CHAPTER VIII.

_MOUNT ALYN: HOME LIFE._

The intensity of the life, lived by Mr. Balfour in Liverpool, could not fail to put his mental and physical energies under severe strain. We have sometimes found that a walk with him, through the streets of the city, gave curious evidence of the richness of his nature and the manifoldness of his interests. Meeting a benevolent shipowner, he would descant upon the claims and excellences of the Seamen’s Orphanage, as though the orphans were the great object for which he lived; meeting a town-councillor, he would open fire upon some abuse that he was endeavouring to expose and explode, with an energy that was at times tremendous; meeting a citizen on his return from the noon prayer-meeting, he would utter fervent thanksgiving to God that all that was being attempted for the good of Liverpool was guarded and blessed by the prayers of the Lord’s people, and would pour out his soul on the need of heavenly help as the basis of all successful endeavour; meeting another whose heart was towards Temperance reform, he would rush into the heart of that subject, descanting on corner-men and corner-houses, and magisterial duties and licensing boards elected _ad hoc_, with a zeal and emphasis that might have made one suppose that he thought by day and dreamt by night of nothing else. Each man he met might have come to the same conclusion, and have gone away with zeal kindled anew on his own subject. Under the witchery of his blue “glittering eye,” like Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner, he held each fast till he had delivered his soul. We have gone home from such a walk, with the conviction that torch after torch had been lighted or rekindled, by the fire of that intense nature. All causes were his that worked for the good of his beloved city; all who worked for any of these causes were his friends. And from the warmth of his gratitude to any one who was manfully struggling to right a wrong or to minister to the public well-being, one would have supposed that a personal obligation had been conferred on him, as well as a benefit secured for the community.

It was a blessed but an exhausting life to him. The sun is ever giving out his rays without perceptible diminution of his heat and light; but with us it is not so. Mr. Balfour began to feel a desire to combine the repose of the country with the activity of the town. He thought he might thus husband his strength, for more effective use among the busy scenes he loved so well.

In 1869 an opportunity occurred for purchasing a retreat such as he desired. The beauty of the scenery around Mount Alyn and its accessibility to Liverpool were great attractions to him. It lies among the hills of Denbighshire, a few miles beyond Chester. The house is commodious and convenient but unpretentious. It stands on a wooded slope, with an ample park before it, clothed with splendid old trees, and skirted at the bottom by the pretty little River Alyn, on its way to mingle with the waters of the Dee. The terraced walks around the house command a lovely view of the immediate valley, marked on the opposite side by the abrupt bank known as “The Roft,” while beyond opens the rich and fertile Vale Royal, with the towers of old Chester rising grandly in the distance.

It is a choice spot, and was from this time to be the home of the Balfour family. Mr. Balfour was somewhat jealous over himself about the acquisition of this beautiful property. This state of mind is indicated by a conversation between him and his friend Mr. John Fair, whom he invited to go over it with him, after its purchase, but before its occupation. Mr. Fair spoke of the loveliness of the spot, and said he supposed, after so many years of hard work, he would retire from the cares of business and the bustle of Liverpool, and enjoy the pleasures of a country-gentleman’s life. “I shall never forget,” says Mr. Fair, “the serious, almost solemn way in which he replied to my remark, to the effect that were there any chance, from his having selected this beautiful place for his home, of its drawing him away from Liverpool, and the work in which he was engaged in behalf of that city, he would part with it at once without a pang.”

It was with him a constant subject of regret, not to say indignation, sometimes expressed in language more plain than pleasant, that many who made their fortunes in Liverpool spent them elsewhere, retiring to a distance, and doing perhaps little or nothing for the community to which they owed so much. With him this was impossible. He loved Liverpool with a singular earnestness and unchangeableness of affection. It sometimes struck his friends that his love for it resembled a larger family affection. He was irresistibly drawn to any one, rich or poor, who was honestly endeavouring to benefit his city in its material, but especially in its moral and spiritual interests; and upon any one who, he thought, might render useful service in this work, he did not fail to exert the strange magnetic influence of his mind and eye, as, with bending figure and taper fingers outstretched, he urged his plea with the earnest knightly grace which has left its unique and indelible picture stamped on the memory of those who witnessed it.

