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SKETCHES FROM LIFE; 



OR, 



ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE INFLUENCE OF 
CHRISTIANITY. 



! 




THIRD SERIES, 



AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY, 

150 NASSAU-STREET, NEW YORK. 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1871, by the American 
Tract Society, in the Olhce of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 






CONTENTS. 



Abrupt Prayer and Hasty Text- - - - - PAGE 298 

' ' After Many Days *'-- 238 

Aged Disciple, An 203 

Agnes' Discontent -•• 83 

"A Little Child shall lead Them " , 475 

"All is Eight — I am Satisfied " 235 

"All will be Eight " ~ 218 

" Always a Bright Side " - - - 398 

"Are You a Soldier of the Cross ?" 495 

Arrow, The Well-sped - 347 

Begin Eight 72 

Bible, The -- - 254 

Blacksmith's Wife - - 125 

Book, All about a 259 

Book, That Beautiful- 057 

Boy, and the Family Altar - - 58 

Boy of All Work igs 

Brand plucked out of the Fire 326 

Bride, The-- 1 H 

"Bring Me My Mother's Bible "- - 129 

Brothers, The Two* - -- 132 

Cabin-Boy's First Sabbath at Sea - 503 

Chalmers, Dr. , Power of 291 

Changed Household 33 

Change, The Mighty - 127 

Chaplain's Wife - 493 

Child-Swearing, What it did - 161 

Christ in Me - - 34.2 

Christ's Way J23 



6 CONTJ S ! 

Christ, What a Young Christian did for • 389 

Clergyman's Son 

CloakVTrimniings - 455 

Conversion on Battle-Field - -192 

Collier, The Praying - - - - 

Cousin Helen - - 97 

Crew, The Reformed - 

Cumberland Mountain Boy - - 

Deacon, a Noble - - 401 

Deacon's Son - 38 

Discipline of Toil - 368 

"Does Jesus live with You Y* — 

Do n't break the Sabbath - 468 

Elder, The Distressed - 

Ellie and her Father - - 1 38 

Fainting Pastor encouraged - - 332 

Faint Not 194 

Faithful Prudy - 175 

Faith in God's Promises 

Faith's Victory - 

Family, ' ' Sorrowful, yet Ptejoicing " 

• ' Father never Prays " - S3 

Father's Example - - - 7 J 

' ' Feed My Lambs 305 

Finger, The Cut - - - - - 60 

Fort Donelson Hero 

Gathering Crowd, The 

Gay Wife. A, and her Husband 1-1 

Gem, The Hidden - - 

Gentle Lucretia 374 

Go Forward 9-4 

Good News, The - 

Governess and the Slave 394 

Grandmother's Story 116 

Grievously Vexed - - 87 

Hard Times, A Thought for 

Harriet'^ T;i-k - 3<~ 



CONTENTS. 7 

"He is my Christ" --- - 479 

How to become Great 42 

Humble Opportunities ■-- 318 

Husband's Testimony, The - - 51 

Husbands, The Two 428 

" I dare not pray" -- - - 421 

" If Two of You shall agree " - - - - T 450 

"I know where to look " ••- 178 

" I 'm not to be caught in that Way " — 303 

Influence of One Act - - - - 69 

Injured Wife - — 215 

"Instant out of Season " 377 

Invitation to Church 395 

"I see Light" 295 

"It's more to Me how He lived" -' 44 

"It will do no Good to swear" - 162 

" I 've a Pain in my Breast " - 316 

"I was talking with my Saviour " - - - - - - 214 

"Jack, we shall pray for You " 509 

Joseph Dean - - 109 

Legacies, The Two - - 265 

Lesson of God's Providence — - -- 90 

Letter, A Welcome - 205 

Lieutenants, The Two 462 

Listener jA the Door — 03 

Little Mary --- 103 

Little Son's Message 151 

" Love Ye the Stranger " - - - -103 

Man at Work in his Meadow, The 479 

Mantua-Maker and the Actress - - 151 

Marion, Francis -471 

Morning Call - - - 415 

Mother at the Mercy-Seat 19 

Mother, A Christian - - - - 143 

Mother's Steadfast Faith -- 180 

Mother's Trust -226 

" Never mention it to Me again '' — 4'J3 



8 CONTENTS. 

OldBetty 182 

Old Blue Shawl - 372 

Old Man's Faith 

" Only believe " - 343 

Orphan Lawyer - • 191 

Orphan's Indian Mother - -- 359 

Out of Prison - -- 349 

Pastor's Daughter and German Sailor - 500 

Persecuted Disciple - - 222 

Pet Bird, Selling the - 382 

"Plans of a Lifetime " 35 

Prairie Wife and Mother - • 244 

Prayer, A Mother's- - 435 

Prayer, A Pious Mother's ' - 42G 

Prayer a Power - 430 

Prayer behind the Corn-Shock 183 

Prayer-Meeting at the HaU -386 

Prayer-Meeting, The Deacon's 415 

Prayer, The Infidel's - 437 

Prayer, The New - - - - - - - 425 

Prayer, The Voice of - 412 

Prayer, United, of Four Mothers- - - 416 

Praying Wife, The r - - 121 

"Pray without Ceasing " - - 438 

Pray with your Child - - - - 61 

Preparation Week 99 

Price of a Child's Religion - - - 49 

Promise, The, that was kept - - • 357 

Pulpit and the Beech-Tree- - 410 

Puzzle Solved 149 

Railroad Conductor - 146 

Rebel Subdued 334 

Rebuke of a Child 142 

' ' Remember the Sabbath-Day '* 

' • Retiring Hour " 440 

Return, The 501 

Revival. Waiting for a - 321 



CONTENTS. 9 

■ ' Kich in Faith " - 220 

Sabbath Breaking and its Fruits - 460 

Sabbath Hunter ■ 457 

Sailor, The Reckless 514 

Salome, Miss - 391 

Scott, The Vermont Sentinel - - - 477 

Silent Preaching - - - 113 

Sinner, An Aged - --- 274 

Sinners' Corner, The - ■ 311 

Soldier's Conversion -. - 482 

Soldier's Funeral .- 487 

Soldier's Mother 469 

Soldier's Prayer ■ 488 

Soldier, The Old German 198 

Soldier, The Savage - 489 

"So much to be Thankful for"- - - 189 

Son, The Wayward 105 

Story of Jacob Manfred - - - - 174 

Student and Thomas V - - - - 312 

Summer Travelling - --- 405 

Swearing Henry - - 270 

"Take your Mother's Saviour for your Stfviour :: 467 

Tale of Long Ago - - 247 

Teacher's Reward -- 309 

Tell the Lord - - - - - - 433 

"That Cross!" - - -- 195 

" That 's just the Book for Yon" --- - 2G7 

« ' There is my Closet " - - - 136 

There 's no God up Here - 82 

"There 's Eock at the Bottom " - • 163 

Try Christ - - 405 

Two Strong Anns, The ----- - 252 

Uncle Ben --- -- --- 156 

'• Unworthy" — "Jesus Christ" - - 229 

Visit, The Timely- - - 281 

Voice, The Still, Small 307 

Waiting to be Spoken to 134 



10 CONTENTS. 

Wanderer, The, and Family Prayer 448 

Washerwoman, The Pious - - - - 353 

Weeping on the Steps 210 

We must do God's Words - - 140 

' ' What Course do You Mean to Pursue ?" 231 

"Who will take her Place?" 154 

' ' Why do n't You pray ?" - - 144 

Widow and Twelve Children 171 

Widow's Son -- - — 512 

Wife's Six-Mile Walk - - 54 

"Will You not share it with Me ?" - 1G6 

" Wiser than my Maker " 290 

Wives, The Two - - 422 

Writing on the Wall - - - - - - 1 5 2 

"You do n't know Jesus " - 249 

Young Dane and her Espoused - 446 

' ' You read, I 'm too wicked " 30 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



THE FAMILY. 

THE BRIDE. 

"Henry, my son," said Mrs. Manly, "will yon 
allow me a few moments' conversation this evening?" 
" Certainly, mother." " You tell me you are to be 

married in a few months to Helen S of B ?" 

"Yes, mother, Ave are engaged; but you certainly can 
have no objections to so elegant a lady. No family 
in that city stands higher in wealth or influence." 
" All that is true, very likely, and I have no objec- 
tions on that ground; but have you weighed the 
matter thoroughly ? Have you made up your mind 
to live religion, let what will come?" "Why, mother, 
I am a member of the church, and humbly hope I 
always may be. I have never seen a moment that I 
wished to leave God's people. I have failings, it is 
true, but by the grace of God I hope to conquer." 
" All this is very well, my boy, and your promised 
bride is without doubt an amiable lady. But she is 
a daughter of fashion, brought up in all the luxuries 



12 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

of wealth — accustomed to attending church, it is 
true, but I fear destitute of vital piety. You have 
my best wishes for your happiness through life; but 
promise me you will begin right. Promise me you 
will begin your wedded life with reading the Scrip- 
tures and prayer. Tell me, Henry, that you will i 
and sustain a family altar." The young man's face 
crimsoned. He hesitated a little, and finally replied, 
" Yes, mother, God helping me, I will." 

Three months elapsed, and a lady arrayed in her 
bridal robes sat in her own dressing-room. Beside 
her was a youthful but gentlemanly man, apparently 
a little thoughtful. " Pardon me, Henry," said the 
lady, "what is the matter? Y^ou look almost sad. 
T trust you are not unhappy." " Oh, nothing, love, 
notliing is the matter. Shall we have worship this 
evening?" at the same moment drawing the Bible 
near him. "Just as you choose, of course; but for 
myself I feel that I am doing very well;" a slight 
flush passing over her countenance. Henry made 
no further remarks. The ice was broken; and open- 
ing the Bible, he read a portion of Scripture ; then 
falling upon his knees, prayed earnestly. He arose 
strengthened, with a full determination to discharge 
every known duty. 

The family altar was reared, and he had only to 
s'^'i/i'L it, an item he was careful not to neglrct. 
Henry persevered. There was a secret hope that 
by-and-by his youthful partner would join him. 
Months passed by; but when the hour for prayer 
came round, the wife sat in her chair unmoved, not 
even bowing her head while the husband prayed. 



THE BRIDE. 13 

No words passed between them upon the subject. 
He did not request her to kneel, but every day he 
retired alone, and offered up a prayer for Jier. One 
day the young wife was out, and Henry was kneel- 
ing in their own room. Her return was sooner than 
he anticipated, and as she stepped on the hall stairs, 
she heard the voice of prayer. Helen listened ; and 
with all the fervency of an agonizing spirit, her faith- 
ful husband was pleading with heaven for her con- 
version. "For her sake, Father, have mercy; not 
for me, but for her, O God." 

This was all she heard. She felt in a ' moment 
that she had done wrong in refusing to kneel with 
him. A conviction came over her that it was cold 
and ungrateful to one who always treated her with 
so much kindness. She made up her mind at once 
to countenance his reading the Scriptures, and to 
kneel with him at prayer-time. This resolution was 
carried out; and occasionally, as Henry stepped into 
then room unawares, he found his wife reading the 
Bible. Nothing was said to annoy her; but often 
and earnestly his prayers went up for her in secret. 

One evening Henry was going out to attend the 
prayer-meeting, when, turning to Helen, he said in a 
kind voice, "Would you like to go, dear?" Throw- 
ing on her bonnet and shawl, they were soon on the 
way. Finding nothing unpleasant at the prayer- 
meeting, she went again and again, and in a few 
months was as close an attendant as her husband. 
Henry saw a change, slow, but sure. 

As they entered their room one Sabbath, after 
listening to an awakening sermon, Henry ventured 



14 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

to ask one or two questions. To his surprise, he was 
only answered by a flood of tears. "I am a sim 
Henry. I am lost for ever" was all the -youthful 
wife could reply. "But there is hope for you, I 
humbly trust, my dear Helen. Do you wish to be 
a Christian V" "I would give the world, were it 
mine to give, to feel that peace you have always 
seemed to possess." " Could you bear the reproaches 
of the world, of your own family in particular? for 
you have no reason to expect them to favor your 
opinions." "I have felt for the last three weeks 
willing to bear anything that could come upon me, 
if I could only fe.el that my name was written in 
heaven." "You really feel, then, that to be a heart 
Christian is the essential item of life?" "I do, in- 
deed." Both fell upon their knees, and long and 
earnest was the prayer that Henry offered up. Then 
for the first time in her life hi the presence of any 
human being, the young wife opened her lips to 
God. She arose with some spiritual light, and ere 
a w T eek had elapsed she was rejoicing in the Lord. 

Years afterwards Mrs. Manly had the pleasure 
of seeing her daughter-in-law a faithful Christian; 
and Henry, in all the trials of life, found a partner 
ready to assist him in every good tcord and work. L. 



A QAY WIFE AND HEF( HU5BAND. 

In the retired and quiet town of X , not far 

from the rock on which our pilgrim fathers landed, 
and near the spot where the dust of many of them 
reposes, may be seen a neat and pleasant lions. 



A GAY WIFE AND HER HUSBAND. 15 

abode of Mr. and Mrs. E . Happy in eacli 

other, and mingling in a large circle of gay compan- 
ions, they lived only lor this world. 

The husband was devoted to the pursuit of an 
honest calling, but a despiser of the religion of 
Christ, almost entirely neglecting the house of God 
on the Sabbath. Instead of going to the sanctuary, 
the sacred hours of the holy day were spent in rov- 
ing about in search of pleasure, or in reading light 
books and papers. 

The wife attended public worship, though she 
cherished a deep-seated hatred of Christians, be- 
cause they were Christians. She loved dress and 
fashion, and went to the house of God to see and 
be seen, and while away the hours of holy time. 

She had a godly mother, who had long prayed 
for the conversion of her children. The Spirit of 
God, in the recent months of refreshing, came down 
in the town where the mother resided, which was 

but a few miles from N . Her family was blessed, 

and her daughters at home made the hopeful sub- 
jects of renewing grace. 

When the tidings reached the ears of Mrs. E , 

she resolved that, however it might be with her sis- 
ters, her own heart should never be moved. She 
resolved to resist to the utmost all serious feelings. 

She soon found, however, she was not quite . at 
rest. She did not so well enjoy the company of her 
gay companions, }*et she could not tell why. She 
found herself inclined to withdraw from those places 
of pleasure she had always loved so well — a mystery 
to herself — and the question would arise in her own 



16 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

mind, What does this mean? am I going to be a 
Christian ? No, I will never be a Christian. I will 
never give up my pleasures for religion. 

This state of mind had continued about three 
weeks, when she received an invitation from her 
mother and sisters to visit them, and at once decided 
to go, at the same time resolving that nothing they 
should say to her on the subject of religion should 
move her heart. This resolution gained strength 
until she reached her mother's house, and the time 
drew near for her to leave. 

Religion was the theme on which her mother and 
sisters dwelt ; they deeply interested, while she was 
filled with the hatred of the unrenewed heart. In 
the course of conversation, the mother, with the 
yearnings of a mother's heart, made a direct appeal 

to her, saying with tears, " O A , will you be left of 

all our family, to perish in sin?" This question was 
an arrow which pierced her heart, and with tears 
and trembling she said, "Mother, will you pray for 
me?" The mother knelt in prayer, and besought 
God that he would, in his abounding mercy and 
grace, bow the stubborn will of her loved daughter, 
and lead her to accept of offered mercy without 
delay. She then told her that she had been made 
a subject of special prayer in a little praying-circle, 
every day for three weeks, the very three weeks she 
had felt such a disinclination to engage in her usual 
round of worldly pleasure. 

At evening she returned to her home, and went 
to the house of the pastor, and left a request for him 
to call earlv in the morning. He did so, and found 



A GAY WIFE AND HER HUSBAND. 17 

lier rejoicing in hope of pardoned sin. The conflict 
was over, her will subdued, and the "peace which 
passeth knowledge " filled her soul. 

She now thought of her husband, who was most 
of the time from home, his business being in another 
town. Knowing his hostility to religion, she feared 
to conmiunicate her feelings to him ; but, after implo- 
ring divine aid and committing the whole matter to 
God, she frankly wrote him of the wonderful change 
in her feelings, and the great joy she felt in the ser- 
vice of Christ, tenderly entreating him to seek the 
salvation of his soul. 

He had long been in the habit of writing to her 
weekly, but to this he made no reply. Meanwhile 
he was made a subject of special prayer, not only by 
his anxious wife, but by the same circle of friends 
who had so earnestly prayed for her. 

After waiting a short time, she wrote again, but 
as before, received no reply. Her heart was greatly 
troubled; and with trembling she penned a third 
letter, which he very coldly answered, saying that 
"she had destroyed all his happiness; he had now 
no wife, no home, no pleasure in anjining; 5 ' adding, 
" I may be at home at Thanksgiving ; but if I come, 
do n't speak to me." 

Thanksgiving came at length. In all these weeks 
she had not seen lihn, and had scarcely heard from 
him; but she betook herself to prayer, entreating 
God to appear for her, and grant her wisdom and 
grace for every emergency, and bring her husband 
into the kingdom of Christ. 

When he arrived she greeted him tenderly and 



18 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

affectionately, but received only a cold look in re- 
turn, without a word being uttered by him. He 
-sed into the house, maintaining the same cold- 
ness and dissatisfaction day after day, constantly 
avoiding her society. 

After a suitable time, she felt it to be her duty 
and privilege to connect herself with the people of 
God by a public profession of her faith. This she 
desired to do with the church to which her mother 
and sisters belonged, a few miles distant. She made 
her wish known to her husband, and procured a car- 
riage, which was brought to the door. She said to 

him, "E , will you not go with me?" "No," 

said he, adding with a dreadful oath, "I hope you 
will never come back." 

She again sought relief in prayer ; and dropping 
a few tracts where they might come in his way, with 
tearful eyes but a trusting heart she left her hus- 
band that she might confess Christ before men. 

From an inmate in the family she afterwards 
learned that when she was gone he seemed troubled, 
walking about the house, looking over the tracts, and 

finally wondering when A . would come back, 

seeming impatient for her return. 

On reaching home at evening, she said, as she 

met her husband, "E— , you are willing to see me, 

are you not?" He made but little reply, retiring to 
another room. His wife having occasion soon after 
to go into the same apartment, found him alone, but 

troubled. Said he, " A , will you pray for me ?" 

She knelt in prayer, while her conscience-stricken, 
trembling husband bowed at her side, and with 



A MOTHER AT THE MERCY-SEAT. 19 

strong crying and tears spread his case before God # 
That prayer was heard. His sins rose like moun- 
tains before him, and he found no rest until he was 
brought to a free and full surrender of himself to 
Christ. The lips which had so long profaned God's 
name were opened in prayer, and the heart so full of 
bitterness was filled with love. 

The husband soon connected himself with the 
same church his wife had so recently joined. The 
worthless books with which his house was supplied 
were laid aside, and the Bible and a goodly number 
of devotional books occupy their places. 

Who can doubt the power of prayer ? " Ask, and 
ye shall receive." e. 



A MOTHER AT THE MERCY~£EAT. 

A mothee had been for years the only Christian 
in the family. Her husband and- nine children were 
not immoral, but none of them gave evidence of piety. 

Had this mother been less firm in character and 
faith, and less resolute of purpose, she might have 
yielded to the current, pleading that resistance was 
unavailing. But she was qualified to meet the re- 
sponsibility of her position. She felt that God had 
had committed to her trust ten unconverted souls, 
dear as her own life, and that she must so fulfil the 
obligations resting on her, that if any were lost it 
should not be through her neglect of duty. # 

She carefully endeavored, first of all, that her 
own life should be consistent with her profession, 
and she also improved every propitious season in 



20 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

giving judicious instruction and warning. She used 
all appropriate means, and in her various efforts love 
was the dominant power, exhibited in those acts of 
kindness which are " a potent winner of the heart." 
But her great reliance was upon fervent, unceasing 
prayer, sent upward to the mercy-seat with unwaver- 
ing faith in the divine promises. In the many sup- 
plications offered in secret, the strength of maternal 
love added fervor to devotion. She used to say that 
her thoughts were diverted, and the ardor of inter- 
cession dampened by passing over different topics; 
and therefore, although she prayed for all her family 
at once, yet so she could not " pour out her heart 
like water before the Lord." She presented each 
child separately before the throne of grace. In this 
individual supplication she formed the habit of what 
might be called concentrated prayer. The power of 
supplication was expended upon one child, as if it 
had been an only one ; and intense became the ear- 
nestness thus fixed and kindling upon a single object. 
This was indeed prayer, and in his own time it pre- 
vailed with God. 

But long had this mother seemed to pray in vain, 
and her faith was sorely tried through years of "hope 
deferred." Yet now the reaping time was near. She 
who had gone forth weeping, sowing the precious seed, 
was to return again, bringing her sheaves with her. 

The first convert was the eldest daughter; the 
two eldest sons soon after obtained the good hope 
through grace. And successively, at intervals, the 
nine children all made a profession of faith. 

Unbounded thankfulness and joyfilled the moth- 



A MOTHEE AT THE MERCY-SEAT. 21 

er's heart, but one sorrow remained. The husband 
and father was still impenitent. There was great 
despondency on his account, for he was now advan- 
cing in years, and he had begun to form the habit 
of intemperance. For him, the many prayers re- 
mained unanswered. Had the supplicating wife, in 
the abundance of her blessings, received all that 
God was willing to grant? Must the father see all 
Iris family in the kingdom of heaven, and be himself 
" thrust out " ? This thought was a burden too heavy 
to be borne, and yet she who by " the fervent effec- 
tual prayer of the righteous " had obtained so much, 
feared that her last desire, the salvation of her hus- 
band, might not be granted. All her tears, entrea- 
ties, and prayers had not prevailed; and might not 
the harvest be past ? 

After much painful reflection, the faithful wife 
resolved to make one more effort, and then leave the 
case with God. She spent a night of anguish, with 
a- fervor of supplication she had never before expe- 
rienced ; and in the morning she thus addressed her 
husband: "I have offered for you many prayers; 
have often entreated you to attend to your salva- 
tion ; but it has been all in vain. God has given me 
my children, but you are without hope. I can do 
no more. We have lived happily together in time, 
but I fear we must be separated in eternity; I have 
but one more request to make, and then I must 
leave you. with God. Do, this moment, seehthe salva- 
tion of your soul." 

This message, brought down from the " mount of 
God," was irresistible. The husband seemed for a 



22 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

moment paralyzed and speechless. Finding utter- 
ance, he simply replied -with significant emphasis, 
" I mil." He immediately left his work and retired 
to the field, resolving, as he afterwards said, never 
to return till he had become a Christian. The whole 
long summer day down to the deep shades of night 
was he absent, to the alarm of his family, who sought 
but found him not. Thinking himself that they 
would be distressed at his absence, he returned, not 
a. Christian, but deeply laden with the burden of 
sin. Some days passed away, and then he experi- 
enced a change from death to life. He dared not 
at first trust the evidences of conversion, but the 
light increased as he "followed on to know the Lord," 
and fear was overpowered by joy. 

A revival of religion had commenced at the time, 
and the aged convert attended the evening meeting. 
He supposed that none had heard of the change in 
his character, but there was joy on earth, as well 
as " among the angels," for the tidings had spread 
abroad. When the meeting was dismissed, the young 
converts and members of the church gathered around 
the new disciple, taking hini by surprise as they 
rejoiced over his salvation. It was a moving scene. 
As he described it, " The young people wept, and I 
wept. We were all children together, and I as much 
a child as any of them." The cup of the praying 
mother could hold no more. God had granted all 
that she asked, and she could now hope to sit down 
at last with all her family in heaven. Oh, infinite 
reward of faith and prayer! What glory of earth 
can be named with this? 



••FATHER NEVER PRAYS," 23 

The praying mother still lives, extremely aged, 
blind, infirni, but retaining remarkably her mental 
faculties, and her spiritual Vigor. She has seen her 
children connected with pious families, and listened 
to some of them as preachers of the gospel. Most 
of her grandchildren are also members of the church, 
one a missionary to a foreign land ; and for each of 
the unconverted she continues the daily prayer. The 
aged disciple patiently waits, but longs to depart. 
She often turns her sightless orbs up towards heaven 
as if asking, How long, Lord, how long ? But long 
as her life has been protracted, she has not lived 
in vain. 

Christian mothers, see in this example what power 
God has granted you. Use it faithfully and well,. 
for great is "the recompense of reward."' w. M. 



11 FATHER NEVER PRAYg." 

Mb. L is a wealthy man, and with his wife 

and young family resides in one of our great cities. 

Mrs. L a few years since became the subject of 

divine grace, and is a humble and devoted follower 
of her Saviour. 

For a long time her husband's heart remained 
untouched. Morning and evening the pious mother 
gathered her little household about her, and the 
incense acceptable to God, the sacrifice of Christian 
hearts at the family altar, went up daily to his mer- 
cy-seat. But the husband and father of this family 
was never one of this happy group: Like the man 



24 sketches from life. 

ill the parable, when bidden, he would not come, but 
went to his merchandise in the busy city. 

How many Christian mothers amoug ns ei 
day assemble then loved ones about the family altar 
to ask for the divine blessing and pardon for sins, 
and to give thanks, when he who should be the head 
of the family, even as Christ is the head of the 
church, turns his back upon these sacred duties. 

One morning when Mrs.* L was gathering 

her little flock about her for prayers, Willie, the 
youngest, a boy three years old, steadily resisted the 
call, and started to go down stairs with a very manly 
stmt. "Come to prayers, Wilhe," said the mother 
gently. " No, ma'am, I do n't want to say my pray- 
ers. I am a gentleman. Gentlemen never say their 
prayers. I am going to be a gentleman, and so I 
am not going to say my prayers any more." 

"But gentlemen do say their prayers, Willie," 
said the mother; "they pray to God to take care of 
them ; and I want my Willie to be a good boy, that 
God may love him ; and you cannot be a good boy 
if you don't pray." 

" Father never prays," answered the little fellow; 
"father is good, and father never pra; 

" Oh, little Willie, don't saj id the tearful 

mother ; " you do not know about that : father does 
not meet with us night and morning, but I trust he 
prays/' 

The little boy yielded, and the thoughtful mother 
pondered the saying in her heart, "Father never 
prays." 

That evening, after the little ones had laid them 



•THE PLANS OF A LIFETIME." 25 
down to sleep, and prayed to the Lord, Mr. L 



and his wife sat quietly together, and the gentle wife 
told her husband the story of little Willie, and his 
argument, "Father never prays." 

The strong man bowed his head, while tears 
dropped upon his open book. " A little child shall 
lead them." The father was conquered. He ac- 
knowledged his sinful example, and the two knelt 
down together and offered up their first united sacri- 
fice of praise and prayer. From that time Mr. L 

was never absent froni the family altar. However 
pressed with business, he made time to serve God. 
It is now a most happy, pious family. We pray 
that God's blessing may ever rest upon them. 

May it never be said of any husband and father 
who reads this true account, "Father never prays/' 
Children are great observers, and ponder things in 
their httle hearts. What a fearful responsibility for 
a father to bring up a young family, with no love or 
fear of God in his own heart ! Rather let all unite 
in God's service, knowing that their prayers and 
then* labors are not hi vain in the Lord. c. E. B. p. 



"THE PLAN5 Of A LIFETIME." 

Colonel G was a fond and ambitious father, 

but wholly irreligious. It was a favorite saying of 
his, that " a smart man might carve his own fortune ;" 
and to Ins Mends he sometimes added, "My own 
success in life I owe wholly to my own efforts. Res- 
olution and perseverance were the making of me." 



26 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

With regard to his only son lie thought and said, 
" I shall give Albert a thorough education ; and then, 
with the plans which I have laid out for him, and 
his own exertions, he can hardly fail of fortune and 
distinction. I mean to qualify him for some respon- 
sible and lucrative foreign post. His nature is too 
active and enterprising to be satisfied with the dull 
routine of ordinary business; he must go abroad, 
that is certain; and I shall prepare him to fill the 
highest station which fortune may open to him. All 
the foreign languages he must master thoroughly; 
there is no telling what he may not have occasion 
to know; and he learns so easily, that the acquisi- 
tion will be only a pleasure to him." 

Albert G , to all human view, seemed likely 

to realize his father's hopes and anticipations. He 
had health, talent, and activity; was virtuous and 
amiable; and entered with spirit into the plans so 
sagaciously laid out for him. The Colonel was full 
of faith in the success of his schemes, and when his 
son completed with honor his career at the Univer- 
sity, and was pronounced the most promising young 
man of his class, and as popular as he was promis- 
ing, the fond father foresaw the brilliant future which 
he had predicted nigh at hand. Two years more 
must be given to complete the young man's comple- 
ment of modern languages, however ; and while so- 
journing near the college for the requisite facilit; 
he could read law with the LL. D.'s, and then he 
would be fully equipped for his career. 

With the ardor which was natural to his youth 
and position as well as temperament, Albert G 



"THE PLANS OF A LIFETIME." 27 

pursued his professional studies. But while thus 
engaged, an event occurred which taught both pa- 
rent and son that there is a divine providence in 
human affairs, and that the most sagacious and con- 
summate earthly plans are by no means secure from 
intervention or failure. This most unlooked for event 
was the sudden, but deep and solemn interest of 

Albert G in the subject of personal religion. 

It had never entered into his own or his father's 
schemes that he should become a Christian. But 
most unexpectedly to them both, the Spirit of God 
and the voice of conscience echoed through the 
chambers of his soul the declaration of God's word, 
" Rejoice, O young man, in thy youth, and let thy 
heart cheer thee in the days of thy youth, and walk 
in the ways of thy heart, and in the sight of thine 
eyes ; but know thou, that for all these things God 
will bring thee into judgment." 

When first the claims of his Maker were thus 
pressed upon him by the divine Word and Spirit, 
his heart was full of rebellion, and refused allegiance. 
But when he seriously considered the nature and 
justice of those claims, and saw what the Lord had 
done for him as Creator, Preserver, Redeemer, and 
constant Benefactor, his heart smote him for his im- 
piety. He realized the guilt and baseness of living 
only for himself ; he saw and mourned over his neg- 
lect and disobedience of his God and Saviour ; and 
humbly seeking that forgiveness and reconciliation 
which the gospel proffers to every penitent sinner, 
he cast himself at Jesus' feet with the humble inqui- 
ry, " Lord, what wilt thou have me to do ?" 



28 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

The news of this great change in his son was gall 
and wormwood to the father of Albert. At first he 
wrote to the young man angrily and threateningly. 
But quickly remembering that opposition and perse- 
cution might only render Albert more firm in his 
new course, he changed his plans. He even apolo- 
gized for his violence ; and assuring liis son that he 
only desired his real welfare, he kindly urged him to 
leave his studies for a while, and accompany him 
in a journey which he found necessary to his own 
health. Albert dutifully consented, and they made 
a long tour together. By previous arrangement of 
the parent, a round of festivities and gayeties await- 
ed their return, all designed to lure the young man 
from his new and serious views. Albert saw his 
father's plans and motives, and although he had 
some months before attained his majority, yet he 
resolved to obey his parent in everything not clearly 
inconsistent with his duties as a child of God. He 
did not feel that religion forbade innocent mirth, or 
extinguished social affections, and he tried to show 
his father and friends that he did not love them less 
for loving Jesus more. As he was very modest and 
quiet with regard to the change which had come 
over him, the Colonel hoped it was not so decisive 
and radical as from his letters he had feared. So 
he suffered him in a few weeks to return to his 
studies. But when they separated for that purpose, 
the parting words of the father were most signifi- 
cant: "Remember, Albert, there is to be no more 
of your serious stuff. This pious turn is all non- 
sense : I shall never tolerate it ; it would defeat the 



"THE PLANS OF A LIFETIME." 29 

plans .of a lifetime. So keep yourself clear, that 's 
all." 

