D—— R——, the subject of the following narrative, was born at Glasgow, of respectable parents. They required him to attend public worship twice on the Sabbath, and in the evening to commit to memory a few verses of Scripture and a psalm or hymn. He was naturally very passionate and self-willed: would frequently, when sent to school, play truant; and when required to go to church, would, as often as possible, go a bird’s-nesting, or duck-hunting, or roam the fields with his companions in sin and folly. At the age of sixteen he determined to throw off all parental restraint; and having succeeded in wickedly taking five pounds from his father’s chest, he engaged himself as a cabin-boy in a vessel bound for India.
He soon became addicted to drunkenness, cursing, and swearing. He was very fond of books, had a good memory, and for about ten years read every thing that came in his way. He visited various parts of the world as a sailor. When about twenty-six he returned to his native city Glasgow, for the purpose of visiting his friends. During his stay of a few weeks, a former companion, who had become pious, induced him to attend church with him. Like Agrippa, he was almost persuaded to be a Christian. After his return to the vessel he was much steadier than before; and agreeably to his friend’s request, read a chapter daily in the Bible which he had given him. In about a fortnight after, they were overtaken by a storm, and were in great danger of being lost. He then vowed, that if the Lord would spare his life, he would never swear or get drunk again, but that he would give himself to God: his vows, however, were made in his own strength, which quickly proved to be perfect weakness; for, a few days after, one of the sailors found him reading, and told his companions of it, when they began to ridicule him, and to call him Methodist, saint, etc., which so enraged him that he tore the Bible to pieces before their eyes, and swore that he would never read it again, or enter a church; at the same time calling upon God to strike him dead if he did. For more than fifty years he kept these awful resolutions. From this time he stood forth conspicuously, even in the estimation of his wicked companions, as an abandoned, profligate character.
When he was about forty years old, he engaged himself to a gentleman who wanted a man who was acquainted with foreign parts, to travel with him. When he was a little more than sixty the gentleman died; soon after which he came to England, and having enough to live upon, he had nothing to engage his time, a great part of which he spent at the public-house. He was seldom to be seen sober, generally spoke with an oath, and was the pest of the neighborhood.
When he was about seventy-eight, a young woman came to reside near his abode; she frequently saw him at the door of different public-houses, maddened with liquor and quarrelsome, and his oaths often made her tremble. Sometimes, as she passed, she would secretly let a few Tracts fall near the place where he stood, which were generally picked up by some of his companions, and sometimes read; but if D—— R—— got hold of them he would immediately burn them, or tear them to pieces. She lent Tracts at several houses, which she generally exchanged once a week.
It pleased God in his infinite mercy to bless her efforts to the conversion of a poor man and woman who lived near D—— R——. This so much vexed him that he determined to annoy them in every possible way. Nor was he satisfied with this. He determined to waylay the young woman who lent the Tracts, and for that purpose stayed at home all one Sabbath afternoon; but she did not pass that way, and he was disappointed.
The next Sabbath afternoon, as she went to change her Tracts, she saw him at the door of his house. Having the Tract entitled “The Swearer’s Prayer,” she wished to give it to him; but prudence seemed to forbid; yet the thought came across her mind with irresistible force, The man’s soul is at stake, give it him. She went to him and asked him if he would like to have a Tract to read, when he began to swear most dreadfully, and vowed that if she dared to offer him another Tract he would tear it to pieces, and burn her and her Tracts too. In general she would have been so afraid of him that she would have hastened from him, but now she felt as if riveted to the spot till the first burst of his passion was over, and then, in a calm but firm tone, she said, “Man, take care that your curses do not fall on your own head.” Having said this, she walked away.
And now mark the hand of God, as it was strikingly displayed in the conversion of this aged sinner, and see how the words and persevering efforts of this young woman were made the means, by the Spirit of God, of reaching and breaking his heart, seared and hardened though it was by a course of more than sixty years of iniquity and open rebellion against his Maker.
The following is his own account of his conversion, taken from a letter written by him about three months before his death.
“About a year and a half ago, a young person commenced lending Tracts in the neighborhood in which I resided. In a short time many disorderly Sabbath-breakers became more orderly, and sometimes attended church, and a man and his wife became the subjects of divine grace. These I persecuted as much as I possibly could. I also gave vent to my rage against the young person who brought the Tracts, threatening what I would do to her if she continued bringing them. Finding that though she was aware of my threats she still went on as before, I became so enraged that I determined to carry them into effect. It was on the first Sabbath in August, 1841, that I saw her changing her Tracts, and I went to the door of my house; intending, if she dared to attempt to pass me, to knock her down; but how greatly was I surprised to see her walk up to me and ask if I would like to have a Tract to read. I began to curse and to swear at her, but she stood unmoved till my rage had in a measure subsided, and then she said, in a tone that thrilled through my inmost soul, ‘Man, take care that your curses do not fall on your own head.’ I was for a few minutes unable to speak or move. When I had a little recovered I went in, and began to think what curses they were that were in danger of falling on my own head. I saw my sins to be of the deepest dye, all of which seemed to rise up against me to condemn me. In the evening I went to church; but the recollection of my impious request, in asking God to strike me dead if I ever went again, so alarmed me that I knew very little of what the minister said: The next morning I bought myself a Bible, but for several days was so dreadfully agitated lest God should take me at my word, and strike me dead, that I could read very little; and when my fears were in a measure subsided, I could read nothing but condemnation for myself. I thought I was of that number ‘who had trodden under foot the Son of God, and counted the blood of the covenant an unholy thing.’ I was on the borders of despair for ten weeks, when my dear friend, hearing of my state and the cause of it, came to see me. When I first saw her, I was greatly distressed at the remembrance of my abusive conduct. She tried to comfort me, and endeavored to lead me to the Savior, and repeated various texts of Scripture to prove that I was not beyond the reach of mercy; but I could take no comfort from any of them till she repeated the two following: ‘All manner of sin and blasphemy shall be forgiven unto men.’ Matthew 12:31. ‘Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am chief.’ 1 Timothy 1:15. She then said, ‘You say you are the chief of sinners—for such Christ died.’ This awakened a gleam of hope. The following week she came almost every day to see me. Being much alone at that time, she frequently invited me to her house to read to her while she was at work; this, I think I may say, proved to be of great spiritual advantage to me. In a short time the Lord was pleased in his infinite mercy to show me that Christ was just such a Savior as I needed, and that though my sins were as scarlet, they should be white as snow; and though they were red like crimson, they should be as wool.”
The aged sailor having his time at command, and being an early riser, and his faculties being good, spent several hours daily in reading the Bible, private prayer, and meditation. He was fond of religious poetry, and committed several hymns to memory. He now began to be as zealous in the service of God as he had formerly been in the service of sin and Satan. He was very anxious for the conversion of his former companions, and would frequently go to different public-houses with Tracts suitable for drunkards and swearers, which he would give to all who could be induced to receive them. In this way most of his Saturday evenings were spent for eight or nine months, and he never was known to take any strong drink from the time of his conversion to his death.
He was active in lending Tracts and visiting the sick, and suffered no opportunity to pass of pointing sinners to “the Lamb of God which taketh away the sin of the world;” and it is confidently believed that he has been the happy instrument, in the hands of God, of bringing more than one sinner to Christ. Frequently did he meet his young friend at five o’clock in the morning, for reading the Scriptures, and prayer for a blessing to rest upon their endeavors to bring sinners to Christ. Having obtained a comfortable hope, through grace, that he should sit down at the marriage-supper of the Lamb in the heavenly Jerusalem, he desired also to participate in the privileges of receiving the Lord’s supper below, which, after a public profession of faith in Christ, he was permitted to do on his eightieth birthday, September 4, 1842. In speaking of it, he said, “It was the happiest day he had ever spent; that he had possessed such a foretaste of heaven as he had not before been permitted to enjoy; that it was, indeed, a feast of fat things, of fat things full of marrow, of wines on the lees well-refined;” and then he exclaimed, with a countenance beaming with delight,
“If such the sweetness of the stream,
What must the fountain be,
Where saints and angels draw their bliss
Immediately from Thee?”
On the morning of this day he held a meeting for prayer at his house, which was continued every Sabbath morning till his death; the number increasing till the last morning, when twenty persons were present.
The Saturday evening before his death he spent with his young friend. In speaking of it she says, “His conversation was so heavenly that I could not help thinking he was fast ripening for glory.” On Sabbath morning he went to see a person who was dangerously ill. Not being able to come back in time to hear his own minister, he went to a chapel which was in his way home. The minister took for his text Revelation 5:11–12, “And I beheld, and I heard the voice of many angels round about the throne, and the beasts, and the elders: and the number of them was ten thousand, times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands; saying with a loud voice, Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power, and riches, and wisdom, and strength, and honor, and glory, and blessing.”
On his way home he said, “I have been thinking, when I get amongst the ransomed I shall sing more sweet, more loud than they all.” On being asked what made him think so, he replied, “Because I have had more forgiven me; and to whomsoever much is forgiven, the same loveth much.” At another time he said; “I feel more and more convinced of the love of God; and I think I may say, I feel daily an increase of love to God.” In the evening his own minister preached from the words, “Behold, I come quickly; and my reward is with me.” Revelation 22:12. After his return he said, “My Savior will come quickly, and receive me, unworthy though I am, into his heavenly kingdom.”
On the last three mornings of his life he met his young friend, for reading and prayer, at five o’clock. On Wednesday evening he went to hear an esteemed minister preach; his text was, “But that which ye have already, hold fast till I come.” Revelation 2:25. Going home, he said, “What a privilege it is to feel that we are not of those that draw back unto perdition, but of those that believe to the saving of the soul.” Speaking of a lady whom he very much wished to see, who had been expected that afternoon, he said, “If I do not see Miss—— in this world I shall see her in heaven, and O what a happy meeting will that be.” His friend reminded him that most probably he would see her on Saturday; he made no reply to that, but soon resumed his favorite theme—the happy meeting of the glorified.
Indeed, it was quite evident that his heart and his treasure were in heaven. His friend left him about nine o’clock on Wednesday evening, and at one on Thursday morning he was taken ill. About two she went to see him; he was then in great pain. She said, “How grieved I am to see you suffer so much.” He replied, “I feel nothing, compared with what Christ bore for me. I deserve the hottest place in hell. But O, the boundless grace of Jehovah, he will take me to his kingdom in glory!” He sent for four persons who had been his companions in sin, and with great earnestness entreated them not to put off repentance till a dying hour; and added, “If I had died fifteen months ago, where would my poor soul have been found? Doubtless I had now been in that place where hope never comes. Since I have obtained mercy no sinner need despair.” He then asked a person present to read the twelfth chapter of Isaiah, and pray with him. On being asked what he should pray for, he said, “That all my former companions who have not given themselves to God, may be induced to do so; and that my death may be for his glory.” He then said, Let us sing,
“Salvation, O the joyful sound,
’Tis pleasure to our ears,” etc.
In the last hour of his life he had little pain, mortification having taken place. At about half-past three he took an affectionate farewell of those of his neighbors that were present. He lay for a few minutes apparently in deep thought, and then said; “Tell Miss ——, though we have not seen one another on earth, we shall meet in heaven;” and his countenance beaming with joy, he added, “What a happy meeting will that be; there we shall meet to part no more for ever.” He then said to his friend, “I am going to glory, and in due time you shall come too; but you must bring more souls to Christ first.” He then took his farewell of her, and said, “I shall soon be with Jesus;” and raising his eyes, said, “Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly, and receive thy unworthy servant to thyself;” and in two or three minutes he fell asleep in Jesus, about four o’clock in the morning, October 20, 1842, after three hours’ illness; and went to sit down in the presence of his Lord, with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of heaven for ever.
Let the history of the aged sailor encourage parents to be faithful in imparting early religious instruction; but let it not be abused to encourage any to neglect God’s call to immediate repentance. Very few, indeed, are the cases in which aged persons are converted; they mostly die as they have lived, hardened and insensible, or lose the use of their faculties. To young and old the call is made now to repent and believe the Gospel.
Reader, have you put off the salvation of your soul till now? Then delay no longer. “Now is the accepted time; now is the day of salvation.” 2 Corinthians 6:2. There is mercy for you, even if it be your eleventh hour. “Seek ye the Lord while he may be found, call ye upon him while he is near.” Isaiah 55:6. “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.” Acts 16:31.
Are you a Christian? Then let the grand aim of your life be, to glorify God by bringing sinners to Christ.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Thursday, August 20, 2009
THE RUSSIAN NURSE by Rev. Richard Knill
The imperial city of St. Petersburg is one of the most magnificent in the world. Its spacious streets, and gilded spires, and numerous palaces, have a most imposing effect on strangers. The population is upwards of three hundred thousand. I lived among them thirteen years, and received nothing but kindness from every class of the community. People from the four quarters of the world come and settle there—some for pleasure, and others for trade; and it is a pleasing sight to see, on a fine day at one of the fashionable promenades, people of every color and clime dressed in the costume of their native countries.
Almost every family keeps a crowd of servants: now and then you see a Tartar coachman, or hear of a Flemish cook; but the persons employed are chiefly Russian peasants, who come to the metropolis from all parts of the empire, in hope of getting higher wages than they can earn at home. Among them was Erena, a deserving, intelligent young woman, who came to live with us in 1827.
All went on well until Ash-Wednesday. This is the first day of Lent, and then begins the long fast, which many of the Greek church observe as if it secured the salvation of their souls. Besides rigid fasting, they go to church two or three times daily, and in “Passion-week,” many of them go there four times a day.
Erena was a strict observer of the Greek ceremonies, and she was determined to perform them. Her mistress spoke to her of the impropriety of going out so often, but she replied, “Do you wish me to lose my soul, ma’am?” “No,” was the answer; “far from it: I wish your soul to be saved; but your fasting, praying, and going to church will not save your soul. There must be something more than all this. The Lord Jesus Christ is the Savior of sinners, and it is by faith in him alone that sinners are saved.” “Ah,” said she, “that is your religion, but I have been taught differently, and I must attend to my own religion.”
Frequent conversations to the same effect took place, until my wife said to me, “I think we shall be obliged to part with Erena, she is so superstitious.” I said, “The poor girl is ignorant. Try to throw a little light into her mind, and then the superstitions will drop off like the leaves in autumn; there will be nothing to hold them.” The next day her mistress said to her, “Erena, I wish to teach you to read; would you like to learn?” “O yes, ma’am, I should be delighted to learn.” So the work of education commenced; and, in the course of a few weeks, she could make out an easy lesson very well. Then she was supplied with a Russian Testament, which she studied diligently whenever she had a little leisure. She has told us since, that from the first day she came to live with us, she was very observant about our religion, and that she was much struck with our family worship. She saw the propriety of it, and often felt it deeply, though she could not then understand a word we said. These things were all new to her. She had never lived in a house where there was family prayer before; but God was thus about to prepare her mind for the great change which she was soon to experience.
That “great change” evidently took place on the Lord’s day, and in the following manner: When we went to chapel, her mistress left Erena in charge of our children, and said to her, “I recommend you, Erena, to read the tenth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles.” “Very well,” she replied. This excited her curiosity. “What can there be in the tenth chapter of the Acts?” and she soon began to read. As she proceeded, she found that Cornelius fasted, and prayed, and gave alms. “Ah, this is delightful,” she thought. “This man was of our religion; he kept the fast.” But when she found that an angel was sent to him to tell him what he must do, this staggered her. She was astonished, and seemed disappointed; and on our return home, she came to her instructress, and with an inquiring countenance said, “I wish you would explain this to me, ma’am; I don’t understand it. Here is a very good man who kept the fast, and prayed to God, and gave alms; but that was not enough: now, why was it not enough? I never was taught to do any thing more. Tell me, why was the angel sent to him?” Her mistress cautiously avoided saying any thing that would appear like an attack upon her religion, but answered, “Do you think God would send an angel to you, or to us, or to any other person, unless some important end was to be answered by it?” “Ah,” said she, “I did not think of that.” “Very well, then; read the chapter through, and examine every verse, and you will find out why the angel was sent to him.”
She returned to her room and read the chapter attentively, until she came to that beautiful verse where Peter says of Christ, “To Him give all the prophets witness, that through his name whosoever believeth in him shall receive remission of sins.” This was enough. “God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, shone into her heart, to give her the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” 2 Corinthians 4:6. The scales fell from her eyes, and she saw in a moment the way of salvation. She could read no more. She arose, and running to her mistress, clasped her hands, and exclaimed, “Oh, ma’am, now I see it—now I see it—now I see it! It was not by fasting that he was to be saved; not by praying that he was to be saved; not by giving alms that he was to be saved; but by believing on the Son of God. Now I see it!” and from that day the change was glorious. She became one of the most active and devoted, and perhaps useful young Christians that we had ever seen.
About a year after her conversion, a circumstance occurred which afforded her continual opportunities for explaining God’s method of saving sinners to persons whom she had never seen before. I began to be extensively employed in circulating the Scriptures, and religious books and Tracts. This brought multitudes of people about us; and there was scarcely a person who came, to whom she could speak, but she would in simple, striking language, show them how God can “be just,” and yet “the justifier of him which believeth in Jesus.” Romans 3:26. She spoke the German, and Finnish, and Russian languages, and thus she had ample scope for gratifying the desires of her heart; nor did she ever appear so happy as when she could get the ear of a poor sinner to listen to the words of eternal life.
