From Faith to Faith (1851-1852)

Dr. Robert Hardey of 13 Charlotte Street was well known in the city of Hull as a busy medical man and a consistent Christian. Tall and vigorous in appearance, he was gentle and full of fun, so that in spite of themselves those under his care had to look on the bright side of things. His surgery was at the far end of the narrow strip of garden at the back of his house, and here Hudson Taylor soon found himself at home. He was quick and eager to learn, and his knowledge of book-keeping proved valuable to the busy doctor, who was glad to leave it to him. For a short time he lived in the doctor’s home, then, when his room was needed for a member of the family, moved to his aunt’s.

Though happy in outward circumstances, however, he was anything but free from anxiety and unrest. He had come to Hull eager to fit himself for medical work as a step towards China, but after attending lectures at the medical school his busy days with Dr. Hardey left little time for study. Constantly he pondered the problem of how to prepare and enter upon his life-work and he found it hard to wait in patience, on God alone. The quiet surgery witnessed many an hour of anxious thought as well as many an hour of prayer, and all through that summer and autumn there was a good deal of unnecessary exercise of _ heart. For there was another fire within consuming not a little of his spiritual strength.

He was out of harmony with God in the matter of his deepest affections, that inner citadel of being so often the last stronghold yielded to His control. Unconsciously, it may be, he was holding something back—something, the best thing in his manhood—not recognising that in that realm also ‘every thought’ must be brought into subjection to ‘the obedience of Christ.’ He was giving far too much of himself to the one who had come as a bright, beautiful vision into his life a year and a half before. It was one thing, he discovered, to think of her in Barnsley where she was out of reach, and quite another in Hull, where any day they might meet. His love was growing too strong for him, quickened by hopeful indications of its being returned on her part.

And yet he had begun to feel instinctively that her life was not fully yielded to God. Though there was no engagement between them they understood one another without words, and he could not but be conscious that her influence was all against a future she was unwilling to face.

‘Must you go to China?’ she questioned at times, her tone clearly implying, ‘How much nicer it would be to stay and serve the Lord at home!’

Fervently he prayed that she might come to feel as he did; for nothing, not even the loss of her love, could alter his call from God. But how could he go forward at such a cost? How face the anguish of losing her just when it seemed ‘she might be won? Oh, the struggle of those autumn days when he could no longer escape the fear that their paths must lie apart! Older people may pass on, perhaps, with little perception of what such a situation means; but young ‘hearts understand, and there is one infinite Heart that is always young, always touched with the feeling of our griefs. The Friend that sticketh closer than a brother did not fail Hudson Taylor.

It was no small mercy, for example, that led him during this sojourn in Hull into fellowship with a company of Christians exceptionally fitted to meet his need. Shortly before leaving home he had for conscientious reasons resigned his connection with the denomination in which he had been brought up. During the progress of a widespread Reform Movement he and his parents had felt obliged to side with the minority and join ‘the Reformers,’ afterwards known as the Methodist Free Church. Hudson personally, however, had begun to feel himself something more than a Wesleyan, bound by more important ties to all who love the Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity and truth. While still in Barnsley he had enjoyed the meetings of the so-called Plymouth Brethren, and now in Hull was glad to renew associations that had already proved helpful.

He was hungry for the Word of God, and their preaching was for the most part a thoughtful exposition of its truths. He needed a fresh vision of eternal things, for he was facing a difficult future, and they set before him an example of faith in temporal as well as spiritual things that surpassed his utmost thought. For this meeting was in close touch with George Miiller of Bristol, whose work was even then assuming remarkable proportions. He had already hundreds of orphan children under his care, and was looking to the Lord for means to support a thousand. But this did not exhaust his sympathies. With a deep conviction that these are the days in which the Gospel must be preached ‘for a witness unto all nations,’ he sustained in whole or part many missionaries, and was engaged in circulating the Scriptures far and wide in Roman Catholic as well as heathen lands. All this extensive work, carried on by a penniless man through faith in God alone, with no appeals for help or guarantee of stated income, was 4 wonderful testimony to the power of ‘effectual, fervent prayer.’ As such it made a profound impression upon Hudson Taylor, and encouraged him more than anything else could have in the pathway he was about to enter.

‘I think it is very difficult,’ he wrote, ‘to set our affections wholly on things above. I try to be a “living epistle” of the Lord, but when I look within I wonder many a time He does not cast me off. I seek to subdue my will, to blend it with His, and say and feel in all things “Thy will be done’. But even while I

try, I can scarcely keep back the tears. For I seem to have an impression that I shall lose my dear one, and God only knows the struggle it is to say, “Nevertheless, not my will but thine be done.”

‘Do you think I should be justified in going to London shortly? If it were only for pleasure, I could decide at once; for much as I should like to go, my pleasures must not stand in the way of duty. But sometimes I think that Lobscheid might give me information worth going for. I shall be glad to hear from you and have your advice.’