Brief words and impious ; but to the heart of a 
Christian child sorely trying. Yet on the ear of 

Albert G , only the five words we have italicized 

fell with much weight. " The plans of a lifetime !" 
he repeated to himself as the boat slowly bore him 
down the river from his home. " The plans of a life- 
time !" how the words thrilled and haunted through 
the wakeful hours of that and many a subsequent 
night. " Yes," said he at last to himself as he reached 
the conclusion to which truth and duty led him; 
"yes," he wrote to his ambitious but disappointed 
father, " the plans of a lifetime are, must be changed. 
I cannot live to myself, I cannot make earthly fame 
or worldly fortune the object of my life. In my soul 
I feel that God would have me preach the gospel of 
his grace. And in my heart there throbs so deep 
a pity for the deluded and benighted heathen, so 
ardent a desire to tell them the way to heaven, that 
I cannot but see in the unusual education which I 
have received, a providential and imperative call to 
give myself to the cause of Foreign Missions." 

And this was the result which a divine hand had 
wrought out of all that subtle human scheming. The 
sound personal health and strength which had been 
so carefully trained; the gifts and graces so sedu- 
lously cultivated; the foreign tongues so dexterously 
acquired, all eminently fitted then possessor for the 
Master's use, and he called them into his service. 
Truly, " the heart of man deviseth his way, but the 
Lord directeth his steps." N. E. 



30 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

"YOU READ, I'M TOO WICKED." 

By attending meetings where the Bible and 
churches were ridiculed, and by reading skeptical 

authors, Mr. became a confirmed infidel. In his 

rage one day, while speaking against the followers of 
Jesus, he seized the Bible from the stand, cast it into 
flic fire, and watched it until it was consumed. His 
wife and child stood amazed, fearing to speak a. 
word. He continued in this mad career, spending 
his Sabbaths among scoffers and blasphemers, for- 
bidding both his wife and child to hear the word of 
God. 

Months passed away in this wretchedness, when, 
being alone with her mother one day, little Mary 
asked, " Mother, can't I go to Sabbath-school ?" " I 
should be willing," said her mother, " but you know 
your father will whip you if you go." " Can't I go 
in the afternoons, when father 's away at his meet- 
ing?" " Perhaps you might, but you know how your 
father hates religion." Mary hesitated, and then 
said, "If you will let me go, / wont mind being ic/<ij,- 
ped; may I go next Sabbath?" "You may, but 
take care how you speak of it to your father." "Oh, 
I 'm so glad," said the dear child, and her face lit 
up with cheerful smiles as she imprinted a kiss on 
her mother's cheek. 

The next Sabbath, Mary went for the first time 
to the Sabbath-school. She was delighted ; the sing- 
ing charmed her, the voice of prayer solemnized her, 
and the pious talk of a devoted teacher won her 
heart. That Sabbath to her was a high day, and a 



'YOU HEAD, I'M TOO WICKED." 31 

holy day. She became a faithful, diligent scholar. 
Her interest grew deeper in the truths of the Bible, 
while her affection for her teacher was most tender. 

It was not long before her teacher presented her 
with a small Bible as a birthday gift. She was de- 
lighted; but what could she do with it? Where 
could she conceal it ? Would it be burned like her 
mother's? Many anxious thoughts passed through 
her mind. Well she knew if it were placed on the 
book-shelf it would be destroyed. She concluded 
to hide it beneath her pillow. So between the bed 
and mattress she deposited her sacred treasure. 
Many were the happy hours she spent alone perusing 
its most precious pages. 

About two years after she began attending the 
school, one Sabbath afternoon her father came home 
earlier than usual. Haying to go up stairs for some- 
thing, on reaching Mary's room he heard her voice 
in earnest prayer : " O God, have mercy on my dear 
father. Show him his sins. Let him feel his need 
of Jesus Christ. May he seek thy mercy, and find 
peace through believing in Jesus." He stood pow- 
erless, ahnost paralyzed. Quietly he turned and 
came down stairs, and was overcome with a sense 
of his great guiltiness before God. The hand of God 
had touched him. The light of heaven had beamed 
upon his dark, polluted soul. He sank down on a 
chair, and said to his wife, "I feel very strange." 
His wife looking at him, anxiously said, " You do n't 
look well; what's the matter? Shall I send for a 
doctor?" "No, I'm not sick, but I feel an awful 
depression on my heart; isn't there a Bible in the 



3 k 2 SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 

house?" He sighed heavily, when Mary spoke, "Fa- 
ther, ] know where there is one; slnill I letch it?" 
"Yes, child, do." Quickly she was in her room, and 
brought the precious book and handed it to her 
father. He gave it to his wife, saying, "You read, 
I'm too kicked." Opening the book in the middle, 
her eye fell on the fifty-first psalm, which she read 
slowly and distinctly. "Have mercy upon me, O 
God, according to thy loving-kindness," never fell 
on ears more ready to receive them than was this 
poor trembling sinner. 

When the psalm was finished, he said, "Cant 
you pray for me ?" Blushing at such an unexpected 
request, she said, "No, I cannot; I have not prayed 
since I was a little girl." The dear child, seeing her 
father's distress, said, "Father, 1 shall I pray?" "Yes, 
child, if you can." She kneeled down, her father 
and mother both fell on their knees, when she poured 
out a fervent prayer for mercy and salvation for 
these her parents. God was in that room. Jesus 
was there to bless. The Holy Spirit was there to 
enlighten and sanctify. That father's heart was 
melted; so was his wife's; both wept together for 
their sins. 

Mary's face beamed with holy joy that her prayers 
were now answered. Many times had she sought 
the Lord alone, and prayed for her father's conver- 
sion. That day salvation came to that house. While 
] mrtaking of their evening meal, he said, " I would 
like to go somewhere to church, to-night." The wife 
answered, " I do n't know hardly where to go, but 
I'll go with you." Mary said, "Wont you go and 



A CHANGED HOUSEHOLD. 33 

hear Mr. B ?" They consented. She led them 

to that sanctuary where was her dear Sabbath- 
school. The gospel of Jesus was seriously and sol- 
emnly proclaimed, and the word reached the heart 
of this man. He went home to pray. He sought 
and obtained mercy. His wife became a Christian ; 
all three united with the church. Mary is now a 
devoted Sabbath-school teacher, endeavoring to lead 
other children to Christ. The infidel is a zealous 
Christian, and has written books defending the faith 
he once sought to destroy. Who can overestimate 
the influence of a pious child ? Verily " He leadeth 
the blind by a way they knew not, and in paths they 
have not known." J. E. 



A CHANQED HOUSEHOLD. 

One of the leading merchants of New York is 

Mr. D . He has always borne -the reputation of 

being a sound, straightforward, honorable man. To 
liim, " honor and justice " in his business relations 
were aE in all, not to be sacrificed at any price. 
His family consisted of his wife, to whom he was 
devotedly attached, and two sons just arrived at 
early manhood, who were his heart's joy and pride. 
With all his integrity, benevolence, and uprightness 
with his fellow-men, and affectionate kindness tow- 
ards his own household, ichat more tuas required of 
him ? He thought, nothing. He was intrenched be- 
hind his fortress of morality, and thought it a sure 
defence. 

His wife was highly esteemed bj r the circle m 
2* 



34 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

which she moved, and shone a star. Cultivated and 
accomplished, with an amiable disposition, her ac- 
quaintance sought by the gay and rich, the envy of 
the envious, indulged by her husband in every petty 
want, she lived only for this world and its pleasures ; 
swayed by the ever-changing tide of fashion; gov- 
erned by the question, "What will society think?" 
and by its opinions and usages. 

How often during the remarkable religious inter- 
est of the last year, when the hearts of the whole 
community seemed touched by a divine influence, 
and everywhere might be found new-born souls re- 
joicing in the Saviour, did I think of Mrs. J) , 

and long to know if she had felt something of that 
influence. But well I knew her opinion of revivals, 
or "periodical excitements," as she termed them; 
and I feared that deep-rooted prejudice might be a 
barrier between her soul and heaven. Prayers were 
offered in her behalf, in compliance with written re- 
quests, among assemblies of Christians, and very 
many in the closet where none but God could hear. 
I had not seen her for several weeks, and almost 
dreaded an interview. I felt that I could not speak 
to her, so many years my senior, of her personal 
need ; and yet, how could I refrain from expressing 
my earnest desire ? 

At length I determined to call upon her that very 
afternoon, and endeavor to introduce the subject in 
such a manner as to avoid offence if possible, yet 
expecting to hear it denounced as the supremest 
folly. To my surprise, when upon the point of leav- 
ing home for that purpose, I met her at my own 



A CHANGED HOUSEHOLD. 85 

door. She was unusually cordial in her greeting, 
and in reply to my inquiry why I had not seen her 
for so long a time, without hesitation and with a 
countenance beaming with joy and gladness, she 
said, " Oh, I have had so much to occupy my time — 
so many meetings; and I feel that I cannot miss 
any, for I trust I have entered upon a new life." 
After I had expressed my happiness at hearing such 
good tidings, she went on to say : 

"Edward, my eldest son, was the first to find this 
great treasure. He had been attending the prayer- 
meetings, I knew, and seemed unusually grave, but 
I thought it was merely an impulse of feeling excited 
by his mates, until he came to me one morning, and 
told me of his new-found hope, and evinced* such 
sincerity and deep-felt anxiety for the rest of us, 
that I was cut to the heart for my neglect, not only 
of my own duty to God, but of my children and of 
their souls' interest. 

" That evening I accompanied him to the meet- 
ing. I had not been to one since I was a girl under 
my father's roof ; and it brought back to me all my 
childhood, my father's counsel, and my mother's 
prayers and entreaties to seek Jesus in my youth; 
and I wondered that my heart could have grown so 
callous as to have forgotten it all. 

"But when to my surprise Edward rose, and in 
a few simple words told that he had found Jesus 
precious to his soul, my feelings were such as I can- 
not describe ; my heart was full of joy for him, and 
anguish for myself. When the opportunity was given 
for those who desired a special remembrance in the 



36 SKETCH ES FROM LIF1 

prayer about to be offered to rise, I could not refrain 
from an expression of rny desire, and I then felt that 
my soul must never rest hi peace until Christ was 
my Saviour. 

ki After my return home I had not the courage to 
tell my feelings to my husband, but he seemed to 
imagine what they were, for he appeared unusually 
silent and disturbed, but made no allusion to my 
going to the meeting. I passed a restless night and 
the following day. The happy face of my son was 
like an arrow continually piercing my soul; and the 
troubled countenance of my husband, usually so 
cheerful, forbade any revelation of my heart to him. 
Towards evening I called my son to my room. ' Tell 
me, Edward,' said I, ' how you came to feel as you 
do.' ' Why, mother, I can't see why I did not hope 
before: it is only to take Christ at his word, and tr< si 
him. I cannot help loving him now, and believing 
that he has forgiven me ; and if he loves me, mother, 
I am sure he must love you a great deal more.' 
1 Will you pray with me, my son?' 

" That prayer won me. It broke my heart, and a 
ray of light stole in. From that hour there seemed a 
new life within me. I never before supposed I was 
half so wicked as I find myself; but grace, I hope, 
will conquer the pride and selfishness which have so 
long had dominion over me. 

" But I have not yet told you half. Oh, I have 
such cause for thankfulness. This morning my hus- 
band commenced family prayer! He does not yet 
feel an assurance of his acceptance, but he says he 
will begin his duty as a Christian, and trust God for 



A CHANGED HOUSEHOLD. 37 

the rest. T do not think he will be suffered to re- 
main Long in darkness, he is so decided to begin the 
service of God. And Henry, my youngest boy, is 
certainly seeking the way, and I trust lie will find it." 

A few weeks later, when I called to see her at 
her own beautiful home, I learned that the Sabbath 
preceding, she and her husband and both sons had 
together made a public profession of their faith in 
Jesus Christ, and were now rejoicing in the same 
hope and in the same Saviour. " One Lord, one 
faith, one baptism." In the discharge of Christian 
duty, and in answer to prayer, the promise that the 
"Comforter should come and abide with him,*' had 

been fulfilled to Mr. D , and he now saw with a 

clearer vision the nature of his sinfulness and the 
wonders of redeeming love, and was able to say 
from a subdued heart, " Not because of any worthi- 
ness of my own, O God, but only on account of thine 
abounding goodness do I trust in thee." 

Quite recently I visited my friend again, and on 
entering her door found her prepared to go out on 
her errand of love among the destitute, with a pack- 
age of tracts in her hand, for she has begun to labor 
in her Master's vineyard. "It is nearly a year,'' 
said she, "since this change was wrought in my 
household, and I need not tell you that it has been 
the happiest year of my life. AVe have all had our 
trials, temptations, and sometimes doubts, but our 
strength and confidence is in the God of our salva- 
tion." "Changed indeed I" thought I. God h pi 
for so many changed households. e. f. c. h. 



38 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 

THE DEACON'3 gON. 

True piety is lovely, whether it be seen throwing 
its mellow light chastened by affliction on the even- 
ing of life, or in the spring-time of youth gilding 
with a heavenly lustre the present and future. It 
does not shrink from trials; but the greater the 
straits into which it is brought, the more precious it 
becomes. The fires may glow with seven-fold heat, 
but they affect not its vitality. It leads the soul 
towards heaven, and itself imparting true happiness, 
it desires to make all others happy too. 

"With what earnestness do truly pious parents 
sometimes pray for the conversion of a beloved 
though wayward child, and look for the answer which 
in some cases they begin to receive when they dis- 
cern it not. Thus Jacob prayed to the God of his 
fathers that He would bless him and multiply his 
seed, till they should be as the stars in number, and 
give them the promised land. But he did not recog- 
nize the answer in the removal of Joseph and the 
taking away of Benjamin. In his depression he 
hastily said, "All these things are against me;" yet 
the Lord was answering his prayer. He had sent 
Joseph before him into Egypt, to lay up a plentiful 
store of grain to sustain his numerous family. Dark 
as these providences seemed, they had a bright side. 
Very often the very things concerning which we mur- 
mur are the things God is giving us in answer to 
prayer. 

Deacon Wright was rich in faith, and an inheritor 
of the promise. He had a large family, most of 



THE DEACON'S SON. 39 

whom in the morning of their clays gave evidence, of 

piety, and were received into the church. There was 
one son, a young man about twenty years of age, 
who occasioned him much trouble; he was a reck- 
less young man, fond of gayety and amusements. 
While his father and mother and the remainder of 
the family were at worship, he was either reading a 
novel or wasting his time in frivolous conversation 
with his thoughtless companions. 

Deacon Wright talked with him, reasoned with 
him, and prayed for him, but all seemed in vain. At 
length, like the prodigal, he left his father's house. 
He shipped as a common sailor aboard a man-of- 
war, bound on a cruise of three years. He thought 
by this course to commence the world for himself, 
and escape the restraint of a parent's hand, but he 
soon discovered the error into which he had fallen. 
He was ordered and driven about in the most impe- 
rious and overbearing manner, and felt how much 
he had lost. He had no mother near to soften his 
pillow or pray by the side of his bed. He must per- 
form his allotted task. Many a time, with his limbs 
aching from exposure and exhaustion, he turned into 
his berth, not to sleep, but to reflect on his past life, 
the remembrance of his ingratitude to his parents, 
and the innumerable transgressions of which he had 
been guilty against God. 

He became pale and haggard. The distress of 
his mind emaciated his body. He had "come to 
himself" upon the high seas. Oh, how he longed to 
return to his dear parents, and throw himself down 
before them to implore their forgiveness. But it 



40 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

could not be. His heavenly Father was bringing 
him by a hard discipline to himself. The gentler 
wooings of the Spirit had been in vain. He gave a 
loose rein to his uncurbed will, and very soon had 
placed himself where conscience could reach him 
with its terrible lash, and the blows were repeated 
with unpitying severity, while he was writhing be- 
neath every stroke. 

He remembered the family altar, the earnest 
prayers of his parents, the Sabbath-school, the house 
of prayer, and the minister, but he had slighted them 
all. He was stricken. At length he sought counsel 
from the Lord. He opened, for the first time, the 
Bible his mother had given him when he left home, 
and read, " Come unto me, all ye that labor and are 
heavy-laden, and I will give you rest;" and there, in 
the forecastle of that ship, with his jovial and wicked 
companions about him, he bent Iris knees in prayer 
to God, and sought mercy. Yes, he who had often 
scoffed at those who were worshipping God hi his 
temple, was now kneeling in the forecastle of the 
ship, crying for mercy, himseK the butt of derision 
and scorn/ How true is the declaration, "With what 
measure ye mete, it shall be measured to you again.*' 
This was no ordinary trial for Richard Wright, but 
he was in earnest, he felt that his soul was at stake, 
to be saved or lost. 

But how bitter was the cup placed in the hands 
of Deacon Wright and his wife to drink. They 
thought that was a dark hour when Richard crossed 
their threshold for the last time, and so to all human 
appearance it was; but God was answering their 



THE DEACON'S SON 



41 




prayers, their oft-repeated prayers. Richard must 
be humbled and awakened, and he must lose his 
parents' kindness and care, that his conscience might 
be aroused, and his ingratitude and sin be brought 
home to his heart. 

For some time Richard's distress seemed rather 
to increase than diminish, until one evening he was 



42 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

enabled to look away from his aggravated sins to 
the greatness of a Saviour's merits, and joy and 
peace filled his soul through believing. 

The first letter that he had an opportunity of 
sending home contained an account of his conver- 
sion. And oh, what rejoicings it occasioned. The 
" dead was alive again," the " lost was found." 

Very patiently he waited till his time expired, 
and then he returned to gladden his parents by his 
consistent Christian walk. " We know that all things 
work together for good to them that love God, to 
them who are the called according to his purpose. 

J. T. 



HOW TO BECOME QREAT. 

Some years ago, Edmund Stone, a boy eight 
years of age, was running about the garden and 
grounds of the Duke of Argyle. He was the son of 
the duke's gardener. The little fellow was ignorant 
of everything but what grew in the garden, or might 
be seen in his father's cottage. His parents had no 
means of educating him, but a servant of the duke's 
household, out of compassion, taught him Iris letters 
and the elements of reading. Reading became a 
habit, and formed within him the desire and love of 
knowledge. 

While the boy was thus storing his mind with 
information of various kinds, the duke built a new 
wing to Iris mansion. The lad looked on day by 
day as the work proceeded, and seeing the architect 
make use of rule and compass in Iris calculations, he 



HOW TO BECOME GREAT. 43 

inquired what it meant. The mystery was solved, 
and he was Isold that the science of arithmetic was 
explained in books. He borrowed an arithmetic, 
and by persevering study mastered its contents. 

Geometry was then mentioned to him, and pro- 
curing a hook on the subject, lie soon mastered that 
in like manner. Learning that the best hooks on 
this science were written in Latin, he bought a Latin 
dictionary and grammar, and labored diligently until 
he had acquired the language. Some one told him 
there were excellent scientific works in the French 
tongue, so he got possession of a French dictionary 
and grammar, and learned that language also. 

His industry accomplished all this between the 
ages of eight and eighteen, while learning his trade 
as gardener, under his father. 

One day, the duke coming into the garden, saw a 
Latin copy of Sir Isaac Newton's celebrated "Princi- 
pia "' lying on the grass. Thinking it belonged to him- 
self, he ordered it to be carried back to the library. 
The young gardener stepped forward, and said, "Your 
grace, the book belongs to me." " To you !" replied 
the duke; "do you understand geometry — Latin — 
Newton?" "I know a little of them," said the 
youth, who felt that he had made but small attain- 
ments, in view of the wide fields of knowledge open- 
ing before him. The duke, who was a scientific man, 
questioned him on the subject of mathematics, and 
'stonished at the force, the accuracy, and the 
simplicity of his answers. He then asked him of liis 
past life, and learned from the lad's own lips the 
history above given. 



44 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

His account charmed the duke, who drew the 
unconscious genius from obscurity, and provided 
him with an employment which gave him time for 
the cultivation of the sciences. The same talents 
were discovered in him for music, painting, architec- 
ture, and all the sciences which depend upon calcu- 
lations and proportions. 

Such is the history of Edmund Stone, the well- 
known mathematician. He lived to an advanced 
age, preserved an unblemished reputation, and ren- 
dered important services to science. Among his works 
are a Mathematical Dictionary, a treatise on Fluxions, 
another on Euclid, and a work on the use of mathe- 
matical instruments. He died in 1768. catalina. 



"iT'g MORE TO ME HOW HE LIVED. » 

Charles Baker was fifteen years older than his 
only brother Edwin, who seemed to him more like a 
son than a brother. Charles during his childhood 
knew no mother's care, but in his fourteenth year 
his father married again, and Charles welcomed to 
his heart a baby brother, and was permitted to name 
the darling Edwin. 

The father of these boys was not a Christian, 
though his strictly moral life had led the pious wom- 
an whom he married to think him one. When she 
discovered her mistake she was greatly grieved. Her 
regrets were increased when she perceived that he 
made morality his idol, and that he had trained his 
only son to his own views. She hoped at first to 
induce them to change then* opinions, but soon 



"IT'S MORE TO ME HOW HE LIVED." fc5 

found thai all her attempts would be firmly and per- 
sistently repelled. When her little Edwin was born 
she commended him in faith and prayer to God, and 
her fond hope was, that through him she might be 
able t<> reach the hearts of his father and brother. 
She trained him in the knowledge and ways of the 
Lord, storing his memory with hymns and scrip- 
tures, and constantly seeking the divine benediction 
upon her efforts. 

Mr, Baker and his eldest son, in the pursuit of 
their business were most of the time absent from 
home, but their return was always greeted with joy 
by little Edwin, who delighted to climb upon their 
knees and repeat the pretty verses and beautiful 
Bible stories which his mother had taught him. 
Neither father nor brother could or wished to repulse 
him, his affectionate and winning ways taking their 
hearts by storm. Fondly the mother saw and hoped, 
yet she w r as not permitted to witness the consumma- 
tion of her wishes. 

When Edwin was ten years old and his brother 
twenty-five, an epidemic earned to the grave in one 
day both father and mother. Charles w r as over- 
whelmed by the blow, yet his first consolation came 
from the little one for whose sake his regrets had 
been keenest. As he was pressing the child to his 
heart in the anguish of their sore bereavement, Ed- 
win gently whispered, "Don't cry so, Charlie; I 
know a beautiful verse which I think was written on 
purpose for us: 'When my father and my mother 
forsake me, then the Lord will take me up.' Isn't 
that good, Charlie ?" The weeping young man could 



46 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

not answer, but lie folded the darling boy closer to 
his breast and was comforted. 

Years passed on. Edwin never forgot his mother 
and his mother's God. Through her prayers he 
seemed to have been sanctified from his cradle, and 
his life was a daily picture of constant yet unobtru- 
sive piety; for "even a child is known by his doings, 
whether his work be pure and whether it be right." 
Charles almost idolized the young brother so worthy 
of his love, yet was strangely blind to the secret of 
his rare worth. He saw that his mind was one of 
no common order, and resolved to bestow upon him 
an ample and liberal education. For this purpose 
he pursued his calling with untiring diligence, their 
father not having left sufficient means to cany out 
such a plan without his utmost efforts. Love for 
Edwin made every burden light, and he pictured to 
himself a brilliant future when he should see his 
young charge an orator or statesman, at the bar or 
in the senate-charober. 

The first check to his ambition was when the 
dear boy, in his fifteenth year, publicly presented 
himself to profess his hope and purpose to be the 
Lord's. 

Charles still held his father's views of the suffi- 
ciency of worldly morality, and he felt that with 
these his brother's profession of the gospel wholly 
conflicted. Yet he could find no cause for complaint 
against Edwin, who, aware of his brother's notions, 
was doubly careful in seeking by divine help, to live 
consistently with the higher standard which he had 
taken for the law of his life. 



"IT 'S MORE TO M E How II E LIVED." 47 

Three years mare passed away, and the young 
Christian, now partly through his college course, an- 
nounced t<> his brother his desire and hope to pre- 
pare for the gospel ministry. Charles had never 

anticipated BUch a calling for his favorite, and his 
heart rose in stern opposition. Edwin meekly avowed 
his own convictions of duty, but finding his brother 
inflexible, felt it right to delay his final decision until 
his college studies were ended. Saying kindly hut 
firmly, "Then, Charles, I shall be a man. and the 
responsibility of deciding what my heavenly Father 
requires of me will rest upon my own conscience 
and heart," he patiently "hided his time."" 

Charles could no longer be blind to the reality 
and the beauty of his brother's piety. He looked at 
Edwin with keen eyes, for if he could see any glaring 
faults or inconsistencies, he could found upon these 
unanswerable arguments against the profession which 
he wished to follow. Edwin was not perfect, he had 
sins and follies sometimes to mourn over, but they 
BO humbly confessed and so heartily lamented, 
that his penitence and humility were so many cumu- 
lative proofs of his sincerity. 

The period now drew nigh when Edwin must de- 
cide for himself the weighty question which he trem- 
bled to approach. He sought the counsel of Chris- 
tian friends, but more than all he asked the aid and 
guidance of the Spirit of God. His decision was at 
length reached. He said to his brother with trem- 
bling and tears. "Woe is me if I preach not th< 
pel;" and though Charles did not consent to his 
plans, he ceased to oppose them. 



48 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

But neither lie nor his brother foresaw the issue. 
Edwin never had a strong physical constitution, and 
the long conflict and suspense in which he was with 
regard to his future course, made serious aggressions 
upon his health. Charles was the first to feel alarm, 
hut shut his eyes to the progress of the malady. 
Death however waited not for Edwin's hopes or 
Charles' fears. With cheerful submission the former 
bowed to the king of terrors, while Charles felt that 
with Iris younger brother's removal from earth every 
ray of hope would be for ever quenched. He had 
no ears for the song of victory which the dying child 
of God shouted even amid Jordan's waves; he felt 
as if his heart was dead. But when he looked upon 
that peaceful face beneath the coffin-lid, the memory 
of Edwin's consistent Christian life, the picture of 
his daily walk with God rose vividly before him. 
Stronger witnesses for Jesus were these than even 
the radiance of the closing scene. • With Edwin's 
Bible in his hands and the remembrance of Edwin's 
piety in his heart, upon Iris knees beside those mar- 
ble features, he sought, and there is reason to be- 
lieve, truly found the Saviour. Thus it was, that 
when the earth fell upon his brother's coffin, and a 
friend tried to soothe his grief by bidding him re- 
member how triumphantly Edwin died, Charles ear- 
nestly replied in the words at the head of this narra- 
tive, " It's more to me how he lived F e. n. h. 



THE PBICE 01 A CHILD'S RELIGION. i ( J 

THE PRICE OF A CHIJ.D'3 REjLIQION. 

During a revival of religion in F county, a 

little girl was observed to steal into the plai 
prayer, as if seeking to avoid discovery. 

She always took her seat near the door, that she 
might the more surely shun observation, and never 
failed to listen, with a strange devouring < 
to every word which fell from the preacher's lip-. 

JSL te child of very wicked parents, who 

bitterly opposed the revival meetings, and had tried 
hard to prevent her from learning to read her Bible, 
though in spite of their efforts she had learned to 
read and treasure its Messed words. Like one fam- 
ishing for drink, and forgetting everything but a 
burning thirst, so did this dear child forget the cruel 
threats o^ her parents in her earnest desire to hear 
the truth, and have Christians* pray for her. 

At an evening meeting, when the invitation was 
given to all who wished the prayers of the church 
in her heart had become so strong 
that sho forgot the fear of her parents and of all 
around her. She arose, hut in that critical moment 
the Lord met her, a holy joy lit up her face, and she 
soon broke out into prais 

Tli« those there who knew her, who gath- 

ered round her with surprised and gladdened h« 
I>efor< separated sh< Who of you will 

help I ar the burden I have taken up? who 

of you will go with me to my father's house? for he 
will 1 y, and I am afraid to go al 

No on for they all knew the d< char- 



50 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

acter of the father, and one by one they turned and 
went away. " Well," she said, " I can go alone, for 
He who helped me to come to this meeting to-night 
will go with me." 

Her exasperated parents were ready to execute 
their most cruel threats; they in turn beat then poor 
child until the blood ran and stained her clothes. 

The. name which had begun to glow so brightly 
in her little heart did not grow dim under her suff 
ings. When they had spent then wrath upon her, 
she only said meetly, "Thank God, for I love him 

yet." 

A few davs after, she was taken sick, and grew 
worse and worse. When she saw her mother weep- 
ing, she asked, " Why do you cry, mother ?" " Oh," 
said the sobbing mother, "they say you will never 
get well again; yon are going to die." "Mother,' 
said the child, " I anrnot afraid to die, I am gomg 
to be with my Saviour ; but there is one thing I want 
you to promise me before they carry me out from 
here, as they will not many days hence." The child 
then asked for the dress she had worn to that last 
meeting, and cutting from it the bloody stains with 
her feeble fingers, she handed it to her mother, and 
said, " Mother, I wish you to promise me that you 
will give that to my minister when I am gone, and 
tell him that was the price of my religion." 

The young man who relates this anecdote attrib- 
utes his own conversion to the steadfast faith of 
that little child, who longed for salvation so earn 
lv thai no difficulty or suffering could torn her from 
seeking after it. 



THE II DSBAND'S TESTIMOH V. 51 

My dear young readers, some of you have ] 
parents, and everything to help von to oo] 
Christ. If you hold baok your hearts from him, how 
the example of this dear little girl condemn 
you, and how will it condemn you when you 
her at the bar of God. 



THE HUSBAND'p TESTIMONY. 

He had almost persuaded himself to b< 
del. He did not believe in religion. He 
the church, at church-members, at ministers — "They 
are all hypocrites/ 1 he said, "actuated by 
motives; the best of them are trying to deceive 
themselves and others, but they cannot deceivi 
I understand them." 

H<' could not, however, quite let s^o his belief in 
Bible. Ho had read it, iong years before, 
pious mother's side, and for her sake; he had still 
some reverence for its teachings. But Satan was 
luring him to hell with the same old story by which 
so many have been led to perdition, the faults of 
prof, ssors of religion. 

He had a wife some years younger than himself 
to whom he was devotedly attached. She was gay, 
and exceedingly fond of fashionable amusements — 
to the neglect, often, of the comfort of her family. 
For man; her husband had 

hardl] I a house of worship. 

i of circumstances not uecesear} to 
relate. length I tut attendant 



52 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

at the sanctuary. With characteristic energy she 
entered into the various enterprises of the church, 
and proved herself a valuable accession to the con- 
gregation. 

Her pastor, who thought he could see in her a 
growing seriousness, called one day to converse with 
her on the subject of personal religion. " Do you 
never feel a desire to become a child of God?" said 
he. Her reply was, " I understand the rules of your 
church forbid your members dancing and card-play- 
ing; and I am too fond of such amusements to give 
them up for the privilege of chm'ch-menibership." 

As her pastor continued to urge upon her the 
necessity of a change o£ heart, and an interest in 
Christ, she at length, admitted that she did feel an 
interest, sometimes a very painful anxiety, on the 
subject of her soul's eternal welfare. But she was 
not ready to "give up oil and follow Christ;" and 
she added, she never could be satisfied to live a 
"half-way Christian" life. 

After praying with her and for her, that she 
might not " grieve the Holy Spirit," he left her, with 
many fears lest the allurements of the world should 
lead her away from tho Saviour who was seeking 
admission to her heart. 

Months passed, and her pastor, though he 
frained from urging the matter upon her, was satis- 
fied that her interest in the subject still continued ; 
and many prayers were offered for her by those who 
felt how exceedingly critical was her state. 

At length she one day surprised her mini 
by sending an urgent request for him to visit her for 



Til E ll DSBAN D s TEST! MONY. 53 

the purpose of religious conversation. II< immedi- 
ately answered her call, and was astonished at the 
change in her feelings. She had already given her 

heart to Christ. 

He found her very decided in her new life; and 

as li* 1 asked h r, u Are you willing now to give up aR 

for Christ — the worldly ai of which yon 

md?" she burst into tears, and replied, 

• It is ii« > cross now to give them all up, it is a pleas- 
ure, a privileg : 1 have do desire ever again to en- 
in them; they have almost ruined my soul." 

After a few months had passed, every day of 
which gave proof of the reality of the change she 
had experienced, she with the lull and free consent 
of her husband made a public profession of her 
faith in Christ. 

Some time after she had united with the church, 
her husband met her pastor, and of his own accord 
introduced the subject of the«chahge in his wife's 
religious views. With deep emotion he said, "I be- 
in religion now — such religion as my wife has. 
She never neglects her family since she joined tho 
church; and I know she goes off by herself and 
prays every evening, though she does not BUspect 
that I know it. Yes, I <h> believe in religion now." 