One striking instance of her usefulness must not be passed over; and I hope that every one who reads or hears it may be encouraged to attempt great things. A hawker called at my house to sell his wares, when she inquired, “Have you a New Testament, brother?” “No,” said the man; “a Testament would be of no use to me.” “Why?” “Because I cannot read.” “Ah, but it might be of use to you though you cannot read.” “How?” said the hawker. “Perhaps some of your family can read.” “Yes, I did not think of that; my brother has two boys at school who can read.” “Well, then, buy a Testament, and let the boys read to your poor old father, that he may hear something about the Lord Jesus Christ before he dies.” The man bought it, and as he was going away, she said to him, “Where do you live?” “I am a thousand versts from home,” he replied, “but at present I live in a lodging-house.” “Are there many lodgers besides you?” “Yes, many.” “Perhaps some of them can read.” “I do not know. I never saw a book among them.” So he departed, and we saw him no more until the winter commenced, when thousands of the laboring classes go back into the interior to their families. And now the hawker made his appearance again, and said to my wife, “Will you please to let me have a copy of every book you have in the house?” “That is a large order, friend; what are you going to do with so many books?” “You would not ask that question, ma’am, if you knew what good that New Testament has done which Erena recommended to me in the spring.” “What good has it done? I should like to hear.” “Before I bought that book, it was the custom with many of the lodgers to go out into the city after supper, and come home at midnight drunk, while others were playing at cards at home; but as soon as I showed them the New Testament, one said, ‘I can read;’ and another said, ‘I can read;’ and a third said, ‘I can read;’ so they took it by turns, and read chapter after chapter. This excited a deep interest, and the drunkards forsook their glass and the gamblers their cards; and there are neither drunkards nor card-players in our lodging now, ma’am. They hear two or three chapters, and then lie down to sleep. And as these men are returning to their families, they wish to take home a copy of that book which has been so beneficial to themselves.”
Who could help exclaiming, on hearing this, “Surely the Lord hath done great things, whereof we are glad.” Psalms 126:3. Here were vices forsaken; sinners reformed; the Scriptures circulated; many copies of the holy book going to villages where it had never been seen before. Oh, what pleasure can be so great as that connected with doing good to souls?
But some may say, “It is not in my power to imitate such an example, for I have not the opportunity.” True, it may be so; but there are several things in which you may imitate her.
1. Her endeavor to do good to those in the same condition in life. Her kind and winning manner had a happy effect on young people. It was irresistible. They appeared as if held by a charm while she spoke to them about their souls. Take the following as a specimen.
A family near us had many domestics. One of them came to my door on a Sabbath evening, when Erena was sitting in the porch reading the gospel of John. “Come in,” said the devout reader. “Be seated. Would you like to hear a portion of God’s holy word?” “Oh yes, by all means—proceed.” The place of the Scripture which she read was the narrative of our Lord’s discourse with the woman of Samaria, in which occurs the passage, “The hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth; for the Father seeketh such to worship him. God is a Spirit; and they that worship him, must worship him in spirit and in truth.” John 4. “Delightful,” said the visitor. “Pray stop a moment, and I will go and call my fellow-servants. I think they will rejoice to hear it, for surely they have never heard such things since they were born.” She then arose, and ran and called them, and brought three of them with her, and the same chapter was read again, accompanied by many solemn remarks on the state of unconverted sinners, and the suitableness and all-sufficiency of Jesus to save all that come unto God by him. Erena also urged on them the necessity of coming to Christ immediately, as every effort to get to heaven in any other way would be of no avail. These remarks were delivered with peculiar emotion, and frequently watered with her tears, and her hearers were as much affected as she was. When the chapter was finished they departed, acknowledging with gratitude the pleasure they had enjoyed from hearing words which they had never heard before.
The mistress of Erena listened with great delight to a part of these proceedings, and when she saw the visitors, the tears were still glistening in their eyes. It ought to be noticed, that none of these four young women were able to read, and it is more than probable that they had lived until that day without hearing a chapter in a language which they could understand. But now the seal was loosed, and the book was opened, and the blessed Savior seemed to be speaking to them. One of these young women afterwards came to my wife for a New Testament, and “The Dairyman’s Daughter,” and “The Young Cottager,” in the Russian language, to send to her brother, who could read, and who lived several hundred miles off. On receiving these precious treasures, her heart seemed to swell with ecstasy. She pressed them to her bosom, and kissed the hand from which she received them. Had some cold-hearted professor, some neglecter of his Bible, witnessed this scene, he would have felt it as a dagger to his conscience. And could the lovers of the Bible have witnessed it, they would have felt a joy similar to that which angels feel when a sinner is brought to repentance.
2. We had constant proofs of her fidelity, especially in the care which she took of our dear children. We could leave them without any anxiety, if Erena, was there. We had no fears that they would be neglected, or that any thing improper would be taught them in her presence. When that dreadful scourge the cholera visited St. Petersburg, it pleased God to send it to my house, and by it to remove two of our sons. My wife also was in a perilous condition, and I was attacked; and now it was that the religion of the nurse shone most brightly in her tenderness, watchfulness, prayerfulness, diligence, and untiring efforts to serve us. Indeed she was like a sister to us; and now we had a rich reward for all the pains which had been taken to lead her to the Savior. We had a man-servant, but he was frightened and ran away. We had a cook, but she was supposed to be dying. Our chief support was our nurse. Many kind friends came by turns to help us; but Erena was always there, until our children were put into the silent grave, and we began to recover. Then she was attacked also; but even then she seemed almost to forget herself in her anxiety about us. I have often thought, if masters and mistresses knew what a blessing such a young woman is in a family, much more would be done to promote the piety of their households than has yet been attempted.
3. You can imitate her love to her relatives. Amidst all her attempts to do good to strangers, she was not unmindful of her connections. They had the first claim, and she met it. We have often known her leave herself without a rouble in order to send a few comforts to her aged mother; and these were always accompanied with some good books and a pressing letter on the subject of salvation. Nor was this labor in vain. We had every reason to believe that God blessed her pious solicitude in the genuine conversion of her mother. Not long before we left Russia, she came to visit her daughter; and that she might have frequent opportunities of conversing with her, we asked the old woman to stop a few weeks at our house. While she was with us, she fell sick and died; and it was particularly gratifying to us to witness the tender solicitude of Erena, both for the body and the soul of her parent. One day, as she was supposed to be drawing near her end, my little boy said, “Erena, I think the fourteenth chapter of John would just suit your mother.” The girl took the hint, and went immediately to the bedside and told what the boy had said, and then read the chapter to her mother. This seemed to rouse every energy. The old woman arose and sat up in the bed, and thanked God for putting it into the heart of the boy to send her such strong consolation, and then, while praying down blessings on her daughter, she expired.
Erena was wonderfully supported, and tried to turn the death of her mother to good account. It is customary, as soon as a Russian dies, for two or more persons, called “Readers for the dead,” to be employed in reading over the corpse night and day until the funeral. This is dreary work. The reading is generally very monotonous, and, if it could be understood, would be very unprofitable. Therefore Erena gave the book of Psalms to the men, saying, “Read that;” hoping that thereby her mother’s death might be blessed to them.
Not long after this excellent young woman had followed her mother to the grave, she accompanied us to the steamer; and, as she stood gazing on us to take the last farewell, she wiped away her tears with one hand and waved the other in the air, as if to say, “We shall meet again in heaven!”
Almost every family keeps a crowd of servants: now and then you see a Tartar coachman, or hear of a Flemish cook; but the persons employed are chiefly Russian peasants, who come to the metropolis from all parts of the empire, in hope of getting higher wages than they can earn at home. Among them was Erena, a deserving, intelligent young woman, who came to live with us in 1827.
All went on well until Ash-Wednesday. This is the first day of Lent, and then begins the long fast, which many of the Greek church observe as if it secured the salvation of their souls. Besides rigid fasting, they go to church two or three times daily, and in “Passion-week,” many of them go there four times a day.
Erena was a strict observer of the Greek ceremonies, and she was determined to perform them. Her mistress spoke to her of the impropriety of going out so often, but she replied, “Do you wish me to lose my soul, ma’am?” “No,” was the answer; “far from it: I wish your soul to be saved; but your fasting, praying, and going to church will not save your soul. There must be something more than all this. The Lord Jesus Christ is the Savior of sinners, and it is by faith in him alone that sinners are saved.” “Ah,” said she, “that is your religion, but I have been taught differently, and I must attend to my own religion.”
Frequent conversations to the same effect took place, until my wife said to me, “I think we shall be obliged to part with Erena, she is so superstitious.” I said, “The poor girl is ignorant. Try to throw a little light into her mind, and then the superstitions will drop off like the leaves in autumn; there will be nothing to hold them.” The next day her mistress said to her, “Erena, I wish to teach you to read; would you like to learn?” “O yes, ma’am, I should be delighted to learn.” So the work of education commenced; and, in the course of a few weeks, she could make out an easy lesson very well. Then she was supplied with a Russian Testament, which she studied diligently whenever she had a little leisure. She has told us since, that from the first day she came to live with us, she was very observant about our religion, and that she was much struck with our family worship. She saw the propriety of it, and often felt it deeply, though she could not then understand a word we said. These things were all new to her. She had never lived in a house where there was family prayer before; but God was thus about to prepare her mind for the great change which she was soon to experience.
That “great change” evidently took place on the Lord’s day, and in the following manner: When we went to chapel, her mistress left Erena in charge of our children, and said to her, “I recommend you, Erena, to read the tenth chapter of the Acts of the Apostles.” “Very well,” she replied. This excited her curiosity. “What can there be in the tenth chapter of the Acts?” and she soon began to read. As she proceeded, she found that Cornelius fasted, and prayed, and gave alms. “Ah, this is delightful,” she thought. “This man was of our religion; he kept the fast.” But when she found that an angel was sent to him to tell him what he must do, this staggered her. She was astonished, and seemed disappointed; and on our return home, she came to her instructress, and with an inquiring countenance said, “I wish you would explain this to me, ma’am; I don’t understand it. Here is a very good man who kept the fast, and prayed to God, and gave alms; but that was not enough: now, why was it not enough? I never was taught to do any thing more. Tell me, why was the angel sent to him?” Her mistress cautiously avoided saying any thing that would appear like an attack upon her religion, but answered, “Do you think God would send an angel to you, or to us, or to any other person, unless some important end was to be answered by it?” “Ah,” said she, “I did not think of that.” “Very well, then; read the chapter through, and examine every verse, and you will find out why the angel was sent to him.”
She returned to her room and read the chapter attentively, until she came to that beautiful verse where Peter says of Christ, “To Him give all the prophets witness, that through his name whosoever believeth in him shall receive remission of sins.” This was enough. “God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, shone into her heart, to give her the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.” 2 Corinthians 4:6. The scales fell from her eyes, and she saw in a moment the way of salvation. She could read no more. She arose, and running to her mistress, clasped her hands, and exclaimed, “Oh, ma’am, now I see it—now I see it—now I see it! It was not by fasting that he was to be saved; not by praying that he was to be saved; not by giving alms that he was to be saved; but by believing on the Son of God. Now I see it!” and from that day the change was glorious. She became one of the most active and devoted, and perhaps useful young Christians that we had ever seen.
About a year after her conversion, a circumstance occurred which afforded her continual opportunities for explaining God’s method of saving sinners to persons whom she had never seen before. I began to be extensively employed in circulating the Scriptures, and religious books and Tracts. This brought multitudes of people about us; and there was scarcely a person who came, to whom she could speak, but she would in simple, striking language, show them how God can “be just,” and yet “the justifier of him which believeth in Jesus.” Romans 3:26. She spoke the German, and Finnish, and Russian languages, and thus she had ample scope for gratifying the desires of her heart; nor did she ever appear so happy as when she could get the ear of a poor sinner to listen to the words of eternal life.
One striking instance of her usefulness must not be passed over; and I hope that every one who reads or hears it may be encouraged to attempt great things. A hawker called at my house to sell his wares, when she inquired, “Have you a New Testament, brother?” “No,” said the man; “a Testament would be of no use to me.” “Why?” “Because I cannot read.” “Ah, but it might be of use to you though you cannot read.” “How?” said the hawker. “Perhaps some of your family can read.” “Yes, I did not think of that; my brother has two boys at school who can read.” “Well, then, buy a Testament, and let the boys read to your poor old father, that he may hear something about the Lord Jesus Christ before he dies.” The man bought it, and as he was going away, she said to him, “Where do you live?” “I am a thousand versts from home,” he replied, “but at present I live in a lodging-house.” “Are there many lodgers besides you?” “Yes, many.” “Perhaps some of them can read.” “I do not know. I never saw a book among them.” So he departed, and we saw him no more until the winter commenced, when thousands of the laboring classes go back into the interior to their families. And now the hawker made his appearance again, and said to my wife, “Will you please to let me have a copy of every book you have in the house?” “That is a large order, friend; what are you going to do with so many books?” “You would not ask that question, ma’am, if you knew what good that New Testament has done which Erena recommended to me in the spring.” “What good has it done? I should like to hear.” “Before I bought that book, it was the custom with many of the lodgers to go out into the city after supper, and come home at midnight drunk, while others were playing at cards at home; but as soon as I showed them the New Testament, one said, ‘I can read;’ and another said, ‘I can read;’ and a third said, ‘I can read;’ so they took it by turns, and read chapter after chapter. This excited a deep interest, and the drunkards forsook their glass and the gamblers their cards; and there are neither drunkards nor card-players in our lodging now, ma’am. They hear two or three chapters, and then lie down to sleep. And as these men are returning to their families, they wish to take home a copy of that book which has been so beneficial to themselves.”
Who could help exclaiming, on hearing this, “Surely the Lord hath done great things, whereof we are glad.” Psalms 126:3. Here were vices forsaken; sinners reformed; the Scriptures circulated; many copies of the holy book going to villages where it had never been seen before. Oh, what pleasure can be so great as that connected with doing good to souls?
But some may say, “It is not in my power to imitate such an example, for I have not the opportunity.” True, it may be so; but there are several things in which you may imitate her.
1. Her endeavor to do good to those in the same condition in life. Her kind and winning manner had a happy effect on young people. It was irresistible. They appeared as if held by a charm while she spoke to them about their souls. Take the following as a specimen.
A family near us had many domestics. One of them came to my door on a Sabbath evening, when Erena was sitting in the porch reading the gospel of John. “Come in,” said the devout reader. “Be seated. Would you like to hear a portion of God’s holy word?” “Oh yes, by all means—proceed.” The place of the Scripture which she read was the narrative of our Lord’s discourse with the woman of Samaria, in which occurs the passage, “The hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth; for the Father seeketh such to worship him. God is a Spirit; and they that worship him, must worship him in spirit and in truth.” John 4. “Delightful,” said the visitor. “Pray stop a moment, and I will go and call my fellow-servants. I think they will rejoice to hear it, for surely they have never heard such things since they were born.” She then arose, and ran and called them, and brought three of them with her, and the same chapter was read again, accompanied by many solemn remarks on the state of unconverted sinners, and the suitableness and all-sufficiency of Jesus to save all that come unto God by him. Erena also urged on them the necessity of coming to Christ immediately, as every effort to get to heaven in any other way would be of no avail. These remarks were delivered with peculiar emotion, and frequently watered with her tears, and her hearers were as much affected as she was. When the chapter was finished they departed, acknowledging with gratitude the pleasure they had enjoyed from hearing words which they had never heard before.
The mistress of Erena listened with great delight to a part of these proceedings, and when she saw the visitors, the tears were still glistening in their eyes. It ought to be noticed, that none of these four young women were able to read, and it is more than probable that they had lived until that day without hearing a chapter in a language which they could understand. But now the seal was loosed, and the book was opened, and the blessed Savior seemed to be speaking to them. One of these young women afterwards came to my wife for a New Testament, and “The Dairyman’s Daughter,” and “The Young Cottager,” in the Russian language, to send to her brother, who could read, and who lived several hundred miles off. On receiving these precious treasures, her heart seemed to swell with ecstasy. She pressed them to her bosom, and kissed the hand from which she received them. Had some cold-hearted professor, some neglecter of his Bible, witnessed this scene, he would have felt it as a dagger to his conscience. And could the lovers of the Bible have witnessed it, they would have felt a joy similar to that which angels feel when a sinner is brought to repentance.
2. We had constant proofs of her fidelity, especially in the care which she took of our dear children. We could leave them without any anxiety, if Erena, was there. We had no fears that they would be neglected, or that any thing improper would be taught them in her presence. When that dreadful scourge the cholera visited St. Petersburg, it pleased God to send it to my house, and by it to remove two of our sons. My wife also was in a perilous condition, and I was attacked; and now it was that the religion of the nurse shone most brightly in her tenderness, watchfulness, prayerfulness, diligence, and untiring efforts to serve us. Indeed she was like a sister to us; and now we had a rich reward for all the pains which had been taken to lead her to the Savior. We had a man-servant, but he was frightened and ran away. We had a cook, but she was supposed to be dying. Our chief support was our nurse. Many kind friends came by turns to help us; but Erena was always there, until our children were put into the silent grave, and we began to recover. Then she was attacked also; but even then she seemed almost to forget herself in her anxiety about us. I have often thought, if masters and mistresses knew what a blessing such a young woman is in a family, much more would be done to promote the piety of their households than has yet been attempted.
3. You can imitate her love to her relatives. Amidst all her attempts to do good to strangers, she was not unmindful of her connections. They had the first claim, and she met it. We have often known her leave herself without a rouble in order to send a few comforts to her aged mother; and these were always accompanied with some good books and a pressing letter on the subject of salvation. Nor was this labor in vain. We had every reason to believe that God blessed her pious solicitude in the genuine conversion of her mother. Not long before we left Russia, she came to visit her daughter; and that she might have frequent opportunities of conversing with her, we asked the old woman to stop a few weeks at our house. While she was with us, she fell sick and died; and it was particularly gratifying to us to witness the tender solicitude of Erena, both for the body and the soul of her parent. One day, as she was supposed to be drawing near her end, my little boy said, “Erena, I think the fourteenth chapter of John would just suit your mother.” The girl took the hint, and went immediately to the bedside and told what the boy had said, and then read the chapter to her mother. This seemed to rouse every energy. The old woman arose and sat up in the bed, and thanked God for putting it into the heart of the boy to send her such strong consolation, and then, while praying down blessings on her daughter, she expired.
Erena was wonderfully supported, and tried to turn the death of her mother to good account. It is customary, as soon as a Russian dies, for two or more persons, called “Readers for the dead,” to be employed in reading over the corpse night and day until the funeral. This is dreary work. The reading is generally very monotonous, and, if it could be understood, would be very unprofitable. Therefore Erena gave the book of Psalms to the men, saying, “Read that;” hoping that thereby her mother’s death might be blessed to them.