Liverpool was graven on his heart. One was reminded of the Psalmist’s love for the Holy City when he sang, “If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning.” And so it came that the removal of his residence to North Wales led to no slackening of his efforts in behalf of his beloved city; if possible, the reverse. His hope was, by economy of strength, to have it more in his power to help its people.

Often might he be found, in the early morning before breakfast, in his quiet library, conducting varied correspondence, or drafting memorials or resolutions for the benefit of a wide circle, of which, for him, Liverpool was the centre of intensity and impulse. The bent of his thoughts made itself apparent when, after such early occupation, his family gathered around the family altar. When, with a loved child upon his knee, he had read a portion of God’s Word with the emphatic realism, and the absorbed and startling pauses, which marked his utterance, he bowed his knee in prayer, there followed, oftentimes, a flood of pleading, plaintive supplication for “that great community;” for the sinning and the sorrowing; for those that suffered wrong and those that did the wrong; and for all who loved and sought the welfare of the people. All was confided to his God. And so, with both hands filled with busy practical work, his waiting eyes were ever toward God.

Then the almost daily journey to Liverpool was undertaken, not without occasional misgivings about the length of time consumed, morning and evening, on the way. Then followed the rapid round of varying interests. It was his joy that, allied with able partners and assistants, the details of business did not now demand much of his time or energy. The welfare of Liverpool was his engrossing business. His day’s work done, he returned to his peaceful nook, with surroundings as soothing and refreshing as heart could desire.

As he was falling into the habits involved in his residing in Wales, a struggle arose in his mind. Was he justified in so far leaving Liverpool? It seemed to him for a time like “deserting his post.” “My main work,” he wrote at this time, “I more and more see, is to attend to spiritual and benevolent enterprises in Liverpool.” Temporary losses in business gave emphasis to his difficulties. His doubt about the path of duty was grave and embarrassing: he was prepared, if God so guided him, to leave his lovely home and return to the city, where, most of all, his duties and his affections lay. The struggle was severe, but in the end he resolved to abide by the choice he had made.

Though his life’s passion was the improvement and elevation of Liverpool, the closer, quieter circle about him at Mount Alyn now claimed and received its share in his thoughts and plans. It was his delight to make every one happy around him, children, servants, farm-labourers, and all others. It was sometimes remarked that the governesses at Mount Alyn had “a good time.” They were treated like members of the family. The servants, too, received all kindly consideration, and, for the most part, rewarded the kindness and confidence reposed in them, by fidelity and genuine attachment to the family. Very soon a “Cocoa Room” was established in the neighbouring village of Rossett, and various schemes were started to encourage sobriety, industry, and thrift.

Mr. Balfour struck one, as rather grudging himself the enjoyment of so much beauty and ease, while others were not so favoured. One pleasure, however, seemed for him to have no alloy. It was that of sharing his advantages with others. One bright summer day, a relative sat beside him in the open air at Mount Alyn. As their eyes ranged over the lovely glades and woodlands which stretched before them, she exclaimed, “This place is just an earthly Paradise.” “Ah! yes,” he answered with a sigh, “if only the crowd of toilers in Liverpool could enjoy it too. But there are many shut out from such things.” He had a strange power of making the interests of multitudes his own.

Soon after he was settled in Mount Alyn, he was busy with plans for securing, to as many as possible of the faithful workers in the city, some share in the enjoyment of the beauty and repose of his own rural home.