What a testimony to the consistency of his v 
conduct! And what an evidence in favor of tho 
religion of Christ ! 

Already that w i [j of her pr.r 

Her husband regularly accom r to the place 

of worship, attend r-meetings with her, takes 

a great interest in the Sabbath-school, and manifests 



54 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

as much anxiety for the welfare of the church as 
any in ember of it. And there is reason to hope that 
his heart is truly wrought upon by the Holy Spirit. 

Christian wives, you who have careless, prayer- 
less, unbelieving husbands, here is encouragement 
for you. Be faithful and consistent in j-our Chris- 
tian life. " For what knowest thou, O wife, whether 
thou shalt save thy husband ?" .\. F. E. 



THE WIFE'g giX-MIJ^E WALK. 

In N H lived Mr. and Mrs. B . The 

husband was a rough, profane, wicked man, a de- 
spiser of the gospel of Christ, caring only for the 
things of this life. His wife was interested hi the 
subject of religion, and at length, as she hoped, was 
led to embrace it. 

After a time, she desired to make a public pro- 
fession of her faith m Christ, and made known her 
wish to her impenitent husband, from whom she 
received some opposition, and a stern refusal to pro- 
vide her a conveyance to the place where she wished 
to go for examination, which was about three miles 
distant, over long and rugged hills. When asked if 
he would furnish her with the horse and carriage, he 
roughly answered, " No ; if you must go, you may go 
on foot; I shall not help you." She bore all witli 
meekness, resolving at the same time that she would 
be steadfast in duty, and leave the event with God ; 
also to make the effort to walk, even though it cost 
her pain, and her strength seemed so unequal to tho 
task. 



THE WIFE'S SIX-MILE WALK. "> 

After attending to the wants of hex little family, 
at an early hour in the afternoon she was on her 
way to the appointed place. At night she retrace d 

her steps, and reached her home after a fatiguing 
walk of six miles over those weary hills, an.l pre- 
pared the evening meal, and retired to rest, hut not 
without first imploring grace to help in her trials, 
and patience to endun '..it the heart of her 

husband might be softened, and that he might sp 
ilv experience the power of renewing grace. 

Be maintained the same coldness and dissatis- 
faction up to the hour for retiring, hut the m< 
spirit of liis wife, and her consistent, patient cor 
troubled him. He could not sleep; and in the still 
hours of the same night rose from his couch, and in 
bit* ;' spirit walked his room, crying, " What 

must I do to be saved'?'' 

The conflict was severe, but not long. Ho felt 
himself to be the chief of sinners, and was enabled 

a to surrender all to Christ, and receive his 1 
kto his His wife's strict mid patient | 

formance ol duty, and her prayers, were the means 
which God blessed to his conversion. His oaths 
were laid aside, while prayer and praise dwelt upon 
his lips. 

He soon became connected with the same church 
which his wife had joined, and has long b 
teemed a man of prayer and one of its most vain 
office 

What an encouragement to Christian decision 
and prayer ! " Commit thy way unto the Lord, and 
.all bring it to pass." 



5G SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

A FAMILY "gORROWFU^YETREJOiCINQ." 

In every congregation there are families where 
the minister finds repose, sympathy, and encourage- 
ment, in seasons of trial and spiritual declension. 
The apostle Paul could number many such in his 
missionary labors. Even the "man of sorrows" 
found rest and a home in the family of Bethany, 
when wearied with toil, and the ingratitude of the 
inhabitants of Jerusalem. 

Such was the S— family in the congregation 

f l ? N. Y. There the minister was welcomed 

by smiling faces and cheering words, and he soon 
felt that he was at home in this lovely Christian 
household. 

It consisted of the parents and eight children. 
The mother had for years been an invalid, and sel- 
dom able to appear in her place in the house of 
God. She spent much of her time in reading the 
word of God and boohs of practical religion, and 
prayer was a daily employment. She was a mother 
in our Israel. The parents had consecrated their 
children to God in prayer and faith, and by precept 
and example endeavored to train them up in 
nurture and admonition of the Lord. 

None of the children were professors of 
yet religious principles seemed to regulate cv, 
among them. They tried to oblige each other 
to render each other happy. A loud word from the 
parents was unnecessary. As one expressed it, "You 
could see religion all round the house." 

I would sometimes complain to Mrs. S that 



a SOKROWFTJ L PAW I I.V REJOIO] NO. 57 

1 saw no fruit from in \ Labor. When cast down and 
discouraged, she would cheer. me with the hope of a 

glorious future. She said she believed Bhe should 

live to Bee all her children gathered into the fold of 
Christ. 1 used to think, "O woman, great is thy 
faith." 

We long mourned over the desolations of Ziom 
Iniquity abounded, the love of many waxed cold. 
Praised be God, he rememl rur 1<>w estate. 

The longest, darkest night is often followed by a 
pleasant day. Weeping may endure for a night, but 
joy cometh in the morning. So it was with us. The 
Lord had mercy upon Zion. He poured upon the 
people the Bpirit of grace and of supplication. He 
gave efficacy-to a preached gospel, and sonic were 
deeply anxious. 

One evening I was sent for to visit the S 

family. Oh, what a scene! It would have melted 
the hardest heart Five of these children were in 

deep distress on account of their hiis. The! 

that praying mother, "sorrowful, yet rejoicing." And 

there the children, so moral, so amiable, crying, 
"God he merciful to us sinners." It was a house 
of mourning, but angels rejoiced. Js there not joy 
among the angels of heaven over one sinner that 
repenteth? I mingled my tears with theirs, and I 
felt as if it would he a relief if 1 could comfort them 
in their sorrow. But no. "none hut -Jcmis can do 
helpless sinners good." T prayed with them, and 
did all T could to point them I 

which taketh awa\ f the world. " Not a word 

ahout their morality, their filial affection, their rev- 



58 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

erenco for the Bible and religion, though the}' were 
BO moral, so affectionate, so distinguished for every- 
thing that is lovely and of good report. All felt that 
their sins were many and great, and that their only 
hope was in the mercy of God through Jesus Christ. 
In the course of two weeks they all felt that 
Jesus had spoken peace to their souls, saying, " Son, 
daughter, be of good cheer, thy sins are forgiven." 
And during that revival these eight children, togeth- 
er with two sons-in-law and a daughter-in-law, gave 
evidence that they were converted, that " old things 
had passed away, arid all things had become new." 
To God be all the glory. It was all the Lord's do- 
ing, and marvellous hi our eyes. 

"But if God had bestowed special blessings on 
that family, it was to prepare it for peculiar trials. 
That faithful, pious mother was first called to her 
rest and her gracious rewasd in that world where 
God himself shall "wipe away all tears," and some 
of the children have followed her. The last words 
of one of them were, " Now I am happy. Now I 'm 
in heaven." " These all died in faith." 

fathers and mothers, cherish Mrs. S 's faith 

in reference to your children. " Let us not be weary 

in well doing, for in due season we shall- reap, if we 

Idntnot." ' J- r - 

. ♦- 

THE BOY AND THE FAMILY ALTAR. 

1 KNEW a little boy whose pious father died when 
he was in his fifth year, and when he fell in death, 
the family altar fell with him. After a time that 



Til B BOI AN I) Tli i: \\M I LI ALTAR 

little boy thought how he once sat on his father's 
knee at family worship, how the praises of God were 

. ami how he knelt by his chair as he offered 
up to God the morning and evening sacrifice; and 
he Longed to erect anew the family altar. But there 

his brothers,' older than he, and he felt shy and 

afraid to speak of it ; y«t as he expressed his desires 
to pious friends, they urged him to the duty. 

oing in one evening and finding his mother 
alone, he took the Bible, and opening it at the tenth 
chapter of Jeremiah, pointed with his finger to the 
twenty-fifth verse, which reads thus: "Pour out thy 
fury upon the heathen that know thee not, and upon 
the families that call not upon thy name." 

ad the verse, and her tears fell upon the 
page. She understood his meaning, and no donht 
felt the rebuke. She said she would speak to his 
elder brothers when they came in. as it was their 
duty, rather than his, to conduct family worship. 
She did speak to them, but they refused to do it. 
and opposed it. When they had eaeh and all re- 
fused, the little hoy took the Bible and psalm-hook, 
and Looking up to God for help, began to read. 
They all arose and left the room, leaving him and 
his mother to conduct the worship as they pl< 
In the morning his brothers did the same, and 80 
continued to do for a long time. They also 1 

ate him by insults and had treatment, in 

which his mother rather joined than oppos< d. He 

i the habit of attending meetings of prayer in 

i frequently called on to visit 

and pray with his sick companions; and if on such 



GO SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

occasions lie had not got Lome by nine o'clock, the 
door was locked against him. His brothers contin- 
ued so to persecute him for about two years, till 
some of his pious friends advised him to leave the 
family ; but he delayed in hope, nor was his hope 
put to shame. 

Just then one of his brothers kept his seat during 
morning worship, but he neither joined in the song 
of praise nor knelt in prayer. Not long after this 
another kept his -seat, and by-and-by all of them, 
though they took no part in the devotions, but mere- 
ly sat as spectators. At last one joined his voice in 
the song of praise, then another, and another. Soon 
after this one knelt in prayer, shortly after another, 
then another, and soon all the family were -kneeling 
before God. 

It was not long after this that he observed one 
and another of them retiring, and heard them pray- 
ing to God in secret; nor had he long to wait till he 
had the happiness of seeing them all in the kingdom 
of God, having first given themselves to the Lord 
Christ and to his church. Then each of them took 
his turn in conducting family worship, and by every 
act of kindness tried to atone for the unkindness 
they had shown their little brother, 

That little boy became a young man ; and when 
taking his last fond embrace of his widowed mother, 
before he left to go as- a missionary to the heathen, 
she said to him, " You are not my son only, but my 
father; I owe the salvation of my soul to you, as 
being the means of it." His oldest brother said to 
him, " Had I been treated in this house as you have 



PBA* \\l Til Vol K OHILD. CI 

been by us for bo long a tame, I should have been 
guilty of Borne rash act. It pas your meekness and 
endurance that first smote my heart and convinced 
my conscience," Bis other brothers said, " Fou are 
aot only our brother after the flesh, but our lather 
after the Sja/it; nor was the change affi i 
much by what you said to us, as by your example." 

And what wonders lias not example wrought, 
when but one says, "1 am the Lord's!" The con- 

aion of one sinner is almost certain to lead to the 

Conversion of others, and the - obedience of one" to 

be followed by that of many. Who of the dear 
youth will go and do likewise? Wno of them will 

first say, -I am the Lord's?-' Many, no doubt, f< el 
its importance, but wait for others. Sister waits for 
brother, brother waits for sister, wife waits for hus- 
band, husband waits for wife, and children wait for 
parents. Wait no longer for any. Flee for your 
hie! They for whom you wait, influenced by your 
example, will come aft< r you, fleeing from the' wrath 
to come, as did the mother and brothers of this little 
fatherless boy. ,, , 



PRAY WITH YOUR CHILD. 

How often are the hearts of Christian parents 
torn with anguish by the persistent disobedience of 
a beloved child. How many sleepless midnight hours 
are spent in trying to devise some plan for reclaim- 
ing him. 

Such a son had Mr. K . Paternal admoni- 



62 KETCHES PROM LIFE. 

tion was unheeded, kindness was abused, punish- 
ment only seemed to make him more sullen and ob- 
stinate in his evil way. At length, quite despairing 
of his own success, his father resolved to place him 
in the care of an aged clergyman, a celebrated in- 
structor of youth. "When alone with, the minister, 
the father told him what a desperate lad his son had 
grown to be, that praise or -blame had no effect upon 
him. The good man asked if he had tried no reme- 
dies. The gentleman enumerated various measures 
he had adopted to reclaim him. Still the other in- 
quired if he had done nothing else. " Yes, after a 
very flagrant act of disobedience, I once kept him 
two days confined to his chamber, on bread and 
water." 

"Ah," said the old clergyman, "these remedies 
were not sufficient ; I know a better remedy for such 
desperate cases. It is prayer. Did you ever go 
alone with your son, and earnestly pray with and 
for him?" The gentleman was forced to confess he- 
had never done so. "Then," said the clergyman, 
" it need not seem strange that all your pains have 
been in vain." 

Deeply impressed with the suggestion, the hum- 
bled father betook himself to the new remedy, and 
with the happiest results. The wild, reckless lad 
became sober and thoughtful. Soon a change in 
his daily conduct was apparent. He dared not go 
out of that chamber, where he could not but feel 
that God was, and plunge into his customary sinful 
courses. He lived to become an excellent, efficient 
man, an honor and blessing to society. 



THE LISTEN 1.1: \ T Tii i. DOO] 

Father, mother, do von pray daily with your 
child? One has well said, "A child should not be 
able to remember when hisparenl firsl prayed with 
him.*' The practice should be commenced in infan- 

and neyer discontinued while he is under vom 
watch and care. 

The mother of t, u c them all 

within the fold of Christ When asked th< 
of her successful (raining, she answered, she had 

d accustomed to take each of the children with 
her to her closet, and pray with him alone. .1. ; 



THE UgTENER AT TH£ DOOR. 
Many years ago, up where the spruce and pine 
make beautiful the hills of- Vermont, lived a little 
boy whom we will call Willie. 

Willie had no kind lather, for his young heart 
had keen grieved by seeing the form of this iqved 
friend of his infancy shrouded in death. Bui 
liad a loving hand of brothers and sisters, and a 
mother who nobly strove to stand in the p] 
both parents towards her fatherless little o 

But Willie's mother did not feel that she had 

en her heart to God; and coming from church 
day, bowed beneath of guilt before G< 

pure eye, she sought her own room for pr.e 

Willie followed as far as the door, and throwing 
himself on the floor, lie pla< 
that he might hear his mother ] 

prayer, in his fa - ich 

earn j j. 



clii. 



64 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

dren, through the Lamb which was slain on Calvary, 
that God would indeed give her a good hope, which 
should daily grow brighter and brighter, and at last 
end in perfect rest — that having knowledge and 
strength given her from heaven, she might train her 
little ones in the way their heavenly Father would 
be best pleased to see them walking in. There in 
the bedroom the mother wept and prayed, and there 
too, on the floor, with his ear at the crack, little 
Willie was an attentive listener. 

Years have come and gone, and trusting in the 
merits of Christ Jesus, the mother has welcomed the 
summons, "Child, your Father calls, come home." 
But long before her departure, her pious heart was 
gladdened by seeing her children treading the road 
towards the upper country, the home of the re- 
deemed. 

Part of them are in a foreign land proclaiming to 
benighted souls the surpassing love and compassion 
of Him who " spake as never man spake;" while lit- 
tle Willie, grown to manhood ^ a faithful, earnest, 
Christian, from Sabbath to Sabbath tells from the 
sacred desk the wondrous story of the Saviour's life 
of toil and death of agony for us miserable sinners. 
Rejoicing as he does to labor for the extension of 
his Piedeemers cause, as a pleasant remembrance 
he cherishes the recollection of the day when he 
heard, through the crack of the door, his mother's 
petition for mercy. Many souls has he been the 
means of leading to the ark of refuge, both by the 
truth and boldness of his preaching, and the beauti- 
ful faith mirrored forth in his daily life. A. M. L. 



rin: CUT 11 NG ER. 

THE CUT FINQEFi. 

Jack, a careless colored boy thirteen or EotuH 
years old, was turning the crank of the haycutter, 
while Temple, a bright boy of four, fed in the hay. 
"Take care there, take care," exclaimed the little 

fellow, 1 'lit it was all too late. The deed was done. 

The bone of the finger was cut oil', ami it hung only 
by the flesh on one side of it. The white end of the 
bone contrasted strangely with the scarlet blood. 
-Jack caught Temple, ami carried him across the 
I to his mother who heard the fearful cry, ami 
met them at the door. "Hush, hush, crying wont 
help it,'" she said to her only boy; and turning to 
Jack who had deposited his burden on the floor, she 
said, "Take the horse, and go k as you can 

to Dr. Y , and if he is not at home go to Dr. 

II ; and ask the one you first find to come over 

and dress Tei as quick an." 

The boy hurried on the errand, and in about two 

Dr. R , E 

. 

3hould 
i 

him to 

lier. 






GQ SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

The six days slowly wore away. The horse was 

harnessed, and Mrs. E took her boy into her 

carriage and drove to the young doctor's. Wten 
the finger was opened, to the surprise of the doctor 
and the grief of the mother, it fell apart. It had 
not knit together in six days sufficiently to bear its 
own weight. " It 's of no use," said the doctor, " it 
will not grow together; there is a man waiting now 
to see me, whom I cannot put off. I will call for 

Dr. Y this afternoon, and come around and 

take it off." As he said these words he put one of 
the old bandages around the wound, and left the 
room to go to the other patient who was waiting for 
him. 

The mother's heart sunk within her. But cover- 
ing over the grief that welled up within her at the 
thought, "maimed for life, and on his right hand," 
she said in tones as cheerful as she could command, 
" Come, my son, we will go home now." As she 
drove over the road she lifted up her heart to God 
for her first-born son. When she reached her house 
she sought her bethel, the little room where she 
was accustomed to meet her heavenly Father alone. 
There she poured out her heart before him. The 
vision of her son, a man, a minister in the pulpit, 
perhaps, for that was the work which her heart 
craved for him, with this shortened finger, loomed 
up, as such visions do to mothers. She was used 
to going to God. She had often sought him and 
found him. Her prayers had many times been prov- 
identially answered. She spread the case before 
him. She begged, as a child may beg of a father, 



THE CUT II Vvi ER. 67 

that be w< old gi ling power and restoring 

mercy. She left her room calm, assured tli.it God 
had heard, and that whatever was fche event, all 

would be for the 1 

The afternoon came, bnt the doctor's carriage 
did not appear. Meanwhile the finger was easier. 

The child slept much, and alepi easily. Jiis face, 
when he was asleep, no Longer wore that look of dis- 

it had been so painful to behold. The next 
morning, about twenty-four Lours from the time of 
lur visit to the doctor's house, the two physicians 

d. Dr. Y , Mrs. E 's first choice, was 

a man of skill, experience, and tenderness. Before 
the bandage was removed, she said to them, "I wish 
that the finger may he saved, if possible." When 

it was unbound, to the surprise of Dr. R ■ the 

finger held together; The old doctor remarked, 
"The mother is wry desirous that the finger" should 

\<«1. and it seems to have been doing so well 
since yesterday, that we can but wait and see what 
it may do." At his suggestion it was bound up 
anew, the old gentleman superintending tin; opera- 
tion, and saying more than once to the young man, 
• tight, sir: give it room to vent itself.'*' 
The mother was not surprised at this favorable 
change. It was hardly more than she exp 
She lifted her thoughts in grateful adoration to her 
enly Father, and when the doctors were gone 
she found a few moments to go to her bethel, and 
on her knees give words to her thankfuhu ss tor mer- 

and implore that the good work 1 
might b. carried forward. 



08 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

A few days later, when the finger was dressed, 

the young surgeon said, " It will be a crooked finger, 
it will do no credit to the surgeon; if it were my 
boy, I would take the finger off." At the succeeding 
dressing he let fall similar remarks, until at length, 
tired of hearing them, the mother put an end to 
them by saying in a decided tone, "When he is 
twenty-one years old lie can have the finger removed 
if he chooses; I shall not have it taken off." All 
things went on favorably. 

The child is now a man of eighteen years; his 
finger is a little bent, but no one would notice its 
stiffness. The mother still fives to remember the 
way by which the Lord led her. You may explain 
to her until your lungs ache that the reason her boy 
suffered so much that first week, and the finger did 
not begin to grow together was, that the young sur- 
geon had bound the wound too tight, and left no 
room for the healing action of the parts. She is a 
sensible woman. She understands diseases as well 
as many a young physician. She knows the young 
man made a mistake, knows too that he learned a 
lesson of Dr. Y over her boy, that he never for- 
got. She knows the connection of means and ends. 
Yet she knows also that her God is kind and gra- 
cious, ready to hear and quick to answer. Not 
overlooking second causes and providential means, 
she still clings to the great fact that her God hears 
and answers prayer, and that she knows it in her 
own experience as well as in the written promise. 

Oh, young mother, whose beloved boy is in dan- 
ger from physical or from moral instrumentalities, 



IN FLU ENOE OF ON E A.< 69 

do not forget to cany him to his Father and yours, 
to lay his case folly before the gracious and compas- 
sionate God; and while administering medicine for 
the body and medicine tor the mind, remember to 
join with it faith in Him who holds second i 
his hand, and can make all things work together for 
the good of his Loving, trusting childri 

EVA] 



INFLUENCE Of ONE ACT. 

There are moments in the Christian warfare 
when a single decisive act extends its influence over 
the whole subsequent life. Some question of duty 
is presented, perplexing in its circumstances, though 
easy ^i solution to an enlightened con when 

a right decision demands true moral courage, great 
self-denial, and involves consequences of incalcula- 
ble magnitude. In such instances unwavering firm- 
achieves a lasting victory, while timid sulnnis- 
leads to reiterated defeat and a long train of 
evils. 

Two pious women anected by marriage 

with irreligious husbands. In each instance the 
((notion of duty was the same, and in each the one 
important decision was followed by its appro] 
results. The husbands and their connection- 
unbelievers in the full sense of the term; and main- 
taining thai | itial to Salvation, they 
; t<> all Christian duties, and especially 
that of religious worship. After 1 remon- 
stranc atter came to a ind each wife 



70 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

had to ponder the momentous inquiry, " Shall I per- 
sist in attending religious meetings and offend my 
husband, or refrain for the sake of peace ?" 

Mr. C had become highly excited one even- 
ing, and threatened that if his wife attended the 
prayer-meeting he would lock the door against her, 
and never more receive her into his family. A pain- 
ful dilemma for a wife and mother ! But Mrs. C 

meekly enduring the reproach, commended herself 
to God and went forward to duty. At the close of 
the meeting she slowly approached her dwelling, to 
see if the threat of expulsion had been executed. 
All was silence and darkness, but she laid her trem- 
bling hand upon the latch and listened in fear. 
Making a slight noise, a more anxious listener within 
threw the door suddenly open, and throwing hi* 
arms around her neck, cried out in agony, " Oh, my 
dear wife, do pray for me ; I am a lost sinner." In 

the absence of his wife, Mr. C had locked the 

door, but soon began to reflect upon his unreasona- 
ble conduct. But his reflections could not be limited 
to the last sinful act. The wickedness cf his whole 
life rose up in vision before him, and he became 
overwhelmed with horror and dismay. Gladly would 
he have followed her to the meeting, but shame pre- 
vented. "Never before," said he, "did a prayer- 
meeting seem so long, and never was I so glad to 
see my wife." Her steadfast fidelity had saved the 
unbelieving husband, for soon he became a decided 
Christian and a humble worshipper with her at tho 

same domestic and public altars. Had Mrs. C 

yielded to the first unrighteous demand, her husband 



IM LI ENOE OF ON i I 71 

would probably haw demanded oilier com 
nor been content till he had drawn her far back into 
liis own broad way of destrtiction, "He that put- 
fceth his hand (<» the plough and iooketh hack is not 
lit for the kingdom of God." 

In the other instance, the perplexed and p 

cuted Mrs. F submitted to the will of her ! 

band at first as a temporary expedient, but haying 
obeyed man rather than God in the relinquishment 
of one great duty, she was led along from one sinful 
compliance to another till she retained little more 
than the name of a Christian disciple. But con- 
nee was "ill at • d ere long she was via- 
i by a lingering sickness which proved to be "unto 
death." Calling upon her in. the absence of her 
hardened husband, she looked timidly around )i 
her sick-bed and listened, fearing he might com.' in 
and be angry at my presence. He came not, and 
she made a fe , f her.reL ring 
for it that seemed plausible at first, bn; now 
in the dawning light of eternity could only till her 
Avit! : and despair. -J have forsaken Christ, 
and now he has forsaken me, and I am lost! It is 
right that he should reject me and refine mypri 
: but oh, how could J ■ 

> adniinist* r consolation. I 
could only r. fer her to th< rev of 

( j ll,: \hibited in the recovery of David and 

r, and commend her to Him who i, .• 
the eleventh hour." ] re hef th.- wretched 
tan found before the 
parted under a cloud. The warning of Chi 



72 SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

to stand out in letters of fire: "I say unto yen, my 
friends, be not afraid of them that kill the body, and 
after that have no more that they can do. But I 
will forewarn you whom ye shall fear: fear him 
which after he hath lolled hath power to cast into 
hell; yea, I say unto you, fear him." W. M. 



BEQIN RiQHT. 

A few months since I accidentally met my friend 

Frank W of Baltimore, whom I had not seen 

for several years. We were delighted to see each 
other, and enjoyed a social chat. 

"I am so elad to see you, Frank;' said I in the 
course of conversation, " and you do not look a day 
older for being a married man seven years." 

"I am afraid I should have looked more than 
seven years older if I had remained single, Charlie," 
he answered ; " my little wife has, under God, been 
the means of making a better man of me, than I 
should have been if I had eschewed matrimony. 
She began right, Charlie; that's the secret of it, she 
began right." 

"Began right; how was that, Frank?" I an- 
swered. 

"Well, Charlie, shall I begin at the beginning? 
as children say. You remember my little Emily, do 
you not ? Every one who knew her loved her ; she 
was the idol of a wealthy and fashionable circle, an 
only child, elegant and accomplished in every way, 
and yet withal she was a humble and pious Chris- 



BEG IX RIGHT 



t .> 
me: 



tian. I have since wondered why she fanciec 
peiha] a she fell in love with n > me 

times; but you know, Charlie; J we 
man. I attended church regularly, to . but 

ar thai my thoughts were oftener upon my prom- 
l wilt- than on my Maker, l 
fellow,- was not dissipated as many young men 
and 1 loved lx>.>ks and the line a 

"Well, we were to l»e married very quietly; it 
was Emily's wish- no reception or wedding-party, 
much to the disappointment of many fashionable 
friends; but Emily said it was too solemn an , i 
with her to be entered upon lightly; andon a beau- 
tiful evening in October, our small bridal party ac- 

mpanied us to the church, and Emily and Fn 
were made man and wife. Instead of the usual 

went directly to our own hoi 
which Emily's father had given to her ready fur- 
nished with all she could desire. The few friends 
fche family passed a social hour with us, then 
Emily and left alone in our beautiful 

drawing-room. We were very happy. 

i a few moments Emily stepped into the lil 

ry, and came hack with two books in her hand, a 

nd a book of devotional exercises, and pla- 

g them upon the table, she came towards me, ami 

putting her little hand upon my arm, sh< .. n- 

tly, 'Shall we | s]]r t j R>u 

°«* t]l <' Bibl. irth chapter of the i 

Jul She said, 'Please n ad, Prank. 1 
could not refuse, hut sincerely and dowry J read 

aloud that heautiful portion f God's holj 



74 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Then Emily kneeled beside me, and involuntarily 
almost I knelt also. With fluttering heart and trem- 
bling voice my young wife repeated the Lord's prayer, 
in which I joined, and then she added two or three 
short fervent prayers, commending us to God's care, 
and praying that we might so live together in this 
life that finally we might inherit the life everlasting. 
I never was so impressed with any religious service 
in my life, Charlie ; my little Emily, in her beautiful 
bridal robes, surrounded by elegance and wealth, in 
the true humble spirit of a child of God, determining 
to begin right, to live in his fear and love. 

"Emily -began right, and she has never swerved 
from her plain path of duty. We have been mar- 
ried almost eight years, and we have never once 
omitted this offering up of the evening sacrifice. We 
had trials; sickness, sorrow, and death have entered 
our happy home, but even when lying upon the 
sick-bed, Emily would have me bring her 'blessed 
Bible,' and sit by her and read and pray each even- 
ing. 

" I- became anxious and willing to do my part. 
I soon confessed Christ before men, and myself be- 
came the leader of the exercises of our family altar. 
If you get a wife, which I trust may be very soon, 
I hope she will begin rigid." 

If women knew their power, if they openly as 
well as secretly confessed Christ in their home circle, 
no one can tell what influence they might have on 
the souls of those dearest to them on earth. You 
have been enrolled under the banner of Christ cruci- 
fied; do not be ashamed of your Master. Many an 



A FATHER'S EXAM PLE. • 75 

unbelieving husband might by your example become 
a disciple of fche Lord. It is absolutely necessary in 
the marriage relation that religious duties be not 
broken in upon, luit thai regularly as the blessings 
of ( tod are showered upon us, bo regulariy we should 
earnestly acknowledge Him who Bendeth us every 
good and pern c< gift. i , E. u. r. 



A FATHER'3 EXAMPLE. 

11 Why, Barry, don't you take any wine to-day?" 
Baid Mr. Carrisford to his only son, at the same time 
filling his own glass to th< i brim. "No, thank you, 

father," said Harry. "Have the teetotalers got hold 
1 the father, half jesting, and half in 
earnest ; " I should hope a son of mine would have 
too much spirit to submit to such dictation as that." 
Harry looked embarrassed, but he replied, " I have 
joined no pledge, father, only I have come a to the 
conclusion that it would be best for me to drink no 
wine at all. Mother and sister Mary think as I do 
about it." 

And well poor Harry might come to such a con- 
clusion. Had he not Been his own father, time and 
time again, in a had way enough? Had not that 
father's step t<>o often lost its firmness, and hi- 
its lustre, till soul and reason were prostrated under 
the hoof of brutish sense, and all on account of the 
wine? Well may your mother and Bister Mary, and 
your own eon- >o, advise and encourage you, 

dear Harry, to have nothing to do with the wine — 



76 • SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

absolutely nothing. ' Do n't admit the traitor at all. 
Keep him outside and he '11 do you no harm. 

I wish I was able to say that Harry always 
adhered to his good resolution. Sometimes, though 
he knew better, he would take a glass with his father, 
and sometimes two, three, and even four. Oh, is he 
not standing on a slippery place now ? Poor Harry 
thought so himself when the effects of the poison 
had passed off. He resolved again and again, but 
he did not, could not keep his resolution. 

"Dear father," said Harry one morning, "I've 
a great favor to ask of you." "What is it?" said 
Mr. Carrisford ; " and if it is within the hmits of my 
purse, you shall have it." Mr. Carrisford's purse 
was large and well filled, and he doted on his "only 
son, that is, when he was himself. Harry looked 
very interesting that fine morning, and well might 
his father be proud of him. There he stood, the 
boy just passing into the man, with a bright, high 
forehead, and erect figure, with thick, clustering locks, 
and an open, ingenuous expression of countenance. 
" What is it, Harry ? What would you have ?" 

"Father," said Harry, lowering his voice and col- 
oring deeply, " will you not, for my sake, dispense 
with wine on the dinner-table ? Trill you not lock 
it up in the cellar, and keep the key in your own 
pocket? I do so want to be a sober man, a man 
among men. But I cannot if that cursed wine is 
before me every day. I shall fall. I shall be a mis- 
erable drunkard; and I had rather die now." What 
did that father reply to his earnest-eyed boy. He 
just swore at him, and left the room in a rage. 



A FATE l.i: s EXAM PLE. 77 

What m blessing if some kind friend could hare 
come to Harry just here, and said to him, "Ton are 
weak, and can do nothing of yourself, but God is 
strong, and can impart his strength to yon; so just 
1 ask him for Christ's dear sake to help 
yon keep your resolution, and yon will be helped. 
A little of God's strength in your soul is just what 
yon want." But nobody said any such thing to poor 
Harry. His mother and though kind and 

amiable themselves, lived without | 

Harry was a thoughtful boy and a great reader, 
but no one put religions hooks into his hands, or 
advised him to read them. So he read a great many 
romances, plays, and that kind of poetry which in- 
3 the imagination and the passions, and whose 
tendency is to break down that hedge of thorns be- 
tween right and wrong which God has planted in 
every human bosom. Harry read a great many his- 
tories too; and sometimes his heart glowed with 

ire to imitate the exam] * and 

. that his emotions could hardly be repan 
there no one to help and guide poor Harry? 
Alas, no one se< med to care for his soul 

Yet lie was much favored in some n He 

had a beautiful home, a fond mother and sister, and 
an abundance of money, which, if lie had known how 
to use it, would have proved a blessing. Yet Harry 
rery unhappy. When his father was brought 
home at ni^ht insensible, and had to he can: 
bed by the sen-ants, painfully illustrating all the 
disgusting of drankenn quite 

wretched, and even despairing. "I am going in the 



78 SKETCHES FROM tIFE. 

same way too," said Harry; "alas, alas, I wish I 
had never been born." It was about Thanksgiving 
time, and Harry said to himself, " I '11 try once more. 
Yes, I'll try once more, and break these cursed 
chains." 

