Henry Moorhouse’s Cure for Feeling Miserable
by Michael J. Penfold
Born in 1840, Henry Moorhouse lived a brief life of 40 years: yet he is often called “the man who moved the man who moved the world” because of his powerful spiritual impact on D.L. Moody.
As a young man, Moorhouse lived a wild life, involving gangs, gambling and more than one stay in prison. Passing one day by the Alhambra Circus in Manchester, he overheard the evangelist Richard Weaver preaching the gospel of Jesus Christ. Thinking a fight was in progress, Moorhouse buttoned his coat and burst into the building, ready to join the fray. But he who came to fight stayed to surrender. That night Moorhouse was converted to Christ.
With enthusiasm, Moorhouse immediately threw himself into service for his new Master, preaching the gospel in all the places he could find – on street corners, at race meetings, in theatres and even at public executions. He lived through the 1859 revival and saw much gospel blessing, preaching alongside many other evangelists, including Richard Weaver and D.L. Moody. His brief but fruitful life came to an end in 1880. He is buried close to Richard Weaver in Ardwick Cemetery in Manchester.
Mr & Mrs. Moorhouse always wanted a large family, but they only had one girl called Minnie, who was disabled. Henry was a transparent Christian, who made a habit of being open and honest about his walk with the Lord. He confessed to feeling miserable at times. Speaking one day on the book of Ruth, he related a touching incident in which he found the cure for his misery:
I remember one time I got downhearted, cloudy, and dark. It was a very miserable day; at least I was miserable. I do not think Christians ought to be miserable, no matter what kind of days there are. But so it was with me.
It was Christmas Eve, and there was a thick fog all over Manchester, where I was; and the miserable sleety rain was coming down. I looked at my watch, and it was about eight o’clock. Four miles away there was a little cottage, with a bright fire and a nice cup of tea ready for me. I thought to myself, I will get right home and make myself comfortable. But at that moment I thought of a little child two miles away. There were no busses, and no trams – I should have to trudge all the way; and it was Christmas Eve. I began to think, well now, little girls will want to have a doll tomorrow; I wonder if anybody has taken anything to this little child. It will be eleven o’clock before I get home if I go; and what will my wife say to my going home so late? And I will have to walk through the rain, and the slush and the fog. Something whispered, I would not do it if I were you. But then another thought came; suppose that child were your little Minnie, and there was no one to give her anything. I went into a toy shop, bought a doll for a few pence, and started off through the cold and the wet. By and by I came to a cellar, where this child lived with her mother and little brother. I knocked at the door, and a voice said, “Come in.” I put my thumb on the latch and went inside. There was a miserable little bit of fire burning, and no candle. By the light of the fire I saw the little boy sitting on one side; and lying on the bed there was the little girl, about nine years old. She was suffering from a terrible disease; she was going to have her little leg taken off in a few weeks. She said to me, “I am so glad you have come; nobody has been to see us; and mother has gone to see if she could get anything to do, and get some money to buy the Christmas dinner with.” I said, “I have come to give you a doll,” and I gave it to her. The little thing looked at it; then she put her hand into the bed, and took out some old rags. She said, “I have been trying to make a doll myself, but I have got a real one now.” She took the doll I gave her, and kissed it.
In a moment the darkness had gone from my spirit; the cold, chilly feeling had disappeared; and I was as happy as ever I could be. I would not have missed taking that doll, that only cost threepence or fourpence, for a five pound note. How glad it had made me! And the next day the happiness I had in seeing my own little girl was ten times more, because I knew another little girl was made happy too.
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