A MONTHLY MAGAZINE

Devoted to the Science of Religion, the Religion of Science, and
the Extension of the Religious Parliament Idea

ERALD MASSEY, one of the earliest Christian Socialists, is

now one of the great unknown; he is not even a name to the present generation. Yet he made a great fight for freedom and hesitated not to point out England's faults and blunders. He was born at Gamble Wharf, near Tring, in Hertfordshire, on 29th May, 1828, in a stone hut, which was occupied by his parents as a permanent home at a rental of a shilling a week. His father was a canal boatman and when in full employment, which was not always the case, earned ten shilling a week. The "education" of Gerald was limited to occasional attendance at a school conducted by one of the neighbors, a fee of one penny a week being paid for each child attending. At an early age, however, Gerald, in common with his brothers and sisters and the other children of the neighborhood, had to turn out and swell the family income, even though his contribution for a full week's employment might not exceed ninepence or a shilling. His first situation, when he was but eight years of age, was at a silk-mill, where his hours of labor were twelve a day. When a fire occurred which burned this mill to the ground he became a straw-plaiter.

At the age of fifteen, Gerald went to London, where he secured a situation as an errandboy. Until then, he had read but little and that with difficulty. His library had been limited to the Bible, Pilgrim's Progress, and Robinson Crusoe, with a few Wesleyan tracts. But when he went to London his reading was greatly extended. The story is best told in his own language:

"Till then, I had wondered why I had lived at all, whether

It was not better not to be

I was so full of misery.

Now I began to think that the crown of all desire, and the sum of all existence, was to read and get knowledge. Read, read, read! I used to read at all possible times, and in all possible places; up in bed till two or three in the morning-nothing daunted by once setting the bed on fire. Greatly indebted was I also to the bookstalls, where I have read a great deal, often folding a leaf in a book and returning the next day to continue the subject; but sometimes the book was gone, and then great was my grief! When out of a situation, I have often gone without a meal to purchase a book. Until I fell in love, and began to rhyme as a matter of consequence, I never had the least predilection for poetry. In fact, I always eschewed it; if I ever met with any, I instantly skipped it over, and passed on, as one does, with the description of scenery, etc., in a novel. I always loved the birds and flowers, the woods and the stars; I felt delight in being alone in a summer-wood, with song, like a spirit, in the trees, and the golden sun-bursts glinting through the verdurous roof; and was conscious of a mysterious creeping of the blood and tingling of the nerves, when standing alone in the starry midnight.

"But until I began to rhyme, I cared nothing for written poetry. The first verses I ever made were on 'Hope,' when I was utterly hopeless, and after I had begun, I never ceased for about four years, at the end of which time I rushed into print.

As an errandboy I had, of course, many hardships to undergo, and to bear with much tyranny, and that led me into reasoning upon men and things, the cause of misery, the anomalies of our societary state, politics, etc., and the circle of my being rapidly outsurged. New power came to me with all that I saw and thought and read. I studied political works-such as Paine, Volney, Howitt, Louis Blanc, etc, which gave me another element to mould into my verses, though I am convinced that a poet must sacrifice much if he write party-political poetry. His politics must be above the pinnacle of party zeal: the politics of eternal truth, right, and justice. He must not waste a life on what tomorrow may prove to have been merely the question of a day. The French Revolution of 1848 had the greatest effect on me of any circumstance connected with my own life up to that time. It was scarred and bloodburnt into the very core of my being."

When about eighteen years of age, he published in his native town of Tring a volume entitled, Poems and Chansons, which was printed and published privately and sold at a shilling a copy. He

may now be said to have embarked upon a literary and journalistic career, for, in 1848, when only twenty years of age, he became editor of The Spirit of Freedom, a paper published in the Chartist interest. In 1849 he became acquainted with Frederick Denison Maurice and Charles Kingsley, who were engaged in promoting the co-operative system. To the first named he inscribed the following verses:

God bless you, Brave One, in our dearth,

Your life shall leave a trail of glory;
Around the poor man's homely hearth
We proudly tell your suffering's story.

All Saviour-souls have sacrificed,

With nought but noble faith for guerdon;
And ere the world hath crown'd the Christ,
The man to death hath borne the burden!

The Savage broke the glass that brought
The heavens nearer, saith the legend!
Even so the Bigots welcome aught

That makes our vision starrier-region'd!

They laid their Corner-stones in dark
Deep waters, who up-built in beauty,
On Earth's old heart, their Triumph-Arc
That crowns with glory lives of duty.

And meekly still the martyrs go

To keep with Pain their solemn bridal!
And still they walk the fire who bow
Not down to worship Custom's idol.

In fieriest forge of martyrdom,

Their swords of soul must weld and brighten:
Tear-bathed, from fiercest furnace, come
Their lives heroic-temper'd-Titan!

And heart-strings sweetest music make
When swept by Suffering's feeling fingers!
And thro' soul-shadows starriest break

The glories on God's brave light-bringers.