There were certain cottages on the property which he set apart for tired toilers of the town. Fresh adjustments and alterations, involving considerable outlay, fitted them admirably for the purpose to which they were devoted. City missionaries have an arduous and trying duty to discharge. They have to visit the poorest and the foulest homes in times of health, and especially of sickness. They have to encounter, among others, the drunken, the dissolute, the godless. It is not matter of surprise, if they sometimes become not only weary in body but jaded in spirit. For such, a temporary resting-place was prepared at Mount Alyn. A succession of them was to be found there, staying for two or three weeks at a time. We have often, when visiting Mount Alyn, looked in upon these good men, who, with their families, were enjoying the luxury of pure country air and lovely scenery, with verdure and flowers all about their doors. It did one’s heart good to see the benefit they derived and the happiness they enjoyed. From these peaceful retreats they returned often with lighter hearts, and refreshed for a new stretch of difficult yet blessed work.

During summer, there was often high festival in the broad field above the house. Teachers and pupil-teachers from the city were there in scores. Games were organised, explorations were made among the woods. A large tent was spread under shadow of the trees that bordered the field; and there successive parties were liberally regaled, while words of welcome were spoken by the generous host, and words of encouragement and counsel by ministers and others who were invited to meet the visitors.

Members of the Young Men’s Christian Association and groups of various kinds from the city found welcome and refreshment there. To sweeten a little the lives of such was one of the chief joys of Mr. Balfour’s life. The way was made easy for all the guests; railway tickets were provided as well as hospitality on the spot. It was scarcely possible, on such occasions, to leave the beautiful scene and to watch the beaming countenance of the kind host, as with wife and children by his side he waved his farewells, without the atmosphere breathed becoming more balmy, and the ills of life appearing less dark than before.

The impressions produced on the mind of a discriminating friend, who had comparatively little opportunity of seeing Mr. Balfour, will further illustrate his bearing at Mount Alyn and elsewhere.

“There was something so individual, joyous, simple, inspiring in Mr. Balfour’s manner and tone, that it is impossible to give an adequate impression of ‘the magic he used’ over one: the most self-less of magicians, who, when he came to us, made life seem better worth living, and heartened each stumbler to step out more cheerfully and pluckily on the road before him. Words do not represent him, for one misses the intense accent of conviction, the simplicity of a child, the manly directness of all that he said. I recall a sunny afternoon at Mount Alyn, when I sat with a friend in the park, where four hundred elementary school teachers were being royally entertained, the host radiant amongst them all. I recall some grave talk with Mr. Christopher Bushell, about the problems of life and the struggle against evil. The host came gaily up. ‘You two look grave!’ ‘We are talking about difficult things;’ and then learning what turn the conversation had taken, gently, firmly, simply he said, ‘There is no end to those questions; I get no further; I do not understand them. God has given me a little bit of work to do for Him; I try to do it; _that_ I understand.’ And how he did his ‘work!’

“Late one winter day, my daughter and I were on Mr. Balfour’s door-step just as he and a friend were going out; we proposed to come another day, but Mr. Balfour would not hear of it. ‘No, on no account; we cannot let you off; we must take the chance now;’ and then suddenly, with a burst of eagerness and conviction that penetrated, ‘Don’t you know there is no wealth but in the love _we give_ and the love we receive? Friendship is the greatest gift we have amongst us.’ As we came away, we wondered if he was conscious how nearly he was reproducing Carlyle’s words in ‘Past and Present,’ ‘The wealth of a man is the number of things which he loves and blesses, which he is loved and blessed by!’

“A month or so later, sitting at dinner in the midst of a gay company, (he was always at home in innocent gaiety), the talk turned on Dante’s great words, ‘In la sua volontade è la nostra pace,’ and again, with that eager conviction which he never lost, he exclaimed, ‘That is the secret of all true life.’ If I were asked some of the special characteristics of the friend whose influence still seems to brighten life, I should say his joy in giving joy to others, in bettering the condition, bodily and mental, of every one, of every community he was brought in contact with, and his making religion beautiful even to those who think they dislike religious people.’”