Not long after this excellent young woman had followed her mother to the grave, she accompanied us to the steamer; and, as she stood gazing on us to take the last farewell, she wiped away her tears with one hand and waved the other in the air, as if to say, “We shall meet again in heaven!”
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
THE FOOL'S PENCE by Rev. Charles B. Tayler
Have you ever seen a London gin-shop? There is, perhaps, no statelier shop in the magnificent chief city of England. No expense seems to be spared in the building and the furnishing of a gin-shop.
Not many years ago a gin-shop was a mean-looking, and by no means a spacious place, with a few small bottles, not bigger than a doctor’s largest vials, in the dusty window. But now, however poor many of the working classes may be, it seems to be their pleasure to squander their little remaining money upon a number of these palaces, as if they were determined that the persons whom they employ to sell them poison should dwell in the midst of luxury and splendor. I do not mean to say, that we have a right to throw all the blame upon the master or the mistress of a gin-shop. For my part, I should not like to keep one, and be obliged to get rich upon the money of the poor infatuated creatures who will ruin both soul and body in gin-drinking; but the master of the gin-shop may be heard to say, “I don’t force the people to drink; they will have gin, and if I do not sell to them somebody else will.” The story of “The Fools’ Pence,” which follows, is worth attending to.
A little mean-looking man sat talking to Mrs. Crowder, the mistress of the Punch-bowl: “Why, Mrs. Crowder,” said he, “I should hardly know you again. Really, I must say you have things in the first style. What an elegant paper; what noble chairs; what a pair of fire-screens; all so bright and so fresh; and yourself so well, and looking so well!”
Mrs. Crowder had dropped languidly into an arm-chair, and sat sighing and smiling with affectation, not turning a deaf ear to her visitor, but taking in with her eyes a full view of what passed in the shop; having drawn aside the curtain of rose-colored silk, which sometimes covered the window in the wall between the shop and the parlor.
“Why, you see, Mr. Berriman,” she replied, “our business is a thriving one, and we don’t love to neglect it, for one must work hard for an honest livelihood; and then you see, my two girls, Letitia and Lucy, were about to leave their boarding-school; so Mr. Crowder and I wished to make the old place as genteel and fashionable as we could; and what with new stone copings to the windows, and new French window-frames to the first floor, and a little paint, and a little papering, Mr. Berriman, we begin to look tolerable. I must say too, Mr. Crowder has laid out a deal of money in fitting up the shop, and in filling his cellars.”
“Well, ma’am,” continued Mr. Berriman, “I don’t know where you find the needful for all these improvements. For my part, I can only say, our trade seems quite at a stand-still. There’s my wife always begging for money to pay for this or that little necessary article, but I part from every penny with a pang. Dear Mrs. Crowder, how do you manage?”
Mrs. Crowder simpered, and raising her eyes, and looking with a glance of smiling contempt towards the crowd of customers in the shop, “The fools’ pence——’tis THE FOOLS PENCE that does it for us,” she said.
Perhaps it was owing to the door being just then opened and left ajar by Miss Lucy, who had been serving in the bar, that the words of Mrs. Crowder were heard by a man I named George Manly, who stood at the upper end of the counter. He turned his eyes upon the customers who were standing near him, and saw pale, sunken cheeks, inflamed eyes, and ragged garments. He turned them upon the stately apartment in which they were assembled; he saw that it had been fitted up at no trifling cost; he stared through the partly open doorway into the parlor, and saw looking-glasses, and pictures, and gilding, and fine furniture, and a rich carpet, and Miss Lucy, in a silk gown, sitting down to her piano-forte: and he thought within himself, how strange it is, by what a curious process it is, that all this wretchedness on my left hand is made to turn into all this rich finery on my right!
“Well, sir, and what’s for you?”
These words were spoken in the same shrill voice which had made the “fools’ pence” ring in his ears.
George Manly was still in deep thought, and with the end of his rule—for he was a carpenter—he had been making a calculation, drawing the figures in the little puddles of gin upon the counter. He looked up and saw Mrs. Crowder herself as gay as her daughters, with a cap and colored ribbons flying off her head, and a pair of gold earrings almost touching her plump shoulders. “A glass of gin, ma’am, is what I was waiting for tonight, but I think I’ve paid the last ‘fools’ pence’ I shall put down on this counter for many a long day.”
George Manly hastened home. His wife and his two little girls were sitting at work. They were thin and pale, many for want of food. The room looked very cheerless, and their fire was so small that its warmth was scarcely felt; yet the commonest observer must have been struck by the neatness and cleanliness of the apartment and every thing about it.
“This is indeed a treat, girls, to have dear father home so soon tonight,” said Susan Manly, looking up at her husband as he stood before the table, turning his eyes first upon one and then upon another of the little party; then throwing himself into a chair, and smiling, he said,
“Well, children, ain’t you glad to see me? May not those busy little fingers stop a moment, just while you jump up and throw your arms about your father’s neck, and kiss him?”
“O yes, we have time for that,” said one of the girls, as they both sprang up to kiss their father.
“But we have no time to lose, dear father;” said Sally, pressing her cheek to his, and speaking in a kind of coaxing whisper close to his ear, “for these shirts are the last of the dozen we have been making for Mr. Farley, in the Corn-market.”
“And as no work can be done tomorrow,” added Betsy gravely, who stood with her little hand in her father’s, “we are all working as hard as we can; for mother has promised to take them home on Monday afternoon.”
“Either your eyes are very weak tonight, dear wife,” said George, “or you have been crying. I’m afraid you work too hard by candlelight.”
Susan smiled, and said, “Working does not hurt my eyes,” and as she spoke, she turned her head and beckoned with her finger to her little boy.
“Why, John, what’s this that I see?” said his father. “What, you in the corner! Come out, and tell me what you have been doing.”
“Nay, never mind it, dear husband; John will be very good, I hope, and we had better say no more about what is past.”
“Yes, but I must know,” said he, drawing John close to him. “Come, tell me what has been the matter.”
John was a plain-spoken boy, and had a straight-forward way of speaking the truth. He came up to his father, and looked full in his face, and said, “The baker came for his money tonight, and would not leave the loaves without mother paid for them; and though he was cross and rough to mother, he said it was not her fault, and that he was sure you had been drinking away all the money; and when he was gone, mother cried over her work, but she did not say any thing. I did not know she was crying, till I saw her tears fall, drop, drop, on her hands; and then I said bad words, and mother sent me to stand in the corner.”
“And now, John, you may bring me some coal,” said Susan; “there’s a fine lump in the coal-box.”
“But first tell me what your bad words were, John,” said his father; “not swearing, I hope?”
“No,” said John, coloring, but speaking as bluntly as before, “I said that you were a bad man. I said, bad father.”
“And they were bad words, I am sure,” said Susan, very calmly; “but you are forgiven, and so you may get me the coal.”
George looked at the face of his wife, and as he met the tender gaze of her mild eyes now turned to him, he felt the tears rise in his own. He rose up, and as he put the money into his wife’s hands, he said, “There are my week’s wages. Come, come, hold out both hands, for you have not got all yet. Well, now you have every farthing. Keep the whole, and lay it out to the best advantage, as you always do. I hope this will be a beginning of better doings on my part, and happier days on yours; and now put on your bonnet, and I’ll walk with you to pay the baker, and buy a bushel or two of coal, or any thing else you may be in want of; and when we come back I’ll read a chapter of the Bible to you and the girls, while you get on with the needle-work.”
Susan went up stairs to put on her bonnet and shawl, and she remained a little longer, to kneel down on the spot where she had often knelt almost heart-broken in prayer—prayer that her heavenly Father would turn her husband’s heart, first to his Savior, and then to his wife and children; and that, in the meantime, he would give her patience. She knelt down this time to pour out her heart in thanksgiving and praise. The pleasant tones of her husband’s voice called her from her knees.
George Manly told his wife that evening, after the children were gone to bed, that when he saw what the pence of the poor could do towards keeping up a fine house, and dressing out the landlord’s wife and daughters; and when he thought of his own hard-working, uncomplaining Susan, and his children in want, and almost in rags, while he was sitting drinking, and drinking, night after night, more like a beast than a man, destroying his own manly strength, and the fine health God had given him, he was so struck with sorrow and shame, that he seemed to come to himself at last. He made his determination, from that hour, never again to put the intoxicating glass to his lips, and he hoped he made it in dependence upon God for grace and strength to keep it.
It was more than a year after Mrs. Crowder, of the Punch-bowl, had first missed a regular customer from her house, and when she had forgotten to express her wonder as to what could have become of the good-looking carpenter that generally spent his earnings there, and drank and spent his money so freely—
“There, get on as fast as you can, dears; run, girls, and don’t stop for me, your beautiful dresses will be quite spoilt; never mind me, for my levantine is a French silk, and won’t spot.”
These words were screamed out as loud as her haste would permit, by Mrs. Crowder, who was accompanying her daughters, one Sunday evening, to the tea-gardens.
She was answered by Miss Lucy, “You know; ma, we can’t run, for our shoes are so tight.”
“Then turn into one of these houses, dears,” said the mother, who was bustling-forward as fast as she could.
“No, indeed,” replied the other daughter, who found time to curl her lip with disdain, notwithstanding her haste and her distress, “I’ll not set a foot in such filthy hovels.”
“Well, dears, here is a comfortable, tidy place,” cried the mother at length, as they hastened forward; “here I’ll enter, nor will I stir till the rain is over; come in, girls, come in. You might eat off these boards, they are so clean.”
The rain was now coming down in torrents, and the two young ladies gladly followed their mother’s example, and entered the neat and cleanly dwelling. Their long hair hung dangling about their ears, their crape bonnets had been screened in vain by their fringed parasols, and the skirts of their silk gowns were draggled with mud. They all three began to stamp upon the floor of the room into which they had entered with very little ceremony; but the good-natured mistress of the house felt more for their disaster than for her floor, and came forward at once to console and assist them. She brought forth clean cloths from the dresser-drawer, and she and her two daughters set to work to wipe off, with quick and delicate care, the rain-drops and mud-splashes from the silken dresses of the three fine ladies. The crape hats and the parasols were carefully dried at a safe distance from the fire, and a comb was offered to arrange the uncurled hair, such a white and delicately clean comb as may seldom be seen upon a poor woman’s toilet.
When all had been done that could be done, and, as Miss Lucy said, “they began to look themselves again,” Mrs. Crowder, who was lolling back at her ease in a large and comfortable arm-chair; and amusing herself by taking a good stare at every thing and every one in the room, suddenly started forward, and cried out, accessing herself to the master of the house, upon whose Bible and at whose face she had been last fixing her gaze, “Why, my good man, we are old friends: I know your face, I’m certain; still, there is some change in you, though I can’t exactly say what it is.”
“I used to be in ragged clothes, and out of health,” said George Manly, smiling, as he looked up from his Bible; “I am now, blessed be God for it, comfortably clad, and in excellent health.”
“But how is it,” said Mrs. Crowder, “that we never catch a sight of you now?”
“Madam,” said he, “I’m sure I wish well to you and all people; nay, I have reason to thank you, for words of yours were the first means of opening my eyes to my own foolish and sinful course. You seem to thrive—so do we. My wife and children were half-naked and half-starved only this time last year. Look at them, if you please, now; for, so far as sweet, contented looks go, and decent raiment befitting their station, I’ll match them with any man’s wife and children. And now, madam, I tell you, as you told a friend of yours one day last year, that ‘ ’tis the FOOLS’ PENCE which have done all this for us.’ The fools’ pence! I ought to say, the pence earned by honest industry, and spent in such a manner that I can ask the blessing of God, upon the pence.”
When Mrs. Crowder and her daughters were gone, George Manly sat without speaking for some considerable time. He was deep in thought, and his gentle, pious wife felt that she knew on what subject he had been thinking so deeply; for when he woke up from his fit of thought, a deep sigh stole from his lips, and he brushed away the tears which had filled his eyes.
“Susan,” he said, “what can I render to the Lord for all his goodness to me? From what a fearful depth of ruin have I been snatched! Once I met some of my old companions, who so set upon me to draw me to drink with them, that I thought Satan must have urged them on. Another time, I went walking on, and found myself at the door of the poison-shop, without knowing how I got there; but God gave me strength to turn instantly away, and not linger a moment to dally with temptation.
“I could not help thinking, as I was reading this holy book, when that showy dame came in from whose hand I so often took the poisonous cup, how much I owed to God for saving me from ruin, and giving me that peace and satisfaction in religion which I now enjoy; and making me, I hope, a blessing to you all. O, what a love was the love of Christ to poor sinners! He gave his own blood as our precious ransom; he came to save us from our sins, that we may serve him in newness of life.”
The above history, which is taken from a Tract of the Religious Tract Society in London, has its counterpart in the case of multitudes in our own country. Let him who would not shorten his days, and make his family wretched, and ruin his own soul, resolve with George Manly, “never again to put the intoxicating glass to his lips;” and like him, let him go humbly and with childlike confidence to God for strength to keep his resolution, and for grace to pardon all his sins, through the blood and righteousness of Christ. Then shall he have peace of mind, and be a blessing in his day; and when this brief life is ended, he shall enter into eternal joy.
Not many years ago a gin-shop was a mean-looking, and by no means a spacious place, with a few small bottles, not bigger than a doctor’s largest vials, in the dusty window. But now, however poor many of the working classes may be, it seems to be their pleasure to squander their little remaining money upon a number of these palaces, as if they were determined that the persons whom they employ to sell them poison should dwell in the midst of luxury and splendor. I do not mean to say, that we have a right to throw all the blame upon the master or the mistress of a gin-shop. For my part, I should not like to keep one, and be obliged to get rich upon the money of the poor infatuated creatures who will ruin both soul and body in gin-drinking; but the master of the gin-shop may be heard to say, “I don’t force the people to drink; they will have gin, and if I do not sell to them somebody else will.” The story of “The Fools’ Pence,” which follows, is worth attending to.
A little mean-looking man sat talking to Mrs. Crowder, the mistress of the Punch-bowl: “Why, Mrs. Crowder,” said he, “I should hardly know you again. Really, I must say you have things in the first style. What an elegant paper; what noble chairs; what a pair of fire-screens; all so bright and so fresh; and yourself so well, and looking so well!”
Mrs. Crowder had dropped languidly into an arm-chair, and sat sighing and smiling with affectation, not turning a deaf ear to her visitor, but taking in with her eyes a full view of what passed in the shop; having drawn aside the curtain of rose-colored silk, which sometimes covered the window in the wall between the shop and the parlor.
“Why, you see, Mr. Berriman,” she replied, “our business is a thriving one, and we don’t love to neglect it, for one must work hard for an honest livelihood; and then you see, my two girls, Letitia and Lucy, were about to leave their boarding-school; so Mr. Crowder and I wished to make the old place as genteel and fashionable as we could; and what with new stone copings to the windows, and new French window-frames to the first floor, and a little paint, and a little papering, Mr. Berriman, we begin to look tolerable. I must say too, Mr. Crowder has laid out a deal of money in fitting up the shop, and in filling his cellars.”
“Well, ma’am,” continued Mr. Berriman, “I don’t know where you find the needful for all these improvements. For my part, I can only say, our trade seems quite at a stand-still. There’s my wife always begging for money to pay for this or that little necessary article, but I part from every penny with a pang. Dear Mrs. Crowder, how do you manage?”
Mrs. Crowder simpered, and raising her eyes, and looking with a glance of smiling contempt towards the crowd of customers in the shop, “The fools’ pence——’tis THE FOOLS PENCE that does it for us,” she said.
Perhaps it was owing to the door being just then opened and left ajar by Miss Lucy, who had been serving in the bar, that the words of Mrs. Crowder were heard by a man I named George Manly, who stood at the upper end of the counter. He turned his eyes upon the customers who were standing near him, and saw pale, sunken cheeks, inflamed eyes, and ragged garments. He turned them upon the stately apartment in which they were assembled; he saw that it had been fitted up at no trifling cost; he stared through the partly open doorway into the parlor, and saw looking-glasses, and pictures, and gilding, and fine furniture, and a rich carpet, and Miss Lucy, in a silk gown, sitting down to her piano-forte: and he thought within himself, how strange it is, by what a curious process it is, that all this wretchedness on my left hand is made to turn into all this rich finery on my right!
“Well, sir, and what’s for you?”
These words were spoken in the same shrill voice which had made the “fools’ pence” ring in his ears.
George Manly was still in deep thought, and with the end of his rule—for he was a carpenter—he had been making a calculation, drawing the figures in the little puddles of gin upon the counter. He looked up and saw Mrs. Crowder herself as gay as her daughters, with a cap and colored ribbons flying off her head, and a pair of gold earrings almost touching her plump shoulders. “A glass of gin, ma’am, is what I was waiting for tonight, but I think I’ve paid the last ‘fools’ pence’ I shall put down on this counter for many a long day.”
George Manly hastened home. His wife and his two little girls were sitting at work. They were thin and pale, many for want of food. The room looked very cheerless, and their fire was so small that its warmth was scarcely felt; yet the commonest observer must have been struck by the neatness and cleanliness of the apartment and every thing about it.
“This is indeed a treat, girls, to have dear father home so soon tonight,” said Susan Manly, looking up at her husband as he stood before the table, turning his eyes first upon one and then upon another of the little party; then throwing himself into a chair, and smiling, he said,
“Well, children, ain’t you glad to see me? May not those busy little fingers stop a moment, just while you jump up and throw your arms about your father’s neck, and kiss him?”
“O yes, we have time for that,” said one of the girls, as they both sprang up to kiss their father.
“But we have no time to lose, dear father;” said Sally, pressing her cheek to his, and speaking in a kind of coaxing whisper close to his ear, “for these shirts are the last of the dozen we have been making for Mr. Farley, in the Corn-market.”
“And as no work can be done tomorrow,” added Betsy gravely, who stood with her little hand in her father’s, “we are all working as hard as we can; for mother has promised to take them home on Monday afternoon.”