Harry seemed to be reclaimed. Wine was before 
him every day at dinner, and when he went to ] 
a social evening with his friends, there was sure to 
be wine or sometliing stronger, to tempt the thought- 
less; but for some weeks Harry held out bravely, 
and his eyes grew bright with hope, and his step 
elastic, like one who had broken the chains of a 
cruel master, and had suddenly found himself free. 
"I am not going to be a drunkard after all," thought 
Harry. " I shall never, disgrace my friends. I am 
going to be a man." 

"Come, Carrisford, come along," said James Law- 
son, " our party will not be complete without you." 
"But where are you going?" said Harry. "Oh, we 
are going to have a fine time to-night ; a visit to the 
theatre, and as much fun as we want afterwards." 
How the vices are banded together. Harry was not 
principled against the theatre. He had been taught 
to consider it an intellectual, and at least a very 
harmless amusement. Harry joined his young com- 
panions. All went to the theatre,. and when that en- 
tertainment was over the merry company adjourned 
to a hotel for a supper. 

"Why don't you fill your glass, Carrisford?" said 
several voices at once. "You used to be thirsty." 
" Well, I 'm not thirsty now," said Harry, attempting 
to laugh off importunity. " You have n't got to be 



A r ATM ER'8 EXAM PLE. 79 

one of those sneaking cold-water men, bave you? 
Why, they're afraid to take a friendly glass, for fear 
;1 have to swallow a barrel" All the company 
laughed at Barry's expense. "Come now, Barry," 
continued Lawson, " we 're going to sing ' Auld Lang 
Syne;' so please take 'a cup oi kindness yet 1 to 
help us along." 

() Barry, Barry, why not ask God to help yon 
now? He could Bave yon even In this very den of 
wild beasts. Hut alas. Hany is not acquainted with 
God. Jt is true he has heard of him in church, and 
he' has heard his great name taken lightly every day, 
but he lias never asked hLs assistance and blessing, 
so that he lias no one to depend on in this dark hour 
of temptation but his poor weak self. Harry fell. 
He took a glass, another, another, and still another; 
then his long-slumbering appetite, as if to avenge 
itself for past neglect, seemed almost insatiable. Ho 
knew not where to stop. At last Harry's gay and 
witty companions were obliged to convey him up 
stairs to bed. and they all thought it was a capital 
joke. 

The sun arose bright the next morning, but its 
brilliant beams fell upon the face of one to whom its 
liixht was hateful. Shame, remorse, despair, were 
written on Harry's expressive countenance, as he 
gloomily sat pondering his unhappy condition. ■ I 
am lost, lost Oh, I cannot be a drunkard." And 
then bringing down his hand heavily on the table, 
iii all the energy of despair, w JVb, I ; not l< a 
hard." 

Harry went home. His mother and sistt 1 Mary 



80 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

wondered what made him look so" sad after having 
had " such a gay time." But his maimer was very 
tender towards them, and they thought they never 
loved him so well before. The sumptuous dinner 
was spread, but Harry could not eat, and he turned 
pale at the sight of the decanters. 

"Come, Mary," said Harry after tea, "let us take 
a walk." They were soon on the summit of a hill 
which commanded a view of distant mountains, of a 
Avinding river, and of the town. Harry did not say 
much, but he seemed to look at everything with 
tears in his eyes. When at last the sun went down 
in all the glory of gold and purple, Harry said, " I 
thought I would see that sun set once more." Mary 
wondered at the words " once more," but she simply 
said, "You'll see it set a great many times, brother." 
"Life is always uncertain," said Harry. Mary re- 
turned home with distressed spirits, for the shadow 
of a coming woe had already fallen upon her heart. 

" Good-night, dear mother," said Harry in soft- 
est accents, smoothing her hair. " Good-night," he 
repeated. " Why, Harry, good-night ?" said Mrs. Car- 
risford, " I hope you are not sick," for she noticed a 
peculiar cadence in her son's voice. Harry kissed 
his mother, and said, " No, I am quite well." Then 
he bade his sister good-night in the same way. As 
he left the room, his eye seemed to linger on the 
dear faces of Ins mother and sister, on each familiar 
object, and he was gone. 

The breakfast next morning at Mr. Carrisford's 
was waitmg. The bell had rung, and Mrs. Cams- 
ford and Mary took their seats. Mr. Carrisford was 



A 1A 111 BR'S EXAMPLE. 81 

still Bleeping late hours were his habit Bui where 
is Ham ? "Bun up stairs, Alan," said the mother, 
'•and sec if he is "welL 1 thought he Looked pale 
yesterday." Rfarj weni In a minute, a shriek wild 
ami piercing filled the house,. The mother rushed 
up stairs and such a sight! What mother's heart 
could endure it? Harry was dead, and Mary, had 
fainted beside him. A letter directed to Mrs, Car- 
risford lav on the table. After a few hours of unut- 
terable anguish, the mother was able, amid her tears 
and groans, to read Harry's letter, which ran as fol- 
lows : 

"My dear, darling Motheb and Sister: When 

you read this letter I shall he gone. Life is some- 
times a greater evil than death, then why should I 
hear its intolerable load? No, I Avill not, when the 
means of relief are within my reach. Was it not 
better to take poison than live to he a drunkard? 
Could you and my sweei Mary hear to have anotln r 
in the family? No. one is surely enough. I will 
save you from this calamity. You shall not see me 
come ing home more like a beast than a man. 

Oh, how I have wanted to he great and good. How 
I have longed after something higher and nobler 
than anything within my reach. But it is all in 
vain. I am not strong enough to wrestle with the 
cruel temptations which meet me every day. Who 
knows what there may he in store for me in that 
other world which I shall soon enter? Will any- 
thing worst- than drunkenness meet me then 
know not. hut I will venture. Precious mother and 
lieve that I loved you to my very last 
4* 



82 SKETCHES FEOM LIFE. 

breath. And my father! Ah, I have no message 
to him. Standing as I do on the brink of the grave, 
I will speak the truth. He has murdered me. But 
I have baffled him, for I imR not fill << <lr><jiL->>i-< r .>< 

grave. Mother, sister, God bless you. Farewell." 

So the poor misguided boy had rushed uncalled 
into the presence of his Maker. Parents, beware 
how you tempt your children. Beware setthig them 
a bad example, lest their souls' blood be foimd in 
your skirts. sigma. 

THERE 7 £ N0 qod UP HERE. 

A lady, with her little boy and his nurse, was 
recently spending some months at a fashionable wa- 
tering-place. She was a professed Christian, and 
when at home was accustomed to attend church reg- 
ularly, and to live, outwardly at least, consistently 
with her profession. 

But at the Springs she had been less strict, min- 
gled more in gay society, and partaken with appa- 
rent eagerness in fashionable amusements. Her lit- 
tle son, though but four years old, did not fail to 
observe the change, and it soon had its effect upon 
his pliant character. When told one evening to kneel 
at his mother's knee and repeat his usual pra;. 
before retiring to rest, he closed his eyes for jone 
moment, and then opening them, jumped up, ex- 
claiming, " Oh no, mamma, I must n't pray till we 
go home; there 's no God up here, you know." 

"What a reproof to that erring mother came thus 
from the lisping tongue of her infant child, ami what 



ACX i:s- DISCONTENT. 

a lesson of practical infidelity bad she been uncon- 
sciously instilling into his susceptible mind. How 
many professing Christians thus practically deny 
their Saviour before their children, and instead of 
leading fcheir little ones to Jesus, teach them to doubl 
liis ?ery existence; instead <>f feeding them with the 
bread of divine truth, poison or starve them by the 
influence of fcheir own example. Where should there 
be consistency it' not before qut own households, in 
tin- ]'! for whom God has made us in 

a great measure responsible? The little ones around 
our knee will be in the main what we make them by 
our dailv example; the household servants who min- 
ister to our daily comfort look up to US as their 
guides and models in the practical duties of religion, 
and both will judge not only our own sincerity, hut 
the character of the religion we profess, m.t ^< > much 
by our words as by the tenor of our daily lives. If 
the latter l>e inconsistent and worldly, to our 1 
holds we deny Christ, whatever professions we make 
to the contrary, and at our hands maj he required 
the Mood of immortal souls. >•,. f. 



AQNE3' DISCONTENT. 

nes M was very variable in her cheerful- 

Sometimes she filled the house with sunshine, 
again she was d< •, and n stL s, i 

settle herself to any of her ordinary employments, 
►She had fancied that with the end of school-da; 
troubles would cease, ignorant of the greater temp- 



84 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

tations of the time when she would become " a law 
unto herself." 

Many prayers in her behalf had helped to fill the 
"golden vials." Her mother had, by a sweet, noise- 
less example, " adorned the doctrine of her Lord and 
Saviour Jesus Christ." Through her school-life many 
gracious influences had inclined her heart to that 
wisdom which is priceless. Still she lingered in the 
" outer court," and did not approach the " holy of 
holies." With the cold and barren belief of the in- 
tellect she endeavored to content herself, and heeded 
not the strivings of the Spirit, who was waiting, to 
show unto her " a more excellent way." 

On the day when the church gathered around 
the table of their Lord, and found the " King's daugh- 
ter all glorious within," Agnes was especially ill at 
ease. Every time she refused the blesse 1 bread and 
wine, she felt that she was crucifying Him afresh 
in the house of his friends. This was the secret of 
her discontent, she was constantly quenching the 
Spirit that would have shown her "the things of 
Christ." 

Agnes had many resources at her command. 
She read until " the still small voice " died away in 
her soul, then music charmed her restless moods. 
Through all her amusements- and pleasures echoed 
the words, " "Why persecuted thou me ? It is hard 
to kick against the pricks." 

Agnes was thoroughly tired of herself. She re- 
solved to carry a bouquet of flowers from her own 
plants to a lady who was never able to leave her 
couch. The ail was invigorating; the streets were 



TONES' DIS< ONT ENT. 

filled with prop!, ,jn\ ( (I the walk ; yet 

when she reached that quiet room the most 

; t'nl, happy face smiling a welcome. "1 wish 
you could enjoj this delightful day," said Agnes in- 
voluntarily. The invalid looked at the sunlight fall- 
ing through the room, and r« plied : 
"Well pi 

I mIims. til t 

- could not comprehend the ability to fed as 
well as to say, "Thy will be done," when that will 
implied the turning of our chosen way of life into a 

new and rocky channel. 

This lady had an intuitive perception of her visi- 
tors' wants and difficulties, and a ready sympathy 
for their peculiar and diversified trials. She was 
often able to Bay "the word in season," and to com- 
fort those who were from any cause cast down. 
Before Agnes had revealed to her appreciating lis- 
tener the wavering and changeable atmosphere in 
which she lived, her companion perceived that there 
was DO p ■ in her souL 

It is frequently the privilege of those who have 
"wearisome days and nights appointed unto them " 
to attain a calm serenity of trust and unclouded 
faith, which makes them able to guide other feet up 
the 1 ; Zion into that purer air. The lady 

felt that Agnes needed the knowledge of God in- 
wrought into her soul; that she already knew tlu.' 
way, hut dared not walk therein. On the table 
her v. ndeared to her by the many 

times when a verse had softened pain, and given her 
. the night." At a blue mark the U 



86 SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

opened readily, the lady took a pencil and enclosed 
one verse, then gave her young friend the volume to 
take home with her, begging her to read and ponder 
that particular text. 

Nothing else was said of a religious nature. Ag- 
nes felt so much curiosity in regard to the verse, that 
she paused in the hall and turned to the place. She 
read, "Acquaint thyself with God, and be at p 
During her homeward walk these words were re- 
peated over and over again. They contained a com- 
mand and a promise ; if she would obey the first, 
peace would ensue. Agnes longed for peace, and 
resolved to try. 

Immediately she began to study the character 
of God and his wonderful plan of salvation. She 
found that by searching she could not find out the 
Almighty to perfection, yet light arose hi her dark- 
ness. She dwelt on his attributes, on his infinite 
purity, until she cried out, " Oh, wretched sinner that 
I am ! who shall deliver me from the wrath to 
come?" There came in answer to her despairing 
soul the wonderful assurance, " God so loved the 
world that he sent his only-begotten Son, that who- 
soever believeth on him shoidd not perish, but have 
everlasting life." The acquaintance with God in- 
volved the acceptance of his Son. Agues was soon 
able to say in humble faith, " My Lord, and my 
God!" 

When she had truly acquainted herself with God, 
there followed the deep " peace which the world can 
neither give nor take away." Agnes carried back 
the Psalter to her friend, and told her how the word 



Q i;l EV01 E D. 

of God had been "quick and powerful, sharper than 
any two-edged sword." 

it's did not .-it oner [earn the whole meaning 
of the charge, "Acquaint thyself witfi Go^." 
found that he revealed himself in unexpected ways, 
but peace ever followed every additional knowledge 
of him. Ber hear* was fixed, trusting in God; the 
restlessness and discontent of h< r old life gave way 
to the indwelling " peace which passeth all under- 
standing." Through her pilgrimage Agnes remem- 
I to acquaint herself with (Jod in his various 
dealings, and found that "great peace have they 
who love thy law, and nothing shall offend them." 



QRIEV0U3LY VEXED. 

"Nellie, don't pat your spoon into your cup in 

that way. Drink your milk as your mamma has 
always told you to d 

•• No. 1 'd rather dip it up;" and little Miss Inde- 
pendence raised her black eyes saucily to her aunt's 
and went on as before. 

- Jt is no matter what you had rather do; do 
you are hid. or you shall leave the table," rejoined 
her young aunt sternly. 

•'Don't speak so cross to the dear child, Emi 
interposed the grandmother from behind the tea* 
• you '11 spoil her temper. Nellie, darling, drink 
your milk for grandma, wont you 

aid the child, stoutly, encouraged in her 
wilfulness; "I lite to dip it up so best, and I'm 
doiu' to do it." 



88 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

"But, petty, you're spilling it on your apron." 

"I don't tare," was the cool reply; and the 
young aunt rose impetuously, lifted the child froin 
her high chair, and put her outside of the dining- 
room door, where she stood screaming at the top of 
her voice. 

A sharp discussion ensued, when the two lathes 
rose at once, the elder to bring back to her place 
the screaming child, the younger to rush up to her 
own room and bury her face in her pillow in an 
agony of mortification, anger, and injured feeling. 
It was a sad scene, especially for Sunday morning: 
but such scenes were too frequent of late in this 
once peaceful household. The father and the moth- 
er were both absent for a month, and the children 
had been left under the joint care of the father's 
mother, and the mother's sister. Each of these had 
her own views of government, and they differed 
very widely. A little conciliation on either side 
would have done much towards making the family 
machineiy work smoothly, but neither was ready to 
yield her own opinion. Miss Emma knew that a 
hasty temper was her besetting sin ; many a time 
she was angry with herself for having indulged it, 
and would pace her chamber to and fro, thinking 
of the lack of self-control and dignity she had 
shown. 

It was some time in the morning before she could 
subdue herself to any degree of coinposvue, but at 
length the sound of the church bell roused her. She 
bathed her flushed face, put on her bonnet, and 
joined "the multitude of those who keep holy-day;" 



(i R] EVOUSLI VEXED 

for poor Emma, in spite of her faults, was a Chris- 
tian girl, and loved " the courts of the Lord's hou 
The opening services, the earnesl prayers, the 
lemn songs of praise, had a soothing effect apon 
her troubled spirit, and when the sermon began she 
was in a fitting frame <<> profit by it. It was the 
story of the woman of Canaan, Matt. 15:21, and 
though Emma had heard it over and o m, it 

came to her that day with mw force and fuller mean- 
ing. I with a devil" And s<» was 
she. What was this proud, passionate, hasty tem- 
of hers hut ;m "evil spirit" in truth? An evil 
spirit that tormented 1 her, and roused others like 

ilf in th< <>f those with whom ^u^ d\ 

A V: ss (»i> her part would hav oted 

all the sinful scene of the morning. Oh, that • 
too might he rid of her tormentor. But was i 
willing to do as this faithful, humble woman of Qa- 
naan had done, follow the with unfalteri 

■ spite of his seeming coldm 
denial? Could .she, like her, throw herself ad his 
I with that imploring cry which would reach his 
'. J Could she have accepted wh d such 

cruel words, with such touching faith and humility? 
Id she plead for hut the crumbs of divine ... 
Ah, there had been the trouble— she had 1 
too proud, too impatient; her very prayers had been 
impulsive and passionate. She had not truly hum- 
bled hi the Masi .ait his 
own time, and accept his own measure of tnd 
hence the evil spirit had only been thrust out of 
the time, not driven from her 



90 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

She saw it all now as she listened to the simple, 
earnest words of the minister, bringing home the 
lesson of his text to her heart ; and when the con- 
gregation knelt in prayer, it was hi truth the cry of 
the poor woman of Canaan, "Lord, help me!" that 
went up hi humblest pleading from Emma's soul. 
She knelt again in the solitude of her own apartment 
when she reached home, and pleaded with her Mas- 
ter as one who would be heard. And she was heard 
and answered. Not that a miracle was wrought hi 
her, not that she was suddenly and for ever rid of 
her enemy, but grace was given her to overcome it» 
now, and the sweet assurance that larger aid would 
be given when needed. In learning to "pray aright" 
she had got the secret of a consistently godly life. 
From this time forward no one had occasion to bid 
her "conquer her temper," for all saw how faithfully 
and successfully she was striving for that object, and 
sought to aid, rather than hinder her in the work. J. 



THE iLEggON OF QOD'3 PROVIDENCE. 

Mabt P had passed through a gay and merry 

girlhood without any fixed religious impressions, and 
at the age of twenty was happily married. She had 
been often entreated by pious friends to remember 
her Creator in the days of her youth, but her deter- 
mined gayety and lightness of disposition seemed to 
forbid all serious thought. Two years after her mar- 
riage she rejoiced in the gift of an infant son ; and 
when he grew old enough to totter across the room 



LESSON OF GOD'S I'lloV I DENCE. M 

and lisp the dear name of mother, Mary appea 
to fee] thai her happiness was perfect, and could 
never know a cloud. Little Edward was beautiful, 
and highly gifted. His large Mack eye was full of 

li^llt, his lofty brOW seemed tile seat of liol.le 

thoughts; while the beaming smile which played 
around his mouth lighted his face with a radiant 
sweetness which won all hearts. 

A i little Edward grew from infancy to childhood, 
his mother marked his finely proportioned frame, 
and noted that years added strength and vigor to 
her boy without detracting from his beauty and 

etness. Be seeme^, however, not to have inh< i- 
ited his mother's gay temperament. He was m< 
serious and thoughtful even in his early childhood 
than she Was either in youth or advancing matu- 
rity. 

When Edward was live years old lie begged per- 
mission to go to Sabbath-school, and his fond moth- 

readily consented to his wishes. He attended 
the school constantly till the close of his ninth v< 
and in \ ted so happy as when studying or 

listening tn the teachings of the Bible. 

On the last Sabbath of his ninth year he came 
home, with such a beaming look of delight as am 
ed his mother's attention, and caused her inquiry, 
" What makes my -Edward so happy to-day?" "0 
mother," was the answi r, " 1 have been hearing 
about J > died to save me, and I love him 

dearly." That wondrous story o( Calvary! well 
might it thrill that childish heart, for of old the chil- 
dren shouted 1 . and the inspired record 



92 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

reads, " Out of the mouth of babes and sucklings 
God hath perfected praise.'' 

Never, while memory lasts, will Edward's mother 
forget that answer, for that was her child's last Sab- 
bath on earth. Early the next morning he was 
seized with that scourge ot childhood, the scarlet- 
fever, and ere, another Sabbath closed, he had gone 
to the Saviour of whom he so loved to hear. On 
this Sabbath morning his parents b.ent over him to 
catch if possible some natural look or tone ere his 
spirit fled. At that moment the church bell near 
by tolled for morning service. Edward heard the 
sound, and opened his eyes; he summoned all his 
strength, and looking earnestly at his mother, ex- 
claimed, " O mamma, I must go to Sabbath-school— 
I must — I must — ." His voice and strength failed 
together, and he was gone. 

This was poOr Mary P 's first experience of 

sorrow, and she was as frantic in her grief as she 
had been exuberant in her joy. For weeks she 
mourned incessantly in her chamber, refusing to be 
comforted. The first friend whom she consented to 
see was Edward's Sabbath-school teacher. He told 
her of her darling's interesting ways in the class, of 
his eager questions about Jesus and the way of sal- 
vation, of his warm and grateful love to the Friend 
of sinners, and assured her of his own belief that He 
had taken this little one to Himself. 

These were sweet and precious words to the 
mother, but still her heart murmured, " Why was he 

taken from me ?" " Mrs. P ," said her visitor, 

"I have heard that a shepherd sometimes tries in 



WESSON OF GOD'S PROV1 i>i:\< i.. «.i;; 

vain to call back a wandering slice]) until la- first 
takes her lamb before her to the fold. Perhaps your 
heavenly Father lias dealt thus with yon." Tl 
words pierced her heart, and flashed conviction t-> 
her soul. "Yes, pi s," -aid she, greatly agitated, " I 

it all now. (iod lias called me often and Long 

by his word, his ministers, and my pious friends, bnt 
I shut my ears to his voice; and now this providence 
has come to teach me the Lesson I so Long refused 
to Learn, that God must have the firs! place in my 
heart" 

Mary P did not forget the lesson of God's 

providence. She hit that its voice was like an audi- 
ble call from heaven, and she set herself in earn 
to seek the Lord. And He who had so sternly 

uked her idolatry and forgetfulness of himself 
was still waiting to he gracious. "Like as a father 
pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that 

r him." Soon as her heart said, "I will arise and 

to my Father," that Father, lifee him to whom 
the prodigal s.»n returned, had compassion on her, 
and ran to receive and welcome her. Oh, the good- 
ness and mercy of our long-suffering and forgiving 
God! 

Not many weeks had passed after their great 

bereavement, before MaryP and her husband 

were baptized into the name of the Triune Jehovah, 
and ree( Lved into the company of the professed fol- 
lowers of the Lamb, and they walked together in the 
ways of piety. When another son was given them 
the mother said, "This is indeed a gift from the 
Lord; but my joy is chastened by the memory of 



94 SKETCHES FROM LITE. 

the past and the responsibility of the future. I seem 
to hear my heavenly Father saving, 'Take this child 

and bring it up for me;' and the same voice whis] 
in my ear, 'Little children, keep yourselves from 
idols.' " 

Faithfully have those once smitten parents tried 
to follow the divine lesson. Then- young Arthur has 
1 >een conscientiously trained for God, and is now in 
a course of preparation to preach the gospel of the 
Redeemer, to whose service he has devoted his life, 
and whom he feels to be the God of providence as 
well as the God of grace. E. N. H. 



QO FORWARD. 

An invalid mother sat by the cheerful fire hi her 
sitting-room. She was alone, for her two daughters, 
just on the verge of womanhood, were at the evening 
meeting. 

There was an* awakening in the church, and many 
were anxiously asking the way of salvation. 

The mother had reason to believe that her chil- 
dren were among the inquirers. 

That strange influence which between parents 
and children is so common had hitherto sealed her 
lips, but her heart yearned over her daughters, and 
all the evening she had been praying for them, anM 
for wisdom to direct her as to how she should ad- 
dress them upon the subject dearest to her. 

It grew late, and presently the young girls enter- 
ed, a happy and tender light upon then faces, and 
tears scarcely wiped from their clear < 



00 FOBWAfcD. 95 

The younger girl walked directly to her mother's 

ohair, and clasping her about the neck, laid her (ace 

upon ita earliest and fondest resting-place-, and said: 

"My darling mother, your children have both 

given their hearts to Jesus. 

Oh, happy, happy mother; tears poured swiftly 
<»ver her hollow cheeks as she blessed her daughi 
and thanked God for all his great mercy. 

The younger then proceeded to state hejr experi- 
ence, and ended by avowing her intention to go for- 
ward and otter herself to the church. 

But the elder held hack. She thought they both 

had better wait for some months, perhaps a jrear, to 

v themselv( ou know we may not hold 

out," she said; "we may not be sincere, and that 

would he a dreadful thing 

"That is true, sister; hut how can it be anything 
sincere to try to love and serve our Creator and 
eemer? I feel that we cannot make too much 
haste to join ourselves to his people, that every in- 
fluence may be around us to keep us in, and help us 
along the right way.*' 

But Agnes did not like to commit herself before 
the church, oi-the world, until she was sun that she 
had grace enough to endure, 

"Mary is right, my dear."' said the mother gen- 
fly. "U you feel that Christ has forgiven and ac- 
cepted you. ii is your solemn duty to own before the 
world what he has dom for your souls, and trust him 
for what needs still to be done. He will not put 
your faith to shame. '1',. c >mmit yourself, . to 

his service, is what you ought to rejoice to do; and 



96 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

whether you find your hope remaining bright, or 
fading, your duty to do his will is ever the same. I 
think, my dear, that many a real Christian has gone 
all his days in darkness, and in almost entire un- 
l'ruitfuhiess, because of not coming out and making 
known his hope. I know that you mean well, Ag- 
nes ; but be careful that there is not some pride as 
well as humility and caution at the bottom of your 
inclination to hold back. Pray earnestly, my daugh- 
ters, that you may be guided aright," 

Notwithstanding this advice, Agnes deferred her 
union with the church "for a short time," as she 
said; but alas, it proved to be for many years. Her 
hope grew no brighter, her proofs that she could 
endure to the end no stronger, and she in fact almost 
gave up considering herself a Christian at all. 

But the good Shepherd would not thus lose his 
mistaken sheep. He taught her at last to understand 
that there is no proof that any one will endure 
"faithful unto death," save that of doing, day by 
day, and hour by hour, present duties, looking con- 
stantly unto Jesus for help, and forgiveness for all 
shortcomings and sins. 

It is right to fear being insincere? and bringing 
reproach on the cause of Christ ; but is it right ever 
to hide away in one's own heart the knowledge of 
all that He has done hi renewing, or even in awaken- 
ing the soul ? 

1 Is it not better to " go forward," determined, by 
his help, not to put him to shame, trusting hi him to 
sustain you? Dear friends, whom Christ has for- 
given, who desire to be for ever his own, go forward. 



( OUSIN HELEN. 97 

COU3IN HELEN. 

Helen was one of the wildest of girls, literally 
bo, sii«- laughed at proprieties, and mocked at reli- 
gion, sin- played off practical jokes on her besi 
friends, and respected neither time nor place. Fun 

and frolic were all she thought of when she was not 

reading novels and romances, and these she read 

Only to pass away time; ami when she had read, 
turned sentiment into a theme for ridicule. But her 
temper was as hasty and violent as her disposition 
was volatile, and she made herself manv enemies. 
She loved the theatre and gay parties, and attended 
them on every possible occasion. Yet she had manv 
good and valuable traits, and an intelligent and ap- 
preciative mind. 

Helen's father was a man awfully wicked; her 
mother was a pious, praying woman. A dearly lov< I 
brother was converted very young, and in a f< w 
years departed as a missionary to Asia. Helen's 
anger at her brother's folly, as she termed it. nV( i- 
eame all natural affection. Yet when the ship was 
leaving the wharf, she burst into tears, and - 
the last moment to throw her arms around his neck 
u one wild embrace. For years she did not i 
to revile those who she said had "lured her brother 
on to destruction," and "sent him on a wild-goose 

chase." Sueli was Helen until she had been a wife 
and mother thirteen years. 

At last Helen was convicted of sin. and alarmed 
for the safety of her Dever-dying soul The means 

t 1 Holy Spirit employed was the conversion of a 



98 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

young friend, whose change of life and heart \sas 
visible in every point. This friend manifested +he 
most tender concern for the spiritual welfare of 
cousin Helen, but knowing her peculiarities of dispo- 
sition, and her hostility to religion, was exceedingly 
cautious how she addressed her. Step by step, deli- 
cately, yet with the most earnest solemnity and affec- 
tion, did she reveal to Helen the superiority of reli- 
gious pursuits over those of the world. Helen be- 
came humble and teachable as a child, and finally 
laid all her past life and its sins before the cross, 
looking unto Jesus as her Saviour and her righteous- 
ness also. 

From that time the lion was turned into the 
lamb. Occasional risings of the old nature would 
cause her a terrible conflict, but she overcame by 
prayer and faith. To her husband and children she 
was a marvel, so great was the change. Those whom 
once she hated and reviled were now her chosen 
companions, the house of God her delight, the pray- 
er-meeting her privilege. She publicly took upon 
her the badge of a disciple, all who knew her testi- 
fying that she did it in sincerity and in truth. 
Mourning daily over her wasted youth, yet rejoicing 
that a portion of her life was redeemed from sin, she 
lived as one whose heart and whose hopes were in 
heaven. 

She was the mother of a son, whom she named 
for her missionary brother, long since departed. This 
son at an early age experienced religion, entered on 
the study of theology, and became a minister of the 
gospel. 



Til E PREPABATION-WEEK. ( .» ( .) 

Belen died trusting in Christ. Religion, conyer- 

sion, tin* new-birth, made her a living epistle, known 

and read of all men. J. I ni.l.. 



THE PREPARATION-WEEK. 

I r was prayer-time in an old homestead ; through 
the open windows came the sweet freshness of early 

morning in mid-summer, the fragrance of dew. i 
and Mattered hay in the yard. Theodore had some 
difficulty in keeping his place, there were such vis- 
ions of pets and flowers. 

The little hoy was very inattentive during his 
grandfather's prayer, until he heard these words: 
"(riant, O Lord, that this week may be one of true 
preparation for thy holy communion." A week of 
preparation] It sounded like the anticipation of 
some great event, the busy days before a party in 
hrs father's city house. The child was very curious 
to know in what manner this week would differ from 
others; it seemed strange to think so early of the 
coming sapper. The grandfather went to his study, 
the grandmother to her dairy. Theodore fancied 
that they had forgotten about this preparation-week. 
While the dear old lady printed stamps on the cakes 
of butter, she was thinking over her plans for the 
coming days; occasionally she sighed, for she was 
breathing the old prayer, "God be merciful to me a 
sinner."' 

When Theodore went softly by the study d^>>\\ 
he saw his grandfather searching old books, and 



100 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

whispering grand sentences to himself about the 
theme of which his "heart was full. It was rather a 
solemn pleasure for Theodore to accompany his 
grandfather in the chaise that afternoon to visit 
some parishioners. In every house where there were 
sick or feeble persons, they stopped. Theodore saw 
the old man standing like a patriarch in the door, 
his whole manner saying, " Peace be to this house ;" 
and often he heard the sound of prayer and words 
of heavenly consolation. 

It seemed to be a week of charity for Theodore's 
grandmother. In the morning, when the old minis- 
ter was preparing "green pastures" wherein his flock 
might feed, the chaise was filled with baskets and 
parcels. Theodore was very proud to act as driver. 
They lingered at many old, worn houses, where a 
bed-ridden woman lived, or a blind child, where rags 
in the windows told dreadful tales of misery, where 
a paralytic man sat in the sun. With the gifts, words 
of comfort were freely mingled. Theodore saw that 
the faces were brighter as they drove away. The 
bed-ridden woman had a pleasant book to read, the 
blind girl a present of yarn for knitting ; the children 
were noticed, and won by the gentleness of that mild 
face. 

Nothing more was said about the preparation- 
week, but Theodore felt how often they thought of 
doing this "in remembrance of Me." At night, after 
Theodore had said his own little prayer, he saw his 
grandmother sitting in her large arm-chair by the 
favorite window in her room, meditating on the word 
which was sweeter to her taste than honey. Falling 



THE PBEPABATION-WEEK. 101 




into the first hush of sleep he heard her praying, 
and knew that she was getting ready for the Sab- 
bath feast 

When Saturday night came they strolled through 
garden, where every bed and path was in order, 
thence to the smooth lawn and barn-yard. K 
thing within the house was dean and well-ordered 

Work was put away, and over all Ml the BOOthing 
influence of the peace which Christ left with as. 