' That idea about going to London certainly came at the right time. The German missionary Lobscheid, to whom he referred, had recently returned from China and was one of the few people who could speak from experience of the practicability of missionary work away from the Treaty Ports. Possessing: some medical knowledge, he had been enabled to travel repeatedly in what was then considered ‘the interior,’ a populous district on the mainland, north of Hong Kong; and now that he was for a short time in England Hudson Taylor was anxious to profit from his advice.:

His parents approving the idea, and Dr. Hardey giving him a week’s holiday, he decided to take advantage of a special train running up to London, and (at his expense) it was arranged that his sister should accompany him, an artist uncle providing accommodation for them in his Soho lodgings. Never had they visited the great metropolis before, and he was just as eager to meet Mr. Pearse and the missionary from China as she was to explore the first International Exhibition at the Crystal Palace.

It was her sixteenth birthday, and together they went to the Exhibition and wandered among the ferns and flowers in which its fairy-like scenes were set. They lunched at a restaurant in proper style, investing in a pineapple, a rare luxury in those days. Then they traversed the gay, crowded city to the Bank of England, where a rendezvous had been arranged with Mr. Pearse.

A busy member of the Stock Exchange as well as Secretary of the Chinese Evangelisation Society, Mr. Pearse had not much time for visitors in office hours. He was glad, however, to meet his correspondent from Barnsley, and as he talked with the earnest lad and his modest, charming little sister, interest soon deepened to a warmer feeling. Tottenham—yes, he must take them to Tottenham and the Brook Street meeting. There they would be sure to find a welcome and a

real spirit of prayer on behalf of China. So to Tottenham they went with him the following Sunday.

In surroundings as nearly perfect as wealth and refinement could make them, a number of Christian families lived in the pleasant suburb, as it was in those days. Home-like rooms, beautifully furnished, opened on lawns shaded by spreading cedars. Friends from far and near gathered around the ample board, where quiet talk flowed freely on the deepest interests of the Kingdom of God. And best of all, the love of Christ possessed and permeated everything.

The friendships begun that day endured throughout a lifetime.

‘I love Tottenham,’ Hudson Taylor wrote from China a few years later. ‘I love those I know there dearly. Of no other place can I say that my every recollection is sweet and profitable, marred by no painful thought or circumstance, save that I see it no more.’

And the Tottenham friends on their part, what did they think of him? They saw a simple, Yorkshire lad, quiet and unassuming. Introduced by Mr. Pearse as an intending missionary, he was observed more closely by some of the younger people than he might otherwise have been. He did not fit in exactly with their idea of a missionary, for he looked young and delicate and was evidently full of fun. But they liked him none the less for that, and felt his earnestness and absorbing interest in China. In a word, he won their confidence just as his little sister won their hearts.

The missionary he had come so far to see seems to have been less encouraging, however.

‘Why, you would never do for China,’ he exclaimed at length, drawing attention to his fair hair and grey-blue eyes..

‘They call me “Red-haired Devil”, and would run from you in terror! You could never get them to listen at all.’

‘It is God who has called me,’ replied Hudson Taylor quietly, ‘and He knows all about the colour of my hair and eyes.’

It was shortly after his return to Hull that the nest began to be stirred up about him. He was again settled in the home of his relatives where every want was anticipated and where, as far as circumstances were concerned, nothing could have been more desirable. But this was not all God’s love had planned for moulding this young life in view of China. Already, through discipline of heart, the lad was learning lessons of patience and submission to the will of God. But something more was needed, something even of outward trial to prepare him for the life-work that was to be. Away in an unfrequented suburb a

little home was waiting—a single room in which he could be alone as never before, alone with God. The steps by which he was led to‘it were very simple, beginning, as he himself records, with a conscientious difficulty about remaining where he was. Recalling this experience, he wrote:

Before leaving Barnsley my attention was drawn to the subject of setting apart the first-fruits of all one’s increase and a certain proportion of one’s possessions for the service of the Lord. It seemed to me desirable to study the question, Bible in hand, and in this way I was led to the determination to set apart not less than one-tenth of whatever monies I might earn or become possessed of, for the Lord.

The salary I received as medical assistant in Hull would have allowed me to do this without difficulty, but in addition to the sum I had previously received, the exact amount was allowed me that I had to pay for-board and lodging.

Now arose in my mind the reflection, “Ought not this also to be tithed?’ It was surely a part of my income, and had it been a question of government income tax would certainly not have been excluded. But to take a tithe from the whole would have left me insufficient for other purposes, and for a time I was embarrassed to know what to do.

After much thought and prayer, I was led to leave the comfortable home and pleasant circle in which I resided, and engage a ‘little lodging in the suburbs, a sitting-room and bedroom in one, undertaking to board myself. I was thus enabled to tithe the whole of my income; and while one felt the change a good deal, it was attended with no small blessing. More time was given in my solitude to the study of the Word of God, to visiting the poor and to evangelistic work on Sunday evenings than would otherwise have been the case. Brought into contact in this way with many who were in distress, I soon saw the privilege of still further economising, and found is possible to give away much more than I had at first intended.