When friends visited Mr. Balfour, he sometimes invited them to examine one field in which he took great delight. He had found it sour and sullen, producing nothing but rushes and coarse grass. He thoroughly drained it, and made it one of the most fertile of all his fields. As we stood with other friends among its teeming furrows, we have heard him take up his parable concerning it with an earnestness which left its impress on all hearers. “The water,” he would say, “which is held in the miserly soil, brings a curse and not a blessing. But if, when it falls from heaven, it is made to pass on to enrich other places, it leaves the brightest fertility behind. Just so it is with riches. Hoarded wealth, like hoarded water, sours and sickens the narrow soul that hoards it. But if wealth, when it flows in, is distributed through useful channels, it is blessed in the having and blessed in the giving.” Such a parable, spoken on such a spot by such a man, was not likely to be without its good results. One powerful principle, in the regulation of his own life, was thus set forth before his friends. It was not the possession, but the use, of wealth that made him happy.

This principle guided him and Mrs. Balfour in small as well as in great things. His gardens and his greenhouses poured forth their lavish products wherever it was thought they were most needed or would bring most cheer. Among the sick and the suffering, the widowed and the wearied, many a languid eye has been made to sparkle with pleasure, when the well-filled basket has brought its message, not more of beauty and fragrance, than of the thoughtful love that lay behind. We recall an occasion on which Mr. Balfour walked up with us from the railway station to the house. It was a mellow autumn evening, and as we passed under the bending boughs of some damson trees, we remarked how good was the promise of fruit. “Splendid!” he replied, “splendid! We must get a barrel of sugar and make jam for the Seamen’s Orphans!” Just like himself. His mind was full of little plans of kindness as well as great schemes of philanthropy.

His farmyard was put under contribution for the benefit of his friends. When Christmas approached, turkeys and geese were despatched right and left, as gifts. It sometimes happened that this process was carried to such an extent, that it was necessary to go to market, for a Christmas turkey for the Mount Alyn family. To him the dainties of the table did not count for much. Mrs. Balfour says, “I cannot remember his ever remarking that any of the food at table was not good, or not well cooked. But if there were delicacies presented, he would often regret that others were not there to share them.”

Mr. Balfour’s love for children was great. Their simple ways found a quick response in his heart. He was ready, when he could, to take part in the games of the young, and found his joy in their enjoyment. He derived the purest pleasure from his own children. It was the delight of the little nursery party to go out with their father, to gather flowers for their mother or for visitors under their roof. He was full of fun and gladness when he started his children on their ponies, and taught them how to guide and manage the little steeds.

But children bring with them care and sorrow, as well as joy. On the 13th of August 1870 occurs this brief but touching memorandum in his note-book:--“My wife gave birth to a baby boy. Let it be our extreme desire to train him up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, and to render back to Him with our whole hearts, the precious gift He has committed to our care.” It did please God, five and a half years afterwards, to remove from earth this, his eldest son, Alister. The sorrow of the parents was deep, but their hearts were resigned. Mr. Balfour would not have strangers bear the little coffin to its quiet resting-place in Rossett Churchyard. Two of his own friends--ministers--were asked by him to do this latest task of love for his dear child. The boy was singularly winsome and lovely, but was unmurmuringly “rendered back” at the call of Him who had given him.

The minute thoughtfulness, which Mr. Balfour displayed for young and old, was such as often to astonish those who knew him best. His mind might appear brimful of some public enterprise, when he would suddenly begin to make inquiries, which showed that the most invisible concerns of those he loved concerned him. He seemed to forget nothing of that kind. We have often known him, when hurrying off to an important meeting that demanded concentrated thought and interest, leave behind him some discriminating message of kindness for one in need of it, or some gift curiously adapted to the unexpressed but conjectured wish of a child or a youth. The great movements of heart and mind did not seem to obliterate the most delicate traces that affection had stamped upon a sensitive nature.

... “All other joys go less To the one joy of doing kindnesses.”