“Either your eyes are very weak tonight, dear wife,” said George, “or you have been crying. I’m afraid you work too hard by candlelight.”
Susan smiled, and said, “Working does not hurt my eyes,” and as she spoke, she turned her head and beckoned with her finger to her little boy.
“Why, John, what’s this that I see?” said his father. “What, you in the corner! Come out, and tell me what you have been doing.”
“Nay, never mind it, dear husband; John will be very good, I hope, and we had better say no more about what is past.”
“Yes, but I must know,” said he, drawing John close to him. “Come, tell me what has been the matter.”
John was a plain-spoken boy, and had a straight-forward way of speaking the truth. He came up to his father, and looked full in his face, and said, “The baker came for his money tonight, and would not leave the loaves without mother paid for them; and though he was cross and rough to mother, he said it was not her fault, and that he was sure you had been drinking away all the money; and when he was gone, mother cried over her work, but she did not say any thing. I did not know she was crying, till I saw her tears fall, drop, drop, on her hands; and then I said bad words, and mother sent me to stand in the corner.”
“And now, John, you may bring me some coal,” said Susan; “there’s a fine lump in the coal-box.”
“But first tell me what your bad words were, John,” said his father; “not swearing, I hope?”
“No,” said John, coloring, but speaking as bluntly as before, “I said that you were a bad man. I said, bad father.”
“And they were bad words, I am sure,” said Susan, very calmly; “but you are forgiven, and so you may get me the coal.”
George looked at the face of his wife, and as he met the tender gaze of her mild eyes now turned to him, he felt the tears rise in his own. He rose up, and as he put the money into his wife’s hands, he said, “There are my week’s wages. Come, come, hold out both hands, for you have not got all yet. Well, now you have every farthing. Keep the whole, and lay it out to the best advantage, as you always do. I hope this will be a beginning of better doings on my part, and happier days on yours; and now put on your bonnet, and I’ll walk with you to pay the baker, and buy a bushel or two of coal, or any thing else you may be in want of; and when we come back I’ll read a chapter of the Bible to you and the girls, while you get on with the needle-work.”
Susan went up stairs to put on her bonnet and shawl, and she remained a little longer, to kneel down on the spot where she had often knelt almost heart-broken in prayer—prayer that her heavenly Father would turn her husband’s heart, first to his Savior, and then to his wife and children; and that, in the meantime, he would give her patience. She knelt down this time to pour out her heart in thanksgiving and praise. The pleasant tones of her husband’s voice called her from her knees.
George Manly told his wife that evening, after the children were gone to bed, that when he saw what the pence of the poor could do towards keeping up a fine house, and dressing out the landlord’s wife and daughters; and when he thought of his own hard-working, uncomplaining Susan, and his children in want, and almost in rags, while he was sitting drinking, and drinking, night after night, more like a beast than a man, destroying his own manly strength, and the fine health God had given him, he was so struck with sorrow and shame, that he seemed to come to himself at last. He made his determination, from that hour, never again to put the intoxicating glass to his lips, and he hoped he made it in dependence upon God for grace and strength to keep it.
It was more than a year after Mrs. Crowder, of the Punch-bowl, had first missed a regular customer from her house, and when she had forgotten to express her wonder as to what could have become of the good-looking carpenter that generally spent his earnings there, and drank and spent his money so freely—
“There, get on as fast as you can, dears; run, girls, and don’t stop for me, your beautiful dresses will be quite spoilt; never mind me, for my levantine is a French silk, and won’t spot.”
These words were screamed out as loud as her haste would permit, by Mrs. Crowder, who was accompanying her daughters, one Sunday evening, to the tea-gardens.
She was answered by Miss Lucy, “You know; ma, we can’t run, for our shoes are so tight.”
“Then turn into one of these houses, dears,” said the mother, who was bustling-forward as fast as she could.
“No, indeed,” replied the other daughter, who found time to curl her lip with disdain, notwithstanding her haste and her distress, “I’ll not set a foot in such filthy hovels.”
“Well, dears, here is a comfortable, tidy place,” cried the mother at length, as they hastened forward; “here I’ll enter, nor will I stir till the rain is over; come in, girls, come in. You might eat off these boards, they are so clean.”
The rain was now coming down in torrents, and the two young ladies gladly followed their mother’s example, and entered the neat and cleanly dwelling. Their long hair hung dangling about their ears, their crape bonnets had been screened in vain by their fringed parasols, and the skirts of their silk gowns were draggled with mud. They all three began to stamp upon the floor of the room into which they had entered with very little ceremony; but the good-natured mistress of the house felt more for their disaster than for her floor, and came forward at once to console and assist them. She brought forth clean cloths from the dresser-drawer, and she and her two daughters set to work to wipe off, with quick and delicate care, the rain-drops and mud-splashes from the silken dresses of the three fine ladies. The crape hats and the parasols were carefully dried at a safe distance from the fire, and a comb was offered to arrange the uncurled hair, such a white and delicately clean comb as may seldom be seen upon a poor woman’s toilet.
When all had been done that could be done, and, as Miss Lucy said, “they began to look themselves again,” Mrs. Crowder, who was lolling back at her ease in a large and comfortable arm-chair; and amusing herself by taking a good stare at every thing and every one in the room, suddenly started forward, and cried out, accessing herself to the master of the house, upon whose Bible and at whose face she had been last fixing her gaze, “Why, my good man, we are old friends: I know your face, I’m certain; still, there is some change in you, though I can’t exactly say what it is.”
“I used to be in ragged clothes, and out of health,” said George Manly, smiling, as he looked up from his Bible; “I am now, blessed be God for it, comfortably clad, and in excellent health.”
“But how is it,” said Mrs. Crowder, “that we never catch a sight of you now?”
“Madam,” said he, “I’m sure I wish well to you and all people; nay, I have reason to thank you, for words of yours were the first means of opening my eyes to my own foolish and sinful course. You seem to thrive—so do we. My wife and children were half-naked and half-starved only this time last year. Look at them, if you please, now; for, so far as sweet, contented looks go, and decent raiment befitting their station, I’ll match them with any man’s wife and children. And now, madam, I tell you, as you told a friend of yours one day last year, that ‘ ’tis the FOOLS’ PENCE which have done all this for us.’ The fools’ pence! I ought to say, the pence earned by honest industry, and spent in such a manner that I can ask the blessing of God, upon the pence.”
When Mrs. Crowder and her daughters were gone, George Manly sat without speaking for some considerable time. He was deep in thought, and his gentle, pious wife felt that she knew on what subject he had been thinking so deeply; for when he woke up from his fit of thought, a deep sigh stole from his lips, and he brushed away the tears which had filled his eyes.
“Susan,” he said, “what can I render to the Lord for all his goodness to me? From what a fearful depth of ruin have I been snatched! Once I met some of my old companions, who so set upon me to draw me to drink with them, that I thought Satan must have urged them on. Another time, I went walking on, and found myself at the door of the poison-shop, without knowing how I got there; but God gave me strength to turn instantly away, and not linger a moment to dally with temptation.
“I could not help thinking, as I was reading this holy book, when that showy dame came in from whose hand I so often took the poisonous cup, how much I owed to God for saving me from ruin, and giving me that peace and satisfaction in religion which I now enjoy; and making me, I hope, a blessing to you all. O, what a love was the love of Christ to poor sinners! He gave his own blood as our precious ransom; he came to save us from our sins, that we may serve him in newness of life.”
The above history, which is taken from a Tract of the Religious Tract Society in London, has its counterpart in the case of multitudes in our own country. Let him who would not shorten his days, and make his family wretched, and ruin his own soul, resolve with George Manly, “never again to put the intoxicating glass to his lips;” and like him, let him go humbly and with childlike confidence to God for strength to keep his resolution, and for grace to pardon all his sins, through the blood and righteousness of Christ. Then shall he have peace of mind, and be a blessing in his day; and when this brief life is ended, he shall enter into eternal joy.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
THE SCOTCHMAN'S FIRESIDE by Mrs. Divie Bethune
“From scenes like these old Scotia’s grandeur springs,
That makes her lov’d at home, rever’d abroad.”
IN the year 1805, during the prevalence of the yellow-fever in New York, the late Mr. B—— resided a few miles from that city.
On his return one evening to the domestic circle, which then consisted of his wife and four children, and his venerable mother-in-law, the late Mrs. ——, he said to Mrs. B——, “My dear, I fear I have done what will not please you.”
Mrs. B——. “What is that?”
Mr. B——. “I have met with an old school-fellow and countryman, and invited him to stay with us while the fever prevails.”
Mrs. B——. “And why should I be displeased with that?”
Mr. B——. “Because I know that he and you will not agree in politics.”
Mrs. B——. “O, if that be all, we will avoid the subject.”
Mr. B——. “But there is another subject on which you will be still more at variance. Mr. M—— has not only imbibed French principles in politics, but also on the subject of religion. He is an infidel.”
Mrs. B——. “That, indeed, is bad. How shall we please him, and yet observe the religious duties incumbent on us as a Christian family?”
Mr. B——. “My dear, we must not omit one of them, and you must help me. When the hour for family worship arrives, you will call the family together, and we will do our duty as usual. Mr. M—— is a gentleman, and however he may be opposed to religion, his politeness will, at least, prevent him from ridiculing it.”
In the course of the evening Mr. M—— arrived, and a few hours were spent in pleasant conversation, and recollections of the “land of the mountain and the flood”—the scenes of early life.
At the hour of nine Mrs. B—— rung the bell three times, the usual signal for calling the family together; and turning to the guest, said, “Mr. M——, we keep up the good old Scotch custom of family worship; I hope you have no objection to unite with us.”
“Certainly not, madam,” was his reply; “I hope I may not, in the least, interfere with your domestic arrangements.”
The family assembled.
———————With serious face,
They round the ingle[*] form a circle wide:
The sire turns o’er, with patriarchal grace,
The big hall Bible, once his father’s pride;
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,
He wales[†] a portion with judicious care,
And, “Let us worship God,” he says, with solemn air.
They chant their artless notes with simple guise;
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim:
Perhaps Dundee’s wild warbling measures rise,
Or plaintive Martyrs’, worthy of the name.
The priest-like father reads the sacred page
Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme;
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
How he, who bare in heaven the second name,
Had not, on earth, whereon to lay his head.
Then kneeling down, to heaven’s eternal King
The saint, the father, and the husband prays:
Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing,
That thus they all shall meet in future days;
There, ever bask in uncreated rays,
No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear;
Together hymning their Creator’s praise
In such society, yet still more dear,
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Cotter’s Saturday Night.
Mr. M—— knelt with the family, and on rising, observed to Mrs. B—— that he had not bent his knee in the same manner for ten years. This led to serious conversation between him and Mrs. Graham, which was continued to a late hour; he, of course, arguing against revealed religion.
Next day, and every day, the subject was renewed, with much pleasantry and politeness on his part, and great forbearance on the part of those whose minds the Spirit of God had enlightened. Instead of saying, “Stand by thyself, I am holier than thou,” they often said to each other, “Who maketh us to differ?” and united in private prayer that God would look in compassion on their guest, and bless their conversation to awaken him to a sense of his sin and danger.
One day, while conversing with Mrs. Graham, he remarked, “I have travelled through many countries, and have seen many families, but never, till now, have I witnessed such perfect happiness.”
“Perhaps, sir,” said the aged saint, “you never were with those who had an assured hope of an interest in Christ, and that, through his atonement, ‘all things shall work together for their good,’ both in time and eternity.”
“No, indeed I have not, since I left the parental roof.”
One of the children, a lovely girl about two years old, was his particular favorite, and he often walked the garden with her in his arms, entertaining her with Scottish melody.
When the fever had subsided, Mr. M—— returned to W——, where he resided, to arrange his business previous to going to the West Indies to visit his brothers, with a view to procure aid towards embarking in the mercantile line. In the mean time it pleased God to remove by death the lovely olive-plant who had so often shared in his attentions.
On his return to New York, Mr. B—— could scarcely persuade him to visit the family, as he feared that Mrs. B——’s sorrows, on seeing him, would be renewed. He, however, was prevailed on, and again and again religion became the subject of conversation.
As Mr. M—— had recently been deprived of an office under government, his pecuniary means were slender, which caused Mr. and Mrs. B—— to add to his sea-stores such comforts as in those days were not furnished to ship passengers; and each determined to add provision for the soul as well as the body. Mrs. B—— put up a small pocket-Bible, with references in the blank leaf to appropriate texts; Mrs. Graham added “The Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul;” and Mr. B——, “The Refuge,” with a long letter, superscribed, “Not to be opened till out at sea.”
Many months elapsed before the family heard from Mr. M——, but he was often remembered at the throne of grace, and his three friends derived some consolation from the recollection that, during his last visit, he had appeared more serious, and had courted religious conversation. At length Mr. B—— received a letter from Mr. M——, dated at G——, at the close of which he remarked that, he never expected to be as happy as they, for his past life had been spent in such a way as to deprive him of all hope’s of ever enjoying the favor of God.
But we will let Mr. M—— tell his own story. Two years after that period, he was again a visitor in that parlor where, for the first time in ten years; he bowed the knee. He then related to a dear departed Christian friend and Mrs. B——, the way in which the Lord had led him, until he found “peace in believing.” His account was substantially as follows:
“There,” said he, pointing with his finger, “there, on that spot, I bowed the knee in complaisance to man, while my heart was filled with enmity against God; and O, the long-suffering and compassion of that God, who of such a rebel has made a child of grace. The moment I found myself on my knees, early associations crowded on my mind; I did not hear a word of Mr. B——’s prayer, for I was immediately, in idea, transported back to similar scenes under my father’s roof.
“I arose from my knees as if waking from a dream; and from that hour I have found myself often mentally asking the question, ‘If the Bible, after all, should be true, what must become of me?’
“When it pleased God to remove by death your lovely R——, I was filled with anger. ‘Is this the God so often extolled for his mercy and justice?’ I said with myself; ‘does he thus reward those who faithfully serve him?’ I felt that I could have torn him from his throne; and when I visited the city a few weeks after, I feared to call on you, lest the presence of one who so fondly loved your darling, should renew your grief; but Mr. B—— insisted, saying, ‘Go, my friend, and see the consolation religion affords in time of trouble.’
“Every time I visited you, and conversed with Mrs. Graham, I felt that there must be some source from which Christians derive happiness, of which I was ignorant. I did not avoid religious conversation, and generally left your family with a painful feeling that all my golden expectations of happiness connected with ‘liberty and equality,’ and man’s perfectability, must soon pass away; and that I must yield the palm of discovery to those whom I had often made the jest of revelry, and let that volume which I had considered only as ‘old wives’ fables,’ take the place of infidel writers. ‘Miserable comforters’ I had found them all. Still, however, I felt irresolute as to my future conduct.
“When at sea, I read Mr. B——’s letter, and looked into the books that accompanied it. Every word I read condemned me; and I saw that I was a wretched, guilty sinner, at the mercy of an offended God. But to become “religious would mar my worldly prospects. I feared ‘the world’s dread laugh,’ when again I should meet my former associates. I had no time to retrace my steps, and I therefore continued in the same course, I took the letter and books, and pushing them out of sight at the bottom of my trunk, I determined to banish all thoughts of religion from my mind.
“I succeeded in my object in the West Indies, and returned to W——, from which place I wrote to Mr. B——, to inform him of my plans. Before closing my letter, thought ‘I must add something on the subject of religion, to please those good people, who are certainly the kindest enthusiasts[‡] I ever knew.’
“What I said called forth another letter from Mr. B——. He did not suspect my hypocrisy, but viewed me as one convinced of sin, and anxious to know what I should ‘do to be saved.’ He advised me to procure Saurin’s Sermons, and read that ‘On the Compassion of God.’ But it was far from my intention to comply with his request; and only that part of his letter that related to worldly prospects was attended to. I continued to associate with the gay, carefully concealing the fearful doubts and forebodings which often haunted my mind while partaking in their revels.
“Shortly after, I made one of a party to attend a grand ball at A——. We dined at a tavern, and the glass circulated till the festive scene of the evening commenced. The exciting influence of dancing, added to that of wine, caused me to fly rather than dance, and by some means to me unaccountable, I fell and broke my arm. A young physician, one of the party, set it; and while the gay revelers returned to their homes, I was carried to the upper story of the building, where I passed a sleepless night, under the excitement of fever, aggravated by an alarmed and awakened conscience.
“Again early associations recurred to my mind, especially the slighted admonitions of a pious mother, blended with the remembrance of her soothing attentions in childhood, when laid on a sick bed. And ‘O, that I knew where I could find that God whose consolations she and my New York friends enjoy in time of trial!’ was my earnest cry.
“My arm not being properly set, had again to be broken and reset, which made my confinement much longer than it would otherwise have been. I sent for Saurin’s Sermons, and found consolation in reading the sermon recommended by Mr. B——. I carefully read Doddridge’s Rise and Progress, every word of which seemed to accord with the state of my mind. I opened my long-neglected Bible. I saw that I was ruined by sin; justly condemned; and that there was no salvation except ‘through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus,’ in whom God could be ‘just, and the justifier of him that believeth.’ Into the arms of that Redeemer I was enabled to throw myself. I left my room, humbly trusting I had an advocate with my offended Father, in Christ Jesus; and cordially relying on his righteousness, I was freed from the awful dread of a judgment to come.
“I returned to W——, determined to break off from the world and my former associates; and now, ‘clothed and in my right mind,’ never to quit the feet of Jesus.
“A few weeks after, hearing that the communion was to be dispensed at A——, I resolved that the scene of my former folly should first witness my deep repentance, and my humble trust in that Savior I had so long rejected. There I publicly devoted myself to him, and partook of the symbols of the broken body and shed blood of him ‘who loved me, and gave himself for me.’
