“Dear Sir,—­I have reason to bless the hour that God put the thought into your head to open the Mission at the East-End of London, for it has been the means of making me and my family happy in the love of Christ; it has turned me from a drunkard, blasphemer, and liar, to a true believing Christian.  At the age of thirteen, I went as a waiter-boy in a public-house, where I remained until I was sixteen.  Here I learned to love the flavour of drink, and I never lost it until I was converted to God, through the blessed words spoken in the open air.  When I look back, and think how I have beaten my poor wife—­it was through the drink—­it makes me ashamed of myself.  It was the word and the blow, but sometimes the blow first.  After I got sober, sometimes it would make me ashamed to look at her black eyes; but I do thank God there is no fear of black eyes now; for we are very happy together.

“I am a stoker and engine-driver, and I wonder I have never had an explosion, for I have been drunk for a week at a time.  On one occasion, I had been drunk overnight, and was not very sober in the morning.  I went to work at half-past five, instead of five, and, without looking to see if there was any water in the boiler, I began stoking the fire up.  The fright sobered me.  It cost above L100 before it was fit for work again.  But that did not alter me, only for the worse.  I broke up my home.  I got worse, after that, and cared for nothing.  Half my wages went in drink, my wife was afraid to speak to me, and the poor children would get anywhere out of my way.  Afterwards I was discharged; but although I soon got another job, I could not leave off the drink.  I was reckoned a regular drunkard.  I lost place after place, and was out of work several weeks at a time; for they did not care to employ a drunkard.  Still, I would have beer somehow, I did not care how.  I have given one and sixpence for the loan of a shilling, and though there was not a bit of bread at home, the shilling went in beer.

“I have often had the police called in for ill-using my wife.  On one occasion she ran down to her mother’s, with her face bleeding; but I went to bed.  When I woke, I saw she was not there, so I went out and got drunk.  I came home and got a large carving-knife, put it up my sleeve, and went down to her mother’s, with the intention of killing her; but they saw the knife.  The police were called in, and I was taken to Spitalfields Station.  But no one coming to press the charge, I got off.

“Eight years ago God thought fit to lay me on a bed of sickness for thirteen weeks, and I was given up by all the doctors.  When I got better, people thought I would alter my life, and become a steady man; but no, I was as bad as ever.  While I was at work, another time, drunk, I lost one of my eyes by an accident; but even that did not make me a sober man, nor make me leave off swearing and cursing.