It all reads so simply and naturally that one can hardly imagine any special sacrifice to have been involved. Let us hunt up this ‘sitting-room and bedroom in one,’ however, and find out what were in actual fact the surroundings for which he had given up his home on Kingston Square. The change could scarcely have been more complete. ‘Drainside,’ as the neighbourhood was termed, consisted of a double row of workmen’s cottages facing each other across a narrow canal. The canal was nothing but a deep ditch into which Drainside people were: in the habit of casting their rubbish, to be carried away in part whenever the tide rose high enough. It was separated from the town by desolate spaces of building-land, across which ran a few ill- lighted streets enti in makeshift wooden bridges. The cottages, like peas in a pod, were all the same size and shape down both sides of the long row. They followed the windings of the Drain for half a mile or more, each one having a door, and two windows one above the other. The door opened straight into the kitchen, and a steep stairway led to the room above. A very few were double cottages with a window to right and left of the door and two rooms overhead.

On the city side of the canal, one of these larger dwellings stood at a corner opposite The Founder’s Arms, a public house whose lights were useful as a landmark on dark nights, shining across the mud and water of the Drain. The cottage, known as 30 Cottingham Terrace, was tenanted by the family of a seafaring man, whose visits home were few and far between. Mrs. Finch and her children occupied the kitchen and upper part of the house, and the downstairs room on the left as one entered was let at a rental of three shillings a week. It was too high a charge, seeing the whole house went for little more. But the lodger in whom we are interested did not grudge it, especially when he found how much it meant to the woman whose remittances from her husband came none too regularly.

Mrs. Finch was a true Christian and delighted to have ‘the young doctor’ under her roof. She did her best no doubt to make the little chamber clean and comfortable, polishing the fireplace opposite the window and making up the bed in the corner farthest from the door. A plain deal table and a chair or two completed the appointments. The whole room was less than twelve feet square and did not need much furniture. It was on a level with the ground and opened familiarly out of the kitchen. From the window one looked across the-narrowest strip of ‘garden’ to the Drain beyond, whose mud banks afforded a playground for the children of the neighbourhood.

Whatever it may have been in summer, towards the close of November, when Hudson Taylor made it his home, Drainside must have seemed dreary enough, and the cottage far from attractive. To add to the discomforts of the situation, he was ‘boarding himself,’ which meant that he lived upon next to nothing, bought his meagre supplies as he returned from the surgery, and rarely sat down to a proper meal. His walks were taken alone across the waste, unlighted region on the outskirts of the town; his evenings were solitary beside the little fire in his otherwise cheerless room; and his Sundays were spent by himself, but for the morning meetings and long hours of work in his district or among the crowds that frequented the Humber Dock.

More than this, he was at close quarters with poverty and suffering. Visiting in such neighbourhoods he had been accustomed to it for a few hours at a time, but this was very different. He had cast in his lot with those who needed all the help and comfort he could bring. This gave new purpose to his life and taught him some of its most precious lessons.

I soon found that I could live upon very much less than I had previously thought possible. Butter, milk and other luxuries I ceased to use, and found that by living mainly on oatmeal and rice, with occasional variations, a very small sum was sufficient for my needs. In this way I had more than two-thirds of my income available for other purposes, and my experience was that the less I spent on myself and the more I gave to others, the fuller of happiness and blessing did my soul become.

For the Lord is no man’s debtor; and here in his solitude Hudson Taylor was learning something of what He can be to the soul that leaves all for Him. In these days of easygoing Christianity is it not well to remind ourselves that it really does cost-to be a man or woman God can use? One cannot obtain a Christ-like character for nothing; one cannot do a Christ-like work save at great price. And is there not a sense in which even Christ Himself is to be won? It is easy to pray a

little, help a little, love a little; but the missionary apostle meant more than this when he said:

I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but refuse, that I may win Christ (Phil. 3. 8).

Much prayer had been going up for China, and countless hearts had been stirred more or less deeply for its evangelisation. When disappointment came and unexpected failure, however, prayer meetings dwindled to nothing, would-be missionaries turned aside to other callings, contributions dropped off. Only here and there in His own training schools were those the Lord could count upon: and in a quiet lodging at Drainside was such a man. With all his youth and limitations, Hudson Taylor desired supremely a Christ-like character and life. As test after test came that might have been avoided, he chose the pathway of selfemptying and the cross. He was in an attitude that did not hinder blessing.

Adversaries there certainly were to oppose his progress at this time. He was entering upon one of the most fruitful periods of his life, rich in blessing for himself and others. Is it any wonder that the Tempter was at hand? He was alone, hungry for love and sympathy, living a life of selfdenial hard for a lad to bear. It was just the opportunity for the devil, and he was permitted for a while to do his worst, that even that might be overruled for good.

{t was just at this juncture, when he had been a few weeks at Drainside and was feeling his position keenly, that the dreaded blow fell. Seeing that nothing could dissuade her friend from his missionary purpose, the young music teacher made it plain at last that she was not prepared to go to China. Her father would not hear of it, nor did she feel herself fitted for such a life. This could mean but one thing, and for him the two years’ dream was over.

It was not only an overwhelming sorrow, it was a tremendous test of faith. The tempter did everything in his power to call in question the love and faithfulness of God. Only break down his trust, make him give up the struggle now, and the usefulness of his after-life would be marred.

Sunday morning came, December 14th. It was cold and cheerless in the little room at Drainside. The lad was benumbed with sorrow, for instead of turning to the Lord for comfort he kept it to himself and nursed his grief. He did not want to pray. The trouble had come in between his soul and God. He could not, would not go as usual to the morning meeting. He was too full of bitter questionings and pain. Then came the insidious suggestion:

‘Is it all worthwhile? Why should you go to China? Why toil and suffer all—your life for an ideal of duty?