“And now, my friends, will you not help me to bless and magnify the name of God, who thus took me from ‘the horrible pit’ of infidelity, and ‘the miry clay’ of worldliness and sin, and set my feet upon the ‘Rock of ages?’ ”
Mr. M——, during the whole of his subsequent life, proved his faith by his works. Prayer-meetings, Sabbath-schools, plans for ameliorating the condition of the poor, and all the benevolent objects of the day, shared his attention. He became an officer in the church, and by his philanthropy obtained the name of the Howard of G——n.
His constitution, never very robust, gave way about the age of forty, when he departed in peace.
Two of his three friends have since joined him—he who, like Abraham, “commanded his children and his household after him;” and the mother in Israel, who saw her children’s children following her steps, and “who, being dead, yet speaketh.”
READER, hast thou, like the subject of this narrative, imbibed infidel principles; does the Bible—if, indeed, thou hast one—lie unopened; do thy knees never bend to the God who made thee? Be instructed by the history of Mr. M——, and weary not thyself seeking happiness where thou seest he never found it. Take down thy long-neglected Bible. Turn to Psalm 14:1, and read the character of him who “hath said in his heart, There is no God.” Then turn to those precious words, Isaiah 55:6, 7, “Seek ye the Lord while he may be found; call ye upon him while he is near. Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; and let him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.”
Is the reader poor? And dost thou think thou hast no time to read thy Bible or to attend to the interests of thy soul? Turn to Psalm 127:1, 2, and thou wilt see that without the blessing of God, “it is in vain for thee to rise up early, to sit up late, and to eat the bread of sorrows.” Then turn to Matthew 6:33, and immediately comply with thy Savior’s command: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.”
Are these pages read by a fireside like that above described; where the morning and evening worship are like a foundation and a covering to the dwelling? Let the value of early religious impressions, illustrated in this narrative, incite parents and guardians, not only to be faithful to their own households, but by every practicable method to promote the religious improvement of all the rising generation—contributing to Sabbath and infant-schools, and all charities for the ignorant and destitute, time, talents, and substance, according as the Lord hath given them.
Let this narrative also encourage the friends of the Redeemer to be faithful to those who may seem farthest from the kingdom of God. Let them remember in their prayers and their kind Christian endeavors, the rich, the infidel, the gay, and the proud. On all suitable occasions, and in a proper manner, let the truths of the Gospel be pressed even on their hearts; and let them be exemplified and commended, by a uniformly meek; consistent, and Godly example.
READER, whoever you are, while you reject the Gospel, you “spend money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which satisfieth not.” Hear; then; and accept the invitation, Isaiah 55:1, “Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters; and he that hath no money; come ye; yea, come, buy wine and milk, without money and without price.”
[*]Fireside.
[†]Selects
[‡]Perhaps the epithet enthusiast grated on his mind, like coward on that of the duellist, and hushed the "still small voice of conscience."
That makes her lov’d at home, rever’d abroad.”
IN the year 1805, during the prevalence of the yellow-fever in New York, the late Mr. B—— resided a few miles from that city.
On his return one evening to the domestic circle, which then consisted of his wife and four children, and his venerable mother-in-law, the late Mrs. ——, he said to Mrs. B——, “My dear, I fear I have done what will not please you.”
Mrs. B——. “What is that?”
Mr. B——. “I have met with an old school-fellow and countryman, and invited him to stay with us while the fever prevails.”
Mrs. B——. “And why should I be displeased with that?”
Mr. B——. “Because I know that he and you will not agree in politics.”
Mrs. B——. “O, if that be all, we will avoid the subject.”
Mr. B——. “But there is another subject on which you will be still more at variance. Mr. M—— has not only imbibed French principles in politics, but also on the subject of religion. He is an infidel.”
Mrs. B——. “That, indeed, is bad. How shall we please him, and yet observe the religious duties incumbent on us as a Christian family?”
Mr. B——. “My dear, we must not omit one of them, and you must help me. When the hour for family worship arrives, you will call the family together, and we will do our duty as usual. Mr. M—— is a gentleman, and however he may be opposed to religion, his politeness will, at least, prevent him from ridiculing it.”
In the course of the evening Mr. M—— arrived, and a few hours were spent in pleasant conversation, and recollections of the “land of the mountain and the flood”—the scenes of early life.
At the hour of nine Mrs. B—— rung the bell three times, the usual signal for calling the family together; and turning to the guest, said, “Mr. M——, we keep up the good old Scotch custom of family worship; I hope you have no objection to unite with us.”
“Certainly not, madam,” was his reply; “I hope I may not, in the least, interfere with your domestic arrangements.”
The family assembled.
———————With serious face,
They round the ingle[*] form a circle wide:
The sire turns o’er, with patriarchal grace,
The big hall Bible, once his father’s pride;
Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide,
He wales[†] a portion with judicious care,
And, “Let us worship God,” he says, with solemn air.
They chant their artless notes with simple guise;
They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim:
Perhaps Dundee’s wild warbling measures rise,
Or plaintive Martyrs’, worthy of the name.
The priest-like father reads the sacred page
Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme;
How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed;
How he, who bare in heaven the second name,
Had not, on earth, whereon to lay his head.
Then kneeling down, to heaven’s eternal King
The saint, the father, and the husband prays:
Hope springs exulting on triumphant wing,
That thus they all shall meet in future days;
There, ever bask in uncreated rays,
No more to sigh, or shed the bitter tear;
Together hymning their Creator’s praise
In such society, yet still more dear,
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere.
Cotter’s Saturday Night.
Mr. M—— knelt with the family, and on rising, observed to Mrs. B—— that he had not bent his knee in the same manner for ten years. This led to serious conversation between him and Mrs. Graham, which was continued to a late hour; he, of course, arguing against revealed religion.
Next day, and every day, the subject was renewed, with much pleasantry and politeness on his part, and great forbearance on the part of those whose minds the Spirit of God had enlightened. Instead of saying, “Stand by thyself, I am holier than thou,” they often said to each other, “Who maketh us to differ?” and united in private prayer that God would look in compassion on their guest, and bless their conversation to awaken him to a sense of his sin and danger.
One day, while conversing with Mrs. Graham, he remarked, “I have travelled through many countries, and have seen many families, but never, till now, have I witnessed such perfect happiness.”
“Perhaps, sir,” said the aged saint, “you never were with those who had an assured hope of an interest in Christ, and that, through his atonement, ‘all things shall work together for their good,’ both in time and eternity.”
“No, indeed I have not, since I left the parental roof.”
One of the children, a lovely girl about two years old, was his particular favorite, and he often walked the garden with her in his arms, entertaining her with Scottish melody.
When the fever had subsided, Mr. M—— returned to W——, where he resided, to arrange his business previous to going to the West Indies to visit his brothers, with a view to procure aid towards embarking in the mercantile line. In the mean time it pleased God to remove by death the lovely olive-plant who had so often shared in his attentions.
On his return to New York, Mr. B—— could scarcely persuade him to visit the family, as he feared that Mrs. B——’s sorrows, on seeing him, would be renewed. He, however, was prevailed on, and again and again religion became the subject of conversation.
As Mr. M—— had recently been deprived of an office under government, his pecuniary means were slender, which caused Mr. and Mrs. B—— to add to his sea-stores such comforts as in those days were not furnished to ship passengers; and each determined to add provision for the soul as well as the body. Mrs. B—— put up a small pocket-Bible, with references in the blank leaf to appropriate texts; Mrs. Graham added “The Rise and Progress of Religion in the Soul;” and Mr. B——, “The Refuge,” with a long letter, superscribed, “Not to be opened till out at sea.”
Many months elapsed before the family heard from Mr. M——, but he was often remembered at the throne of grace, and his three friends derived some consolation from the recollection that, during his last visit, he had appeared more serious, and had courted religious conversation. At length Mr. B—— received a letter from Mr. M——, dated at G——, at the close of which he remarked that, he never expected to be as happy as they, for his past life had been spent in such a way as to deprive him of all hope’s of ever enjoying the favor of God.
But we will let Mr. M—— tell his own story. Two years after that period, he was again a visitor in that parlor where, for the first time in ten years; he bowed the knee. He then related to a dear departed Christian friend and Mrs. B——, the way in which the Lord had led him, until he found “peace in believing.” His account was substantially as follows:
“There,” said he, pointing with his finger, “there, on that spot, I bowed the knee in complaisance to man, while my heart was filled with enmity against God; and O, the long-suffering and compassion of that God, who of such a rebel has made a child of grace. The moment I found myself on my knees, early associations crowded on my mind; I did not hear a word of Mr. B——’s prayer, for I was immediately, in idea, transported back to similar scenes under my father’s roof.
“I arose from my knees as if waking from a dream; and from that hour I have found myself often mentally asking the question, ‘If the Bible, after all, should be true, what must become of me?’
“When it pleased God to remove by death your lovely R——, I was filled with anger. ‘Is this the God so often extolled for his mercy and justice?’ I said with myself; ‘does he thus reward those who faithfully serve him?’ I felt that I could have torn him from his throne; and when I visited the city a few weeks after, I feared to call on you, lest the presence of one who so fondly loved your darling, should renew your grief; but Mr. B—— insisted, saying, ‘Go, my friend, and see the consolation religion affords in time of trouble.’
“Every time I visited you, and conversed with Mrs. Graham, I felt that there must be some source from which Christians derive happiness, of which I was ignorant. I did not avoid religious conversation, and generally left your family with a painful feeling that all my golden expectations of happiness connected with ‘liberty and equality,’ and man’s perfectability, must soon pass away; and that I must yield the palm of discovery to those whom I had often made the jest of revelry, and let that volume which I had considered only as ‘old wives’ fables,’ take the place of infidel writers. ‘Miserable comforters’ I had found them all. Still, however, I felt irresolute as to my future conduct.
“When at sea, I read Mr. B——’s letter, and looked into the books that accompanied it. Every word I read condemned me; and I saw that I was a wretched, guilty sinner, at the mercy of an offended God. But to become “religious would mar my worldly prospects. I feared ‘the world’s dread laugh,’ when again I should meet my former associates. I had no time to retrace my steps, and I therefore continued in the same course, I took the letter and books, and pushing them out of sight at the bottom of my trunk, I determined to banish all thoughts of religion from my mind.
“I succeeded in my object in the West Indies, and returned to W——, from which place I wrote to Mr. B——, to inform him of my plans. Before closing my letter, thought ‘I must add something on the subject of religion, to please those good people, who are certainly the kindest enthusiasts[‡] I ever knew.’
“What I said called forth another letter from Mr. B——. He did not suspect my hypocrisy, but viewed me as one convinced of sin, and anxious to know what I should ‘do to be saved.’ He advised me to procure Saurin’s Sermons, and read that ‘On the Compassion of God.’ But it was far from my intention to comply with his request; and only that part of his letter that related to worldly prospects was attended to. I continued to associate with the gay, carefully concealing the fearful doubts and forebodings which often haunted my mind while partaking in their revels.
“Shortly after, I made one of a party to attend a grand ball at A——. We dined at a tavern, and the glass circulated till the festive scene of the evening commenced. The exciting influence of dancing, added to that of wine, caused me to fly rather than dance, and by some means to me unaccountable, I fell and broke my arm. A young physician, one of the party, set it; and while the gay revelers returned to their homes, I was carried to the upper story of the building, where I passed a sleepless night, under the excitement of fever, aggravated by an alarmed and awakened conscience.
“Again early associations recurred to my mind, especially the slighted admonitions of a pious mother, blended with the remembrance of her soothing attentions in childhood, when laid on a sick bed. And ‘O, that I knew where I could find that God whose consolations she and my New York friends enjoy in time of trial!’ was my earnest cry.
“My arm not being properly set, had again to be broken and reset, which made my confinement much longer than it would otherwise have been. I sent for Saurin’s Sermons, and found consolation in reading the sermon recommended by Mr. B——. I carefully read Doddridge’s Rise and Progress, every word of which seemed to accord with the state of my mind. I opened my long-neglected Bible. I saw that I was ruined by sin; justly condemned; and that there was no salvation except ‘through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus,’ in whom God could be ‘just, and the justifier of him that believeth.’ Into the arms of that Redeemer I was enabled to throw myself. I left my room, humbly trusting I had an advocate with my offended Father, in Christ Jesus; and cordially relying on his righteousness, I was freed from the awful dread of a judgment to come.
“I returned to W——, determined to break off from the world and my former associates; and now, ‘clothed and in my right mind,’ never to quit the feet of Jesus.
“A few weeks after, hearing that the communion was to be dispensed at A——, I resolved that the scene of my former folly should first witness my deep repentance, and my humble trust in that Savior I had so long rejected. There I publicly devoted myself to him, and partook of the symbols of the broken body and shed blood of him ‘who loved me, and gave himself for me.’
“And now, my friends, will you not help me to bless and magnify the name of God, who thus took me from ‘the horrible pit’ of infidelity, and ‘the miry clay’ of worldliness and sin, and set my feet upon the ‘Rock of ages?’ ”
Mr. M——, during the whole of his subsequent life, proved his faith by his works. Prayer-meetings, Sabbath-schools, plans for ameliorating the condition of the poor, and all the benevolent objects of the day, shared his attention. He became an officer in the church, and by his philanthropy obtained the name of the Howard of G——n.
His constitution, never very robust, gave way about the age of forty, when he departed in peace.
Two of his three friends have since joined him—he who, like Abraham, “commanded his children and his household after him;” and the mother in Israel, who saw her children’s children following her steps, and “who, being dead, yet speaketh.”
READER, hast thou, like the subject of this narrative, imbibed infidel principles; does the Bible—if, indeed, thou hast one—lie unopened; do thy knees never bend to the God who made thee? Be instructed by the history of Mr. M——, and weary not thyself seeking happiness where thou seest he never found it. Take down thy long-neglected Bible. Turn to Psalm 14:1, and read the character of him who “hath said in his heart, There is no God.” Then turn to those precious words, Isaiah 55:6, 7, “Seek ye the Lord while he may be found; call ye upon him while he is near. Let the wicked forsake his way, and the unrighteous man his thoughts; and let him return unto the Lord, and he will have mercy upon him; and to our God, for he will abundantly pardon.”
Is the reader poor? And dost thou think thou hast no time to read thy Bible or to attend to the interests of thy soul? Turn to Psalm 127:1, 2, and thou wilt see that without the blessing of God, “it is in vain for thee to rise up early, to sit up late, and to eat the bread of sorrows.” Then turn to Matthew 6:33, and immediately comply with thy Savior’s command: “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.”
Are these pages read by a fireside like that above described; where the morning and evening worship are like a foundation and a covering to the dwelling? Let the value of early religious impressions, illustrated in this narrative, incite parents and guardians, not only to be faithful to their own households, but by every practicable method to promote the religious improvement of all the rising generation—contributing to Sabbath and infant-schools, and all charities for the ignorant and destitute, time, talents, and substance, according as the Lord hath given them.
Let this narrative also encourage the friends of the Redeemer to be faithful to those who may seem farthest from the kingdom of God. Let them remember in their prayers and their kind Christian endeavors, the rich, the infidel, the gay, and the proud. On all suitable occasions, and in a proper manner, let the truths of the Gospel be pressed even on their hearts; and let them be exemplified and commended, by a uniformly meek; consistent, and Godly example.
READER, whoever you are, while you reject the Gospel, you “spend money for that which is not bread, and your labor for that which satisfieth not.” Hear; then; and accept the invitation, Isaiah 55:1, “Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters; and he that hath no money; come ye; yea, come, buy wine and milk, without money and without price.”
[*]Fireside.
[†]Selects
[‡]Perhaps the epithet enthusiast grated on his mind, like coward on that of the duellist, and hushed the "still small voice of conscience."
Monday, August 17, 2009
THE RESCUSED BRAND by Rev. William J.R.Taylor
Early in the spring of 1847, I was called to visit an aged man who was very sick. Some time previous, having heard of his illness, I had offered to visit him, but was advised to wait until his own consent should be procured; for he had declined any conversation relative to his eternal prospects. Two or three weeks elapsed, when at his own desire I went to see him at the house of his son, with whom he resided.
Before entering the sick room, a worthy female friend, who was the first-fruits of my ministry in ——, after she had attained the age of seventy-three, took me aside, and thus advised me: “The life of Mr. B—— has been spent in dissipation and ungodliness. For many years he has never been inside of a church. He has spent his Sabbaths in ordinary employments. He has been unwilling to hear any thing of religion, and especially of death. Yet he cannot live long. His disease is violent. But he has said that he would be willing to see you. I don’t know how he will receive you. Perhaps he will listen; but his son says he is afraid that he will only insult you if you should speak with him.” With these precautions she ushered me into the room of the sick man.
It was with an agitation and perplexity, only overpowered by a sense of duty and the promises of a faithful God, and after breathing a silent prayer for “grace to help in this time of need,” that the writer entered that chamber.
Mr. B—— was sitting on the side of a low bedstead, apparently in great pain, and in his haggard countenance were visible the marks of disease and death, and a sunken, troubled spirit. His age was sixty-three. His disease dropsy in the chest. He received me with apparent indifference, scarcely raising his eyes from the floor. I spoke to him as kindly as possible, inquiring about his disease, and offering him a little aid in changing his position.
After a long pause, he looked up and said, in a hurried tone, “So you are a minister, eh? How long have you been preaching?”
I replied kindly to his inquiries; and after a few more similar questions and answers, stated the object of my visit, when he replied,
“Sir, the Almighty has been pleased to lay his hand heavily upon me.”
That does not sound like infidelity, thought I, and it encouraged my trembling spirit. He had now opened the way, and it only remained for me to follow its windings. A hint upon the unreasonableness of infidelity, brought him out again.
“Oh, sir, I do not see how any man in his senses can be an infidel. Why, that setting sun, and the very grass of the field, prove that there is a God.”
One remark led on to another; each pressing closer upon his own situation as an undone sinner hastening to the judgment. He conversed freely, and O, what a joyful surprise and cause of thankfulness it was, instead of meeting the expected insult and hardened infidelity, to find that old man mourning over his sins, and seeking deliverance from impending wrath.