102 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

which lie will not take away. After his bath, Theo- 
dore heard his grandfather say across the hall that 
all errands were done, all little debts paid, every- 
thing borrowed returned, the sick visited, the poor 
remembered ; the coming of the Lord's supper would 
be welcomed and blessed. Theodore thought of the 
hurry and confusion when his sisters were preparing 
for a ball or visit, the running and sewing, the late 
dressing and eager anticipation, but never before 
had he seen any one making ready for the Lord's 
table. 

The afternoon came for the sacred ordinance. 
Theodore saw groups of people gathering before the 
bell summoned them. The table was spread with 
linen clean and wlnte, the church was cool and fra- 
grant with summer air. Very old people came, and 
those just recovering from illness. It was a goodly 
sight to see whole families " glad to enter into the 
courts of the Lord." Theodore sat by his grand- 
mother's side, while a deep solemnity filled the 
house. In the pulpit his grandfather's face was 
radiant with joy; he rejoiced to sit down at the 
marriage supper of the Lamb. In the stillness of 
the Sabbath afternoon they ate of that bread and 
drink of that cup, showing forth the Lord's death 
till he come. Old men and women partook once 
more of this heavenly supper on earth; maidens in 
white meekly received the cup; mothers came and 
found strength; children too not older than Theo- 
dore confessed that Christ was their Saviour. 

Poor Theodore bitterly felt that he stood with- 
out, a sinful child, not worthy to "remember" Christ, 



L3 1 ILE MARY. 108 

or testify his love. While his heart was melted by 
those thoughts, he heard voices singing sweetly, 

us in\ lies lii> saints 

To meet around his board ; 
Here pardon* -1 reh la sit and hold 
Communion with their Lord." 

The remembrance of that peaceful preparation- 
week was never effaced from Theodore's mind. After 
onfessed Christ before men, he never failed to 
examine himself before the sapper, of his "disc, rn- 
ing the Lord's body," of his faith, love, and new 
obedienc 

If the church would thus prepare for the Lords 
table, then might it truly be "without spot or wrin- 
kle, or any such thing." 

The beloved grandparents soon passed into that 
full communion where no further preparation is 
needed, while Theodore still remembers "so to eat 
of that bread, and drink of that cup," that he may 
ady to taste the wine with them anew in the 
kingdom of his Lord. 



JLITTLE MARY. 

Mi:. 1\ was an infidel, one of those men who 

say the Bible is not God's book. His wife became 

a Christian soon after her marriage, and loved the 
Bible, and tried to serve God; but Mr. B was 

angry whenever he saw a Bible, and would throw it 
into the lire, or out iA' the window. His poor wife 
did not dare to let hini know she had a Bible, oi 



104 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

ever read one. But she had a little pocket Bible, 
and she kept it hid in the bottom of he* trunk, and 
when her husband went away on his trips down 
the great river, for he was captain of a boat, she 
would get it out and read it every day. 

Three little children called her mother, and she 
spent much time every day in talking to them about 
God and the Bible and their duties, and told them 
to pray every day that God would make their father 
a new man. 

The eldest of her children, little Mary, had evi- 
dently given her heart to the Saviour at about ten 
years of age, and loved to pray. She seemed to live 
near to God, and to see him as ever about her. 

She continued this habit of prayer; and her fa- 
ther, as he returned from one of his trips, overheard 
her several times ; but she was his pet, his idol, and 
he could not be angry with her, though he thought 
it was a childish whim, and she would soon get over 
it. Calling her to him, he took her on his knee and 
asked, " Mary, what do you go about praying for ? 
what does a little girl like you know about prayer ?" 

" Father, I like to pray," said the child. 

"But what do you pray for : what is it you are 
wanting ?" 

" I '11 tell you, pa, what I pray for ; but you must 
promise me something first." 

" Well, what must I promise ?" 

" Well, father, if you will promise to go to meet- 
ing with ma and me to-night, I '11 tell you what I 
pa-ay for." 

She put her little hands caressingly down his 



Til i: WAYWARD SOX. L05 

cheeks, and said, "Pa, I pray ever} day that God 
will convert your soul, and make yon Love liis Bible, 

and him too." With the last words she put up her 
little month to his, and gave him an earnest and 
Loving kiss; and as she did so, lie felt as if some- 
thing struck him on the top of his head. He became 

faint, and trembled, and afterwards declared that it 
seemed as if ( iod smote him. 

He said nothing then, but went to meeting that 
night, ami his conviction of God's power incr< 

until he humbled himself as a sinner before him, 
and was enabled by faith to trust in Christ for sal- 
vation. How ashamed and sorry he was when lie 
remembered how he had fought against the Bible. 

Ho went away very soon on his boat. When he 
came back it was dark, on Saturday night, as he 
readied the wharf; but before going home lie went 
to a bookstore and bought a large, elegant Bible, 
and carrying it home, laid it on his wife's table. 

Mrs. B and little Mary were very happy at 

the change in his feelings; and ever since then he 
has lived a Christian life, always thanking God for 
little Mary and her pray. E. 



THE WAYWARD 30N. 

It is now about seven years since the conversion 

of my friends Mr. and Mrs. J . At that time 

they had a Large family, and being dependent upon 
his weekly earnings in a printing establishment for 

their support, the Labor necessarily devolved upon 



10G SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Mrs. J was nnintermitted and severe. Being of 

a somewhat delicate constitution, her health gave 
way; and it was the kind sympathy of Christian 
friends in the time of affliction, when their hearts 
were tender, which in the providence of God, pre- 
pared the way for their instruction, conviction, and 
conversion. 

But who can estimate the sad consequences of 
having lived so long without an acknowledgment of 
God in a family, with no family altar from which the 
incense of devotion ascends morning and evening to 
heaven? Hitherto my friends had thus lived, and 
now they were converted, they found an obstacle in 
their way in their eldest son James. Unrestrained 
he had. followed the promptings of his unrenewed 
nature, and now acted in direct opposition to the 
wishes of his parents. Being just at that point where 
thoughtless youth is most • anxious to be freed even 
from the semblance of authority, he became the asso- 
ciate of the trifling and giddy, and it was with the 
utmost difficulty that his father could induce him to 
attend family worship. Oh, how fervently did these 
young Christians pray for the conversion of their 
first-born son. But alas, his feet had begun the 
descent of the hill of vice, and witli rapid strides he 
hurried on. 

One morning he seemed to linger more than 
usual, as he took his leave to attend his daily avoca- 
tion. His mother did not particularly remark it at 
the time, but when evening came and he returned 
not, she remembered the evident reluctance with 
which he crossed the threshold. The hours of that 



THE WAYWARD SON. 107 

night passed slowly away, how slowly none but anx- 
ious parents in similar circumstances can tell. 

The morning came, but James had not returned. 
Mr. J , greatly distressed and very anxious, vis- 
ited every place to make inquiries where he thought 
he could obtain any tidings of his son, but with no 
result. Days passed, but still they were in suspense, 
and they " went and told Jesus " their trouble, pray- 
ing that he would strengthen them to bear their 
affliction ; and to-day they will tell you that this, the 
first griat sorrow of their Christian life, was sancti- 
fied to their good. 

In about two weeks from the time of his leaving 
home they received a letter from James, informing 
them that he had enlisted in the United States army, 
and was now on his way to Texas; and begging 
them to take no legal measures for his recovery, as 
he intended to be a soldier, and would enlist again 
if they obtained his discharge now. 

"With their hearts rilled with distress, they again 
sought counsel of the Lord, and it was deemed best 
to permit him to go, in accordance with his avowed 
purpose. But his case was laid before the people of 
God, and their prayers requested in his behalf. 

James wrote home very seldom during the first 
year, and when he did write, his letters were very 
trifling and unsatisfactory. But at length the prod- 
igal had " come to himself " in a far country. Hav- 
ing much leisure, he was looking over the scant libra- 
ry oi one of his comrades, when his eye fell upon a 
tract entitled, "Thou God Seest Me," which was laid 
between the leaves of a book. This sentence was 



108 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

the first arrow that pierced Lis soul, which was soon 
wounded by many others, for he read and reread 
that tract until his accumulated sins seemed to crush 
him to the earth. Bitter were the tears he now 
bed, hut he could shed them only in solitude. His 
comrades rallied, joked, and derided him, hut his 
distress was too .great to be dissipated. AVliile in 
this state of mind he wrote home: "O mother, I 
would not listen to you when I might ; now I would 
gladly listen to your counsels, but thousands of miles 
separate us. I often leave the camp, and behind a 
bush or tree cry to God to have mercy on me ; but 
I am much in doubt whether he will have mercy on 
such a wretch as I am." 

Many weeks passed ere the light shone upon his 
soul; hut when the day came, it was bright and 
serene. His soul was filled with peace and joy in 
the Holy Ghost through believing. He became ear- 
nestly pious; and now James is free, and a comfort 
to his parents, having enlisted under Christ's banner 
and become a soldier of the cross. 

Thus the clouds which Providence permits some- 
times to gather above us, though they darken our 
skies for a season, frequently give forth refreshing 
showers to revive our drooping spirits. The cup 
mingled for us and placed in our hands is never all 
bitter. Let us as parents first be careful to set be- 
fore our children a suitable example, and then bear 
them before the Lord in earnest supplication: for it 
is written. "Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and 
ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto 
vou.*' J - T ' 



JOSEPH DEAN. 109 

J03EPH DEAN. 

WHEN a mother looks upon her babe in the cra- 
dle she regards him in his present loveliness, and is 
happy and satisfied. As he grows older, and the 
latent human passions begin to be developed, she 
becomes anxious for the future; but still hope pre- 
dominates over fear. She believes that her son will 
be a good and noble man. If she is a faithful Chris- 
tain mother, she has good ground for her faith and 
hope. There may be instances when such parents 
have been disappointed, but we think such cases are 
very rare. The conscience must be cultivated, and 
the fear of God constantly enjoined, or the youth 
will go astray at every turn. An amiable, loving 
spirit alone will not keep him from falling into sin. 

Joseph Dean was what everybody called a good 
boy. He did all he could for his widowed mother, 
and being an only child, he could do much. Mrs. 
Dean was poor. She owned a small house and a 
few acres of land, and that was all. Her son was 
her great treasure, and in him she felt rich. 

As Joseph was approaching manhood, he had a 
desire to see more of the world than he could do in 
the place of his birth, and to do something more 
remunerative than tilling his mother's little farm. 
He went to the city, and was so fortunate as to get 
into business which satisfied his desires. His mother 
heard from him often; and whenever he could leave, 
he went to see her, carrying some little comfort or 
luxury. She missed him sadly, but yet she was rec- 
onciled to his absence, because she believed it was 



110 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

best for liiin, and would in the end be best for her; 
lie might become a rich man, or at least might lay 
by money enough to enable him to come home and 
repair the house, and put the little farm in good 
order, and live on it to take care of her in her old 
age. 

Joseph remained in the business he had chosen 
for some years, and was prosperous, laying up money 
until he counted by thousands. Then the spirit of 
change revived again, and he resolved to go to a 
distant part of the country to improve his worldly 
condition. The proposition almost broke his moth- 
er's heart. How could she part with her son; so 
handsome, so kind and noble, what could she do 
without him ? Her pleadings were all in vain. He 
had made up his mind, and must go. He went ; and 
we fear he went in his own strength, and not in the 
fear and love of God. Did his mother pray in faith 
for him? She did not profess faith in Christ, and 
perhaps did not pray at all. 

The months wore wearily away, and no tidings 
came of Joseph. It was very strange he did not 
write. A year went by, and his mother had not 
heard a word from him. Had he died among stran- 
gers, or had he sailed for some foreign land, and his 
letters failed to reach her? The days grew very 
long to her, and the nights wearisome. The winds 
reminded her of the perils of the sea, and the scorch- 
ing sun of sickly climes. Where, oh where was her 
son? 

The little keepsakes he had given her were looked 
over and over, and the history of each recalled with 



JOSEPH DEAN. Ill 

a new heartache. The farm was neglected, and the 
house Deeded repairs, but the widow Dean seemed 
to care for nothing but tidings from her darling son. 
Her hair became bleached by sorrow, and her eyes 
dim with weeping. Her neighbors tried to comfort 
he* — but what did they know of the deep sorrow of 
her heart ? 

After years had gone by, one day the door of the 
cottage opened, and a stranger, presented himself 
before Mrs. Dean. He was shabby and haggard, 
and had a wild and anxious look. Who was this? 
Could it be her son? "Are you Joseph Dean?" 
said the mother. "No, that is not my name; my 
name is Johnson." The voice was Joseph's, but the 
person, oh, it was but the wreck of her once hopeful 
and noble son. 

All that he would ever say of himself was, that in a 
distant city he was taken to a place where something 
was given him to drink, and after that he did not 
know anything for a long time. When he awoke his 
ruonep was all gone. Poor Joseph ; in an evil hour 
he had fallen into sin, and that one act proved his 
destruction. Of his subsequent life he could give 
no account; but that his mind had been disordered 
there was every reason to suppose. 

He remained with his mother, but gave little atten- 
tion to business, and could never be induced to min- 
gle at all with men, and would not answer if ad- 
dressed by any other name than that of Johnson. 
The farm and the cottage were never improved, but 
fell from year to year into a state of greater decay. 
Mrs. Dean died, and Joseph was left alone. There 



112 



SKETCHES FROM LIFE 



he lived a hermit life till his locks were white. One 

day it was observed by a neighbor that his door had 
not been opened for some time, and on going in 




Joseph was found lying on his bed dead. Ho had 
evidently died suddenly, probably from disease of 
the heart. 

How many, like poor Joseph, fail to fulfil the 
promise of childhood and youth. They fail because 
they are not armed for life's conflicts, sometimes 
through parental lack of piety. Nothing but divine 
grace can give them the victory; and not seeking 
this aid, when the evil hour conies they fail. M. v. 



SILENT PREACHING. 113 

gILENT PREACHINQ. 

Yeaiis ago in our western country a young couple 
were united in marriage. They at once entered their 
humble abode, containing two rooms, one serving as 
kitchen and dining-room, and the other as sleeping 
apartment. The bride was a simple-hearted child 
of God, but the husband knew of religion only by 
the hearing of the ear. It was not long before the 
latter discovered that at a certain time every morn- 
ing his wife disappeared, and was nowhere to be 
found. The mystery was soon solved. This was 
her hour of secret prayer. Here was a new and no 
very welcome revelation. One in affection, one by 
ordinance of God in bonds which only crime or 
death could sunder, between them yawned a gulf 
wide as between heaven and earth. To the wife was 
open a world of hopes and joys to which the hus- 
band was a stranger. While he was engaged in such 
reflections, every day the silent sermon was preach- 
ed. At length he could endure it no longer. By 
divine grace he was drawn step by step to faith and 
repentance, and ere long he found himseK by the 
side of his companion at the same mercy-seat, and 
at the same communion-table. 

In a godly family there was a son of talents, of 
promise, and the object of many high hopes. During 
his absence for some months in a distant city, whis- 
pers reached the mother's ear of a gayety in her 
darling son that verged closely upon dissipation. Oh, 
how that mother's heart trembled ! Oh, what prayers 
went up from that praying closet for that imperilled 



114 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

youth ! Having indulged hopes of hearing the voice 
of that son in the pulpit, how sad the prospect that 
now opened upon her. The seasons rolled by ; the 
s< >ii set out upon his return. His arrival was in due 
time announced. The mother entered the room by 
one door as the son entered by another. She essayed 
to approach him with a word and smile of welcpme, 
but her emotions overpowered her. She staggered 
to the fireplace, rested her elbow on the mantel- 
piece, and supported her throbbing head in her 
hand. Such was the picture that flashed upon the 
returning son. He read the story as if it had been 
written with a sunbeam. She had not spoken — she 
could not speak. He could, and did speak : " Moth- 
er, this shall be the end of it ;" and it was. He has 
now been for years in the pulpit. 

A Christian patriarch relates of his own history : 
When a young man I was distinguished for profanity 
and ungodliness. I married however, strange as it 
may seem, a young woman of exemplary piety, and 
we went at once into our humble home full of antici- 
pations of happiness. As the first day of our resi- 
dence in our new abode drew to a close, the supper- 
table being removed, my wife, without saying a word, 
placed a little table by my side, laid a Bible on it, 
and sat down opposite to me in evident expectation 
that I would conduct family worship. What could 
I do? I was spellbound. I could not disappoint 
her. She probably knew nothing oi my profanity 
and wickedness. And yet how could such a wretch 
as I kneel before Almighty God and utter words of 
devotion ? Yet I did. I read and prayed. But oh, 



SILENT PREACHING. 115 

as I took the name of Jehovah on my lips, a terrible 
sense of guilt and hypocrisy stung my soul. I rose 
from my knees in anguish of spirit. 

Another day rolled by, another sunset came. 
Again the tea-table was spread and removed, and 
before I was aware, there at my side was the same 
stand with the dreaded Bible upon it, and my wife 
seated in full expectation of the evening devotions. 
Having yielded once, I was less able to resist again, 
and again I yielded. A new horror now came on 
me, a dread lest, like Uzzah, I should perish in my 
sacrilegious act. The sins of a lifetime stared me in 
the face; my soul and Satan bade me curse God, 
and die. Morning brought only a deepened sense 
of guilt, and all day long I could do nothing but 
brood over the gall of bitterness within, and the 
bonds of iniquity which bound me. 

The third evening drew nigh, and with it the 
inevitable table with its sacred furniture. To yield 
again was impossible. Increasing horror took hold 
upon me. As I sought no aid from heaven, Satan 
volunteered Ins. My mind was made up. I resolved 
on suicide. A rope hung from a tree in the orchard, 
with which I purposed to terminate, as I madly 
dreamed, the horrors of my soul. We took our third, 
and as I believed, our last supper together. I lin- 
gered in the room until I saw the dreaded moment 
at hand, took a last look at my bride and my home, 
and withdrew. I hastened to the orchard; every 
step increased my anguish. I ran ; my reason seemed 
to reel. I passed the orchard, and found myself in 
the woods beyond. Overpowered by my emotions, 



116 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 

I fell prostrate on the ground. How long I lay I 
know not; an eternity seemed crowded into that 
period; a horror of great darkness passed over me 
in view of my sins. But in the thickest of the dark- 
ness, and when despair seemed ready to settle down 
in endless night, light broke upon my soul. There 
was Jesus in all the fuhiess of the Godhead. I saw 
and believed ; I loved, and lived. I sprang to my feet 
the happiest of men. From that hour I have known 
scarcely a moment of doubt or fear. 

As the old man spoke, the tears fell from his 
cheeks upon the floor, and Ins aged form shook with 
emotion. 

What sermons were these, without an uttered 
word ! What Christian living near to God cannot 
thus preach? Would God all the Lord's people 
would become preachers by a holy, consistent life. 

w. p. B. 



OUR QRANDMOTHER'g gTORY. 

When I was a little girl I did not like to attend 
religious meetings, especially on a week-day. My 
father was a minister, and I was taught the way of 
salvation, but I did not like to walk in it. I knew I 
was a sinful child, but I had no wish to follow Jesus 
Christ as a loving disciple. I often amused my 
brothers and sisters on my return from a prayer- 
meeting by my description of the remarks of " the 
brethren," and their mistakes in pronunciation and 
grammar. Sometimes at funerals, or in a solemn 
sennon at church, I would feel the necessity of be- 



OUR GRANDMOTHER'S STORY. 117 

coming a child of God ; but of mo it might truly be 
said, that I did " always resist the Holy Ghost." 

One day my father was requested to assist a 
neighboring minister in special meetings for nearly a 
week. I did not like such meetings. It was in win- 
ter, when deep snow had covered the fields even to 
the top of the fences, making one level, dazzling 
expanse, and I w T as glad these meetings were fifteen 
miles away. 

Most unexpectedly my father invited me to go 
with him to spend the week at the minister's house 
with a child of my own age. I dreaded to go, espe- 
cially as I had heard my parents talk of " an awaken- 
ing " in that place ; still the novelty of a long sleigh- 
ride, and the prospect of making a new friend, made 
me anxious to go, and besides I had a new dress, 
which would add to the pleasure of the journey. 

The old-fashioned green sleigh was brought to 
the door, with the clumsy bells on the horse. I was 
carefully wrapped up, and made quite proud by a 
huge black muff which my mother allowed me to 
carrv; a foot-stove kept my feet warm. The old 
horse jogged along, shaking the bells monotonously, 
but we found many pretty sights in the clear, frosty 
ride. 

I was beginning to feel rather cold and home- 
sick when we reached the parsonage. A delicate, 
sweet-looking child was looking from the parlor win- 
dow. Here I warmed my numb fingers, while little 
May carried away my cloak and shawls. In the 
afternoon May and I talked over our schools and 
dolls, compared ages, and became warm friends. 



118 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Aa tlif older people were talking of the meeting 
appointed for that evening in a school-house, it 

seemed to me that May listened attentively, and 
looked a little serious; but she always had a gentle, 
lovely expression. After an early tea, May said, 
" We will put on our things early, and get real warm 
before we start." " Why, May," I said, much dis- 
turbed, " are you going to the meeting?" " Certain- 
ly," my little friend said ; " I should be very s< >itv 
to stay away; don't you wish to go?" "It is so 
cold," I said, " and I am tired, and I think the meet- 
ing is for older persons." May looked quite sur- 
prised. "We shall ride," she said, "in our covered 
sleigh." I tried to think of some other excuse, but 
May's father called to us to hasten, and I saw it was 
taken for granted that I should go too. 

The old red school-house was already filled on 
our arrival." A deep silence pervaded the room, 
lighted by candles brought in by the neighbors. 
May and I found seats on a little bench. When the 
hymn was given out, a man took out his tuning-fork 
to get the pitch. I expected to be amused by the 
old and cracked voices, but all seemed melted down 
into a sweet melody. Many sang with tearful eyes. 
May joined her sweet, childish voice. May's father 
preached. I looked around, and saw every eye 
fastened on him. Hard-working farmers bent for- 
ward and listened eagerly; some faces' were bowed 
on their hands. I tried not to hear much of this 
sermon, but some sentences would creep through 
my wandering thoughts. It was the old subject, 
"Repent, and believe," but handled with so much 



OUR GRANDMOTHER'S STORY. 119 

power and earnestness that a profound stillness filled 
the room as in the presence of death. After the ser- 
mon they sang again that hymn, peculiarly sweet at 
such times, 

"Awake, my soul, to joyful lays, 
And sing the great Redeemer's praise." 

At the close of the services many lingered. The 
minister invited all to remain who wished to con- 
verse about their souls. How uneasy I felt. May 
looked calm and happy. The two ministers spoke 
to each one present. May's father approached my 
bench, stopped, and said to me, " My daughter, why 
will you not love the Lord Jesus Christ?" Then he 
turned away to a woman who was weeping bitterly. 

We went to our room in silence. May seemed 
to have found the Saviour precious to her. I could 
not sleep. While May was breathing tranquilly, I 
was restless and disturbed. My conscience said, 
" Now is the accepted time ; now is the day of salva- 
tion." My wicked heart replied, I am too young to 
be a Christian ; it will destroy all my pleasure. Then 
I thought of May, smaller, younger than myself, 
peaceful and happy ; loving her dolls and play, but 
finding Christ her friend and portion, " the one alto- 
gether lovely." 

In the morning I was ill-natured and miserable, 
though I tried to conceal my feelings. We went in 
the afternoon to the old church, where a great con- 
gregation gathered, called from their wood-lots and 
busy kitchens to learn what they must do to be 
saved. It was a dark afternoon, the church was 
cold and dreary. A great anguish possessed my 



120 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

soul when my father brought forth the terrors of the 
law, our hopeless, undone condition, the wrath of 
God, the entire sinfulness of man, the impossibility 
of meriting salvation by anything that we can do. 
I shivered in a corner of a high-backed pew, feeling 
the truth of all he said, until my own guilty little life 
appeared in its true light. 

In the evening we went again to the same school- 
house. The theme was Christ^-his pity, his love, 
Ins ability to pardon even the chief of sinners. A 
great light broke into my soul. I saw that I need 
not despair; I need not perish. I had nothing to 
do but to trust in Christ, and take him at his word. 
In the closing hymn, May looked at me in her sweet 
loving way, for large tears were falling on the yellow 
pages of the old hymn-book. When the ministers 
passed through the room I dreaded no longer their 
looks and words. I longed to say, "I believe; it 
seems so easy now." My father drew near my 
bench : as he bent over me tearful, I whispered, " I 
hope I do love the Saviour who died for me." 

May and I had a new tie of sympathy. I told 
her how the dreaded meetings had become full of 
beauty, while she helped me by her rich experience 
of grace. Through that blessed week we prayed 
and sung together, until Saturday eve forced us to 
part, feeling that we had now " one Lord, one faith." 
In a few years that gentle, loving May was called 
into the joy of her Lord, being quickly ready for her 
heavenly home; while I have spent this long life 
sinning and repenting, wandering and brought back, 
but ever clinging to that Saviour who drew me to 



THE PRAYING WIFE. 121 

himself when I was a rebellious, sinful child, and 
who has promised " to love me unto the end." 

You see, my dear, that I was never sorry again 
to hear the bell ring for meeting; it always reminds 
me of the time when I sat on a little bench with 
May, a believing, rejoicing child. 



THE PRAYINQ WIFE. 

Mrs. S was a devoted Christian. For many 

years she walked with God ; and her believing confi- 
dence in his promises had often been signally hon- 
ored. According to her faith were her religious en- 
joyments, and her cheerful countenance was an index 
of a rejoicing spirit. 

She was converted after her marriage. Her com- 
panion was a man of the world, having no relish for 
religion, and though he did not positively oppose her 
in the outset of her religious life, it was through him 
that her trials chiefly came. 

In their worldly business they were prosperous 
for many years, until he became attached to the 
society of professional gamblers, and then a sad 
change took place. His business was neglected, and 
his worldly substance began rapidly to diminish. A 
sort of fascination was upon him; the enemy had 
thrown his net around him, and he seemed inextrica- 
bly entangled in its meshes. Oh, how often did she 
{dead with and entreat him to leave the path of the 
destroyer, but in vain. As a last resource she took 
his case to her closet, and laid it at the feet of Jesus. 



122 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

There she wrestled in prayer as only a believing wife 
intent upon the salvation of her husband can pray, 

and she felt assured her prayer would be answered. 

Bnt her faith was destined to a severe trial. 
From one step of folly to another her companion 
descended, until he was well-nigh ruined. At this 
period her own health failed. She seemed to be 
rapidly descending to the grave. All her anxiety 
now was for her husband. She entreated the wri- 
ter's mother to unite with her in pleading for his 
conversion, " for," said she, " the promise is, ' If two 
of you shall agree as touching anything they shall 
ask, it shall be done for them.' " 

In this illness her husband seldom visited her. 
All that tenderness of feeling he had once manifested 
towards the wife of his youth was gone. Iniquity 
had steeled his heart, and the meek resignation of 
his suffering wife was to him a continual reproach. 
Yet, like Abraham of old, she hoped against hope, 
and said, " Though I go down to the grave before 
William is converted, he will yet be saved ; my pray- 
ers are heard, and will be answered." The messen- 
ger came. He found her prepared, with her lamp 
trimmed and her light burning, and she passed to 
her home in the skies. 

The funeral over, when Mr. S returned home 

all was cheerless and desolate; no gentle hand im- 
pelled by a warm affectionate heart was there to 
minister to his necessities, and he began to reflect. 
Reflection produced conviction. Conviction led to 
repentance, and strait indeed was the gate through 
which he was called to pass. At length he was led 



CHRIST'S WAY. 123 

to Jesus, the sinner's friend, and he found him both 
able and willing to save a poor sinner such as lie. 
He turned from his evil ways, and adorned the gos- 
pel of Christ. Seldom after this did he speak of his 
deceased wife without being moved to tears. 

Thus were this believing wife's prayers answered; 
and he has since been transferred to the church 
above. If your prayer is not answered, persevere; 
assured that whatsoever we ask according to the will 
of God, especially concerning his kingdom, he will do 
it. "According to thy faith be it unto thee." J. T. 



CHRIST'S WAY. 

Emma J was the child of gay, irreligious pa- 
rents. She was bright and winsome, and her father, 
a thorough man of the world, was particularly anx- 
ious that she should be trained for the fashionable 
circle in which they moved. 

Much to his sorrow, Emma, from earliest child- 
hood, had shown a thoughtful, serious turn; she 
loved her Sabbath-school and minister better than 
the dance or gay attire. As she grew older and 
more decided in her preferences, her father with- 
drew her from religious influences, sent her to a 
dancing-school in a neighboring town, took her to 
places of amusement, forced her to join parties of 
pleasure, indeed tried by every means within his 
power to stifle the " still small voice." The child 
yielded a listless obedience, and held fast to hei 
integrity. 



12-4 SKETCH E8 FROM LIFE. 

She grew in years and in grace and beauty. 
Peculiar temptations lay in the path of the favored 

child. Her proud father felt confident, but so did the 
daughter; for the earnest longing of childhood, wa- 
tered and cherished by the Holy Spirit, had grown 
into a glorious faith, tried as by fire. Persuasion, 
ridicule, persecution almost, were tried upon her, but 
she stood firm as a rock. 

By-and-by her frail body, worn, the physician 
said, by the constant warfare of her religious feelings 
against the inevitable style of her living, gave out. 
The beautiful Emma was released by infii*mity from 
balls and dancing parties. 

Her parents in their turn rebelled. She must 
not, she should not die. Everything that wealth 
could command was lavished upon the poor invalid. 
Her disease, a spinal one, was slow and tedious. 
Her sweet patience glorified her in the eyes of her 
unbelieving friends, but they knew not the source 
whence it came. She failed fast. No minister was 
invited to cross the threshold of the sick-room; no 
word of heavenly things was whispered in the ear of 
the dying one ; no mention of death was allowed in 
her presence. Her parents would not believe that 
she could die — so young, so beautiful. 

The trying hour came at last. The pious woman 
who was permitted that night to watch over her. 
though forbidden to speak to her of dying, could not 
restrain herself. "Do you know that you are very 
soon to leave this world?" she asked. "Soon — 
now — this night?" gasped the sick girl. "Very 
soon," was the answer. 



THE BLACKSMITH'S WIFE. 125 

The news was like cold water to a thirsty soul. 
"Call my father and mother — call them all," she 
cried. They came; and oh, what a joyful outpour- 
ing froni that overburdened, long-pent-in heart. All 

fear, all reserve was gone. Christ stood between her 
and all frowns. Before her shone the heavenly city. 

"You tried and tempted me, father," she cried, 
"but I forgive you. Christ's way was not your way. 
I put my trust in him, and hope to rejoice evermore. 
This I believe and know, that there is no reliance 
save on a crucified Redeemer. In him put your 
trust, and you are safe." To her mother she also 
turned with tender entreaties ; and for each member 
of the household she had " a word fitly spoken." 

The weeping circle was unused to such testimony. 
Here was the child, whose early wreck they had so 
deplored, meeting the summons which they most 
dreaded, with beautiful calmness. And so, beseech- 
ing, coimselling, and believing, Emma's chastened 
spirit passed from time into eternity. " If a Chris- 
tian can be made so superior to pain and death," 
exclaimed the agonized father, " verily, there must 
be something in this religion." E. h. a. 



THE BLACKSMITH'S WIFE. 

Mb& D was one of God's chosen ones, but 

for years was oppressed with grief and anxiety for 
her unbelieving husband. She labored earnestly to 
bring him to a sense of his danger of perishing eter- 
nally without an interest in the salvation purchased 



120 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

by CI i list; she solicited the prayers of her pastor 
and the officers of the church; she wrestled in prayer 

with God through anxious weeks, months, and y< 
Still she believed that He who had promised to hear 
the cry of his children, would not leave her ahv, 
desolate. 

At length God visited that church with a won- 
derful display of his grace. Meetings were thronged 
with anxious souls eager for the "bread of life ;" and 

Mrs. D hoped the time had come for God to 

appear in her behalf. 

Living far from church, she one morning begged 
her husband to leave his work and take her to 
church. He seemed greatly exasperated, and giving 
her a harsh reply, went to his shop. 