Give it up now, while you can yet win her. Earn a proper living like everybody else, and serve the Lord at home. For you can win her. yet.’ Writing to his sister, he said:

Satan seemed to come in as a flood, and I was forced to cry, ‘Save, Lord; I perish.’ Still Satan suggested, “You never used so to be tried as you have been lately. You cannot be in the right path, or God would help and bless you more,’ and so on, until I felt inclined to give it all up. I felt no desire to go to the meeting.

But, thank God, the way of duty is the way of safety. I went to the meeting after all, as miserable as could be; but did not come away so. One hymn quite cut me to the heart. I was thankful that prayer followed, for I could not keep back my tears. But the load was lighter.

In the afternoon as I was sitting alone in the surgery I began to reflect on the love of God; His goodness and my return; the number of blessings He has granted me; and how small my trials are compared with those some are called to endure. He thoroughly softened and humbled me. His love melted my icy, frost-bound soul, and sincerely did I pray for pardon for my ungrateful conduct.

Yes, He has humbled me and shown me what | was, revealing Himself as a present; a very present help in time of trouble. And though He does not deprive me of feeling in my trial, He enables me to sing, ‘Yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of my salvation.’ I can thank Him for all, even the most painful experiences of the past, and trust Him without fear for all that is to come.

A new tone was perceptible in his letters now. They were less introspective from this time onward and more full of missionary purpose. China came to the front again in all his thinking.

‘I cannot tell, I cannot describe how I long to be a missionary, to carry the Glad Tidings to poor, perishing sinners,’ he wrote to his mother. ‘For this I could give up everything, every idol, however dear. I feel as if I could not live if something is not done for China.’

This was no mere emotion. It was not that he had taken up missionary work as a congenial branch of Christian activity, but that the need of the perishing in heathen lands, the need and longing of the heart of Christ—‘them also I must bring’—had gripped him and held him fast. He believed that the heathen are perishing, and that without a knowledge of the one and only Saviour they must be eternally lost. He believed that it was in view of this and because of His infinite love, that God had given ‘His only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.” And these convictions pledged him to the only life possible in view of such stupendous facts—a life wholly given to making that great eee known, especially to those who had never heard.

Yet much as he longed to go, and go at once, there were considerations that held him back.

“To me it was a very grave matter,’ he wrote of that winter, ‘to contemplate going out to China, far from all human aid, there to depend upon the living God alone for protection, supplies, and help of every kind. I felt that one’s spiritual muscles required strengthening for such an undertaking. There was no doubt that if faith did not fail, God would not fail. But what if one’s faith should prove insufficient? I had not at that.time learned that even “if we believe not, yet he abideth faithful, he cannot deny himself.” It was consequently a very serious question to my mind, not whether He was faithful, but whether I had strong enough faith to warrant my embarking in the enterprise set before me.

‘When I get out to China,” I thought to myself, “I shall have no claim on anyone for anything. My only claim will be on God. How important to learn, before leaving England, to move man through God by prayer alone.”

He knew that faith was the one power that could remove mountains, conquer every difficulty and accomplish the impossible. But had he the right kind of faith? Could he stand alone in China? Much as he longed to be a missionary, would such faith as he possessed be sufficient to carry him through all that must be faced?

He realised that the faith he longed for was a ‘gift of God,’ and that it might ‘grow exceedingly.’ But for growth, exercise was needed, and exercise of faith was obviously impossible apart from trial. Then welcome trial, welcome anything that would increase and strengthen this precious gift, proving to his own heart at any rate that he had faith of the sort that would really stand and grow.

In taking this attitude before the Lord, Hudson Taylor was wholly earnest and sincere.:

He was bringing ‘all the tithes into the storehouse,’ a most important consideration; living a life that made it possible for him to exercise faith to which God could respond in blessing. In a word, there was no hindrance in himself to the answer to his prayers; and experiences followed that have been made an encouragement to thousands the world over.

The story though well known will bear repetition, illustrating as it does the only principle of growth in spiritual things, ‘From faith to faith’; the law reiterated by our Lord Himself, ‘He that hath, to him shall be given’.

“To learn before leaving England to move man through God by prayer alone,’ this and nothing less was the object Hudson Taylor had before him now, and it was not long before he came to see a simple, natural way of practising this lesson.

At Hull my kind employer, always busy, wished me to remind him whenever my salary became due. This I determined not to do directly, but to ask that God would bring the fact to his recollection, and thus encourage me by answering prayer.

At one time as the day drew near for the payment of a quarter’s salary I was as usual much in prayer about it. The time arrived, but Dr. Hardey made no allusion to the matter. I continued praying. Days passed on and he did not remember, until at length on settling up my weekly accounts one Saturday night, I found myself possessed of only one remaining coin, a half-crown piece. Still, I had thitherto known no lack, and I continued praying.

That Sunday was a very happy one. As usual my heart was full and brimming over with blessing. After attending Divine Service in the morning, my afternoons and evenings were taken up with Gospel work in the various lodging-houses I was accustomed to visit in the lowest part of the town. At such times it almost seemed to me as if Heaven were begun below, and that all that could be looked for was an enlargement of one’s capacity for joy, not a truer filling than I possessed.