Mount Alyn House was simply though tastefully furnished. Mr. Balfour seemed to find it more difficult to spend money upon himself than upon others. On his acquisition of the property and afterwards, various additions to the house had to be built, and improvements carried out, in the grounds. On these occasions his horror of extravagance and ostentation was conspicuous. His friends could not but be amused at the contrast between his grudging allowance to himself of any little luxury, and his lavish liberality in purchasing gifts and ornaments for them. When men give to others, they are apt to consider how such gifts may affect what they have to spend upon themselves. With him the position was reversed. He kept a jealous eye upon expenditure on his own behalf. _That_ seemed to him a kind of waste. Might it not limit his power to help others, which to him seemed the great use and joy of having means and money? He had an eye for art, which, if he had indulged it, might have led to considerable expenditure. The love for music which he manifested in early life continued with him to the end. His ear was very delicate. He took keen delight especially in Handel’s works; and the “Handel Festival” was one of his rare self-indulgences. But he did not allow these tastes to occupy much of his time. Life was too full for that, and the demands upon his energies too great.

“His attitude towards painting and music,” says a relative, “is illustrated by a dream which he had during his last illness. He dreamed that some friends, about to leave the town, asked him to accompany them to a performance of the ‘Messiah’ before they left. He replied that he had not time to go, and that he would wait till he could hear the angels sing the ‘Hallelujah Chorus.’ _He could wait._ He recognised the mission of Art as a handmaid of truth; but with him moral and spiritual questions came first.” His own mission consisted in active efforts to benefit his fellows. Here lay his life-work, and the indulgence of tastes and preferences was willingly postponed to this. He cast no reflection on those who pursued a different course, but for himself, his feeling was that he had not time; like Him whom he followed, he must be about his Master’s business.

While so employed, Mr. Balfour was not neglectful of the claims of the farm he kept in his own hand. He built a new farm-steading after the most approved models; he husbanded and applied manures with no small skill and success; and his stirks and sheep carried off prizes, in competition with those reared by agriculturists to the manner born. Intelligence and energy made themselves felt in this, as in all else he did. Yet, after all, this was but the by-play of his life.

We have been contemplating Mr. Balfour at home, in the enjoyment of health: we have also the opportunity of seeing how he bore himself in the time of sickness. While at Mount Alyn he was attacked by alarming illness. It was in February 1877. The illness proved to be complicated and exhausting. In the first weeks of the attack, Mrs. Balfour noticed that some anxiety pressed upon his mind. It was not long before he explained the cause. He had been associated with Mr. Samuel Smith, in the scheme already described, for extending the usefulness of the Young Men’s Christian Association, by the erection of new and ample premises. This scheme he then had very much at heart. Owing to the death of the architect and other causes, the cost proved to be much greater than had been anticipated. Mr. Balfour had given as largely as he felt justified in doing, and had applied for help to those who, he thought, would be likely to assist. And now, as he was planning how to meet the difficulty, he was laid aside and the heavy burden fell upon his friend.

This thought it was that burdened him. “Although,” says Mrs. Balfour, “he was too ill to receive visits, our doctor consented to his seeing Mr. Smith, in the hope that his mind might be set at rest. Mr. Smith took the invalid’s hand, and, after a few kind words, the anxious eyes of the patient sought the face of his friend, as he asked about the subject which weighed upon his mind. I shall never forget how kindly Mr. Smith responded, as he told him cheerfully that money was coming in, and that a friend had only that morning given a large sum to help the funds. Mr. Balfour would afterwards, if not at the moment, conjecture what was the origin of that impromptu donation. Meantime he received this statement as a message from God that he was not to be disquieted, and when his visitor had left, he said, ‘Now I am quite happy.’

“During the months of weariness and suffering which followed, a murmur never escaped him. He realised the promise, ‘Thou shalt keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on Thee, because he trusteth in Thee.’ One day, when the cough was racking him, I expressed my distress that he should be so tried. He answered gently and almost cheerfully, ‘Oh, I don’t feel that way. I put myself into God’s hands long ago, and I am content to remain there. He knows what is best for us, and I don’t trouble myself.’