These were some of his expressions: “God has been too lenient with me. I have lived sixty-three years in this world, and this is my first sickness. My life has been a hard one. Prosperity has hardened my heart. Religion has been neglected. Afflictions might have had a better influence. Now I am soon to die. But O, my poor soul, my poor soul; what shall become of it?”
I pointed him to “the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins of the world,” and tried to explain and bring the truth home to his heart. He assented to all that was said; but for him there seemed no refuge nigh. His guilty conscience gave him no rest, nor peace.
Before leaving, I engaged in prayer at his bedside. It was a solemn season, and he too appeared to feel it deeply. He asked me to come to see him soon again, and I retired, having learned a new lesson in pastoral experience, and I trust, with an humbled and thankful heart, that had just received new impulses to labor in the Master’s work. Often when we fear most, God is most gracious. Heart and flesh may fail, but his word endureth for ever; and I have thought since then, that I could enter more fully into the feelings of Ananias when God sent him to Saul of Tarsus. The thought of meeting the persecutor quelled even his spirit; but, “behold, he prayeth,” gave joy and boldness.
At the next interview with Mr. B——, he appeared much in the same spiritual state as before, but his convictions seemed deeper, and his apprehensions more fearful. Yet there was “a glimmering from afar,” that was full of promise. He acknowledged the avenging justice of God. He only wondered that God had not crushed him like a moth, years before. But the mercy of God through Jesus appeared to him infinite and adorable. In his cross was his only hope. He wanted to surrender himself to Christ; but doubts and fears mingled like bitter waters in his cup. There was an anxiety to be saved. He saw the way of life; but he must enter in by the strait gate.
This was the state of his soul for some time longer. I was told by a member of the family, that they frequently heard him when alone, and even in the depth of night, in tones of deepest anguish exclaiming, “Oh my poor soul, my poor lost soul;” and then they heard prayers mingling with his groans, prayers for mercy and the salvation bought with blood.
After this I visited him frequently until his death. His conversation, always interesting, and often expressed with great force and beauty, showed him deeply read in the secrets of his own heart, and increasingly desirous of a most thorough and decided change of heart. Fear of self-deception, a sign of spiritual exercise which should not be undervalued, was a most prominent trait. We cannot detail these conversations, but present some specimens which will enable the reader to form a better idea of Mr. B——’s exercises.
In answer to the question, whether his sins of omission or of actual transgression gave him most concern, he replied with emphasis, “My sins of omission.”
Surprised, I said, “But according to your own account you have been a very great sinner. Your actual sins have been aggravated and enormous.”
“Oh yes, sir,” said he; “but then I think, if I had not omitted my duties; I should not have committed those sins.”
Referring one day to the darkness of his prospects, in connection with his belief of the gospel way of salvation, and his willingness to accept Christ as his Savior, he said, “But I want proof—something to satisfy me that I am redeemed.”
“What kind of proof do you want, Mr. B——?”
“Oh, sir, I want something tangible; or if I may so say, like an audible voice telling me that I shall die happy—that my salvation is sure.”
I endeavored to correct this erroneous impression by pointing him to other and better evidences of a gracious state—to his often-professed delight and comfort in prayer—to answers to prayer, already granted him in his deeper convictions of sin, his greater anxiety, and his comfort from God’s word. The progressive nature of grace in the heart was also adverted to. On this latter point, the following illustration fixed his attention, and tended to change his views.
“How, Mr. B——, did you learn to read? Was it not by slow degrees; first the alphabet, then joining letters and syllables and words? and even then it was only by constant practice that you at last could read correctly and rapidly. So now you are learning only the A B C of religion. You are a child in God’s school, and you cannot expect immediately to
‘read your title clear
To mansions in the skies.’ ”
And again, “God will give grace according to his children’s need. He can give you dying grace in the dying hour; and while suffering affliction, give you grace to endure that. But it seems to me, as if you are impatient to shout victory before the battle is won.”
On another occasion, when asked, “Do you read your Bible constantly?” he looked up earnestly and said, “My disease prevents me from reading.”
“But, sir, you know that the Bible is God’s truth, and the only directory in the way of life.”
“That is true, sir,” was the striking reply; “but I am building on what I learned from my mother when I was a boy. For many years afterwards I never read my Bible; but passages that I learned then and had forgotten, are coming back to me as if I had learned them yesterday.”
Indeed, his acquaintance with Scripture was accurate and large. He quoted readily and with force, and seemed to derive real comfort from its remembered pages. What a beautiful illustration of the power of early associations, and of the importance of sowing the good seed in the bright morning of childhood. Who can estimate the power of a mother’s teachings, even after her flesh has long rested in the tomb? Look at this example, where a man, after more than half a century of sin, and on his dying bed, found sweet consolation for his aching heart in the unforgotten tones and instructions of a mother’s early love. Perhaps this may encourage to greater parental faithfulness, and even bring some glimmering consolation to many a father or mother now mourning and saddened at the thoughts of some wayward, wandering, prodigal child.
As his illness increased, Mr. B——’s views brightened. His hope was fastened on the Redeemer’s cross. Earth was given up without regret, and heavenly visions cheered the prospect.
One afternoon I found him in great bodily distress. “Oh,” said he, “it seems as if I could hardly suffer more. Sometimes I feel as if scalding water was poured upon me, and my bones are almost out of joint with pain. Oh, death would be a loving-kindness to me—death would be a loving-kindness. Yet what is all this to what my Savior endured for me? I deserve even more than this.”
“Do you feel as if you could wait patiently till the end?” I asked.
“O yes, sir, I desire to be perfectly submissive to God’s will. It is all right I know, and as long as he chooses I am willing to suffer.”
This spirit of resignation marked all his latter hours. There was one view respecting the Savior, frequently expressed by him, that seemed remarkable. It was this. While he rested all his hopes upon the atonement of Christ, his most adoring contemplations, his most precious views, were drawn from his intercession. “When I try to pray,” said he, “I feel ashamed and overwhelmed; but when look upward and see my blessed Intercessor standing at the throne, then I can pray.” Indeed, this was the name by which he delighted to honor his Master—”My precious Intercessor.”
We only ask here, Is not this a part of the mediatorial work which most Christians fail duly to appreciate? Does it form a principal source of our holy joy and comfort? And if not, why should it longer be so? How, indeed, can we grow in grace, how can we be advancing Christians while forgetful of this high and present office-work of “our great High-priest, who ever liveth to make intercession for us.”
At the close of one of the visits mentioned above, an affecting scene occurred. After referring to his great bodily sufferings, and the welcome with which he would meet death, I engaged in prayer with him as usual. He was deeply affected, and immediately upon my closing, he began to pray himself. Such a prayer never fell upon my ears. It was laying hold of the everlasting throne; and he poured out his whole soul there, as if none but God could hear. Every person in the room was melted to tears. It was as impressive and solemn as an earthly scene can be. I thought that I never knew what real wrestling prayer was before this. And the tones of that voice, deep, though feeble and trembling, and uttering such petitions as you might suppose would have become the publican or the penitent thief, can never be forgotten. It was one of those scenes over which angels delight to hover, and rejoice.
After this, we met but once or twice. The sick man’s powers of mind and body sunk rapidly. For an hour or two before his death, he seemed lethargic and exhausted. The powers of expression were denied him at the last, but his previous testimony was so protracted, and full, and convincing, that we have every reason to believe that his end was peace, and that now the sufferer is at rest.
A death-bed repentance is generally to be suspected, but there are exceptions, when souls are renewed and taken speedily home to heaven—brands plucked from the burning, to shine as jewels in our great Redeemer’s crown.
In this little narrative, the writer has desired to tell of a monument of grace, newly erected in Zion by the great Head of the church. It is presented as an encouragement to faithful pastoral duty, even when fear and trembling seize the heart; as a fine illustration of the power of a mother’s training; as a rich record of Christian experience; and as a blessed example of what the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ can accomplish, even in the heart of the chief of sinners. In the humble hope that it may do good in Zion, it is now sent forth on its mission to the reader’s heart.
Before entering the sick room, a worthy female friend, who was the first-fruits of my ministry in ——, after she had attained the age of seventy-three, took me aside, and thus advised me: “The life of Mr. B—— has been spent in dissipation and ungodliness. For many years he has never been inside of a church. He has spent his Sabbaths in ordinary employments. He has been unwilling to hear any thing of religion, and especially of death. Yet he cannot live long. His disease is violent. But he has said that he would be willing to see you. I don’t know how he will receive you. Perhaps he will listen; but his son says he is afraid that he will only insult you if you should speak with him.” With these precautions she ushered me into the room of the sick man.
It was with an agitation and perplexity, only overpowered by a sense of duty and the promises of a faithful God, and after breathing a silent prayer for “grace to help in this time of need,” that the writer entered that chamber.
Mr. B—— was sitting on the side of a low bedstead, apparently in great pain, and in his haggard countenance were visible the marks of disease and death, and a sunken, troubled spirit. His age was sixty-three. His disease dropsy in the chest. He received me with apparent indifference, scarcely raising his eyes from the floor. I spoke to him as kindly as possible, inquiring about his disease, and offering him a little aid in changing his position.
After a long pause, he looked up and said, in a hurried tone, “So you are a minister, eh? How long have you been preaching?”
I replied kindly to his inquiries; and after a few more similar questions and answers, stated the object of my visit, when he replied,
“Sir, the Almighty has been pleased to lay his hand heavily upon me.”
That does not sound like infidelity, thought I, and it encouraged my trembling spirit. He had now opened the way, and it only remained for me to follow its windings. A hint upon the unreasonableness of infidelity, brought him out again.
“Oh, sir, I do not see how any man in his senses can be an infidel. Why, that setting sun, and the very grass of the field, prove that there is a God.”
One remark led on to another; each pressing closer upon his own situation as an undone sinner hastening to the judgment. He conversed freely, and O, what a joyful surprise and cause of thankfulness it was, instead of meeting the expected insult and hardened infidelity, to find that old man mourning over his sins, and seeking deliverance from impending wrath.
These were some of his expressions: “God has been too lenient with me. I have lived sixty-three years in this world, and this is my first sickness. My life has been a hard one. Prosperity has hardened my heart. Religion has been neglected. Afflictions might have had a better influence. Now I am soon to die. But O, my poor soul, my poor soul; what shall become of it?”
I pointed him to “the Lamb of God, that taketh away the sins of the world,” and tried to explain and bring the truth home to his heart. He assented to all that was said; but for him there seemed no refuge nigh. His guilty conscience gave him no rest, nor peace.
Before leaving, I engaged in prayer at his bedside. It was a solemn season, and he too appeared to feel it deeply. He asked me to come to see him soon again, and I retired, having learned a new lesson in pastoral experience, and I trust, with an humbled and thankful heart, that had just received new impulses to labor in the Master’s work. Often when we fear most, God is most gracious. Heart and flesh may fail, but his word endureth for ever; and I have thought since then, that I could enter more fully into the feelings of Ananias when God sent him to Saul of Tarsus. The thought of meeting the persecutor quelled even his spirit; but, “behold, he prayeth,” gave joy and boldness.
At the next interview with Mr. B——, he appeared much in the same spiritual state as before, but his convictions seemed deeper, and his apprehensions more fearful. Yet there was “a glimmering from afar,” that was full of promise. He acknowledged the avenging justice of God. He only wondered that God had not crushed him like a moth, years before. But the mercy of God through Jesus appeared to him infinite and adorable. In his cross was his only hope. He wanted to surrender himself to Christ; but doubts and fears mingled like bitter waters in his cup. There was an anxiety to be saved. He saw the way of life; but he must enter in by the strait gate.
This was the state of his soul for some time longer. I was told by a member of the family, that they frequently heard him when alone, and even in the depth of night, in tones of deepest anguish exclaiming, “Oh my poor soul, my poor lost soul;” and then they heard prayers mingling with his groans, prayers for mercy and the salvation bought with blood.
After this I visited him frequently until his death. His conversation, always interesting, and often expressed with great force and beauty, showed him deeply read in the secrets of his own heart, and increasingly desirous of a most thorough and decided change of heart. Fear of self-deception, a sign of spiritual exercise which should not be undervalued, was a most prominent trait. We cannot detail these conversations, but present some specimens which will enable the reader to form a better idea of Mr. B——’s exercises.
In answer to the question, whether his sins of omission or of actual transgression gave him most concern, he replied with emphasis, “My sins of omission.”
Surprised, I said, “But according to your own account you have been a very great sinner. Your actual sins have been aggravated and enormous.”
“Oh yes, sir,” said he; “but then I think, if I had not omitted my duties; I should not have committed those sins.”
Referring one day to the darkness of his prospects, in connection with his belief of the gospel way of salvation, and his willingness to accept Christ as his Savior, he said, “But I want proof—something to satisfy me that I am redeemed.”
“What kind of proof do you want, Mr. B——?”
“Oh, sir, I want something tangible; or if I may so say, like an audible voice telling me that I shall die happy—that my salvation is sure.”
I endeavored to correct this erroneous impression by pointing him to other and better evidences of a gracious state—to his often-professed delight and comfort in prayer—to answers to prayer, already granted him in his deeper convictions of sin, his greater anxiety, and his comfort from God’s word. The progressive nature of grace in the heart was also adverted to. On this latter point, the following illustration fixed his attention, and tended to change his views.
“How, Mr. B——, did you learn to read? Was it not by slow degrees; first the alphabet, then joining letters and syllables and words? and even then it was only by constant practice that you at last could read correctly and rapidly. So now you are learning only the A B C of religion. You are a child in God’s school, and you cannot expect immediately to
‘read your title clear
To mansions in the skies.’ ”
And again, “God will give grace according to his children’s need. He can give you dying grace in the dying hour; and while suffering affliction, give you grace to endure that. But it seems to me, as if you are impatient to shout victory before the battle is won.”
On another occasion, when asked, “Do you read your Bible constantly?” he looked up earnestly and said, “My disease prevents me from reading.”
“But, sir, you know that the Bible is God’s truth, and the only directory in the way of life.”
“That is true, sir,” was the striking reply; “but I am building on what I learned from my mother when I was a boy. For many years afterwards I never read my Bible; but passages that I learned then and had forgotten, are coming back to me as if I had learned them yesterday.”
Indeed, his acquaintance with Scripture was accurate and large. He quoted readily and with force, and seemed to derive real comfort from its remembered pages. What a beautiful illustration of the power of early associations, and of the importance of sowing the good seed in the bright morning of childhood. Who can estimate the power of a mother’s teachings, even after her flesh has long rested in the tomb? Look at this example, where a man, after more than half a century of sin, and on his dying bed, found sweet consolation for his aching heart in the unforgotten tones and instructions of a mother’s early love. Perhaps this may encourage to greater parental faithfulness, and even bring some glimmering consolation to many a father or mother now mourning and saddened at the thoughts of some wayward, wandering, prodigal child.
As his illness increased, Mr. B——’s views brightened. His hope was fastened on the Redeemer’s cross. Earth was given up without regret, and heavenly visions cheered the prospect.
One afternoon I found him in great bodily distress. “Oh,” said he, “it seems as if I could hardly suffer more. Sometimes I feel as if scalding water was poured upon me, and my bones are almost out of joint with pain. Oh, death would be a loving-kindness to me—death would be a loving-kindness. Yet what is all this to what my Savior endured for me? I deserve even more than this.”
“Do you feel as if you could wait patiently till the end?” I asked.
“O yes, sir, I desire to be perfectly submissive to God’s will. It is all right I know, and as long as he chooses I am willing to suffer.”
This spirit of resignation marked all his latter hours. There was one view respecting the Savior, frequently expressed by him, that seemed remarkable. It was this. While he rested all his hopes upon the atonement of Christ, his most adoring contemplations, his most precious views, were drawn from his intercession. “When I try to pray,” said he, “I feel ashamed and overwhelmed; but when look upward and see my blessed Intercessor standing at the throne, then I can pray.” Indeed, this was the name by which he delighted to honor his Master—”My precious Intercessor.”
We only ask here, Is not this a part of the mediatorial work which most Christians fail duly to appreciate? Does it form a principal source of our holy joy and comfort? And if not, why should it longer be so? How, indeed, can we grow in grace, how can we be advancing Christians while forgetful of this high and present office-work of “our great High-priest, who ever liveth to make intercession for us.”
At the close of one of the visits mentioned above, an affecting scene occurred. After referring to his great bodily sufferings, and the welcome with which he would meet death, I engaged in prayer with him as usual. He was deeply affected, and immediately upon my closing, he began to pray himself. Such a prayer never fell upon my ears. It was laying hold of the everlasting throne; and he poured out his whole soul there, as if none but God could hear. Every person in the room was melted to tears. It was as impressive and solemn as an earthly scene can be. I thought that I never knew what real wrestling prayer was before this. And the tones of that voice, deep, though feeble and trembling, and uttering such petitions as you might suppose would have become the publican or the penitent thief, can never be forgotten. It was one of those scenes over which angels delight to hover, and rejoice.
After this, we met but once or twice. The sick man’s powers of mind and body sunk rapidly. For an hour or two before his death, he seemed lethargic and exhausted. The powers of expression were denied him at the last, but his previous testimony was so protracted, and full, and convincing, that we have every reason to believe that his end was peace, and that now the sufferer is at rest.
A death-bed repentance is generally to be suspected, but there are exceptions, when souls are renewed and taken speedily home to heaven—brands plucked from the burning, to shine as jewels in our great Redeemer’s crown.
In this little narrative, the writer has desired to tell of a monument of grace, newly erected in Zion by the great Head of the church. It is presented as an encouragement to faithful pastoral duty, even when fear and trembling seize the heart; as a fine illustration of the power of a mother’s training; as a rich record of Christian experience; and as a blessed example of what the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ can accomplish, even in the heart of the chief of sinners. In the humble hope that it may do good in Zion, it is now sent forth on its mission to the reader’s heart.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
OLD SHUSCO
Old Shusco, as he was commonly called, was an Ojibwa Indian. It is not known where he was born, but it is believed to have been near the island of Mackinaw, in the strait which connects lakes Michigan and Huron. He was left an orphan when about ten days old, and came under the care of six different persons during his childhood and youth. When he was about fifteen, his grandfather undertook to make him a juggler, which is thought by the Indians to be an office of great honor and importance. They suppose that a juggler, or “mystery man,” as he is sometimes called, can cure diseases, bring rain to water the earth, cause the wild deer to come within reach of the hunter’s spear, and do many other wonderful things.
