Judged by the effect produced, the book was certainly a remarkable one.  In the first place it had a title which, in a striking manner described its character.  Everybody wanted to see it, and, as a result, it was sold, lent, read, thought about, and talked about in every direction.  Nearly a quarter of a million copies were sold.  The profits from the publication and sale amounted to about L20,000, of which sum I had the privilege of handing over L5,380—­which might have been considered rightfully to accrue to me personally as the Author—­to the fund devoted to the promotion of the object for which the book was published.

In its pages I propounded those Schemes which I thought would prove most successful in alleviating the terrible misery I had described, and in rescuing some, at least, of the sufferers from the conduct that produced it.

     In order to set the Scheme in motion, I asked the public to give me
     L100,000, and a further L30,000 per annum to maintain it.

     I can never forget the morning that directly followed the
     appearance of the volume.  I was, of course, in ignorance of what
     the nation would think or say about it.

I had made plans for the book to be delivered to the newspapers at one and the same time, and, regarding the Press as being to some extent the voice of the people, I was anxious to hear what that voice would say.

I was not kept long in suspense.  As I ascended the stairs at Headquarters that morning, a gentleman with a countenance beaming with kindness and anxiety met me.  I do not think he had ever seen me before, and I was certainly in complete ignorance of him.

     “General Booth, I believe?” he said.

     “Yes, sir,” I answered.

“I have been reading the critique in The Times of your Darkest England Scheme,” he said, “and, believing your plan to be right and good, I want to be the first to express my sympathy and practical assistance in carrying it out, and I wish to give you the first L1,000 towards the sum asked for.”

     This gentleman proved himself a firm friend of the Scheme, actively
     co-operating with us so far as he had opportunity.

A short time afterwards our friend was present at the opening of our first London Ex-Prisoners’ Home.  When I had finished speaking he expressed a wish to say a few words.  I invited him forward for that purpose.  He came, hurried and excited, began to speak, staggered, reeled, fell into my arms and immediately expired.  It may be truly said that he died calling down blessings on the Darkest England Scheme.

After meeting this gentleman on the stairs, I had scarcely sat down at my desk, with his cheque in my hand, before a telegram was handed me, from one of the most influential newspaper proprietors in the city, expressing a similar hope, and promising