“No doubt the restful calmness of his spirit, at that time, was an important factor in his recovery. An eminent consulting physician came from London to see him, and gave it as his opinion that his lungs could never recover their tone, and that if he lived, he would always be a crippled man. Yet when recovery began, it met with no hindrances, and by Christmas-time of that year he was as active and energetic as ever, and his lungs were in a perfectly healthy condition. Nor had he ever afterwards anything in his physical condition, to remind him of that illness.

“We spent six months,” continues Mrs. Balfour, “in France after his illness, first at Arcachon, and afterwards at Pau, when it was his delight to show kindness to other invalids, especially those who were not in good circumstances, and whom he could help to get little comforts which otherwise they must have lacked. Before our return to England, we spent a fortnight in driving among the Pyrenees. He often walked ahead of the carriage, his step active and light as of old, to the surprise of English friends who were with us, and who found it no easy matter to keep up with him.”

The Rev. George Brown of Pau thus speaks of Mr. Balfour’s visit to that place:--“It was there and then that I had the privilege of making my first acquaintance with Mr. Balfour. An entire stranger in Pau, he at once attracted all who met him, by his singular geniality of character and brightness of disposition, ‘sweetening the breath of society,’ as Dr. Chalmers used to say, and never entering a room without bringing a gleam of sunshine along with him. This happy natural gift, however, had behind it something still more important, for it soon became manifest that he was a man of purpose, and that the great aim of his life was to serve his own generation according to the will of God.

“Though he had more than enough on his hands at home, he forthwith entered into the Christian work of his place of sojourn, in the most practical way, cheering those who were engaged in it with sympathy and help.

“I mention one instance among many. The lamented M. Jean Bost addressed a large assembly of English and French people, at the residence of Mr. Oliphant of Pau, describing to them his unique group of ‘Asylums’ at La Force. His _conference_ was a simple summary of facts; but as soon as he sat down, Mr. Balfour, who had come only as a listener, unable to repress his feelings, rose and gave such an estimate of the importance of the work, and such a tribute to the devotedness of its founder, that in a few minutes he communicated his own enthusiasm to the whole meeting. It was in furthering such works that Mr. Balfour was most truly in his element.

“As my acquaintance with him deepened, partly under his own roof at Mount Alyn, and partly during his subsequent brief visits to Pau, I was only the more impressed with the nobleness of his character. Personal inconvenience, fatigue, physical discomfort scarcely ever seemed to interrupt his cheery equanimity, but the frauds and oppressions of trade, and the sins and sorrows of the people, stirred him up to a passionate vehemence of feeling and expression.

“Underneath all his Christian activity, it was an open secret that he was enjoying the rest of faith, as a member of God’s redeemed family; and his spiritual convictions, which he did not hesitate to express, were those of one who had tried the foundation for himself, and found it firm and true.”

Mr. Balfour’s illness had for some time cast a shadow over his bright and beautiful home; with his restoration, sunshine returned. He emerged from sickness fresh and thankful in spirit, and with his appetite whetted for the work he loved, by his lengthened season of seclusion and repose. It was an unspeakable joy to him to find himself again in the midst of his friends and fellow-workers in the busy city; and by them his return was welcomed as a special gift from Heaven. We recall the first noon prayer-meeting he attended after his recovery, and the enthusiasm and gratitude with which he was received by many who for months had missed his genial and sympathetic presence. He presided, and his words were those of a man thankfully dedicating himself with fresh consecration to his God, after being tried as silver is tried. With special fervour he called on all his fellow-labourers to “work while it is to-day.” It was not difficult to see that the silent waiting-time of sickness was the source of much fruit unto holiness.

His diary contains the following brief entry in reference to his restoration to health:--

“Sunday, 26th May, 1878, 3 P.M.

Meeting for praise to-day for my recovery at Y. M. C. A. buildings.

Confession of sin and unbelief. Praise for restored health and strength. Prayer for Self-consecration: “ “ Truth of heart: “ “ Purity of heart: “ “ Obedience of heart: “ “ Wisdom: “ “ Love: “ “ Unselfishness: “ “ Humility: “ “ Grace that I may not dishonour Christian profession.”