Sunday School on his own account. At the foot of the Lake Shore Drive there was a low, filthy quarter known as "The Sands," or "Little Hell." In that day it was said to be more dangerous than "Five Points" in New York. Here Moody rented a deserted saloon and began to hold meetings on Sundays and occasionally in the evenings during the week. Within a stone's throw of this saloon there were about two hundred drinking and gambling dens. The streets swarmed with vicious men 4 and degraded women, and crime was so common that the neighborhood was carefully avoided by all decent persons after nightfall. The outlook was not encouraging, but here Moody was out of reach of his critics and this was a clear g~ain. In a few weeks he had succeeded by sundry gifts of maple sugar and pretty leaflets in coaxing a large number of street urchins into his school and it was not long before he began to find a way to the hearts of their parents.

The late Mr. William Reynolds was fond of recalling his first glimpse of young Moody at this school. "The first meeting I ever saw him at," he used to say, "was in a little old shanty that had been abandoned by a saloonkeeper. Mr. Moody had gotten the place to hold the meeting at night; I went there a little late and the first thing I saw was a man standing up, with a few tallow candles around him, holding a negro boy and trying to read to him the story of the Prodigal Son, and a great many of the words he could not make out and had to skip. I thought if the Lord can ever use such an instrument as that for his honor and glory it will astonish me. After that meeting was over Mr. Moody said to me: 'Reynolds, I have got only one talent; I have no education, but I love the Lord Jesus Christ and I want to do something for him. I want you to pray for me.' I have never ceased from that day to this, morning and night, to pray for that devoted Christian soldier. I have watched him since then, have had counsel with him and know him thoroughly; and for consistent walk and conversation I have never met a man to equal him."

The school presently outgrew the old saloon and was removed to the hall over the North Market, where young Moody developed remarkable gifts as an organizer. This hall was generally used Saturday nights for a dance and the superintendent was compelled to spend most of the forenoon on Sunday sweeping out the sawdust and washing out the remains of tobacco and beer. There were no seats and the children were compelled to stand or sit on the floor. Moody endured this condition of affairs as long as he could and then put on his hat and went out to beg money to buy seats. On his begging tour he met Mr. J. V. Farwell, the philanthropist, who was already a prominent man of business. After getting the money he asked for he inquired what Mr. Farwell was doing in the way of Christian work and invited him to come and see his school. On the following Sunday Mr. Farwell appeared in the hall. The scene which met his eyes is not easily described. "That riotous crowd," writes Mr. Daniels, "seemed to be following the example of the Israelites in the time of the Judges, with one essential difference — namely that each was doing what was wrong in his own eyes with the evident purpose of mischievous enjoyment. The seats had not yet arrived ; the school was leaning up against the walls and scattered over the floor in ever-varying forms like the figures in the kaleidoscope, jumping, turning somersaults, sparring, whistling, talking out loud, crying, Tapers!' 'Black your boots!' 'Have a shine, Mister?' — from which they were occasionally rescued by a Scripture reading from Mr. Stillson, or a song from Mr. Trudeau, or a speech from Mr. Moody, only to relapse again into clamor and uproar before the speaker or singer was fairly through. The emotions of Mr. Farwell on being introduced to make a speech were vivid rather than pleasing. He ventured a few words and only a few, lest he should weary the patience of his audi-