After concluding my last service about ten o’clock that night, a poor man asked me to go and pray with his wife, saying that she was dying. I readily agreed, and on the way to his house asked him why he had not sent for the priest, as his accent told me he was an Irishman. He had done so, he said, but the priest refused to come without a payment of eighteen pence which the man did not possess, as the family was starving. Immediately it occurred to my mind that all the money I had in the world was the solitary half-crown, and that it was in one coin; moreover, that while the basin of water-gruel I usually took for supper was awaiting me, and there was sufficient in the house for breakfast in the morning, I certainly had nothing ‘for dinner on the coming day.

Somehow or other there was at once a stoppage in the flow of joy in my heart. But instead of reproving myself I began to reprove the poor man, telling him that it was very wrong to have allowed matters to get into such a state as he described, and that he ought to have applied to the relieving officer. His answer was that he had done so, and was told to come at eleven o’clock the next morning, but that he feared his wife might not live through the night.

‘Ah,’ thought I, ‘if only I had two shillings and a sixpence instead of this half-crown, how gladly would I give these poor people a shilling!’ But to part with the half-crown was far from my thoughts. I little dreamed that the truth of the matter simply was that I could trust God plus one-and-sixpence, but was not prepared to trust Him only, without any money at all in my pocket.

My conductor led me into a court, down which I followed him with some degree of nervousness. I had found myself there before, and at my last visit had been roughly handled. My tracts had been torn to pieces and such a warning given me not to come again that I felt more than a little concerned. Still, it was the path of duty and I followed on. Up a miserable flight of stairs into a wretched room he led me; and oh, what a sight there presented itself! Four or five children stood about, their sunken cheeks and temples all telling unmistakably the story of slow starvation, and lying on a wretched pallet was a poor, exhausted mother, with a tiny infant thirty-six hours old moaning rather than crying at her side, for it too seemed spent and failing.

‘Ah!’ thought I, ‘if I had two shillings and a sixpence, instead of half-a-crown, how gladly should they have one-and-sixpence of it.’ But still a wretched unbelief prevented me from obeying the impulse to relieve their distress at the cost of all I possessed.

It will scarcely seem strange that I was unable to say much to comfort these poor people. I needed comfort myself. I began to tell them, however, that they must not be cast down; that though their circumstances were very distressing there was a kind and loving Father in Heaven. But something within me cried, ‘You hypocrite! telling these unconverted people about a kind and loving Father in Heaven, and not prepared yourself to trust Him without a half-crown.’

I was nearly choked. How gladly would I have compromised with conscience, if I had had a florin and a sixpence! I would have given the florin thankfully and kept the rest. But I was not yet prepared to trust in God alone, without the sixpence.

To talk was impossible under these circumstances, yet strange to say I thought I should have no difficulty in praying. Prayer was a delightful occupation in those days. Time thus spent never seemed wearisome and I knew no lack of words. I seemed to think that all I should have to do would be to kneel down and pray, and that relief would come to them and to myself together.

“You asked me to come and pray with your wife,’ I said to the man, ‘let us pray.’ And I knelt down.

But no sooner had I opened my lips with ‘Our Father which art in heaven,’ than conscience said within, ‘Dare you mock God? Dare you kneel down and call Him Father with that halfcrown in your pocket?’

Such a time of conflict then came upon me as I have never experienced before or since. How I got through that form of prayer I know not, and whether the words uttered were connected or disconnected I cannot tell. But I arose from my knees in great distress of mind.

The poor father turned to me and said, ‘You see what a terrible state we are in, sir. If you can help us, for God’s sake do!’

At that moment the word flashed into my mind, ‘Give to him that asketh thee.’ And in the word of a King there is power.

I put my hand into my pocket and slowly drawing out the half-crown, gave it to the man, telling him that it might seem a small matter for me to relieve them, seeing that I was comparatively well off, but that in parting with that coin I was giving him my all; what I had been trying to tell them was indeed true—God really was a Father, and might be trusted. The joy all came back in full floodtide to my heart. I could say anything and feel it then, and the hindrance to blessing was gone—gone, I trust, for ever.

Not only was the poor woman’s life saved; but my life, as I fully realised, had been saved too. It might have been a wreck—would have been, probably, as a Christian life—had not grace at that time conquered, and the striving of God’s Spirit been obeyed.

I well remember how that night, as I went home to my lodgings, my heart was as light as my pocket. The dark, deserted streets resounded with a hymn of praise that I could not restrain. When I took my basin of gruel before retiring, I would not have exchanged it for a prince’s feast. I reminded the Lord as I knelt at my bedside of His own Word, ‘He that giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord’; I asked Him not to let my loan be a long one, or I should have no dinner next day. And with peace within and peace without, I spent a happy restful night.

Next morning for breakfast my plate of porridge remained, and before it was finished the postman’s knock was heard at the door. I was not in the habit of receiving letters on Monday, as my parents and most of my friends refrained from posting on Saturday, so that I was somewhat surprised when the landlady came in holding a letter or packet in her wet hand covered by her apron. I looked at the letter, but could not make out the handwriting. It was either a strange hand or a feigned one, and the postmark was blurred. Where it came from I could not tell. On opening the envelope I found nothing written within; but inside a sheet of blank paper was folded a pair of kid gloves, from which, as I opened them in astonishment, half-a-sovereign fell to the ground.