Her heart sank within her. She went and told 
Jesus. Boiling her burden on God, she begged he 
would glorify his own name in the result. She trusted 
not in vain. After an hour or more he came in, and 
with the greatest mildness, told her if she wished 
they would go to church. She saw the hand of God ; 
and so great was her joy, that she could scarcely 
refrain from singing and giving God thanks audil >ly, 
on her way to the sanctuary. 

The services were nearly through when they 
arrived, but a prayer-meeting was appointed in the 
el mrch for the evening, while the anxious were in- 
vited to the house of the pastor. Mr. D pro- 
posed their staying until evening. On going to the 
parsonage, he was met by the pastor's wife, who told 
him one room was for those who had found Christ, 
while other apartments were for the impenitent; and 



THE MIGHTY CHANGE. 127 

asked which room he would go into. "With deep 
self-abasement he replied he was not fit to be there 
at all, and it she would let him have the lowest seat 
he would be thankful 

Subdued, humble, penitent, he received the truth 
as a little child. There was joy in heaven that night 
over repenting sinners. None could help exclaiming 
with the faithful and now rejoicing wife, " Behold, 
what hath God wrought!" 

What an encouragement for the believing wife, 
to labor and pray, and never give over until God 
bless and sanctify the unbelieving husband. In due 
time they shall reap, if they faint not. B. 



THE MIGHTY CHANQE. 

Ix a poverty-stricken, rum-cursed home in the 
city of B , dwelt a man whom we will call L- 



D . Knowing no master but his own insatiate 

thirst for the poison which he was fully aware was 
killing both soul and body, he had no power to 
burst the fetters which bound him, and sunk lower 
and lower in degradation, dragging down with him 
those to whom he should have been a protector. 
What could save him? to mortal vision his doom 
was fixed. But God's long-abused mercy at last 
found a way to reach the heart of this poor wan- 
derer. 

A noonday prayer-meeting was opeued in his 
neighborhood. Some kind hand, guided by love to 
Jesus, sought him out, and led him thither. There 



128 SKETCH ES FROM LIFE. 

he beard the wondrous story, how Jesus came into 
this world and bore OD the shameful cross the sin- 
of men, and how in heaven lie now stands ready 
and willing to bestow a crown of everlasting life 

upon every repenting sinner who pleads for pardon 
through his dying blood. 

Mr. D heard, and in deep anguish thought 

of his life-long enmity and disobedience to such a 
Saviour. Sorrow wrought out repentance, and re- 
pentance came linked with faith, and faith whispered 
of pardon and peace. The heart that had so long 
groped in darkness, now 7 walked in the light of love 
and trusting hope. He was ready to testify to all 
what God had so richly done for him, and men stood 
amazed at the mighty change. 

His family were ' suffering, and with unwonted 
energy he sought employment. Day after day passed, 
and he was unsuccessful. The times were hard, and 
applicants for work were numerous. One day he 
was nearing home in a despairing mood; he could 
find no work, and starvation seemed to stare them 
in the face. It was almost the horn* of prayer, but 
his heart was so heavy he about concluded not to 
attend meeting that day. His wife saw him ap- 
proaching, and impatient in her joy to wait his 
entrance, she threw open the window, and bade him 
quicken his pace. In bewilderment he entered his 
home. Kind friends had been there. A barrel of 
Hour and other articles of food showed then- bounty. 
Truly they were heaven-sent gifts. 

With a light step and a lighter heart Mr. D 

sought the place of prayer, and thankfully did he 



"BRING ME MY MOTHER'S BIBLE." 129 

join heart and voice in the services of the hour. 
Brighter days dawned upon him, and often in the 

street prayer-meeting may his voice be heard 

in words of warning, prayer, and praise. A. M. L. 



"brinq ME MY MOTHER'3 BIBLE." 

Thomas E was a very promising young man, 

regular in his habits, a good mechanic, much re- 
spected by his employers, a regular attendant upon 
the worship of God, and withal had married a pious 
young lady, a member of the church of Jesus Christ. 
For several years he was very industrious, and the 
home to which he brought his young wife became 
his by purchase. 

But alas, he was induced by his fellow-workmen 
to visit a neighboring tavern with them, and by 
degrees acquired an irrepressible desire for strong 
drink. 

It was with great sorrow his young wife watched 
his downward* progress. She wept and reasoned 
and pleaded with him, but in vain. The strong 
meshes of Satan s net encompassed him ; he was 
led captive by Satan at his will. She carried her 
sorrows to that Friend who never changes, but has 
invited us to cast our burdens upon the Lord, with 
the assurance that he will sustain us. 

In the meantime, Thomas had become so irregu- 
lar in his habits and inattentive to his business, that 
after much forbearance his employers discharged him. 
From this time every restraint seemed removed, and 

G* 



130 



SKETCHES E110M LIFE. 




he was to all appearance fast becoming a confirmed 
drunkard. Most of his time was spent with his boon 
companions. He made several ineffectual efforts to 
secure employment ; but who will employ a drunk- 
ard when sober men can be had? His excesses 
were now drawing fearfully upon his constitution. 
Sometimes he would rave like a maniac, and at oth- 



"JiltlMG ME MY MOTHEB'S lilBLE." 131 

ers weep like a child. His friends had long ere this 
given him up as an incorrigible drunkard, but still 
his distressed wife hoped on, prayed on, believing 
that God would yet answer her prayers. Yet it was 
a dark day to her, a day of trial and rebuke; never- 
theless she hoped even against hope. 

One day he had been out seeking the fiery 
draught to steady his nerves, but he was coldly re- 
pulsed by the man to whom he had before earned 
his earnings; and as he unsteadily returned home- 
wards, he heard the voice of praise ascending from 
the house of God. Almost involuntarily his feet 
turned into the sanctuary, and ere he was aware he 
had taken a seat near the door. A stranger was 
conducting the service, and when he read his text, 
" The way of the transgressor is hard," it was as 
though an arrow pierced his very soul. The speaker 
described the misery of those who transgress the 
laws of Jehovah in sueh convincing' terms, that his 
knees smote each other as he sat. The sins of his 
life rose up before him. His conscience, with its 
terrible lash, was lacerating his soul. He felt fully 
aware of his awful condition, without one gleam of 
hope. Though the preacher presented Jesus and 
his redeeming grace before the people, yet Thomas 
was in no state of mind to profit by it. 

He went home ; but oh, what a condition was he 
in ! his poor body fevered and trembling, while his 
soul was tortured with a thousand fears. His wife 
sat waiting for him, but was surprised to see him so 
soon. Her surprise, however, speedily changed to 
alarm when he said, "Jane, bring me my mother's 



132 SKETCHES FROM LIF] » 

Bible." "THomas, dear, what are you going to do 
"with that holy book? Thomas, do tell me what is 
the matter," said she ; but he impatiently repeated, 
"Bring me my mother's Bible." Instantly she 
obeyed; and he, taking it in his hand, said, "In 
solemnly declare, God helping me, thai I win m 
touch, taste, or handle any intoxicating drink again" 

" Thomas," said his astonished wife, " is it possi- 
ble ? Oh, is it possible ? Thank God, he has — 
he has answered my prayers." 

Delirium tremens ! — poor drunkard, do you know 
what delirium tremens is? Thomas suffered much 
from this, as well as from the burning desire engen- 
dered by a vitiated appetite ; but he kept the vow 
he so solemnly made. Neither was this the end of 
his reformation, for as a poor sinner he sought mer- 
cy through Jesus Christ, and is now an active, hum- 
ble disciple. 

Poor inebriate, go thou and do likewise. J. x. 



THE TWO BR0THER5. 

" No, my dear sir, that piece of ground is mine. 
I cannot consent to lose what belongs to me." 

Thus said a young farmer to his minister. His 
brother, with whom he had hitherto been cordially 
united, had recently demanded as his own a field 
which was a part of the property left them by their 
father. Their feelings had become imbittered tow- 
ards each other about it, and they could not speak- 
peaceably one to another. 



THE TWO BROTHERS. 133 

"But," said the minister, "how much is that piece 
of ground bringing you in ?" 

"About ton dollars a year when the crop is good." 

"Ton dollars! And what can you buy with ten 
dollars? A coat, a piece of furniture, a ban-el of 
Hour, or so?" 

" Yes, or even two barrels some years." 

" It seems to me you might buy for that amount 
something better than either." 

" What may that be, sir?" 

"If you could with that sum secure to yourself 
the affection of a friend — one who would help you 
in time of need, who would visit you at your fireside 
winter evenings, and welcome you to his own house, 
who would lend you a helping hand at haying or 
harvesting, and would love your children and serve 
as a protector for them — would not that be worth 
ton dollars to you?" 

"Certainly, sir; but what do you mean?" 

"I mean, my dear friend ? that for the sake ol 
gaining these ten dollars a year, you are on the 
point of losing the brother who has been your com- 
panion from infancy ; you will becloud your whole 
future life, and that of your family; you will grieve 
your mother in her old age, and alienate from, your- 
self the favor of God. What would your father say 
if he could return to life and witness tins quarrel of 
his children?" 

The young farmer was touched. He went and 
talked with his brother, and both together sought 
out their pastor to ask him to settle all the questions 
between them. Great was his satisfaction when he 



134 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

saw them at the end of their conference heartily 
reconciled to each other. 

How many bitter quarrels, the source of deplora- 
ble divisions in families, might be avoided or cut 
short at the outset by a little reflection. Even if 
charity did not induce us to forgive our brethren, 
should not self-interest oblige us to do so ? Do you 
know of any one who ever gained anything by giving 
himself up to bitterness and revenge? To break 
with one's own kindred, is to break those natural 
ties with which God has bound us ; it is to impover- 
ish and despoil our own life. And so it is, to some 
extent, to break with any one ; for " have we not all 
one Father?" and is not every man thus our brother? 



WAIT1NQ TO BE £POKEN TO. 

A young lady of refinement and high mental and 
moral worth became convicted of her own sinfulness, 
and yielding her heart to her God, came out from 
among her young friends by publicly professing 
Christ. 

She had one brother to whom she was most ten- 
derly attached, but he was not a Christian. He had 
recently returned from college; and now that the 
sister had fomid Jesus, she felt the strongest desire 
for his salvation. She made his case a subject of 
earnest prayer, and deeply felt that she must speak 
to him personally on the matter; yet how could she 
gain coinage to do so? 

At twilight one day they were ltt't together in the 



WAITING TO BE SPOKEN TO. 135 

sitting-room, and she tenderly told liim of her inter- 
est in his behalf, and then spoke of the love of Jesus 
begging him to accept Him as his Saviour and Re- 
deemer. 

She was not prepared for the response that fol- 
lowed her trembling words. Her brother replied 
that he had for some weeks felt the burden of his 
sins; that the part she had chosen had deepened his 
feelings, and he had been wishing and waiting for 
some one to speak to him, that he might unburden 
his mind. 

He felt he was now ready to be on the Lord's 
side, and soon took an open stand by publicly pro- 
fessing the name of Christ. 

What joyful news to the sister; what a reward 
for the cross she had taken ! He was waiting to be 
spoken to, yet, had she neglected known duty, he 
might have longer concealed his true feelings, till 
by waiting he had lost the desire to become a Chris- 
tian. 

Oh, what a privilege, to speak to the unconverted 
of Christ ! How frequently may the word fall on the 
'softened heart, and bring it to a decision for time 
and for eternity ! 

AYhen we hear the voice of God saying, " Speak 
to that young man," that friend, or relative, let us 
obey; for we know not how instrumental of good 
God would make us to others, or the good we may 
secure to ourselves by taking our cross for Christ's 
sake. s. s. 



136 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

"THER£ 13 MY CL03ET." 

A young girl was showing her friend the comforts 
of her pretty room. By the window was a rocking- 
chair. On a table stood a convenient writing-di 
Her books were arranged on hanging shelves. A 
wicker-work basket rilled a corner ; and through the 
braided cover gleamed a bright thimble and a scarlet 
pincushion. She opened her bureau drawers for 
inspection, and disclosed the advantages of her large 
wardrobe. Together they sat on the little sofa, and 
admired the pictures, the Parian statuette on the 
mantel, and the ottoman by the register. 

" There," said the young girl, rather timidly, " is 
my closet/' Her companion saw at the foot of the 
bed a large chintz-covered chair, and by its side a 
light table, whereon were placed a reading-stand 
holding an open Bible, a " Daily Food,"' and a tiny 
book of hymns. Here she "searched the Scrip- 
tures," here she prayed in the dim morning light, 
and again at eventide. Dearer than any other spot 
in her room was that " closet." 

The friend went home thoughtful, for in her own 
comfortable room was no " closet." Sometimes-she 
prayed at night, when, half asleep, her conscience 
would not let her weary eyelids close; but she knew 
nothing of that daily " tasting that the Lord is gra- 
cious " in the quiet comer. She had not " from a 
child known the Scriptures, which were able to make 
her wise unto salvation." But ere long another 
"closet" was established; the young girl's friend 
cried, " Oh, that I knew where I might find Him !" 



"THERE IS MY CLOSET." 137 

and He was found precious to her soul also in the 
very part of the room dedicated to His especial 
worship. 

Have you a "closet," into which "when thou 
prayest thou mavest enter"? If you liaye not any 
sacred place where you loye to resort when you wish 
to tell Jesus your sorrows, then set apart a "closet" 
this very day. Choose one particular chair, where 
you may daily kneel. 

A lad was visiting a happy mother, who had a 
beautiful nursery, large and airy. It was full of sun- 
shine from its southern windows. The cliildren had 
toys of every description, and a complete play-house 
in one corner. Adjoining this room was a large 
closet, lighted by a window at the top. There were 
no playthings there, only an easy chair, and a Bible 
on the broad arm. This was the children's "closet." 
Here they learned the way to heaven. The mother 
daily told them there " the words of the Lord Jesus." 
They loved the hour when they might "enter the 
closet, and when they had shut the door, pray to 
their Father who seeth in secret." These children 
learned a habit which was never broken. During 
their after-life they were never without " closets. " 
Has not Christ a right to one little corner in the 
house? You have a drawing-room for visitors, a 
nursery for the little ones, a dining-room for the 
family; will you not give this "Elder Brother" one 
closet for himself ? It is not necessary to appropri- 
ate any particular room exclusively to this use ; only 
reserve one place where you may regularly resort to 
rind your God. 



138 BKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

A child who was constantly interrupted in her 
room, was in the habit of praying in a corner of the 
hall, through which she often passed. In this shad- 
owy nook she "knocked, and the door was opened." 
You can surely find one secluded spot in the house 
for your own " closet." It is not enough to kneel 
there only when some new trial overtakes you. Run 
often to that familiar place, and "find grace to help 
in time of need." 'When your heart is full of joy, 
slip away to that well-known "closet," and "tell 
Jesus." 



ELLIE AND HER FATHER. 

A MOTHEB was dying. She called her unconverted 
husband and a little daughter nine years of age to 
her bedside, and entreated her husband to promi>e 
he would seek salvation and bring up their child to 
love and fear God. She had instructed her little 
daughter while she was in health, and had prayed 
with her daily ; now she took her by the hand, say- 
ing, "Ellie, don't forget, when your mother is in 
heaven, to coax pa every day to be a good man; 
and you, darling, must love Jesus, and then we will 
all meet together in heaven, and never part any 
more." 

"When the mother was laid in her grave, Ellie 
remembered her dying charge, and every day she 
reminded her father of his promise. She would sit 
on his knee and read the Bible to him, and talk as 
she had heard her mother talk : and then she would 
go to her little room, and pray that "God would 



ELLIE AND HER FATHER. 139 

make Ellie and pa both love Jesus, and take them 
to heaven to see mother." The father did not say 
much, but day after day the memory of his departed 
wife and the pleadings of his little daughter were 
melting his heart. Soon he experienced that great 
change without which no one can see the kingdom 
of God; and kissing his Ellie, told her "he loved 
Jesus now, and they would all go to see mother- 
some day." Hand in hand the little girl and her 
lather attended the prayer-meetings, the Sabbath- 
school, and public worship. Together they stood 
before the church of God and told what he had 
done for then souls. And together the tall man and 
the little girl received the ordinance of baptism and 
confessed Christ before men. Many who saw T that 
sight wept tears of penitence and became new in 
heart; and "there was joy in the presence of the 
angels of God." ethel. 



110 SKETCHES FROM LIFE 



WORDS FITLY SPOKEN 



WE MUgT DO QOD'g WORDg. 

A sorrowing mother wept in solitude the loss of 
her beautiful boy, gathered in an hour from her lov- 
ing arms to the fold of the good Shepherd above. 
She thought of the bright promise of his budding 
intellect, and the earnest wish her heart had often 
breathed, that her darling boy might live to be use- 
ful in vanning souls to Christ. And then rose the 
murmured thought, " "Why was he not spared to do 
some good in the world ?" 

Then her door opened softly, and an aged domes- 
tic stood before her, and with choked voice and tear- 
ful eyes begged permission to speak with her. " Mis- 
sus," said the sable African, "I want to be baptized." 
The lady was surprised, not less than rejoiced, for 
she had often prayed for her, and earnestly sought 
to lead her to Jesus, and as often mourned that 
every effort seemed hi vain. 

" How long," she inquired, " since you have felt 
this desire, or believed yourself a fit subject for this 
solemn ordinance ?" 

"Ah, missus," said the weeping negress, "ever 
since that sermon little Willie preached to me the 
day before he go up yonder," pointing upward ; " and 
if ever I get to that blessed place, it be he, through 



WE MUST DO GOD'S WORD. 141 

great Master's grace, that bring me there. That 
day I was in a great hurry 'bout my dinner, and I 
used good Master's name in my impatience, never 
thinking much 'bout what I was saying. Little Wil- 
lie, he stand still, and look at me one minute, and 
then he say, 'Aunt Molly, what you take God's holy 
name in vain for, when you not thinking of him or 
praying to him either? If you do so, what good is 
it for you to hear the Bible read eveiy morning and 
evening? The Bible is Grod's letter to as, and if we 
do n't try to do it every day, it would be just as well 
for him not to send it to us at all. If my mamma 
should go away and write me a letter, don't you 
think I would try to do eveiy line she wrote me? 
And if you loved God as I love my mamma, }ou 
would not be satisfied just to hear God's letter read 
every day, but you would try to do it too.' He 
turned away to play, but his little face looked sorry, 
and I could see the tears shining in his bright eyes, 
and as I looked after the child I thought of all he 
had said to me, and his words seemed ringing in my 
ears all day. That night, alone in the dark, I went 
to my Saviour as I never went before, and that night 
he shined into my poor darkened heart, till all was 
light and clear and joyful. I trust now he will help 
me always to do Ins holy will, and bring me at last 
to meet my blessed child in his own kingdom." 

AVhat a balm to that pious mother's bleeding 
heart was this precious evidence that her loved one 
had not lived in vain; and what a touching admoni- 
tion to all to "use every opportunity to sow the good 
seed of divine truth! Verily we "know not which 



142 ^KETCHES FROM LIFE. 

shall prosper, whether this or that," Imt we do know 

that with the admonition, "cast thy bread on the 
waters," comes the sweet promise, " thou shalt find 
it after many days." 

That pious mother's teachings took deep root in 
her child's heart, and that little child's admonition 
accomplished, with God's blessing, what many a 
mightier weapon had failed in doing. Thus that 
sweet, gentle boy, called away when but little more 
than five years of age, was made meet for heaven, 
and during his brief earthly pilgrimage became the 
instrument of saving a precious soul from everlast- 
ing death. 

Strive, Christian mother, thus to win souls to thy 
Redeemer. Thy reward is sure ; He is faithful who 
has promised. F. R. d. 



THE REBUKE OF A CHILD. 

The evening that the news of the surrender of 
Fort Donelson reached Albany, a striking incident 
occurred at the Delavan House. The city was wild 
with joy. Newsboys gathered a rich harvest. All 
purchased papers. 

Quite late in the evening, a small lad about seven, 
entered the reading-room, and cried, "Fort Donel- 
son surrendered; evening papers three cents." His 
extreme youth, and intelligent, pleasing manner at- 
tracted attention. 

A gentleman caught the boy, drew him to his 
side, paid a liberal price for the paper, and with re- 
peated oaths pronounced him a "man" a "fine boy;" 



THE REBUKE OF A CHILD 



143 




that "he would make a general; and for aught he 
knew, a president;" and asked his father's name. 
The lad replied, " My father is dead." " Well, well," 
said the gentleman, " I must adopt you as my boy ;" 
and with renewed oaths, declared he would make a 
"lawyer; and may-he, sir, we'll make a governor of 
the siate of New York out of you" 

His frequent profanity, yet earnest and affection- 
ate manner, quite silenced the lad, and he subinis- 



11 I BKETCH ES FROM LIFE. 

sivclv yielded himself to the force that held'him. 
The gentleman saw his depression of spirit, and 
kindly stroking his head, inquiringly asked, "Say, 
niv son, how will you Hke that, to go and live with 
me, and become a man in the world V 

The little boy kindly but firmly replied, "I should 
not like to live with a man that swears so." 

The swearing gentleman was hit. Scores of by- 
standers heard it all, and saw his mortification. The 
boy was released, and quickly left the wounded gen- 
tleman to pocket as best he could the cutting rebuke 
of an orphan child that he had failed to corrupt by 
his thoughtless and wicked profanity. K. 



WHY DO NT YOU PRAY ? 

Deacon A was a simple, illiterate man. For 

more than half a century he had lived and toiled 
upon his nigged New England farm, leading a dull 
life, as the world might term it. It seemed to be 
varied only by the morning and evening family wor- 
ship, and his Sabbath day's journey to the house of 
God. J3ut he still kept working and praying, till his 
head was as white as the falling snow, and his step 
tottered with the feebleness of age. 

But mark the wonder-working hand of God, who 
knows how to accomplish his purposes of love. 

A daughter came from a distant state to visit the 
old homestead and her gray-haired father, bringing 
with her a child scarcely three years old. The old 
man's heart warmed as thev sat down with him at 



WHY DON'T YOU PBAY ? 145 

Lis simple board, and as lie was wont, lie bowed his 
head and folded his trembling hands to ask Clod's 
blessing. Little Mary looked on in childish wonder. 
She had never seen anything like it before. No one 
notjced how the little one gazed at her pious grand- 
father during this exercise, nor how at length she 
reverently folded her little dimpled hands, as day 
after day he craved God's blessing. 

The visit was at length over, and little Mary and 
her mother returned to her distant home. The next 
morning, as the family sat down to table, the child 
again folded her little hands, and looking at her 
father, asked earnestly, " Father, why don't yon pray, 

grandfather does?". 

That question was the sword of the Spirit "Ah, 
indeed, why don't I pray?" he hi voluntarily asked 
himself. The guilt and danger of his prayerless life 
flashed upon his mind. He arose from the table, 
unable to finish his meal, and in great distress. He 
felt that he was a lost sinner, and that his prayerless 
life was enough to shik him to perdition. He began 
to seek Christ hi prayer, and he found him. Peace 
dawned upon his soul, and now it may be said of 
him, " Behold, he prayeth." 

Another soul is saved, another family altar erect- 
ed, another holy life commenced, another light kin- 
dled in this dark world; and all owing, under God, 
to that old man's " blessing." 

" In the morning sow thy seed, and in the even- 
ing withhold not thy hand; for thou knowest not 
whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether 
they both shall be alike good." H. D. R. 



110 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

THE RAILROAD CONDUCTOR. 

A devoted Christian lady had been on a visit to 
some friends in New Jersey, and on her return home- 
ward she came into B to take the train for N< w 

York. She reached the platform just as the ears 
were moving off, and barely succeeded, by the aid 
of friends, in getting into the car, falling as s] 
tered. As the conductor was politely assisting her 
to rise, she remarked in a sweetly impressive tone 
of voice, "/ hope I shall not come so near m 
heaven" To this observation no reply was made at 
the time, and the lady took her seat, lifting up her 
grateful heart to God for his goodness; and from 
her narrow escape reflecting upon the importance of 
being always ready for the coming of the Lord, and 
the fearful consequences of delay. 

While engaged hi these reflections, with her mind 
entirely abstracted from everything about her, the 
conductor came into the car where she was sitting, 
and taking a vacant seat by her side, at once ad- 
dressed the Christian traveller : " Madam, the words 
you uttered as you entered the car, about missing 
heaven, have been ringing in my ears ever since: my 
spirit is so stirred that I cannot rest, and I have 
ventured to come to you, to talk with you as to my 
souls eternal interest." He stated that he had once 
been a member of an evangelical church, but from 
the neglect of duty, and through the influence of 
worldly associates, he had been drawn away, until it 
became necessary for the church to withdraw from 
him Christian fellowship, and give him over to the 



THE RAILROAD CONDUCTOR. 117 

buffetings of Satan. From that Lour ho had been 
an unhappy man; he had realized the truth of the 
scripture declarations, "The way of the transgr< 
is hard" — " There is no peace, saith my God, to the 
wicked." He desired to return to the path of peace, 
but knew not how to begin; he was ever promising, 
ever making resolutions of amendment, but failed to 
earrv them out. The remark she had made on 
entering the car had pierced his conscience like a 
barbed arrow, and now he was resolved, cost what 
it might, like the prodigal, "to arise and go to his 
Father," and once more seek his face and favor. 

The lady, filled with wonder at the mysterious 
providence of God by which she had been made the 
instrument in awakening this now anxious inquirer 
embraced joyfully the opportunity to impart the 
necessary instruction. "With, many loving words he 
was directed and encouraged in the path of duty, 
and from the rich stores of her own experience he 
was taught the way of the Lord, and led, oh, how 
tenderly, to Jesus the compassionate, the " friend of 
publicans and sinners," until his eyes filled with 
tears and his bosom heaved with emotion. The 
duty of immediate submission to Christ was pressed 
upon him, and the resolution was solemnly made : 

' • I '11 go to Jesus, though my sin 
Hath like a mountain rose ; 
I know his courts ; I '11 enter ir», 
Whatever may opp * 

111 the course of a few weeks, Mrs. P received 

a letter from the conductor, conveying the joyful 
intelligence that his gracious Lord had been pleased 



118 SKETCHES PBOM LIFE. 

to heal his backslidings, and once more to love him 
lively; that ho had been welcomed back to the fold 
from which for bo long a time he had been a wan- 
dering sheep, and that he was now walking in the 
fear of the Lord and comfort of the Holy Ghost- 
resolved by God's grace to wander no more from the 
paths of peace. He expressed his gratitude that 
God had directed her to him as an angel of mercy, 
to speak to him " a word in season," which was 
made the power of God unto his salvation. 

In view of the above narrative, how appropriate 
are the words of the wise king, "A word spoken in 
due season, how good is it !" " A word///// spoh 
like apples of gold in pictures of silver." The un- 
premeditated utterance of the feelings of a pious 
heart was made, under God, the means of the recov- 
ery of a wanderer from his Father's house. What 
a glorious harvest, to spring from so small a seed, 
dropped in soil apparently so unpromising! How 
careful should Christians be, that their words may 
ever have a savor of life, and that they niay 
speak" of the love of Christ which passeth knowl- 
edge, that many hearing may believe and be saved. 
The words we speak have an influence for evil or for 
good that will reach to the limitless future. How 
solemn the reflection, that for every "idle word" we 
speak, we must give account, and that it is written, 
" By thy words thou shalt be justified, and by thy 
words thou shalt be condemned." Matt. 12 :37. The 
greater usefulness of very many Christians is not to 
be attributed to the superiority of their talents, but 
to greater diligence in the improvement of the oppor- 



A PUZZLE SOLVED. 149 

trinities afforded for doing good, and being instant 
ison, out of season, serving the Lord. 
You, my dear reader, have a heaven to gain, or 
to lose; are you using "all diligence to make your 
calling and election sure?" knowing that it is not 
enough to be "almost persuaded to be a Christian/' 
or merely to be " not far from the kingdom of God." 

DAYIKS. 



A PUz^LE SOLVED. 

"I don't see why there are no conversions in 
our Sabbath-school," said Mr. Mills to his wife, as 
they sat with their little family around the tea-table 
one Sabbath evening. 

"I am sure the school has never been more pros- 
perous than since you took the charge of it," she 
replied ; " it has nearly doubled its numbers, and 
you have secured a very capable set of teachers, and 
have given them the example of great punctuality in 
attendance." 

" Yes, I have not been absent from my post one 
Sabbath during the year. The teachers and schol- 
ars are faithful and prompt in then attendance ; the 
is are well studied ; and to a stranger, the school 
would appear all that could be wished. But I can- 
not feel that we are realizing the results of our labor 
unless we see the dear children and youth coming 
to Christ. Good seed has been sown, but it does 
not spring up and bear fruit as I expected. I am 
tuzzled to account for it." 

"Papa," said little Charlie, who had listened only 

- 



160 SKETCH ES FROM LIFE. 

to the last sentence of the conversation, "hasn't 
your seed come up?" "No, my child." "Was the 

1 good, papa?" "Yes, Charlie, the very best." 
" Was it sowed in the spring, when the ground was 
tender, papa ?" " It certainly was, my son." 

Charlie paused a moment, and thought. He had 
a tiny garden which he called his own. His father 
had prepared the ground, and given him a few choice 
seeds, and told him how to take care of them. The 
little boy had followed his father's directions, and 
was now rejoicing in the success of his labor. Hence 
his earnest questions, and his thoughtful brow. But 
he was not long in solving the puzzle to his own sat- 
isfaction. "O papa," at length he said, "you / 
not watered enough. When I planted my garden you 
told me my seed was good, and if I sowed it when 
the ground was tender, and watered it well, it would 
come up. And when we had that dry time last June, 
you said I must water it every day, and I did. It 
must be, papa, that yoi. have n't watered yours 
enough." 

" Charlie is right," said his father, to whom the 
artless words of his little boy had brought a needed 
reproof; " I have sown good seed in my moral gar- 
den, it is true ; but I have relied too much upon the 
quality of the seed, and the favorable circumstances 
of the planting, and have sadly neglected to water 
it with tears of earnest supplication. Even the pre- 
cious seed of divine truth, though sown in the spring- 
time of life in the tender heart of childhood and 
youth, will not spring up unless watered by the Spir- 
it in answer to fervent prayer. Henceforth, God 



A LITTLE SONS MESSAGE. 151 

helping me, I wijl not labor less, but I will pray 
more." 

Is not here a lesson for the parent, fche Sabbath- 
school teacher, the minister of the gospel, and every 
worker in the vineyard of the Lord? E. N. h. 



A LITTLE SON'g ME55AQE. 

The father was summoned from business and the 
pursuit of wealth to hear the last words of his dar- 
ling son, whom the mother with living faith was 
yielding up to God. 

"You are going up to heaven, my dear boy," said 
the minister, smoothing the wavy brown hair. "You 
are now in the dark valley, but Christ is with you. 
1 1 am with you always, even unto the end.'" "I 
know it, I know it," answered the child. 'I am with 
you always,' but — say the other." " "What other, 
my darling?"' asked the godly mother, half fearing 
1 no answer from those parched lips. Jamie's 
breath grew shorter, but at last he said, "Be y 
ready" turning his once brilliant eyes full upon his 
father. " You think we all, the old and the young, 
should be prepared to die, my boy," said the pastor, 
well divining his meaning. Jamie smiled, and sud- 
denly clasping his hands, he said brokenly, " O God, 
may my father never be able to forget ' Be y 
ready.'" "My darling Jamie," cried his father, 
throwing his arms around him, "you must n<> : 
" Be ye also BEADY," again came from the cold lips 
d against his cheek. It was the last effort of 



152 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

that little life. It was a message left by the depart- 
ing spirit as it winged its way to heaven. The good 
minister, the tender mother, the sister, and the be- 
reaved father sobbed together over all that was left 
of Jamie. 

"Be ye also ready." The father read it in his 
dead boy's face. He looked into the grave— to see 
" Be ye also ready." It sounded in every clod that 
filled the chasm; the wind sang it; and it seemed 
written in characters of fire on the glowing heavens. 
" O God, may my father never forget ' Be ye also 
ready,'" prayed dying Jamie; and he who called 
the son, the little one, to the new Jerusalem, answer- 
ed his last prayer, and wrote the father's name 
among the children of the flock. Little children, 
" Be ye also ready." w * 



THE WRiTINQ ON THE WALL. 