52 Dvvight L., Moody.

ence; but what was his horror at the close of his remarks to hear himself nominated by Moody as superintendent of the North Market Mission Sunday School, and before he had time to object the school had elected him with a deafening hurrah." It should be recorded to Mr. Farwell's credit that he accepted the office and at once entered upon its duties, which for six years he faithfully performed with Moody's assistance. This school continued to increase in popularity and within a year the average attendance was about six hundred and fifty with an occasional attendance of a thousand. Before this time no school in the city had numbered more than one hundred and fifty. Of course all of the pupils did not come to school of their own accord: a large number were regularly hunted up and brought into the school by Moody himself. On these recruiting excursions he had many thrilling experiences. Not being content with gathering up such children as he met in the streets he was in the habit of chasing them into the alleys and cellars, where "he often came across a Roman Catholic family and sometimes narrowly escaped with a whole head. The enraged father being tremendously mad with Moody for coaxing the young Papists away, on seeing his beaming face and sturdy form coming upstairs or in the door, sometimes seized a club and rushed at him with oaths and curses. At such times he used to say his legs were his best friends. But though they served so well to take him out of danger they always brought him back into it again, until at last his patience and good nature conquered all opposition. He adopted the Fabian policy and wore out his adversaries by constant light skirmishing, never venturing a battle, and in most cases his method was so successful that he not only overcame his enemies and captured their children for his mission, but generally won them over to be his friends." The story is told that one day he was emptying a jug of whiskey into a. gutter, when the owner of the whiskey and twenty O'thers surrounded him and threatened his life. He knelt and prayed fervently for protection and ended by leading his assailants to his mission, where the owner of the whiskey eventually became one of his teachers.

In dealing with characters of this sort Moody displayed remarkable shrewdness, as well as self-possession. An incident which belongs to a later period well illustrates this point. One night as he left a mission, he found a number of roughs waiting to annoy him. As he hurried along, he heard one of them say, "Here he comes," and they made ready to jostle him from the sidewalk. Walking straight up to the ringleader, Moody held out his overcoat and coolly said, "My friend, won't you just help me on with this overcoat? I am not quite so active now as I was at your age, and some day when you are as old as I am, I will be glad to do you the same favor." The fellow was so completely upset that he could only obey, and he meekly held the overcoat for the evangelist to get into it. Moody then thanked him for his aid and went away unmolested.

In addition to his Sunday School work in North Market Hall Moody conducted week-night prayer-meetings in the old saloon near by. Here he began to learn the true work o>f a pastor, for he was brought face to face with the sins and sorrows of the people as he had never been before. One of the stories which he loves to tell relates to this period.

"One of our friends reported a family where there were several children who had been attending North Market School, but whose father was a notorious infidel rumseller and wouldn't let them come.

"I called on him, but as soon as I made known my errand I was obliged to get out of that place very quickly in order to save my head.

" 'I would rather my son should be a thief and my daughter a harlot than have you make fools and Christians of them at your Sunday School,' said he.

"One day I found the man in a little better humor than usual and asked him if he had ever read the New Testament. He said he hadn't, and then asked me if I had ever read Paine's 'Age of Reason.' He then agreed to read the Testament if I would read Paine's book. He had the best of the bargain, but it gave me a chance to call again to bring him the book. After reading through that mass of infidel abomination I called on him again to see how he got on with the Testament, but found him full of objection and hot for a debate.

' 'See here, young man,' said he, 'you are inviting me and my family to go to meeting; now you may have a meeting here if you like.'

' 'What, will you let me preach here in your saloon?'

" 'Yes/ said he.

" 'And will you bring in your family, and let me bring in the neighbors?'

" 'Yes. But mind, you are not to do all the talking. I and my friends have something to say.'

' 'All right. You shall have forty-five minutes, and I will have fifteen.'

"The time for the meeting was set, and when I got there I found a great crowd of atheists, blasphemers, and other wild characters waiting for a chance to make mince-meat of me, and use up the New Testament forever.

" 'You shall begin,' said I.

"Upon this they began to ask questions.

' 'No questions! I haven't come to argue with you, but to preach Christ to you. Go on and say what you like, and then I will speak.'

"Then they began to talk among themselves; but it wasn't long before they quarreled over their own different unbeliefs, so that what began as a debate was in danger of ending in a fight.

' 'Order ! Your time is up. I am in the habit of beginning my addresses with prayer. Let us pray.'

' 'Stop! stop!' said one. 'There's no use in your praying. Besides, your Bible says there must be "two agreed" if there is to be any praying; and you are all alone.'