‘Praise the Lord,’ I exclaimed. ‘400 per cent for twelve hours’ investment—that is good interest! How glad the merchants of Hull would be if they could lend their money at such a rate.’ Then and there I determined that a bank that could not break should have my savings or earnings, as the case might be a determination I have not yet learned to regret.

I cannot tell you how often my mind has recurred to this incident, or all the help it has been to me in circumstances of difficulty in after-life. If we are faithful to God in little things, we shall gain experience and strength that will be helpful to us in the more serious trials of life.

But this was not the end of the story, nor was it the only answer to prayer that was to confirm his faith at this time. For the chief difficulty still remained. Dr. Hardey had not remembered; and though prayer was unremitting, others matters appeared entirely to engross his attention. It would have been easy to remind him. But what then of the lesson upon the acquirement of which Hudson Taylor felt his future usefulness depended—‘to move man through God, by prayer alone’?

This remarkable and gracious deliverance was a great joy to me as well as a strong confirmation of faith. But of course ten shillings however economically used will not go very far, and it was none the less necessary to continue in prayer, asking that the larger supply which was still due might be remembered and paid. All my petitions, however, appeared to remain unanswered, and before a fortnight elapsed I found myself pretty much in the same position that I had occupied on the Sunday night already made so memorable. Meanwhile I continued pleading with God more and more earnestly that He would Himself remind Dr. Hardey that my salary was due.

Of course it was not the want of money that distressed me. That could have been had at any time for the asking. But the question uppermost in my mind was this: ‘Can I go to China? or will my want of faith and power with God prove so serious an obstacle as to preclude my entering upon this much-prized service?’

As the week drew td a close I felt exceedingly embarrassed. There was not only myself to consider. On Saturday night a payment would be due to my Christian landlady, which I knew she could not well dispense with. Ought I not, for her sake, to speak about the matter of the salary? Yet to do so would be, to myself at any rate, the admission that I was not fitted to undertake a missionary enterprise. I gave nearly the whole of Thursday and Friday, all the time not occupied in my necessary employment, to earnest wrestling with God in prayer. But still on Saturday morning I was in the same position as before. And now my earnest cry was for guidance as to whether I should still continue to wait the Father’s time. As far as I could judge I received the assurance that to wait His time was best, and that God in some way or other would interpose on my behalf. So I waited, my heart being now at rest and the burden gone.

About five o’clock that Saturday afternoon, when Dr. Hardey had finished writing his prescriptions, his last circuit for the day being taken, he threw himself back in his arm-chair, as he was wont, and began to speak of the things of God. He was a truly Christian man, and many seasons of happy fellowship we had together. I was busily watching, at the time, a pan in which a decoction was boiling that required a good deal of attention. It was indeed fortunate for me that it was so, for without any obvious connection with what had been going on, all at once he said:

‘By the by, Taylor, is not your salary due again?’

My emotion may be imagined. I had to swallow two or three times before I could answer. With my eye fixed on the pan and my back to the doctor, I told him as quietly as I could that it was overdue some little time. How thankful I felt at that moment! God surely had heard my prayer and caused him in this time of my great need to remember the salary without any word or suggestion from me. He replied,

‘Oh, I am so sorry you did not remind me! You know how busy I am. I wish I had thought of it a little sooner, for only this afternoon I sent all the money I had to the bank. Otherwise I would pay you at once.’

It is impossible to describe the revulsion of feeling caused by this unexpected statement. I knew not what to do. Fortunately for me the pan boiled up and I had a good reason for rushing with it from the room. Glad indeed I was to get away and keep out of sight until after Dr. Hardey had returned to his house, - and most thankful that he had not perceived my emotion.

As soon as he was gone I had to seek my little sanctum and pour out my heart before the Lord for some time before calmness, and more than calmness, thankfulness and joy were restored. I felt that God had His own way, and was not going to fail me. I had sought to know His will early in the day, and as far as I could judge had received guidance to wait patiently. And now God was going to work for me in some other way.

That evening was spent, as my Saturday evenings usually were, in reading the Word and preparing the subject on which I expected to speak in the various lodging-houses on the morrow. I waited perhaps a little longer than usual. At last about ten o’clock, there being no interruption of any kind, I put on my overcoat and was preparing to leave for home, rather thankful to know that by that time I should have to let myself in with the latchkey, as my landlady retired early. There was certainly no help for that night. But perhaps God would interpose for me by Monday, and I might be able to pay my landlady early in the week the money I would have given her before had it been possible.

Just as I was about to turn down the gas, I‘heard the doctor’s step in the garden that lay between the dwelling-house and surgery. He was laughing to himself very heartily, as though greatly amused. Entering the surgery he asked for the ledger, and told me that, strange to say, one of his richest patients had just come to pay his doctor’s bill. Was it not an odd thing to do? It never struck me that it might have any bearing on my own case, or I might have felt embarrassed. But looking at it simply from the position of an uninterested spectator, I also was highly amused that a man tolling in wealth should come after ten o’clock at night to pay a bill which he could any day have met by a cheque with the greatest ease. It appeared that somehow or other he could not rest with this on his mind, and had been constrained to come at that unusual hour to discharge his liability.