Some years ago, when a fatal epidemic prevailed 
in many parts of our land, a thoughtless youth, "the 
only son of his mother, and she a widow," was list- 
lessly sauntering along one of the streets in the out- 
skirts of Philadelphia, looking for something to 
amuse him, when his eye fell upon the solemn words 
of Scripture, written on the wall of a building by 
"the fingers of an unknown hand," "PSEPAKB to 
meet thy God." Amos 4: : 12. 

He was startled by them as by a clap of thunder 
from a clear sky, and they went to his conscience 
like a barbed arrow. In an instant his light-heart- 



THE WRITING ON THE WALL. 153 

edness was gone, and mist and darkness enveloped 

him in thick, murky clouds. Sadness oppressed his 
heart; he was ft guilty sinner before God, and he 
knew that he 4 was under sentence of death, and as 
a criminal with the halter about his neck on his way 
to execution. So he trembled at the thought of 
dying. In vain did he endeavor to shake off these 
gloomy feelings. If for a season he succeeded in 
the effort to dispel them from his mind, they would 
soon return with redoubled power. Circumstances 
and events never before noticed by him, now had a 
tendency to increase the gloom of his spirits. The 
• I shutters and the crape fluttering from the 
door-knob, which told him of the ravages of death, 
sent a pang to his guilty conscience ; the sable hearse 
and the measured tread of the funeral train, bearing 
onward the dead, filled his soul with fearful appre- 
hensions; and the tolling bell, pealing forth mourn- 
fully, was indeed the " knell of death " to him, and 
every vibration rung upon his awakened conscience 
the solemn warning, "Prepare to meet thy God." 
In midnight darkness and in noonday brightness his 
soul was ill at ease. Amid the bustle of business, or 
in the quiet of his humble home, it was all the same, 
the thought of death was continually before his mind, 
"and after this the judgment;" and he knew he was 
not prepared for either. 

Although long accustomed to attend the house 
of God, and connected with the Sabbath-school, his 
mind was exceedingly dark as to the way of life 
through a crucified Saviour ; and he was too proud 
to rn^ke known his feelings, or to ask instruction 

7* 



154 SKETCHES FilOM LITE. 

from those who could have taught him what lie must 
do to be saved. 

Tims months passed away without any light 
shining in upon his darkened mind, until, in the 
providence of God, he went to live in a pleasant 
village in the country, where he was thrown directly 
under the care and influence of pious people, and 
permitted to enjoy the personal instruction of the 
village pastor. At times this dear youth was way- 
ward and volatile, yet he generally gave heed to the 
things which he heard, and hi the course of time, 
during a season of refreshing from the Lord, he was 
brought under deep conviction for sin, and made to 
cry out in the anguish of his soul, " Lord, save, or I 
perish." The cry of the contrite sinner was heard 
and answered, and soon he professed a humble hope 
in Jesus, the resurrection and the life, and gave evi- 
dence that through sovereign grace he was "pre- 
pared to meet God." About six months after, he 
was admitted into the fellowship of the church, with 
several other young men who professed like precious 
faith. In the relation of his experience before the 
church, he attributed his awakening and conversion, 
under God, to the reading of " the handwriting on 
the wall," Prepare in meet thy God. daa 



"WHO WILL TAKE HER PEACE ?" 
She was very much beloved, the old pilgrim who 

had gone home at last, and for whose funeral the 

bell was tolling. 

Long, long years she had served her Lorcl^ and 



•WHO AVILL TAKE HER PLACE?" 155 

trusted his pardoning mercy. life for her had 
brought few joys and many Borrows; daily she knew 

she was drawing nearer and nearer to the river of 
death, but for her its turbulent waves were spanned 
by the bridge of faith, and she had ^oiic over in 
triumph. 

So they had wrapped her in the white drapery 
of repose, and over the pulseless breast folded the 
toying hands that had smoothed many a pillow for 
weary heads; and lifting her gently in her coffin, 
had borne her to the church where for long years 
she had come up to worship; and there on the table 
around which she had so often sat with those who 
met to commemorate the Saviour's dying love, they 
tenderly laid down the dead mother. 

There were many mourners. Sons ami daugh- 
ters, friends and neighbors, old and young, all wept 
together. Gray hair blended with brown and gold- 
en locks, as one and another came to take the last 
look at the remains of the dear departed. 

Low-toned and brief were the pastor's words as 
he touchingly spoke of the aged one they had known 
and loved so well; "And who," he asked in -conclu- 
sion, " wJio trill take Jar place when we meet around 
the table of our Lord? ]Vi<> will sit in her seat in 
this house? Who will kneel in the praying circle 
where she has knelt? Who indeed will take her 
plact 

With the hot tears falling fast while she thought 

of the great void the dead grandma had left in their 

-.Mary Lynn sat and listened; and hours after, 

when they had gone back to the home grandma 



156 SKETCHES FROM U I 

L.im s presence had r< adered bo beautiful, tin 

tion kept tossing to and fro in her heart, " Whc 
going to fill grandma's place ?" The words clung to 
her as a barbed arrow; she could not if she would, 
cast them off. 

A sense of her own sin overpowered her, and 
through the night-watches, amid thick darkness and 
unbelief, she wept and prayed. When the morning 
dawned, to her unspeakable joy, the glorious rays of 
the Sun of righteousness shone clear through the 
mists of sin and doubt, and with an almost bursting 
heart she sought her mother, to impart the "glad 
tidings of great joy " that had come to her heart. 

Mary Lynn was happy beyond description, too 
happy to remain inactive in her LokVs service. A 
sister and an intimate friend were soon made ac- 
quainted with her new-found hopes and joys; and 
moved by her example, they too song', t and found 
peace in believing. 

These young ladies were pupils in an academy 

near , and soon their influence was largely felt 

among their schoolmates. One after another plead- 
ed, " Lord, save, or I perish," and a powerful out- 
pouring of the Spirit succeeded, all traceable to the 
influence of the pastor's question, " Who will take 
her place?" "A word fitly spoken, how good is it." 

A. M. L. 



•UNCLE BEN. 

I was accosted one day by a lovely Christian 
young lady, who, with tears standing in her black 



UNCLE li EN. 157 

said, "I wish you could do something for my 
farther; he is getting old, but is yet in his sins, and 
my mind is troubled on his account. Wont you 
pray U>r him?" 

This was the only daughter of Uncle Ben. Uncle 
Ben was what tin 1 world would call a good moral 
citizen, a friendly neighbor, generally respected, and 
familiarly called "uncle" in tin 1 community, where 
everybody knew and welcomed him. But he was 
skeptical as to the need of regeneration, trusted in 
his morality for future happiness, made complaints 
against professors, and was in the habit of saying, 
" If you want to find a rogue, you must look for him 
among the Christians." His daughter informed mo 
that he resented religious conversation, spoke harsh- 
ly to ministers who made pastoral visits at the house, 
and considered a personal application of the subject 
to him an invasion of his rights. 

Taking my wife with me, I made the family a 
social visit. We had certainly a pleasant afternoon 
with Uncle Ben, though he was careful to engross 
the conversation so as to avoid the dreaded subject. 
Before we took. our departure, I said to him, that 
our interview had been very agreeable, and that if 
he had no objection, we would unite iu prayer to 
God that we all might be preserved to enjoy such 
another interview before long. He assented, and 
vou may be sure that he was not forgotten in the 
address at the throne of grace. The prayer seemed 
so far answered on the spot that a visible solemnity 
marked his venerable fact 1 at its close. 

Taking him by the hand, I affectionately inquired 



158 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

whether he had ever made the welfare of Lis soul a 
subject of scri.ms eonaderataon. With au assui! 
self-importance, he answered, " Ho, I have no id 
that 1 am going to helL I am perhaps in as fair a 
way for the good place as any of you. You m 
not suppose that I have no thoughts on this matt. 
"But, my dear friend," said I, "you are growing 
old. I see by your bald forehead and gray locks 
that you cannot see many more winters: this is a 
grave' subject, needing much reflection; death will 
soon be here: now, when vM <j<»< be ready?" He 
dropped his head, tremblingly pressed my hand, and 
could answer not a word. We parted. 

About two weeks afterwards I spent a day in 
visiting families. It was winter. Towards nightfall 
I drove up in front of Uncle Ben's. In a mou 
my horse. was fastened, and I by the side of my 
friend. He was alone, sitting by a comfortable st 
"How do you do?" said he. "I am not well,*' said 
I; "I have been going from house to house since 
morning, as I have been doing for several days, and 
f, el almost exhausted/ 1 "But all this is not right. 
You will injure yourself. We shall .want your labors 
after this, but 'at this rate you will wear yourself 
out." "Well, what else can I do? I see precious 
souls perishing around me, and few seeming to i 
for them. I must do what I can for their salvation, 
while my strength remains. I have been thinking 
much of' yon to-day, and have just run in to request 
you to pray tor your soul.'* " But-but-sit down; 
there is no need of such hurry ; my folks will be in 
presentlv; sit down." "Excuse me. I have not a 



UNCLE BEN. 150 

moment to spare. I have to preach to-night, and 
have not yet been home; yon know how far I have 
to go, and the time is near. I just came in to have 
you pray; I could not pass your house without ma- 
king the request. Will you do it?" As I expected, 
lie of course declined; when I remarked that if he 
would not, I must, and proposed that Ave kneel down 
together. He seemed considerably agitated, and 
rose to go and call the other members of the family; 
but I told him we would not have time for that, and 
I wished to be with him and God alone. " Please 
I down," said I. Before prayer was finished, I 
perceived, by sighs and other signs, that his wife 
and daughter had slipped hito the room, and were 
on their knees beside us. There were three, that 
moment, " agreed as touching the thing that they 
should ask." The v^hole was brief. I was not ten 
minutes in the house. I told Uncle Ben that my 
heart was troubled for him, and wished to know 
whether he would pray to God that night. He was 
"afraid to make any promises;"' yet, after a brief 
pause, tears coursed down his furrowed cheeks, and 
he said that, seeing I was so much interested for 
him, to gratify me he would try to pray that night. 
I grasped his hand, thanked him for the promise, 
and Avas off. 

He Avas in his daughter's peAv in the house of 
God that night. His eye turned not once from the 
pulpit, from the commencement to the close. He 
then rushed rather than walked out, before others, 
not turning to the right or left; and I Avas persuaded 
that there. Avas a load upon his heart he wished 



1<;0 SKETCHES PBOM LIFE. 

others not to perceive. "He went out, and wept 

bitterly." 

Next morning, according to my custom, I rode 
up to the post-office. When within about a quarter 
of a mile, I saw Uncle Ben walking backward and 
forward between the side and middle of the road, 
and looking earnestly down in my direction. I lifted 
up my heart to God for him. He was the first to 
salute me when I alighted. "Did you pray last 
night?" I inquired. "Yes, blessed be God," said 
he! "I went out to my barn, and prayed alone after 
meeting. I then came in, and took the Bible, and 
read and prayed in my family, and I have never 
spent such a night in my life. I did the same this 
morning, and I mean that, if there is a blessing in 
store for my poor soul, I shall ho re it. Do you re- 
member what you said to me in my house that after- 
noon you visited us? You asked, When icill you he 
ready?' That question has been ringing in my ears 
from that day to this; and oh, sir, pray for me, that 
such a lifelong sinner may find mercy." 

His manner was so earnest and his voice so loud 
that passers-by were attracted towards us; and after 
some counsel for his future guidance, I turned from 
him, convinced that he was " not far from the king- 
dom of heaven.*' 

Glad am I to be able to add that the old man 
did "find mercy." Who was ever rejected from "the 
blood-bought mercy-seat," when thus earnest for 
salvation, whether old or young? In the course of 
three months from that day, Uncle Ben made a sol- 
emn public profession of his faith in CJirist, amid 



CHILD-SWEARING— "WHAT IT DID. 1G1 

the tears of an interested assembly. Hi' embraced 
those as his dearest friends whom he formerly de- 
spised. He has witnessed a good confession ever 
Since, and now patiently waits die hour when he 
shall be called to sing the praises of redeeming love 
in the mansions of the blest. 

Dear aged impenitent friend, how affecting is thy 
lit condition^ A load of years and cares and 
anxieties resting on thy mind, a load of infirmities 
and pains and failing energies resting on thy frail 
body, and a load of sin and guilt and divine dis- 
pleasure resting on thy poor soul ! These must press 
thee down. Tell me, if it would not be thy highest 
wisdom to form the purpose of Uncle Ben: "I mean 
that, if there is a blessing in store for my poor soul, 
I shall have it" "When will you be ready? c. M. 



CHILD-gWEARINQ— WHAT IT DID. 

" I have a mind to whip you till you cannot 
stand," ' said a wicked and profane man, rising from 
his seat and looking wrathfully at his son, a little 
boy, just able to speak plain. 

TATiat had the child done to call for such severe 
punishment? Used two oaths, such as were con- 
st anth* dropping from the lips of his father. But 
his own words, from the mouth of one so young, so 
shocked that parent that he thought he could not 
punish him too severely for the offence. 

The little one, who had never been whipped, and 
who was very free to talk, nothing daunted, looked 
the angry man full in the eye, and quietly said, 



162 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

k - Father, if you whip me, who will whip you?"' 
A thunderbolt could not have startled him more 
The question set his own sin and desert of punish- 
ment in the light of noonday. Ho turned away con- 
fused and ashamed, and said in his heart, " If God 
will not punish me for this great wickedness, I will 
swear no more/' 

He kept his word. From tfeat day no oath 
escaped his lips. To-day— wonder of divine grace — 
that same tongue that was employed in cursing, is 
used to bless God and teach men his ways. H. 



"IT WILL DO NO QOOD TO 5WEAR." 

As I was leaving the K street Sabbath-school 

in the city of L , Mass., hi March of last year, 

a lady said to me, "Mr. wishes to see you; I 

think he is failing very fast." The gentleman alluded 
to was about twenty-eight years old. I had first met 
him the summer before at my place of business, and 
though he was then ill, I was pained to hear him 
use profane language, and addressed to him the 
words at the head of this article. In conversation 
with him I learned that when well he had attended 
a church which denied the great doctrines of the 
cross. He was then about leaving the city in hope 
of improving his health, and I placed in his hand a 
copy of the Messenger. 

In the autumn he returned with diminished hopes 
of recovery. He felt that he must die, and that he 
was not prepared. After learning that it would be 



"THERE'S ROCK AT THE BOTTOM." 163 

agreeable to him, I asked a faithful clergyman to 
call on him. He did so, directed him to the Sav- 
iour, and he soon found peace. This clergyman 
visited him regularly, and afterwards informed me 
that he gave good evidence of a rem wed heart. 

I called as requested, ami found him greatly 

changed, 1 ait quite happy. Said he, " Brother 13 ," 

referring to the clergyman, "opened the right way 
to me." 

After conversing a while he said, "I have been 
wanting to see you for some time. When I called 
on you, do you remember, I used some hard words, 
and you said, ' It will do no good to swear about it,' 
and you sat down and talked with me a few min- 
ute -s. Those words never left me, and I feel that I 
owe you everything for speaking to me." I told him 
he owed nothing to me, but all to the Saviour. " I 
understand that very well," he replied, "but those 
words arrested my attention, and I believe resulted 
in my being brought to a knowledge of the truth."' 

''Blessed are they that sow beside all wal 

w. 



"THERE '5 ROCK AT THE BOTTOM. » 

When my Willie was sixteen he accidentally 
dropped a valuable watch into the well. His father 
was absent from home; and without consulting me, 
solved to recover the treasure. Providing him- 
self a long-handled rake, he gave it in charge to his 
sister Jennie, two years younger, and bidding her 
lower it to him when he called, he stepped into the 



161 SKETCH E8 PEOM LIFE. 

bracket, and holding fast by the rope, commenced 

liis descent. The bucket descended more rapidly 
than Willie expected, and struck heavily against the 
side of the well; the rope broke, and he was thrown 
into the water. 

" Mother, I shall be drowned," was his despairing 
cry ; which Jennie reechoed with a wail of anguish. 
But I knew the depth of the water, and shouted to 
him as calmly as I could, "Stand upon your feet, 
Willie; the water isn't over four feet deep." "But 
I shall sink in the mud," said the poor boy, still 
striving to keep himself afloat by clinging desperate- 
ly to the slippery stones. "No, Willie, th 
nt the bottom. Let go the stones, and stand up." 

The assurance of a hard foundation, and the im- 
possibility of holding much longer to the slimy sur- 
face of the stone wall, gave him confidence. He felt 
for the rocky bottom, placed his feet firmly upon it, 
and to his great joy found that the water scarcely 
reached to his shoulders. I sent Jennie to the house 
for a new strong rope, and fastening one end of it 
securely, I lowered the other to him to be tied into 
the bucket, and we drew him safely up. " O moth- 
er," said the dear boy when he was rescued, " those 
were precious words to me, ' There's rock at // 
tout ;' I shall never forget them." 

Two- years after, in a commercial panic, my hus- 
band's property was swept away, and we were re- 
duced to poverty. At first I bore bravely up. I 
did not prize wealth and luxury for my own sake, 
neither did I covet it for my children. I chiefly 
mourned for my husband's disappointment and his 



"THERE'S BOCK AT THE BOTTOM." 165 

crushed hopes, and strove by unflagging cheerful- 
ness to chase away the gloom which settled bo heav- 
ily upon him. I endeavored to assist him, not only 
by the utmost economy in household expenses, hut 
by devising plans for the future. Willie and Jennie 
were old enough to earn their own support, and 
to assist in the education of the younger children. 
I succeeded in putting them in the way to do this. 
I felt strong and brave, and almost wondered at my 
husband's desp mdency 

But new reverses came. The bank in which Jen- 
nie had deposited her quarter's salary, which might 
partially meet our necessities, suddenly failed, and 
her money was lost. I could bear this too; she 
would soon be able to replace it. Next, the school 
in which she taught w r as disbanded, and Jennie had 
to take much lower wages; but she still earned a 
little; and I said cheerfully, "We will not murmur; 
half a loaf is better than no bread."' Next Willie's 
hand was disabled by an accident, and he lost his 
situation. My courage began to give way ; but rally- 
ing myself for one more effort, I resolved to brave 
the reproaches of friends and the world's dread 
laugh, and seek remunerative employment for my- 
self. It sorely tried my womanly delicacy, yet it 
brought the needful aid, and I battled with my 
wounded sensitiveness, and again screwed up my 
failing courage. But the last blow came; sickness 
suddenly laid me prostrate. " I shall give up, now ; 
we must all sink t . ' was the language of my 

despairing soul. 

"Dear mother/ 1 said Willie, when he heard my 



16(3 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

lamentation, "do you remember what you said to 
me when I was at the bottom of the well? I have 
often thought of it of late. I know we are in d 
waters, but God lias promised that they shall not 

overflow us. And is not his word a solid founda- 
tion ? Let us plant our feet upon Lis promises, and 
stand firmly. We cannot sink, for 'there's rock at 

the bottom. 1 " 

I heard, and took the lesson to my heart. I saw 
that I had been clinging to the slippery stones of 
human strength and self-dependence ; and so, when 
the providence of God bade me let go my hold, I 
was in despair. But the bank of heaven had not 
failed; God was able to redeem his promises; and 
though I stood in deep water, it should not over- 
whelm me, neither should I sink, for " there 's rock 
at the bottom." 

So from the chamber where pain and illness still 
hold me prisoner, I send to each burdened and 
weary child of God who is tempted to feel that all 
is lost, the key-note of my new and grateful psalm, 
Whatever your sorrow or strait may be, plant your 
feet trustingly upon the Rock of ages, and with me, 
" thank God, and take courage.*' W. C. 



"WILL YOU NOT J3HARE IT WITH ME?" 

Up among the granite hills lived farmer Hunt 
an honest and estimable man, as far as strict regard 
to truth and morality was concerned, but alas, he 
was n<>! a Christian; and what was worse, neither 



-WILL YOU SHALE IT WITH )IE?" KIT 

wished to be one himself, or to have his wife and 
daughters become interested to the fanatical enthu- 
siasm, as he deemed it, of Christians around them. 

They, however, believing earthly commands v 
binding only as far as they were according to the 
will of God, dared to disobey. Earnestly they 
sought the Saviour, and to their hearts soon came 
the gracious words, "Thy sins are forgiven tin 
in peace, and sin no more." The mother and one 
daughter first found peace on a day when Mr. Hunt 
was absent ; and ah, how fervently, with what strong 
and earnest pleading, did they pray that he, so dear 
as a husband and father, might share in the great 
ing. 

Shortly after noon, Mr. Hunt returned home ; he 
entered the house,- and somewhat surprised at seeing 
no signs of dinner, he inquired of his wife if the fam- 
ily had dined. She answered in the negative, add- 
• You know we don't like to enjoy anything 
yon are here to share it with us." 

•"Ah. yes," he playfully answered, ''I know that 
trait in your character, and a good 
one too." 

That afternoon, as Mr. Hunt prepared to go into 
his field to work, his wife said, in tones tremulous 
Avith deep emotion, " To-day, my dear husband, I 
have found something good ; will you not share it 
with me V 

One glance at the tear-filled eye and pleading 
face of the speaker gave the husband a key to the 
import of her inquiry, and without an answer he 
left the house. Tt was vain for him to try to work 



1G8 BKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

as a means to prevent his thinking; he could not 
work. Leaving his oxen in the furrow, he sought a 

secluded place iu the adjacent forest, and there 
poured out his burdened soul before his Maker. 

Long hours in bitterness of spirit he wept and 
prayed^ and at last wont home to gladden the heart 
of his praying wife by the intelligence that he was a 
sharer in her boundless bliss. 

Years have come and gone, and farmer Hunt 
and his wife have gone home to glory. Sharers in 
God's mercy on earth, together, we trust, they are 
chanting the song of the redeemed in heaven. 

a. H. L. 



THE BOY OF ALL WORK. 

L D lived in a pleasant eastern village 

as a servant in a family of wealth. At an early age 
lie was left an orphan, penniless, and almost Mend- 
less; but soon found a home in this family, where 
he could earn his livelihood by doing the work of a 
boy. 

He occasionally attended church, but was deplo- 
rably ignorant, untaught in the things of religion — 
one of those characters on which the hope of making 
an impression seems almost vain. 

The church in that town were enjoying 
of more than usual interest. Christians were aroused 
to duty, a spirit of prayer prevailed, meetings were 
more frequent, ami precious were those gatherings. 
Here and there the inquiry was heard from some 
soul burdened with a sense of sin, "What must I do 



THE BOY OF ALL WOllK. 169 

to be saved?" Others were rejoicing in hop 
sins forgiven. 

L D was sometimes seen at the place 

of prayer. At the close of one of those meeti; 
young man, a seminary student, whose heart was 
full of love to Christ and ready for every good work, 

noticed L D as he slowly walked away 

from the place of prayer, and the thought arose in 
his mind of speaking to him on the subject of his 
soul's salvation ; but the feeling immediately follow- 
ed, "No, it will do no good; he is so dull and igno- 
rant, he will hardly be able to comprehend what I 
may say if I attempt to speak. I can have no hope 
in his case." 

Still he could not divest himself of the feeling 
that it was a duty : the boy had a soul to be saved, 
and possibly he might say a word which, with the 
blessing of God, should prove " a word in season." 
He accordingly quickened his steps, and soon over- 
took L D on the sidewalk, accosting him 

pleasantly, and immediately introduced the subject 
of religion, to which he seemed to listen, but appa- 
rently without much feeling. He endeavored to be 
faithful; and after a little walk left him, but still 
with the feeling that there was little hope for such a 
mind as that. 

In about three days L D accosted him 

in the street, and asked if he should be at Lome in 
the evening, saying he wished to talk with him more. 
He told him to come to Iris room, which he did, 
under deep convictions of sin. The Spirit w 
work in his heart, showing him the evil of sin, his 

Sketches. g 



170 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

guilt in the sight of a holy God, and his need of 
pardon through a crucified Redeemer. The words 

of instruction and warning a few evenings before; 
had proved indeed words in season. His heart was 
soon opened to receive the love of Jesus, and his 
" tongue was loosed." 

To the astonishment of Christians in the place 

of social prayer, L D opened his untaught 

lips in telling what God had done for his soul. His 
heart seemed overflowing with love, and out of the 
abundance of the heart this poor unlettered boy 
could speak of the love of Jesus, and entreat sinners 
to be reconciled to him. 

Will not others watch for opportunities of speak- 
ing a word for Christ. It may be a "word in sea- 
son." "In the morning sow thy seed, and in the 
evening withhold not thy hand." K. 



WIDOW AND TWELVE CHILDREN. 171 



POWER OF A LIVING FAITH. 



THE WIDOW AND TWELVE CHILDREN. 

Many years ago, there lived in the beautiful Til- 
lage of N , a lady who had suddenly been left a 

widow, with a family of twelve children. Before this 
sorrowful event she had known much of the sun- 
shine of life, and very little of the shadow. 

She was the only daughter of an indulgent father, 
and had been brought up in affluence. Her hus- 
band was gifted and amiable, and her sons and 
daughters were bright in intellect and beautiful in 
person. 

Her father, though a man of high standing in 
the commimity where he lived, belonged ro a denom- 
ination calling themselves Christians, who yet deny 
the divinity of our Saviour. Being a decided man, 
he held his opinions with great tenacity, and mani- 
fested towards those who differed from him but little 
of the liberal spirit in which he gloried. 

Mrs. S , after her marriage, had been con- 
vinced that she was educated in a fatal error, had 
renounced it, and made a public profession of her 
faith hi an evangelical church. In taking this step. 
she suffered as every affectionate and dutiful child 
must, when compelled by conscience to embrace an- 
other faith than that of her father. But she remeni- 



172 SKETCHES FROM LITE. 

bered that Christ lias said, "He that loveth father 
or mother more than me, is not worthy of me," and 
she was strengthened to do her duty. 

But now, in the days of her widowhood, when 

her sorrow was so great that for a time she was 
scarcely able to utter a word, a new trial came which 
she had not expected. Her husband had left her 
but very small means of support, and with a large 
family of young children, she could rely only upon 
her father. Could that tender parent who once had 
been so indulgent to this his only child, fail her now 
in her distress? Yet the stroke, so little apprehend- 
ed, fell. 

Her father informed her that he would provide 
for her and her children, but upon one condition- 
that she should renounce that faith on which she 
had built her eternal hopes, and which was now her 
solace and support. 

Here was a trial indeed. Was she prepared to 
look poverty in the face? Could she see her deli- 
cate children suffer all the innumerable evils that 
follow in the train of extreme poverty? Did not 
the great deceiver whisper, that after all -perhaps the 
difference was not essential, or that she might still 
love Christ in her heart, though not attending a 
church dedicated to his worship ? 

If such thoughts came into her mind, she was 
enabled by the grace of God to dismiss them all, 
and to tell her father that she had cast her lot with 
Christ, and was ready to abide the issue. Her an- 
swer, as she had foreseen, was received with high 
displeasure, and they parted. 



WIDOW AND TWELVE CHILDREN. 173 

What now was to be done? Mrs. S took 

time to reflect upon her future course. Her children 
must be fed and clothed, and educated. How could 
she be able to accomplish it? She resolved to ask 
divine direction, trusting that the God whom she 
loved would guide her*way. 

Calling to her desolate home a few Christian 
women from the circle of her friends, she told them 
her situation, and asked them to pray with her there. 
They complied ; and struck, no doubt, with the urgen- 
cy of her necessities, offered up fervent prayers to 
God. We can imagine the purport of then- petitions. 
" God of the widow, God of the fatherless, be not 
silent unto us. Who ever trusted in thee, and was 
ashamed ? Who ever . trusted in thee, to be con- 
founded ? Show us a token for good, O thou who 
clothest the lilies, and feedest the ravens; feed, 
clothe, protect this desolate household; and guide, 
comfort, and bless thine afflicted handmaiden, who 
has not been afraid to repose her confidence in thee." 

By-and-by a child's voice was heard at the door. 
"Open the door, mamma/' called the little voice. 
" Grandpapa has been here. Open the door." 

Mrs. S hastened forward, and the child rush- 
ing towards her, put a quantity of money in her 
hands. . "Grandpapa," said he, "gave me this for 
you; and he says," continued he, "that the butcher 
is to stop here twice a week with meat, and — but 
what is the matter, dear mamma? you are crying." 

It is unnecessary to prolong the narrative. Suf- 
fice it to say, that from that hour the father of Mrs. 
S provided for her and her children in the kind- 



174 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

est manner, and at Lis death bequeathed them his 
esta 

This excellent woman long since entered upon a 
better inheritance, and her children, who it is 1>< - 

lievi d are all still living, are in comfortable circum- 
stances, respected and esteemed through the bias- 
ing of that God who heard the prayers of their 
mother. May they all be the heirs of that mother's 
faith. B. a. w. 



THE STORY OF JACOB MANFRED. 

FORTY years had nearly passed away from the 
time that Jacob Manfred showed kindness to the 
orphan. Passing the workhouse one day, he saw a 
child of some ten years .cruelly ill-used, and touched 
by pity, took the little fellow to his own home, and 
after educating him, placed him on one of his own 
vessels, and in fact provided for his future. 

Many years passed by, and the orphan had long 
since disappeared. Jacob Manfred, once wealthy, 
was now, at seventy, a poor man, and he and his 
aged wife were alone, houseless and homeless. 

He sat in his fireless room that bitter December 
day, a childless father, and a beggared man. He 
was waiting till he saw the result of his application 
to the workhouse authorities. "Jacob," said Iris 
poor wife, "it will kill me." "Trust in God," he 
replied ; " he never forsakes his own, and he will be 
with us in the workhouse as well as here." The 
porter came to tell him he was admitted, and to bid 
him hurrv, for "he hadn't no time to wait." The 



FAITHFUL PRUDY. 175 

coarse rude speech brought the bitter sense of degra- 
dation again, and the old couple burst iuto tears, 
aud turned away. Just then, while the porter was 
grumbling at their delay, a carriage swung round 
the corner, and stopped at the door. "Does Mr. 
Manfred live here?" was the first question uttered, as 
the occupant hastily entered the wretched dwelling. 
"I am Jacob Manfred,' 9 said the old man. "Is it pos- 
sible?'' exclaimed the stranger, "what has brought 
you to this?" The story was soon told, and the 
stranger turning to the porter, bade him go, for he 
was not needed. Then turning to the aged couple, 
he told them he was the same poor orphan whom 
they had served so long before. " God, my father," 
he said, "has given me property, and a heart to 
serve him with it. I owe all to you, and you must 
share it. You saved me from ruin, and I must claim 
you as my parents now." "Susan," said Jacob 
solemnly, " do you remember the promise, 'Cast thy 
bread upon the waters'? We have been too faith- 
less." 

They accompanied then- new friend to his home, 
where he devoted his time and money to then* ser- 
vice, and there they lived to a good old age. Many 
a time Jacob told how he had cast his bread on the 
waters, and how the promise had been fulfilled. G. 



FAITHFUL PRUDY. 

Phudy was chambermaid in a fashionable hotel 
in one of our large cities. She was very highly 
prized for her remarkable honesty, neatness, and 



17G 



BE ETCHES FlioM LIFE. 



strict attention to every duty. Prady was regarded 

as one of the family. She had lived with them from 
the time she was quite young, and was now more 
than twenty years of age. 

Prudy always went to weekly meetings and church 
on the Sabbath, and her modest and virtuous de- 
portment gained the respect of all she met. Finally 
the Lord renewed her heart, and she became happy 
in the Redeemer. It was at a weekly prayer-meet- 
ing that she obtained a hope that her sins were 
washed away in the blood of the Lamb, and she 
went home very happy. 

The next morning at breakfast she said to her 
mistress, "I am so happy I hardly know what to do." 

" "What is the matter now, Prud\ 

" I hope my soul is saved, for I believe in Jesus, 
and he says, ' Whosoever believeth on me hath eter- 
nal life.' I think I may be happy, when I hope to 
live for ever with the blessed Jesus." 

" I never heard you talk such nonsense before, 
Prudy, and the less you talk of it the better." 