To make Shusco a juggler, his grandfather blackened his face with coal, and made him fast ten days; the only food he had during this time being one cup of broth. This long abstinence nearly caused his death. But Shusco thought he had not been thoroughly made a “mystery man,” and therefore fasted a second time, for five days, after which he was regarded as a wise man among his people. He now practiced many deceitful arts upon them, to support his influence over their minds; and in addition, he became a notorious drunkard.
Shusco’s wife went to hear the missionaries, and became converted. As Jesus now was precious to her soul, she felt concerned that her husband should know and love him too. His account of the efforts which his wife made to lead him to the knowledge of the Savior, is in substance as follows. “I did not know that the practices of Indian jugglers were made up of great and sinful errors, till my wife, whose heart had been turned, told me that such was the case. I had no pleasure in hearing her speak of the Christian religion, and said I was satisfied with the religion of my forefathers. She still told me who God is, and what sin is, as it is written in his book. I had before believed that there was one Great Spirit; but she explained to me the true character of this Great Spirit, made me understand the sinfulness of the heart, and the way in which it is turned from evil to good by believing in Christ Jesus. She told me that the Holy Spirit alone could make my heart better; and that all who died without having felt this power, would be for ever miserable. I did not like these words, but I could not forget them. When I thought of them, my heart was not fixed and unshaken as it was before. I began to determine that I would not practice the juggler’s arts any more, and that I would give heed to what was declared in the Scriptures.”
It was in the year 1828 that Shusco felt convinced that he was a sinner, and for some time he was overwhelmed with a view of his past sins. His wife observed that he was distressed, and asked him the cause. He replied, he was sick at heart. “You must pray,” she said, “to God, and he will forgive you.” “How can he forgive so great a sinner as I am? I have spent all my life in sinning against him.” “But,” she answered, “he will forgive you for the sake of Christ, who died for us, if you pray to him; for he forgave me, and I know that he will forgive you also.” Shusco tried to pray, but found no relief. Two weeks passed away, and his sins still rose, as it were, before his view, so that it seemed to him that God could not have mercy on him. There was one evil habit to which he had given way, that he now earnestly wished to be delivered from—the sinful practice of drunkenness. He struggled and prayed against it, and against all sin. One night he arose from his bed in great agony of mind, and went to his usual place of prayer, and there he cried to God until, as he said, “he found his burden gone, the hard thing in his heart taken away, and he was not sick any more.” In describing the morning that succeeded this conflict, he said, “My heart was filled with love to God and his children. I went out of doors. Oh, it was very pleasant; the sun shone bright; the trees and every thing around looked as they had never looked before. When I sat down to eat my breakfast, Sarah said to me, ‘How do you feel now?’ ‘Very happy; my heart is not sick now, and I think I love God.’ ‘What day,’ said she, ‘is it today, Shusco?’ I told her prayer-day, (the Lord’s day.) ‘We must not work today, but pray to God,’ We both then prayed, and were very happy.” Thus the first impulse of this converted son of the forest was, to remember the Sabbath-day to keep it holy.
He now thought of the missionaries at the island of Mackinaw. He had formerly shunned them, but now felt a desire to see them. “I want to tell them I love God now, and am very happy.” The news of his conversion soon spread. All who heard of it said, “What hath God wrought!” At first it could scarcely be believed, that he had become a disciple of Christ; but when his deep humility, and love to all, especially to Christians, were seen, there was no room for doubt.
Shusco’s lodge, or hut, now ceased to be a place for drunkenness and revelry; for such it had ever been when strong liquor could be obtained. It became the resort of the Indians who loved to pray and praise. One circumstance will show how much he felt his dependence on the Holy Spirit, and how earnestly he sought his aid. He was told that some Indians were coming to the island where he lived; and he had many fears, as some of them were his wife’s relations, lest he should fall into temptation. When they came, he resorted, as usual, to prayer. One morning he was gone out a long time: his wife did not know what had become of him, and she began to fear that he had gone and joined her brethren in drinking. At length he returned, and told her he had been engaged in prayer, and that now he could visit her friends. He went, and found them lying round a pail of whiskey, in a state of drunkenness. They tried to induce him to drink; but they could not prevail. They said, “Why is it, Shusco, that you will not drink with us now, when you always did formerly, and loved it so much?” He replied, that the Lord helped him—that formerly, when he tried to leave off drinking, he attempted it in his own strength, and failed; but that now he had obtained strength from God, and had no desire for ardent spirits, and was resolved never more to touch them. In the evening he observed to a missionary, he had never in his life been so happy as on that day. His being able to overcome a love for whiskey and other strong drink is the more remarkable, as the Indians will sell all they have to obtain it. Shusco was never known to taste it from the time of his conversion.
On Saturday it was the practice of Shusco to go round to all the huts of the Indians, to tell them that the following day would be the Lord’s day, and that they must all go to the house of God. When away from the island of Mackinaw, he had no means of knowing the day of the week, as he could not read. But he prepared a stick to serve as an almanac. Upon this he cut a notch for each day as it passed. At one time he was upon another island at some distance from home, making sugar, and he forgot to cut a notch; consequently, he missed a day. When the Lord’s day came, he arose, ate his breakfast, and went out to work as usual. Soon a person who was passing, told him it was the sacred day. He immediately dropped his work, went into the hut, and told his wife what day it was. During the following week he returned home. As he entered the mission house, he was observed to look pale. The first words he spoke were, “I am very sorry; perhaps you will be very sorry for what I have done.” “Why, what have you done, Shusco?” “I have broken the Sabbath-day,” he said; and then he explained how it had happened. “I thought,” he continued, “that I would come and tell you of it myself, and not wait till all the Christians heard of it.” He then threw away the stick which he had hitherto used as an almanac, and prepared another.
He showed much gratitude for any kindness done to him. Whenever a friend gave him any thing, he would first look up, and thank the Lord, and then would express his gratitude to the giver. At one time he went in company with his wife to an island where they had previously planted potatoes, for the purpose of digging them. He found that the crop promised to yield abundantly. “Before digging a hill,” said he, “we had a prayer-meeting, to thank the Lord for them.”
Shusco’s attachment to the word and the house of God was remarkable; and often did he visit the missionaries on weekdays, to hear them read and explain the Scriptures. The missionaries being about to remove from the island, he said to them, “I see you all now, but by and by I shall see you no more in this world, and I shall be very lonely, for we shall have none to teach us on the Sabbath; but I shall soon see you all again in heaven; this makes me thankful. I feel that I shall soon go where Jesus is.” After most of the missionaries had left, a female member of the mission, before her departure, went to see Shusco. By her he sent a special message to another female member of the mission, who had anxiously sought his spiritual good, and said,
“Do not forget any thing I tell you. Tell her that I am well, and am very happy in my mind; and if I never see her again in this world, I hope to meet her in heaven. Still, I am but half happy; for I am half sorry because there are so many drunken Indians around, serving the devil as I once did. How good God has been to me, to make me one of his children. Why did he choose me when I was so great a sinner, and like these poor drunken Indians? But I pity them, talk to them, and tell them it is the work of the devil to do so; yet they will not listen. Sometimes they try to get me to drink; but God keeps me from it. At times I run away from them; then again I sit still in my but when they come. Tell her, that perhaps the next time I am sick, I shall go home; and that she must pray for me, that I may see her in heaven. I will not forget what she has told me about the Bible; for a great many times I have gone to the mission house hungry, and she has fed me with God’s word. Sometimes, as we sit here, we feel sad, because we have no one to read to us; still, we will remember what we have heard, and leave ourselves with God, for he knows what is best. When the Sabbath comes, I go to the house of God, and as I sit there, I am happy; for I think God is there. As I look round the house, and see how nice every thing is, I think how much more beautiful God’s house above will be when I get there.”
A desire to do good to others marked the conduct of Shusco. He was happy himself, and he desired that others might partake of the rich blessings which he had received through Christ Jesus. A few weeks before his death the family of his grandson came to visit him; all the family were in pagan darkness. Every morning he went to their hut, to talk and pray with them. Soon after their arrival he became so lame that he could not walk; but this did not keep him from seeking to do them good; he crept to their hut but upon his hands and knees.
The female friend before referred to returned, and hearing that he was ill, went to see him. After making some inquiries, he asked her to give him her hand, as he was now blind. “Perhaps now,” he said, “I am going home. I am very sick, but it will only be a little while that I shall endure pain.” “Do you feel happy?” she inquired; “and are you willing, to go now, if it be the Lord’s will?” “Yes, very willing,” was the reply. “But do you not desire to get well again, if it be the Lord’s will?” “Yes, if it is the Lord’s will. I leave all in his hands. I thank the Lord for sending his children here to see me when I am sick. He is always very kind to his children, and merciful.” He requested the friend to sing his favorite hymn. “I am too sick to join with you,” he said; “but I want to hear it once more.” She then sung the hymn beginning,
“On Jordan’s rugged banks I stand,
And cast a wishful eye
To Canaan’s fair and happy land,
Where my possessions lie.”
On the morning before his death, his wife, seeing that he was very ill, sat down and wept by his side. “Do not weep,” he said, “because I am going to leave you, for God will take care of you; but weep rather for your sins. God has promised to take care of his children. Look to him in prayer; he has promised, you know, that what we ask in prayer he will give us. Remember what I say, for perhaps this is the last time I shall speak to you. Perhaps you also will soon come where I am going. Tomorrow, or next day, perhaps I shall go; but love God.” His wife went out to fetch some wood; and when she returned he was committing his soul to his Savior, and commending her also to his fatherly care; shortly after which he ceased to breathe. He was calm and happy to the last hour of his life, which ended on the 30th of September, 1837.
From this short history of a converted heathen juggler, we see that true religion shows itself in the same way in the experience of men, of whatever tribe or nation. The Gospel is not only suited to those born in a professedly Christian land, but to those also who have been brought up in the darkness of heathenism. When it is applied by the Holy Spirit, it produces the same confidence in God, the same love to Christ, the “like precious faith” in his blood and righteousness as the ground of a sinner’s acceptance, the same delight in the Scriptures and in prayer, the same regard for the Sabbath and the people of God, the same hatred to sin and desire to “follow after holiness,” the same good hope of heaven and zeal for the salvation of others. By these tests let us examine ourselves: are they to be seen in our lives and experience?
Let it also be observed, that not only those who have been born heathen like poor Shusco, but every man, must be converted, or he cannot be saved. “Ye must be born again.” John 3:7. “Except YE be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 18:3. Men in every country, and in every age, inherit a fallen and depraved nature, and left to themselves, they go on adding sin to sin: so that every mouth is stopped, and the world is guilty before God. Romans 3:19. May the Holy Spirit renew our hearts, that we may be “new creatures in Christ Jesus;” then we shall joyfully receive that “faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners,” even the chief, 1 Timothy 1:15; then we shall find, to our unspeakable happiness, that “we have redemption through his blood, even the forgiveness of our sins.”
To make Shusco a juggler, his grandfather blackened his face with coal, and made him fast ten days; the only food he had during this time being one cup of broth. This long abstinence nearly caused his death. But Shusco thought he had not been thoroughly made a “mystery man,” and therefore fasted a second time, for five days, after which he was regarded as a wise man among his people. He now practiced many deceitful arts upon them, to support his influence over their minds; and in addition, he became a notorious drunkard.
Shusco’s wife went to hear the missionaries, and became converted. As Jesus now was precious to her soul, she felt concerned that her husband should know and love him too. His account of the efforts which his wife made to lead him to the knowledge of the Savior, is in substance as follows. “I did not know that the practices of Indian jugglers were made up of great and sinful errors, till my wife, whose heart had been turned, told me that such was the case. I had no pleasure in hearing her speak of the Christian religion, and said I was satisfied with the religion of my forefathers. She still told me who God is, and what sin is, as it is written in his book. I had before believed that there was one Great Spirit; but she explained to me the true character of this Great Spirit, made me understand the sinfulness of the heart, and the way in which it is turned from evil to good by believing in Christ Jesus. She told me that the Holy Spirit alone could make my heart better; and that all who died without having felt this power, would be for ever miserable. I did not like these words, but I could not forget them. When I thought of them, my heart was not fixed and unshaken as it was before. I began to determine that I would not practice the juggler’s arts any more, and that I would give heed to what was declared in the Scriptures.”
It was in the year 1828 that Shusco felt convinced that he was a sinner, and for some time he was overwhelmed with a view of his past sins. His wife observed that he was distressed, and asked him the cause. He replied, he was sick at heart. “You must pray,” she said, “to God, and he will forgive you.” “How can he forgive so great a sinner as I am? I have spent all my life in sinning against him.” “But,” she answered, “he will forgive you for the sake of Christ, who died for us, if you pray to him; for he forgave me, and I know that he will forgive you also.” Shusco tried to pray, but found no relief. Two weeks passed away, and his sins still rose, as it were, before his view, so that it seemed to him that God could not have mercy on him. There was one evil habit to which he had given way, that he now earnestly wished to be delivered from—the sinful practice of drunkenness. He struggled and prayed against it, and against all sin. One night he arose from his bed in great agony of mind, and went to his usual place of prayer, and there he cried to God until, as he said, “he found his burden gone, the hard thing in his heart taken away, and he was not sick any more.” In describing the morning that succeeded this conflict, he said, “My heart was filled with love to God and his children. I went out of doors. Oh, it was very pleasant; the sun shone bright; the trees and every thing around looked as they had never looked before. When I sat down to eat my breakfast, Sarah said to me, ‘How do you feel now?’ ‘Very happy; my heart is not sick now, and I think I love God.’ ‘What day,’ said she, ‘is it today, Shusco?’ I told her prayer-day, (the Lord’s day.) ‘We must not work today, but pray to God,’ We both then prayed, and were very happy.” Thus the first impulse of this converted son of the forest was, to remember the Sabbath-day to keep it holy.
He now thought of the missionaries at the island of Mackinaw. He had formerly shunned them, but now felt a desire to see them. “I want to tell them I love God now, and am very happy.” The news of his conversion soon spread. All who heard of it said, “What hath God wrought!” At first it could scarcely be believed, that he had become a disciple of Christ; but when his deep humility, and love to all, especially to Christians, were seen, there was no room for doubt.
Shusco’s lodge, or hut, now ceased to be a place for drunkenness and revelry; for such it had ever been when strong liquor could be obtained. It became the resort of the Indians who loved to pray and praise. One circumstance will show how much he felt his dependence on the Holy Spirit, and how earnestly he sought his aid. He was told that some Indians were coming to the island where he lived; and he had many fears, as some of them were his wife’s relations, lest he should fall into temptation. When they came, he resorted, as usual, to prayer. One morning he was gone out a long time: his wife did not know what had become of him, and she began to fear that he had gone and joined her brethren in drinking. At length he returned, and told her he had been engaged in prayer, and that now he could visit her friends. He went, and found them lying round a pail of whiskey, in a state of drunkenness. They tried to induce him to drink; but they could not prevail. They said, “Why is it, Shusco, that you will not drink with us now, when you always did formerly, and loved it so much?” He replied, that the Lord helped him—that formerly, when he tried to leave off drinking, he attempted it in his own strength, and failed; but that now he had obtained strength from God, and had no desire for ardent spirits, and was resolved never more to touch them. In the evening he observed to a missionary, he had never in his life been so happy as on that day. His being able to overcome a love for whiskey and other strong drink is the more remarkable, as the Indians will sell all they have to obtain it. Shusco was never known to taste it from the time of his conversion.
On Saturday it was the practice of Shusco to go round to all the huts of the Indians, to tell them that the following day would be the Lord’s day, and that they must all go to the house of God. When away from the island of Mackinaw, he had no means of knowing the day of the week, as he could not read. But he prepared a stick to serve as an almanac. Upon this he cut a notch for each day as it passed. At one time he was upon another island at some distance from home, making sugar, and he forgot to cut a notch; consequently, he missed a day. When the Lord’s day came, he arose, ate his breakfast, and went out to work as usual. Soon a person who was passing, told him it was the sacred day. He immediately dropped his work, went into the hut, and told his wife what day it was. During the following week he returned home. As he entered the mission house, he was observed to look pale. The first words he spoke were, “I am very sorry; perhaps you will be very sorry for what I have done.” “Why, what have you done, Shusco?” “I have broken the Sabbath-day,” he said; and then he explained how it had happened. “I thought,” he continued, “that I would come and tell you of it myself, and not wait till all the Christians heard of it.” He then threw away the stick which he had hitherto used as an almanac, and prepared another.
He showed much gratitude for any kindness done to him. Whenever a friend gave him any thing, he would first look up, and thank the Lord, and then would express his gratitude to the giver. At one time he went in company with his wife to an island where they had previously planted potatoes, for the purpose of digging them. He found that the crop promised to yield abundantly. “Before digging a hill,” said he, “we had a prayer-meeting, to thank the Lord for them.”
Shusco’s attachment to the word and the house of God was remarkable; and often did he visit the missionaries on weekdays, to hear them read and explain the Scriptures. The missionaries being about to remove from the island, he said to them, “I see you all now, but by and by I shall see you no more in this world, and I shall be very lonely, for we shall have none to teach us on the Sabbath; but I shall soon see you all again in heaven; this makes me thankful. I feel that I shall soon go where Jesus is.” After most of the missionaries had left, a female member of the mission, before her departure, went to see Shusco. By her he sent a special message to another female member of the mission, who had anxiously sought his spiritual good, and said,
“Do not forget any thing I tell you. Tell her that I am well, and am very happy in my mind; and if I never see her again in this world, I hope to meet her in heaven. Still, I am but half happy; for I am half sorry because there are so many drunken Indians around, serving the devil as I once did. How good God has been to me, to make me one of his children. Why did he choose me when I was so great a sinner, and like these poor drunken Indians? But I pity them, talk to them, and tell them it is the work of the devil to do so; yet they will not listen. Sometimes they try to get me to drink; but God keeps me from it. At times I run away from them; then again I sit still in my but when they come. Tell her, that perhaps the next time I am sick, I shall go home; and that she must pray for me, that I may see her in heaven. I will not forget what she has told me about the Bible; for a great many times I have gone to the mission house hungry, and she has fed me with God’s word. Sometimes, as we sit here, we feel sad, because we have no one to read to us; still, we will remember what we have heard, and leave ourselves with God, for he knows what is best. When the Sabbath comes, I go to the house of God, and as I sit there, I am happy; for I think God is there. As I look round the house, and see how nice every thing is, I think how much more beautiful God’s house above will be when I get there.”