The account was duly receipted in the ledger, and Dr. Hardey was about to leave, when suddenly he turned and handing me some of the banknotes just received, said to my surprise and thankfulness:

‘By the way, Taylor, you might as well take these notes. I have no change, but can give you the balance next week.’

Again I was left, my feelings undiscovered, to go back to my little closet and praise the Lord with a joyful heart that after all J might go to China. To me this incident was not a trivial one; and to recall it sometimes, in circumstances of great difficulty, in China or elsewhere, has proved no small comfort and strength.

The importance of something ‘higher far than money, in relation to the service of God, now began to impress Hudson Taylor. His quiet life at Drainside was working a change in his attitude towards many things. There were memorable hours that winter in which he saw from the Divine stand-point as never before. Now it was no longer a question of money. It was the far more important question of souls.

‘If I stay here another two years,’ he wrote to Amelia, ‘and save £50 or £60 to pay my expenses to China, I shall land there no better off than if I go at once and work my passage out. And in two years there will die in that land at least twenty-four million people. In six or eight months I should be able to talk a little Chinese. And if I could instruct in the truths of the Gospel one poor sinner, and the Spirit accompanied the word with power to his soul and he were saved—to all eternity he would be happy, praising the Redeemer. Then what would the hardships of a four or five months’ voyage weigh in comparison?’

To his mother also he wrote a characteristic letter about this thought of working his passage out to China. His idea was, failing a berth as assistant to a ship’s surgeon, to go as a sailor before the mast, and he had fully informed himself as to all that would be involved. His landlady’s seafaring husband had warned him of the hardships of a five months’ voyage under the latter conditions, assuring him that he could never stand either the work or the companionship that must fall to his lot, but of this he said little to his mother.

‘I am deeply thankful,’ he wrote, referring to one of her recent letters, ‘that you do not wish to recall the offering you made of me to the Lord. Perhaps He means to try our sincerity in this respect sooner than either of us anticipated. If I do not know the intensity of a mother’s love, I feel so much the strength of a son’s love, a brother’s love, of love to friends and brethren in the Lord, that the thought of leaving all seems like tearing away part of one’s very self. But, praise God, I know something also of a Saviour’s love, though but little as yet. He is to me a satisfying portion, and I can truly say,

I all on earth forsake,
Its wisdom, fame and power,
And (Thee) my only portion make,

My Shield and Tower.

But ready though he was for the sacrifice involved, Hudson Taylor was not to work his way out to China before the mast. ‘He was not to be tried thus far,’ wrote his mother, recalling with thankfulness the guidance given in answer to their prayers. It was well, no doubt, that it was in his heart to leave all and follow wherever the Master led. But was He leading just at that time to China? To his parents and friends it seemed not. He had been praying that if it were the Lord’s will for him to go without delay, they might recognise it and bid him God-speed. Rather to his surprise, all advised against it.

It was hard to give up his carefully thought-out plans, but he was learning that there may be self-will even in what looks like devotion. He wrote to his mother:

As to my going to China—in accordance with the unanimous advice of those I have consulted here and with your own opinion, I intend, D.V., to remain in Hull another year and wait upon the Lord for guidance. I was much pleased with your judgment, as I had prayed the Lord, to whom all hearts are open, to bring us definitely to one mind. If it be His will for me to go sooner, He can thrust me out or open the way unmistakably.

A week spent at home in the lovely month of April, while it brought untold refreshment, made the dreariness of Drainside on his return all the more apparent. But though ‘rather unhinged at first,’ as he wrote to his sister, he soon settled down to hard work and solitude once more. As the days lengthened, he turned to good account the strip of waste land in front of the cottage for the benefit of Mrs. Finch and her family. His love of plants and nature generally was so great that even mustard and cress growing outside his window was better than nothing, and his efforts at gardening afforded him much satisfaction.

That was a precious summer. Time seemed all too short for the many duties crowded into it, but he was learning how much more can be accomplished in a day from which an hour is deliberately taken for prayer, than in the same time wholly given to one’s ordinary occupations. He was deeply feeling at this time his need of wisdom, for his employer had put before him generous proposals regarding the completion of his medical studies. The plan he suggested, however, involved a contract for several years, and Hudson Taylor eventually declined it. It was not easy to take this step, eager as he was to become a medical man, but he dared not bind himself by any such agreement, not knowing when or how the way might open to China.

Just about this time another test found him unprepared. His father at home in Barnsley, an active man of only fortyfive, was feeling somewhat restless. Stirred by longings for a wider field, he wondered if the new world of Canada or the United States might present opportunities for carrying on his business in a more spiritually needy sphere than Barnsley. The mother was accordingly deputed to find out from Hudson what he would think of taking charge at home for the next two years.

Hudson was filled with surprise and almost consternation. Gladly would he have gone home for two years, or ten, to liberate his father for evangelistic work in China-indeed, he had at one time suggested it. But a business journey to America, even though combined with an evangelistic purpose, seemed to him a very different proposition. What he wrote in his first prompt reply is not recorded, but a'second following hard on it gives some indication of its contents:

Conscience has repeatedly troubled me about the answer I sent to your enquiry as to whether I was willing to come home for two years. Though I mentioned the sacrifices I should have to make in coming home, I said nothing about those you have so willingly made for me-—the sleepless hours, the anxious thoughts, the expense to which you have been put, the education you have given me by which I am able to procure all the comforts I now enjoy. And this is the return I have made for all these kindnesses. I have written of the sacrifices I should have to make in undertaking to manage for a short time the business at which you have toiled for twenty years for my benefit. Father, I have been an ungrateful son... I am deeply sorry. Will you forgive me?

I will earnestly endeavour, by the grace of God, to be more dutiful in future, and if you still wish me to come home for two years I will do so willingly.

But again in the providence of God the sacrifice he was ready to make was not required. For the father abandoned the idea of going abroad, and soon settled down as before to his useful, honoured life in Barnsley. Thus Hudson was free to reconsider his own movements and the question of going to London.;

He was now twenty years of age, and London attracted him because of its advantages for medical study. He had not forgotten the help proffered by Mr. Pearse and the Chinese Evangelisation Society, before he came to Hull. They had then been willing to bear the expense of his fees at the London Hospital if he could obtain employment that would leave him time for study, or otherwise provide his board and lodging. Did that offer still hold good, he wondered, and, if so, could he avail himself of it?

Gradually as he prayed over the matter it became clear to him that he ought not to remain in Hull much longer. He had learned all he-could from Dr. Hardey under present conditions, and to stay on meant loss of time, as far as preparation for China was concerned. Yes, go he ought and must, in faithfulness to his future service. But how was it to be accomplished?

The clearer became his conviction of what the Lord would have him do, the greater seemed the difficulties in the way of carrying it out. He felt quite sure that the right thing was to give notice to Dr. Hardey without delay, and go forward to his medical studies in London. But all his efforts to find suitable employment proved unavailing. With no means to fall back upon, save the small sum laid by to provide an outfit for China; with few friends in the great city, and no home open to him there, he might well have been discouraged. But all through July and August he was delighting in the promises of the thirty-seventh Psalm.

Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed. Delight thyself also in the Lord, and he shall give thee the desires of thine heart. Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in him, and he shall bring it to pass....

As he thought upon these assurances, so full and so explicit, an unlooked-for change came over everything, and he began to see in the light that only shines from the Unseen. What was he really waiting for? Was it his duty to go forward? What though there seemed no solid ground to tread upon! Was his Master there upon the unknown sea before him? Was it His voice heard across the waters?

Then he could leave the little boat without hesitation and go to Jesus. If it be Thou, Lord, ‘if it be thou, bid me come.’ And the answer was in tones he could not doubt. In a letter to his mother on August 27th, he wrote,

With regard to London, I began prayerfully to consider why I desired to take the step contemplated; and I believe my only object is that I may be enabled to serve the Lord better and be more useful in the advancement of His Kingdom. This step I have every ground for thinking will be a valuable preparation for China. Then why do J not take it? Simply because I am in doubt about the wherewithal. If my earthly father had offered to send me five or ten pounds in case of need, I should have resigned my position here without hesitation. How much more should I go forward trusting in Him who says: ‘Take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink? or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed?... Your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.’ ‘Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.’

To go on depending on circumstances seems to me like doubting the Lord. Consequently I gave notice to Dr. Hardey on Saturday last, and shall go up to London whether I obtain a situation or not, trusting in the Lord. I have heard of one today and shall write about it, though I do not think it will suit me on account of distance from the hospital. As to getting a salary, that is quite out of the question. IfI can find a position that will allow six or eight hours a day for lectures, that is all I can expect.

This decision arrived at, Hudson was not afraid to burn his bridges behind him. He wrote at once to his cousin who was still in Barnsley, suggesting that he should apply to Dr. Hardey for the post he was himself vacating.

Shortly after, the way began to clear before him. His uncle in London had already offered a temporary home; the Chinese Evangelisation Society renewed their atrangement with regard to his hospital fees; and the Meeting he attended in Hull gave him introductions to a few Christian friends who would be accessible from his Soho quarters. Other offers of help reached him which, though not accepted, confirmed his assurance that he was being guided aright. Full of thankfulness he wrote to his sister in the middle of September:

Oh, the love of God, the goodness of my Father and your Father, my God and your God! How kind of Him to keep me in such perfect peace and full of joy and happiness when outwardly in the most difficult position. Had I left the question ‘Shall I go or stay?’ to be settled by circumstances, how uncertain I should have been. But as the Lord enabled me to take the step without hesitation, because it was for His glory, leaving everything in His hands, my mind has been just as peaceful as it would otherwise have been unsettled.

Praise the Lord for His goodness! He has provided, so far, all that is necessary. Now I have a home to go to, money to pay the fees of the Ophthalmic Hospital, as well as the course at the London, and some Christian friends. Last autumn I was fretting and stewing, reckoning and puzzling about how to manage this and that—like a person in water who cannot swim, or a fish out of it. But it all came to nothing. Now, when the Lord opens the way, though everything seems adverse, He first removes one difficulty and then another, plainly saying ‘Be still, and know that I am God.’