A desire to do good to others marked the conduct of Shusco. He was happy himself, and he desired that others might partake of the rich blessings which he had received through Christ Jesus. A few weeks before his death the family of his grandson came to visit him; all the family were in pagan darkness. Every morning he went to their hut, to talk and pray with them. Soon after their arrival he became so lame that he could not walk; but this did not keep him from seeking to do them good; he crept to their hut but upon his hands and knees.
The female friend before referred to returned, and hearing that he was ill, went to see him. After making some inquiries, he asked her to give him her hand, as he was now blind. “Perhaps now,” he said, “I am going home. I am very sick, but it will only be a little while that I shall endure pain.” “Do you feel happy?” she inquired; “and are you willing, to go now, if it be the Lord’s will?” “Yes, very willing,” was the reply. “But do you not desire to get well again, if it be the Lord’s will?” “Yes, if it is the Lord’s will. I leave all in his hands. I thank the Lord for sending his children here to see me when I am sick. He is always very kind to his children, and merciful.” He requested the friend to sing his favorite hymn. “I am too sick to join with you,” he said; “but I want to hear it once more.” She then sung the hymn beginning,
“On Jordan’s rugged banks I stand,
And cast a wishful eye
To Canaan’s fair and happy land,
Where my possessions lie.”
On the morning before his death, his wife, seeing that he was very ill, sat down and wept by his side. “Do not weep,” he said, “because I am going to leave you, for God will take care of you; but weep rather for your sins. God has promised to take care of his children. Look to him in prayer; he has promised, you know, that what we ask in prayer he will give us. Remember what I say, for perhaps this is the last time I shall speak to you. Perhaps you also will soon come where I am going. Tomorrow, or next day, perhaps I shall go; but love God.” His wife went out to fetch some wood; and when she returned he was committing his soul to his Savior, and commending her also to his fatherly care; shortly after which he ceased to breathe. He was calm and happy to the last hour of his life, which ended on the 30th of September, 1837.
From this short history of a converted heathen juggler, we see that true religion shows itself in the same way in the experience of men, of whatever tribe or nation. The Gospel is not only suited to those born in a professedly Christian land, but to those also who have been brought up in the darkness of heathenism. When it is applied by the Holy Spirit, it produces the same confidence in God, the same love to Christ, the “like precious faith” in his blood and righteousness as the ground of a sinner’s acceptance, the same delight in the Scriptures and in prayer, the same regard for the Sabbath and the people of God, the same hatred to sin and desire to “follow after holiness,” the same good hope of heaven and zeal for the salvation of others. By these tests let us examine ourselves: are they to be seen in our lives and experience?
Let it also be observed, that not only those who have been born heathen like poor Shusco, but every man, must be converted, or he cannot be saved. “Ye must be born again.” John 3:7. “Except YE be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.” Matthew 18:3. Men in every country, and in every age, inherit a fallen and depraved nature, and left to themselves, they go on adding sin to sin: so that every mouth is stopped, and the world is guilty before God. Romans 3:19. May the Holy Spirit renew our hearts, that we may be “new creatures in Christ Jesus;” then we shall joyfully receive that “faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners,” even the chief, 1 Timothy 1:15; then we shall find, to our unspeakable happiness, that “we have redemption through his blood, even the forgiveness of our sins.”
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
BOB THE CABIN BOY by Rev. George Smith
A FEW months since, a vessel sailed from England with a captain whose habitual blasphemy, drunkenness, and tyranny so disgusted the crew, that some of the most fatal consequences might have taken place, but for his sudden and alarming illness. The mate took charge of the ship, and the captain, greatly afflicted in his cabin, was left by the unanimous voice of a hardened crew, to perish. He had continued nearly a week in this neglected state, no one venturing to visit him, when the heart of a poor boy on board was touched with his sufferings, and he determined to enter the cabin and speak to him. He descended the companion-ladder, and opening the state-room door, called out, "Captain, how are you?" A surly voice replied, "What's that to you? be off." Next morning, however, he went down again. "Captain, hope you are better." "O Bob, I'm very bad; been very ill all night." "Captain, please to let me wash your hands and face; will refresh you very much." The captain nodded assent. Having performed this kind office, the boy said, "Please, master, let me shave you." He was permitted to do this also; and, having adjusted the bed-clothes, he grew bolder, and proposed some tea. The kindness of this poor boy found its way to his heart; and, in spite of all his daring, independent spirit, his bowels melted, and his iron face displayed the starting tear.
The captain now declined apace: his weakness was daily increasing, and he became gradually convinced that he should not live many weeks at farthest. Alarmed at the idea of death, and ignorant of the way of salvation, with a conscience thundering conviction to his guilty soul, he cried one morning, as Bob opened the state-room door and affectionately inquired, "Well, master, how is it with you this morning?" "Ah, Bob, I'm very bad; my body is getting worse and worse, but I should not mind that so much, were it not for my soul. O, Bob, what shall I do? I am a great sinner. I'm afraid I shall go to hell-I deserve it, Alas, Bob, I'm a lost man." "O no, master," said the boy, "Jesus Christ can save you." "No, Bob, no; I cannot see the least prospect of being saved. Oh what a sinner I have been; what will become of me?" His stony heart was broken, and he poured out his complaints before the boy, who strove all he could to comfort him, but it vain.
One morning, as soon as the boy appeared, the captain said, "O, Bob, I've been thinking of a Bible. I know there is not one in the cabin; go forward and see if you can find one in the men's chests." The boy succeeded, and the poor dying man beheld him enter with tears of joy. "Ah, Bob, that will do, that will do; you must read to me, and I shall soon know whether such a wicked man as I am can be saved, and how it is to be done. Now, Bob, sit down on my chest, and read to me out of that blessed book." "Where shall I read, master?" "I do not know, Bob. I never read it myself; but try and pick out some places that speak about sinners and salvation." "Well, master, then I'll take the New Testament; you and I shall understand it better, for as my poor, mother used to say, there are not so many hard words there." The boy read for two hours, while the captain, stretching his neck over the bed-place, listened with the eagerness of a man on the verge of eternity. Every word conveyed light to his mind, and his astonished soul soon beheld sin as he had never seen it before. The justice of God in his eternal ruin struck him with amazing force; and though he heard of a Savior, still the great difficulty of knowing how he could be saved appeared a mystery unfathomable. He ruminated a great part of the night on some passages Bob read, but they only served to depress his spirits and terrify his soul.
The next morning, when the boy entered the state-room, he exclaimed, "O, Bob, I shall never live to reach the land. I am dying very fast; you'll soon have to cast me overboard: but all this is nothing; my soul, my poor soul. Ah, Bob, my dear lad, what will become of my poor soul? Oh, I shall be lost for ever. Can't you pray?" "No, master, I never prayed in my life, any more than the Lord's prayer my mother taught me." "O, Bob, pray for me; go down on your knees and cry for mercy; do, Bob, God will bless you for it. Oh, kneel down, and pray for your poor wicked captain." The boy hesitated, the master urged; the lad wept, the master groaned, "God be merciful to me a sinner." Both cried greatly. "O, Bob, for God's sake kneel down and pray for me." Overcome by importunity and compassion, the boy fell on his knees, and with heavy sobs and in broken words, begged God to have pity on his poor dying master.
The captain was too much affected to speak. The simplicity, sincerity, and humility of the lad's prayer had so much impressed his mind, that he lay groaning inwardly with spiritual anguish, and wetting his couch with his tears. Bob retired on deck, for the scene had quite overcome him. In the evening he again read the Bible to the captain, whose soul appeared to receive every word with indescribable eagerness. The next morning, on entering the stateroom, the boy was struck with the extraordinary change visible in his master's features. That gloomy horror which had so long added to the natural ferocity of his weather-beaten countenance was fled, and the circumstances of the past night had settled the whole arrangement of his features into a holy, pleasant, calm and resigned state, that would seem to say, An heir of grace can find "glory begun below."
"O Bob, my dear lad," said the captain with great humility, "I have had such a night! After you left me, I fell into a sort of doze; my mind was full of the many blessed things you had been reading to me from the precious Bible. All on a sudden I thought I saw, in that corner of my bed-place, Jesus Christ bleeding on his cross. Struck with the view, I thought I arose and crawled to the place, and casting myself at his feet in the greatest agony of soul, I cried out for a long time, like the blind man you read of, ‘Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on me.' At length I thought he looked on me. Yes, my dear lad, he looked at your poor wicked captain; and Oh, Bob, what a look it was! I shall never forget it. My blood rushed to my heart; my pulse beat high; my soul thrilled with agitation, and, waiting for him to speak, with fear, not unmixed with hope, I saw him smile. Oh, my child, I saw him smile-yes, and he smiled on me-on me, Bob. Oh, my dear boy, be smiled on wretched, guilty me. Ah, what did I feel at that moment; my heart was too full to speak, but I waited, and ventured to look up, when I heard him say, hanging as he did on the cross, the blood streaming from his hands and feet and side-Oh, Bob, what sounds were these; shall I ever hear his beloved voice again?-I heard him say, in sounds that angels cannot reach, ‘Son, be of good cheer; thy sins, which be many, are forgiven thee!' My heart burst with joy: I fell prostrate at his feet; I could not utter a word but, Glory, glory, glory. The vision vanished: I fell back on my pillow; I opened my eyes; I was covered with perspiration. I said, Oh this cannot be a dream. No, Bob, I know that Jesus bled and died for me; I can believe the promises, the many precious promises you have read to me out of the Bible, and I feel that the blood of the cross can cleanse even me. I am not now afraid to die; no, Bob, my sins are pardoned through Jesus. I want no more; I am now ready to die; I have no wish to live. I cannot, I feel I cannot be many days longer on this side of eternity. The extreme agitation of my mind of late has increased the fever of my body, and I shall soon breathe my last."
The boy, who had silently shed many tears, now burst into a flood of sorrow, and involuntarily cried, "No, my dear master, don't leave me." "Bob," said he, calmly, "my dear boy, comfort your mind; I am happy, I am going to be happy for ever. I feel for you; my bowels yearn over you as if you were my own child. I am sorry to leave you in such a wicked world, and with such wicked men as sailors are in general. Oh, may you ever be kept from those crimes into which I have fallen. Your kindness to me, my dear lad, has been great; God will reward you for it. To you I owe every thing as an instrument in the Lord's hands. Surely he sent you to me. God bless you, my dear boy; tell my crew to forgive me, as I forgive and pray for them." Thus the day passed in the most pleasing and profitable manner, when Bob, after reading the Bible as usual, retired to his hammock.
The next morning Bob arose at daylight, and opening the state-room door, saw his master had risen from his pillow and crawled to the corner of his bed-place where, in his dream, he beheld the cross. There he appeared kneeling down in the attitude of prayer, his hands clasped and raised, and his body leaning against the ship's side. But the spirit had fled some hours before, we hope, to be with Christ, which is far better.
The captain now declined apace: his weakness was daily increasing, and he became gradually convinced that he should not live many weeks at farthest. Alarmed at the idea of death, and ignorant of the way of salvation, with a conscience thundering conviction to his guilty soul, he cried one morning, as Bob opened the state-room door and affectionately inquired, "Well, master, how is it with you this morning?" "Ah, Bob, I'm very bad; my body is getting worse and worse, but I should not mind that so much, were it not for my soul. O, Bob, what shall I do? I am a great sinner. I'm afraid I shall go to hell-I deserve it, Alas, Bob, I'm a lost man." "O no, master," said the boy, "Jesus Christ can save you." "No, Bob, no; I cannot see the least prospect of being saved. Oh what a sinner I have been; what will become of me?" His stony heart was broken, and he poured out his complaints before the boy, who strove all he could to comfort him, but it vain.
One morning, as soon as the boy appeared, the captain said, "O, Bob, I've been thinking of a Bible. I know there is not one in the cabin; go forward and see if you can find one in the men's chests." The boy succeeded, and the poor dying man beheld him enter with tears of joy. "Ah, Bob, that will do, that will do; you must read to me, and I shall soon know whether such a wicked man as I am can be saved, and how it is to be done. Now, Bob, sit down on my chest, and read to me out of that blessed book." "Where shall I read, master?" "I do not know, Bob. I never read it myself; but try and pick out some places that speak about sinners and salvation." "Well, master, then I'll take the New Testament; you and I shall understand it better, for as my poor, mother used to say, there are not so many hard words there." The boy read for two hours, while the captain, stretching his neck over the bed-place, listened with the eagerness of a man on the verge of eternity. Every word conveyed light to his mind, and his astonished soul soon beheld sin as he had never seen it before. The justice of God in his eternal ruin struck him with amazing force; and though he heard of a Savior, still the great difficulty of knowing how he could be saved appeared a mystery unfathomable. He ruminated a great part of the night on some passages Bob read, but they only served to depress his spirits and terrify his soul.
The next morning, when the boy entered the state-room, he exclaimed, "O, Bob, I shall never live to reach the land. I am dying very fast; you'll soon have to cast me overboard: but all this is nothing; my soul, my poor soul. Ah, Bob, my dear lad, what will become of my poor soul? Oh, I shall be lost for ever. Can't you pray?" "No, master, I never prayed in my life, any more than the Lord's prayer my mother taught me." "O, Bob, pray for me; go down on your knees and cry for mercy; do, Bob, God will bless you for it. Oh, kneel down, and pray for your poor wicked captain." The boy hesitated, the master urged; the lad wept, the master groaned, "God be merciful to me a sinner." Both cried greatly. "O, Bob, for God's sake kneel down and pray for me." Overcome by importunity and compassion, the boy fell on his knees, and with heavy sobs and in broken words, begged God to have pity on his poor dying master.
The captain was too much affected to speak. The simplicity, sincerity, and humility of the lad's prayer had so much impressed his mind, that he lay groaning inwardly with spiritual anguish, and wetting his couch with his tears. Bob retired on deck, for the scene had quite overcome him. In the evening he again read the Bible to the captain, whose soul appeared to receive every word with indescribable eagerness. The next morning, on entering the stateroom, the boy was struck with the extraordinary change visible in his master's features. That gloomy horror which had so long added to the natural ferocity of his weather-beaten countenance was fled, and the circumstances of the past night had settled the whole arrangement of his features into a holy, pleasant, calm and resigned state, that would seem to say, An heir of grace can find "glory begun below."
"O Bob, my dear lad," said the captain with great humility, "I have had such a night! After you left me, I fell into a sort of doze; my mind was full of the many blessed things you had been reading to me from the precious Bible. All on a sudden I thought I saw, in that corner of my bed-place, Jesus Christ bleeding on his cross. Struck with the view, I thought I arose and crawled to the place, and casting myself at his feet in the greatest agony of soul, I cried out for a long time, like the blind man you read of, ‘Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on me.' At length I thought he looked on me. Yes, my dear lad, he looked at your poor wicked captain; and Oh, Bob, what a look it was! I shall never forget it. My blood rushed to my heart; my pulse beat high; my soul thrilled with agitation, and, waiting for him to speak, with fear, not unmixed with hope, I saw him smile. Oh, my child, I saw him smile-yes, and he smiled on me-on me, Bob. Oh, my dear boy, be smiled on wretched, guilty me. Ah, what did I feel at that moment; my heart was too full to speak, but I waited, and ventured to look up, when I heard him say, hanging as he did on the cross, the blood streaming from his hands and feet and side-Oh, Bob, what sounds were these; shall I ever hear his beloved voice again?-I heard him say, in sounds that angels cannot reach, ‘Son, be of good cheer; thy sins, which be many, are forgiven thee!' My heart burst with joy: I fell prostrate at his feet; I could not utter a word but, Glory, glory, glory. The vision vanished: I fell back on my pillow; I opened my eyes; I was covered with perspiration. I said, Oh this cannot be a dream. No, Bob, I know that Jesus bled and died for me; I can believe the promises, the many precious promises you have read to me out of the Bible, and I feel that the blood of the cross can cleanse even me. I am not now afraid to die; no, Bob, my sins are pardoned through Jesus. I want no more; I am now ready to die; I have no wish to live. I cannot, I feel I cannot be many days longer on this side of eternity. The extreme agitation of my mind of late has increased the fever of my body, and I shall soon breathe my last."
The boy, who had silently shed many tears, now burst into a flood of sorrow, and involuntarily cried, "No, my dear master, don't leave me." "Bob," said he, calmly, "my dear boy, comfort your mind; I am happy, I am going to be happy for ever. I feel for you; my bowels yearn over you as if you were my own child. I am sorry to leave you in such a wicked world, and with such wicked men as sailors are in general. Oh, may you ever be kept from those crimes into which I have fallen. Your kindness to me, my dear lad, has been great; God will reward you for it. To you I owe every thing as an instrument in the Lord's hands. Surely he sent you to me. God bless you, my dear boy; tell my crew to forgive me, as I forgive and pray for them." Thus the day passed in the most pleasing and profitable manner, when Bob, after reading the Bible as usual, retired to his hammock.
The next morning Bob arose at daylight, and opening the state-room door, saw his master had risen from his pillow and crawled to the corner of his bed-place where, in his dream, he beheld the cross. There he appeared kneeling down in the attitude of prayer, his hands clasped and raised, and his body leaning against the ship's side. But the spirit had fled some hours before, we hope, to be with Christ, which is far better.
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