" Oh, Mrs. , it is not nonsense, it is all Bible- 
truth; but if you don't want to hear how happy I 
am, I will not tell you." 

The meal was finished in silence; poor Prudy 
had a sad stab in her heart. After breakfast Mrs. 

called Prudy into her room. ''Now, Prudy, 

you must do one of two things. You say you've 
got religion, as you call it, and you must give it up, 
and stay with me as you have done. If you wont 
give it up, you must go this very day. You are a 
good girl enough without this canting religion." 



FAITHFUL TRUDY. 177 

"Don't I please you in my work, Mrs. ? and 

do I waste any time? I want you to tell me if I 
Lave neglected anything." 

"No, Trudy, I never expect to get one who will 
do my work as well; but I wont have anybody about 
my house who has to do with religion.' So you must 
give it up, or go right to the office, get your wages, 
and leave the house immediately." 

Poor Prudy burst into tears. She had no home, 
no parents, and the place where she lived was one 
of the best. She began to plead that her religion 
should disturb no one; that she would work even 
harder; she would say nothing about religion to any 
one in the house; but all in vain: the answer was, 
" Give up your religion, or your place." Prudy felt 
in her heart that He in whom she believed would 
befriend her, and she replied, that she was sorry to 
leave, but she " could not give up her hope of salva- 
tion." So with a stern voice the lady bade her leave 
as quick as possible. Prudy obtained her wages 
and clothing, and went out into the great world to 
seek a home. She went to a pious colored woman 
and offered to pay for her board till she could find 
a family who loved the Saviour, she had chosen. 

She had not to wait long. He in whom she had 
believed as her Kedeemer found hera/ar better htone 
than she had left; and in a year from that time she 
married a Christian man, who gave her a comforta- 
ble home for life. "Why was Mrs. so set 

against religion?" was asked of Prudy since 'the] 1. 
"She and her husband were both infidels. They 
would not have a Bible in their house, and those 



178 sk ETCHES FROM LIFE. 

w]io stopped there were gay people. They often 
Lad 1 tails, and gambling was going on all the time in 
their house, though it was not known/" So they 
were afraid a pious servant might interrupt these 
cherished sins. ETHEL. 



"l KNOW WHERE TO LOOK." 

The cup of sorrow was already full, for the 
mourner had been bereaved of husband and chil- 
dren. She had now reached the climax of affliction 
in her family; she stood by the grave which was 
to receive her last child, the only prop and solace of 
declining years. How unsearchable are his judg- 
ments, and his ways past rinding out! Poor lone, 
childless widow ! What earthly joy in possession or 
in prospect remains for thee ? Where wilt thou look 
for aid to bear the accumulated and overwherning 
burden ? Alas for thee, if God be not the strength 
of thy heart, and thy portion for ever. 

These were my thoughts as I looked upon the 
grief-worn comitenance, and the little faded shawl, 
and the more faded bonnet, that had so long been 
her mourning apparel. I must try to relieve this 
anguish of spirit by a word of consolation, or of gen- 
tle admonition if need be; but how can Buch woe be 
comforted? I knew that she was a professed disci- 
ple of Him who is " acquainted with grief;" but I 
knew not the strength of her faith. Looking up- 
ward whence eometh our help, I Avas trying to find 
"a word fitly spoken,*' that should lead the solitary 



"I KNOW WHERE TO LOOK." 179 

niouruer to stay herself upon "the Lord Jehovah* 
with whom is everlasting strength." 

I had scarcely alluded to the source of consola- 
tion, when, lifting up her lace, down which a great 
tear was slowing descending, she replied, with a 
smile such as abounding grace only can create, " 0//, 
/ know wh re to look/" 

I was too full for utterance, and mused with 
silent admiration upon such meekness of resignation, 
such evidence of tranquil peace, when she might 
have said with David, " Deep calleth unto deep at 
the noise of thy water-spouts: all thy waves and thy 
billows are gone over me." 

"I know where to look!" It filled the grave with 
light. Eloquent funeral discourses have I heard, 
and books full of consolation for mourners have I 
read, but never have I felt the power of language 
as it was uttered in this brief sermon of the poor 
widow. An eminent clergyman to whom I related 
the narrative, replied, " Oh, I will make a sermon of 
that." -It is a sermon already," I said. "True,"' 
he answered, "but I will use it, and with effect, too." 

This mourner at the grave has been ever present 
with me in the day of trial, and my eye turns uncon- 
sciously to the golden letters stamped upon the mem- 
ory, and growing brighter in sorrow: " I know where 
to look" This is the power of the Christian hope. 
Do you know where to look in the day of calamity? 
What will you do when 'dover and friend" are gone, 
and earthly expectations perish, if you cannot Bay, 
smiling through tears, "I know where to look"? 

w. BL 



180 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

THE MOTHER 7 ? £T£ADFA£T FAITH. 

?EARS ago a man and his wife emigrated from 
New England to Western New York. The husband 
was intent upon adding to his farms, his cattle, and 
his sheep; the wife, upon securing the true riches 
and serving the Lord. The nearest church was ten 
miles distant, and on Sabbaths the horses were 
always too tired to take her, so thought the husband. 
But the believing wife somehow found the way to 
God's house, if only once in months; and as chil- 
dren were born to them, she resolutely persevered 
in training them for a future and holier life. In 
these duties also she was opposed: "All such read- 
ing and singing and praying and learning the cate- 
chism took too much time." Twelve children were 
the fruit of this union ; seven were sons, and as they 
grew older they delighted to gratify their mother by 
assisting her to enjoy religious privileges, and the 
father ceased in a measure his opposition. 

In her fiftieth year the Master called her. Some 
of her children had embraced the truth, the rest 
were still in unbelief. To die and never meet again, 
it could not be. She called her family around her, 
and bade them " take heed to the word of life," and 
" follow her as far as she had followed Christ." 

"I am going home, and I am happy. Here hi 
my heart God has given me an assurance that you, 
my husband and children, will all join me in the 
company of the redeemed. Not one of you will be 
left out ; sooner or later you will lay down your un- 
belief and rebellion, and serve Him who died for 



THE MOTHER'S STEADFAST FAITH. 181 

you. Do not put off that blessed day, but hasten to 
prove that God hears and answers prayer. Thirty 
years I have taught you ami prayed for you. Some 
of you, my sous, will stand before men and preach 
the gospel of Christ, and souls will be converted 
through your means." Firmly as in days of health 
the dying woman spoke to her family; but when the 
message was given, with a smile on her face she 
sank to rest. 

The mother's assured trust was fulfilled. Her 
children all professed their faith in Christ, and five 
out of the seven sons became preachers of the gos- 
pel. The father married again, and lived as he had 
done until his eighty-second year, when in a power- 
ful revival in the place which had grown from a for- 
est to a town under his own eyes, he became con- 
victed of sin. Humbly lamenting a long, a wasted 
life, at the eleventh hour he entered the vineyard. 
As he received baptism, his white locks shone with 
a silvery light ; and the sight of one so aged submit- 
ting at last to the Lord he had so long denied, was 
tenderly impressive. Four years only were added 
to his days, and for two of these he was scarcely 
able to walk. But his was a true regeneration; 
every word and act revealed that he was born of 
God. He lived lamenting the past, and holding up 
his long life of rebellion as a beacon to others. God 
is merciful, and graciously received the servant who 
came at the eleventh hour. "ETHEL. 



182 



SB ETCHES FliOM LIFE. 



OLD BETTY. 

I have learned in whatsoever state I am therewith to be content." 

A Christian minister visiting an invalid lady. M iss 
1 , who was confined to her couch, and chafed 



and worried sadly for a return to her former active 
life, inquired if she had heard the story of Betty the 
old match-seller. She had not. 

Old Betty, said he, was brought to Jesus in her 
old age, and from that moment thought she never 
could do enough for Him who had washed her from 
her sins in his own blood. Ever ready to speak of 
her Master to all she met, and of unwearied kind- 
ness, she was one " who went about doing good/' 
" always abounding in the work of the Lord/' But 
in the midst of her happy course, she caught cold, 
with rheumatism, and was confined to her bed for 
days and weeks. 

One day an old minister called on her. He was 
surprised to see his old, active friend and neighbor 
so happy in her bed, and said, " I little expected to 
find you so patient in bed, when you have alwi 
led such an active life. It must be a trial to lie so 
long." 

"Not at all, sir, not at all, sir," said Betty; "when 
I was well I used to hear the Lord say to me daily, 
Betty, go here ; Betty, go there ; Betty, do this; Betty, 
do that ; and I did it as well as I could. Xow I hear 
him say daily, Betty, lie still and cough. 

This story, Miss F said, deeply affected her. 

She began to think that it was self-will rather than 
faith that made her so anxious to get well, and be 



PRAYER BEHIND THE CORN-SHOCK. 183 

active again; and she humbled herself before God, 
begging for grace to bear Ids will. She became 
tranquil, happy, and contented on her sick-bed, and 
almost immediately after it pleased the Lord to re- 
store her to health. G. 



PRAYER BEHIND THE CORN-gHOCK. 

Miss Emily W was converted to God shortly 

after she had engaged to be married. The surren- 
der which she made of herself in the day of her 
espousals to her heavenly Bridegroom, was that of 
"body, soul, and spirit, for time and for eternity;" 
and such was her sense of obligation to Him " who 
loved her, and gave himself for her," and of the duty 
of entire consecration to his service, that she doubt- 
ed the propriety of fulfilling her engagement of mar- 
with one who did not love the Lord Jesus 
Christ. 

With the self-sacrificing spirit of a true disciple, 
she offered to release her affianced from his engage- 
ment, fearful lest it might be a barrier in Inn- way of 
self-consecration, or that he might regard it as a 
yoke of bondage. But her betrothed would 'not lis- 
ten to anything of the kind; he loved her fondly, 
and none the less for her religion; and he pressed 
an early marriage, solemnly promising that she 
should have the full and unrestricted enjoyment of 
her religious privileges, and that it would be his 
pleasure and duty to provide a way for her conve- 
nience in attending the services of the church, and 



184 SKETCHES PBOM LIFE. 

that he would himself regularly accompany her to 
the house of God on the Sabbath. The path of 
duty seemed plain to her, and they were married, 

and settled down upon a farm amid the fruitful hills 

and smiling vales of K , in Eastern Pennsylvania. 

For a time the husband was true to his promj 
and regularly went with his devoted wife to the old 
stone church, where she worshipped the God of her 
fathers; but after a season he began to grow weary 
of the restraints of the Sabbath and sanctuary, and 
having a large circle of worldly friends, he began 
gradually to relax his attentions to his praying wife, 
and occasionally she was left at home alone with 
her little family, while the husband was away, min- 
gling in scenes of dissipation. Soon he excused him- 
self from going to the house of God on the Sabbath, 
■but proposed to send his wife under the care of one 
of his men. This arrangement she kindly but firmly 
declined, on the ground that as the husband had 
solemnly pledged himself to go with her, if he did 
not fulfil his promise she would not consent to ride, 
but would walk the distance— three or four miles— 
until he was prepared to fulfil his obligation; and 
this she did for a number of years. In every other 
respect "the husband manifested the most devoted 
attachment to his wife; but his heart was in love 
with sin, and he was led on by others in the down- 
ward road of sin and folly. Especially was he fond 
of parties of pleasure, and scenes of social dissipa- 
tion amid "the song, the dance, and the wine." Not 
unfrequently whole nights were thus spent, and in 
the "small hours of the night," or at the dawning 



PB \ V EB B EHIND Til E CORN-SHOCK. 185 

of the day, he would return to his home, sometimes 
bringing with him several of his boon companions, 
to share in the generous meal his neglected w#e 
would prepare. 

In these seasons of absence, the grieved and sor- 
sow-stricken wife uttered no complaint; nc words of 
reproach fell from her lips when the erring husband 
returned; but in strong faith she committed all to 
God, believing that in his own good time he would 
turn the heart of her companion and make him a 
child of his grace. It was her practice, on these 
occasions of absence, to take her little children into 
the bed-room adjoining the common sitting-room, 
and after committing them to God, to spend the ivholc 
time in prayer until her husband's return; and when 
with his maudlin companions he did return, and 
called for food, she met him affectionately, with a 
pleading eye and tear-bedewed cheeks. 

Thus years passed on; a large and interesting 
family was growing up around them, and to all ap- 
pearance the husband and father was farther from 
the kingdom of God than ever, and his case seemed 
almost hopeless. But the faith of the wife did not 
fail, nor did her efforts relax ; she staggered not at 
the promise through unbelief, but was fully persuad- 
ed that God was able to do that which he promised ; 
and she expected that God would convert her hus- 
band. 

At length there was a precious outpouring of the 

Spirit in the church where Mrs. S worshipped; 

the blessed work was extending for miles around, 
and " many of the people, hearing, believed, and were 



186 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

baptized." The enemies of truth and godliness were 
in dismay; they "made a covenant wit h death, and 
with hell were at agreement;" and by every means 

sought to hinder and oppose the work of God. 
Among these despisers was TV S , who, re- 
gardless of the tears and entreaties of his wife, lat- 
terly persecuted the saints. 

In the "Valley church," every morning and even- 
ing, the children of God came together for prayer 
and praise. Every morning Mrs. S would in- 
vite her husband to accompany her to the meeting, 
but received a decided negative answer; and as if 
to try her feelings, and to show his contempt for the 
meeting and for the people of God, he made it Iris 
business to engage in hauling limestone from the 
quarry to the kiln; and as he had to pass by the 
doors of the sanctuary, he would so arrange it that 
his wagon should pass at the time the congregation 
was dispersing. The burden on the heart of his 
long-suffering, patient wife, became heavier daily, 
until it seemed insupportable, and her constant cry 
was, "O Lord, I am oppressed; undertake for me;" 
and it seemed tp her that she could not live, m i 
she obtamed the answer to her prayer. 

One morning, as she rose from her bed, her mind 
was impressed with the feeling that her husband 
must thai day go with her to the meeting. The, im- 
pression was so strong that it became a reality, "the 
strong conviction of things not seen." At the break- 
fast-table she gave the usual invitation to her hus- 
band to go with her to the meeting; but received 
an immediate and firm denial, with the reason, "I 



PRAYER BEHIND THE CORN-SHOCK. 187 

must cart limestone to-day." This was a trial of 
her faith; hut still she dung to the promise of a 
int God, "Ask, and ye shall receive;*' "All 
things are possible to him that helieveth." After 
breakfast, the husband went to the barn to harness 
his horses, and the wife, like the patriarch Jacob, 
sought a place of retirement, where she might wres- 
tle with Clod. "She went away from the house into 
a cornfield, from which the corn had been cut and 
put up into small shocks; and behind one of these, 
out of all human observation, she knelt in prayer. 
From this place of wrestling, the barn-door through 
which the husband must pass with his horses was 
in full view. There, on that white, frosted ground, 
did that burdened wife plead with her God on be-* 
half of her companion, and with strong crying and 
tears she urged the promises, which are all ' 
and amen" in Christ Jesus. Like the prophet Eli- 
jah, as she cast herself down upon the earth, she 
was also impelled to look for the signs of the answer 
to her prayer, 1 Kings 19:43, 44, and as she cast 
towards the barn, she saw her husband 
leading out one of his horses. She wrestled anew, 
crying mightily to God to save him, and to turn his 
feet into the way of truth and peace. Again she 
opened her eyes, and two horses were attached to 
the wagon. It was a moment of agony; and she 
renewed, as for her life, her supplications; and when 
she looked again, she saw that all four of the horses 
were attached, and the team all ready for the start. 
Eventful moment! Now " there ariseth a little cloud 
out of the sea, like a man's hand:" her husband 



188 SKETCHKS PROM LIFE. 

dad paused in his work; his head was downcast; 

and he stood as if irresolute what to da Again she 
implored God to make bare his arm, to deliver her 
dear husband from the power of the evil one, from 
the mouth of the lion and the paw of the bear: and 
as she looked again, she saw the object of her affec- 
tions and prayer earnestly unhitching his horses, and 
their return to the stable. Now she lifts her voice 
in thanksgiving, with tearful eyes and swelling heart : 
" I love the Lord, because he hath heard my voice 
and my supplications ; because he hath inclined his 
ear unto me, therefore will I call upon him as long 
as I live." 

Soon after, the husband returned to the house, 
and the sweet voice of childhood was heard calling 
loudly for "mother." The wife returned to the 
house with a heart full of thanksgiving, and the 
smile of peace resting on her countenance, to meet 
her husband and hear him say, " Emily, I will go 
with you to church to-day;" and her quiet reply, "I 
am very glad to hear it," had more meaning in it 
than the mere words convey. They went as in for- 
mer times to the house of God in company, but 
they went in silence. The preaching of the word 
came with power, but it was to revive sin, and the 
heart of the sinner, instead of being humbled, was 
filled witli indignation and wrath, and he returned 
home, raging like an untamed beast of the for. 
It was, however, the last struggle of the strong man 
armed, who had so long reigned within and kept his 
goods in peace, now about to be cast out by One 
stronger than he, even Jesus, who is mighty to save. 



"SO MUCH TO BE THANKFUL FOH." 180 

In a few davs this man was lying at the feet of 
Jesus, a true penitent, and was permitted to rejoice 
with his dear wife in the same blessed hope. His 
conversion was of the most marked character, and 
both in his barn and at his lime-kiln he had such 
seasons of delight, that they seemed the dawn of 
glory. He became an active and devoted Christian, 
and for many years held the office of a deacon well. 
His life was consecrated to God, and he was ever 
ready to tell what great things the Lord had done 
for him, and had compassion upon him; and his 
peaceful and happy death, after many months of 
intense suffering, attested that "he knew in whom 
he had believed." His body sleeps in the grave- 
yard, his spirit is with Christ, and his memory is 
blessed. His faithful wife, now a " widow indeed," 
survives him, still strong in faith and in prayer, de- 
lighting to testify of the faithfulness of God. "In 
due time ye shall reap, if ye faint not." " Before 
they call, I will answer; and while they are yet 
speaking, I will hear." davies. 



"$0 MUCH TO BE THANKFUL FOR." 

Dear Grandma Henderson; blessings on her 
memory for the lifelong useful lesson she once taught 
me. She was not my own grandmother, but a kind 
of universal one to all the children in the town. AVe 
loved her for her warm heart and kind words to us 
children, and for the nice stories she told us when 
we went to see her. 



190 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

She had met with a sad accident, a broken limb. 
My mother started immediately to see her, suppo- 
sing she would feel deeply afflicted, and resolving to 
do all in her power to comfort her. My childish 
sympathies were enlisted, and I was allowed to ac- 
company my mother on her errand of mercy. 

We found Mrs. Henderson truly a great sufferer, 
but her countenance beamed with a cheerful light 
as she welcomed us. Scarcely had we seated our- 
selves before she exclaimed, " Oh, how much I have 
to be thankful for: here I have lived all alone for 
two years, but last Tuesday my daughter Sarah 
came home from the West, and only yesterday I 
broke my limb. If this had befallen me while I \ 
alone, how dependent I should have been upon my 
neighbors; but now I am provided with some one 
to take care of me, how thankful I ought to be. See 
here, my little girl," said she to me, "if your life 
sliould be spared till you are as old as poor Grand- 
ma Henderson, you will understand what I mean, 
for you will have had a great many occasions for 
thankfulness; even now, when things go wrong, you 
must try to think of something left, and be thank- 
ful." 

I was then only in my eighth year, but that 
scene made an impression on my mind never to be 
effaced— that poor woman, lying helpless on a bed 
.of extreme pain, deprived of many of the comforts 
of life, and still rejoicing that she had so much to 
be thankful for. 

I could not forget it the next day when, on my 
way to school, I dropped my slate in the snow, and 



THE ORPHAN LAWYER. 191 

rubbed out the examples for my arithmetic lei 
which we were require'd to bring into the class or 
be marked imperfect. The tears began to come, 
for I knew they could not be replaced before the 
time for recitation; but instantly the thought came, 
"So much to be thankful for," audi took comfort 
in iiiv childish way, that I had not broken my 
slate, and besides knew how to perform the exam- 
ples. 

And when childhood's hours faded, bringing the 
joys and sorrows of maturer years, those words have 
proved a solace for many an otherwise bitter hour. 
Bright buds of hope may be blighted, the pleasures 
of earth prove only bubbles, and the light of friend- 
ship die away ; but still, still we can say, " We have 
so much to be thankful for." I. s. 



THE ORPHAN LAWYER. 

FROtf a hovel in one of our large cities, the wid- 
owed mother recently passed away from earth's 
trials to the heritage of the redeemed in heaven. 
Her example of consistent piety, and her dying pray- 
ers were all she had to bequeath to her only child, 
six years of age, who with tearful eye and almost 
bursting heart, hung upon the last moments of his 
voir earthly friend. He was henceforth to battle 
alone with want and sorrow and unkindness. Even 
the poor hovel that had hitherto sheltered him, must 
now pass to other hands ; and the city undertaker, 
with indecent haste, was hurrying away the mortal 



192 



SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 




remains of the poor mother to their last narrow 
home. 

" Let me see my mother once more," sobbed the 
desolate child in tones of anguish. But the hard 
man pushed away the little one, and all unmindful 
of his deep distress, screwed down the lid of the 
coarse pine coffin, and even struck the child to get 
him out of his way as he removed the body of his 
mother. All, how that blow and the heartless refu- 
sal of that one little prayer, rankled in that child 
heart, and cast a cloud of sorrow over the little 



THE OUPHAN LAWYER. 193 

gleams of sunshine that might else have cheered his 
desolate and lonely life. 

But the mother's prayers were answered, the God 
of the fatherless watched over the path of the friend- 
less boy. A quarter of a century later he stood up 
in the halls of justice, with the lofty brow of one of 
earth's most gifted sons, and withal the forgiving tem- 
per and whole-souled charity of the true Christian, to 
plead the cause of the very man whose cruelty had 
so long rankled in the breast of the orphan boy. The 
undertaker was arraigned before the bar of his coun- 
try to answer for a supposed crime ; and so strong 
were appearances against him, that none could be 
found to undertake his cause; and his life would 
probably have paid the forfeit, but for the magna- 
nimity of the noble young lawyer, whose childhood 
he had so ruthlessly imbittered. This young man 
had accidentally learned the name of the accused ; 
after careful investigation he became convinced that 
he was innocent of the alleged crime, and he resolved 
if possible to save him. God's blessing attended the 
effort — the accused was honorably acquitted; and 
learning who his benefactor was, the Christian spirit 
he had manifested so touched his heart, that he was 
led to consider his ways, and ultimately, it was be- 
lieved, to turn unto the Lord. 

This was indeed walking hi the footsteps of Him 
who "when reviled, reviled not again," but whose last 
expiring breath was spent in prayer for his very mur- 
derers. " F. G. R. D. 



1U4 BKETCHES I BOH LIFE. 

FAINT NOT. 

• A young preacher had recently 1>» ■. n settled over 
n church in a populous country village. Very booh 
lie made the discovery that the church were asleep. 

Often alter the labors of the Sabbath he retired to 
rest asking, "Who hath believed our report, and to 
whom hath the arm of the Lord been revealed?"' 
Anxiously, most anxiously did he watch for the first 
indication of coming fruit, but none appeared; the 
members seemed well satisfied if they could have 
preaching on the Sabbath, and attend the week-night 
meetings when convenient. His brethren, instead of 
being "coworkers together with him"' in the Lord's 
vineyard, seemed as an incubus of crushing weight. 
With none near who could enter into his feelings, he 
visited in tears the throne of grace, and laid his - 
rows at Jesus' feet ; and thence went forth with a 
heart nerved- with heavenly strength to recommence 
his arduous toil, only to be again laid prostrate in 
the dust of discouragement. He felt that he had a 
hard ji<1<l to cultivate, but these precious words of 
inspiration cheered his soul: "He that goeth forth 
and weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubti 
come again with rejoicing, 1 'ringing his sheaves with 
him." 

Thus he labored on through the summer, some- 
times with a glimmering of hope in his soul, and 
sometimes asking himself on his knees before God 
whether it was duty to remain, and" earnestly pray- 
ing that He would manifest his power in the awaken- 
ing of the church and the conversion of sinn< 



"THAT CROSS." 195 

length Jesus, the almighty Saviour, undertook his 
own cause, and made light to shine out of darkness. 
An increased fervor was manifest in the prayers of 
the brethren, a marked anxiety in regard to the 
church exhibited itself, and a spirit of fervent sup- 
plication in behalf of sinners was poured out. This 
was the commencement of a gracious and glorious 
revival by which the church was quickened and 
strengthened both in graces and hi numbers. 

O dear brethren engaged in the glorious work of 
preaching Christ's gospel, "faint not, faint not;" 
God's promise is, " My word shall not return unto 
me void." 

Dear fellow-Christians, "faint not." If prospects 
are gloomy, and " the love of many has waxed cold," 
be more earnest, more frequent, more fervent, moro 
believing in prayer, and rest assured that "in duo 
season you shall reap if you faint not." J. T. 



«< THAT CROJ33 I" 

F was a young disciple, young both in years 

and discipleship. Devoted Christian parents had 
been hers; from infancy she had enjoyed the coun- 
sels of a faithful father and the prayers of a pious 
mother. At length her father was called home ; but 
ere he went he placed his dying hands on her bowed 
head, and asked a blessing from heaven on Ins child. 
The prayer was answered, and soon her name was 
enrolled among the followers of Christ. 

Naturally timid, she was yet prompt, decided, 



IDG SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

energetic whenever duty was concerned; and so, in 
all the ardor of her first love, she asked the question, 
" Lord, what wilt thou have me to do ?" She did 
not feel that it was enough if her own salvation was 
secured. She could not sit down, fold her hands, 
and dream away her God-given life. Existence, to 
her, had assumed a new importance. It was full of 
deep and solemn meaning, for upon its fleeting hours 
hung an endless eternity. So, when she asked the 
question, " Lord, what wilt thou have me to do ?" 
she expected an answer, and she intended to be 
directed by it. 

She did not expect a command to give up all dear 
to her, and to go as a missionary to foreign lands ; 
nor yet that she should be called to a baptism of fire 
and blood, as many had been called. Rather, she 
expected to be told of daily duties to be performed, 
of small sacrifices to be made, of hourly crosses to 
be borne. Others might regard all these things as 
trifles, but they were not so to her. And so, looking 
to God for daily supplies of strength according to 
her daily need, she meekly went on her way. 

She had been educated for a teacher, and the 
time drew near when she should engage in a teach- 
er's labors. She was to be empkryed in a school not 
very far from her home, and was intimately acquaint- 
ed with all who were to be her scholars, many of 
whom were young ladies and gentlemen several years 
older than herself. With characteristic humility she 
again asked the question, "Lord, what wilt thou 
have me to do" in this new vocation? She did not 
suppose all her duty to her pupils would be per- 



"THAT CROSS.'' 197 

formed when she had instructed them in their usual 
lessons ; she knew that a still higher task was im- 
posed upon her, and that all her teachings were to 
be made subservient to that one groat lesson which 
life is given us to learn. 

As she pondered how best she could do this, a 
thought struck her: Ought she daily to open her 
school with prayer ? 

All her native timidity rebelled against it. She 
had never raised her voice in prayer outside the 
retirement of her own closet; could she pray in her 
school ? Many of her pupils were older than her- 
self — some of them young men; could she open hev 
school with prayer ? 

Ah, but ought she to do it? Was she not a pro- 
fessed follower of Christ? Had she not vowed to 
" take up her cross," and follow him ? And should 
she now refuse to do it ? When, if not now, should 
she let her light shine? Was she already ashamed 
of her Saviour? 

No, no; duty required that she should give this 
proof of her attachment to His cause, and she 
resolved in his strength to do it. But no one can 
imagine the struggle it cost her. For several nights 
before her school was to commence she could hardly 
sleep, and when the day at length came, she was in 
such a state of nervous excitement she feared she 
should fail after all. 

But after calling her school to order, she sat 
down and read a chapter from the Bible with a trem- 
bling voice ; then offering an earnest, silent petition 
to God for help, she knelt, and with a calmness that 



198 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

astonished herself, she craved the Divine blessing on 
her pupils, and on her own labors in their behalf. 

Such a sense of her Saviour's presence and near- 
ness had never before been granted her, and she 
arose with a feeling of unutterable joy that she had 
not been left to shrink from this great cross. And 
she had her reward, not only in the consciousness of 
duty performed, but also in seeing the most of her 
scholars led to consecrate themselves to the service 
of Christ — some of them dating their first serious 
impressions to that prayer she had offered with so 
much fear and trembling. 

To some this might seem a trifle, but it was no 
trifle in the history of that young disciple. It deci- 
ded at once the question whether she should be a 
silent Christian; whether she should Iride her light 
under a bushel, or should ever and at all times 
acknowledge her Saviour. And if in all her life 
since she has accomplished any good — and her life 
has assuredly not been an idle one — she owes it to 
the effect of that act on her heart and character. 
Never, never has she regretted that she took up 
" that cross." a. r. r. 



THE OLD QERMAN £OLDIEF{. 

In a retired neighborhood of Old Virginia there 
lives an aged German soldier, who came over to this 
country many years ago. He still delights to recall 
the adventures of his youth in Iris native land, but 
lor more than thirty years has dwelt in his quiet 



THE OLD GERMAN SOLDIER. 199 

country home, no longei the servant of an earthly 

king, but a faithful soldier of the cross. Hero ho 
has led a contented and diligent life, tilling his little 
farm for the Support of himself and his old frau, 
twite.) They live in a neat white cottage, with a 
green yard around it, showing taste and thrift in its 
simple adornments. 

Hearing lately that he had been smitten with 
sore sickness, I visited him. I went hoping to do 
him good, little thinking that it would be my place to 
sit at his feet and listen. 

He spoke of his end as near. I said, "I hope 
you find your soul supported in the prospect." "O 
sir," said he, with uplifted hands and swimming 
eyes, " ' supported !' It is all joy. I am so thankful 
that God has let me live to see this day, to see his 
great work in this great country. I feel like old 
Simeon, when he said, 'Now, Lord, lettest thou thy 
servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy 
salvation.'" 

I remarked that I had just been reading Dr. 
Prime's work on "The Power of Prayer," giving 
many wonderful instances that occurred in the late 
revival, of direct and blessed answers to prayer. 
"You didn't need that book to tell you thai" said 
lie. "You knew the power of prayer before you 
read that book; the Bible told us all about it long 
ago. 'Ask, and ye shall receive.' 'Whatsoever ye 
shall ask the Father in my name, he shall give it 
you.' But we must ask in faith, 'nothing wavering. 5 
You see we ask for what we want, and we don't 
half believe God's going to give it to us. • Y^ou see, 



200 SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

sir, there's the wavering. 'Ye ask, and ye 

not, because ye ask amiss:' That's it, sir; the fault's 

in us; it 's not in God." 

I Baid, "You have found Him 'a very present help 
in trouble.' Ho has given you grace to Lear suffer- 
ing and privations cheerfully for his sake." " Sir," 
said he, "I have no sufferings worth speaking of, and 
as for privations, they are small, except — " here his 
countenance fell and his voice trembled — "except 
that I am so weak I can't lead the family in prayer. 
That is hard to hear; that is hke cutting the right hand 
off." 

I asked if he would like to have me pray with 
him. In his deafness he did not hear at first, but 
his faithful old wife cried out, " That he would, sir, 
that he would." As soon as he apprehended, he 
replied, "Thank you, sir, thank you, sir; but you 
must excuse me that I .can't kneel down with you. 
Oh, it 's hard to sit in my chair, and see the rest of 
you kneeling." I reminded him that the Lord looks 
at the posture of the heart, not at that of the suffer- 
ing body, and that " He loveth mercy, and not sacri- 
fice." "It is not essential, sir," said he; "but you 
know the Christian lores to mat God on his hne 
Tfere the old man broke down and wept like a child. 

After prayer I called to his mind Bunyan's de- 
scription of the approach to the heavenly city. " That 
book is next to the Bible, sir," he replied; "I know 
that part of it by heart. This world is nothing to 
me now, nothing, nothing. I want to go there, and 
adore my God for all his mercies, particularly to his 
unworthv.old servant." l\ T. 



FAITH IN G&D'S PROMISE 201 

FAITH IN QOD'g PROMI3E?. 

Paying a recent visit to the Virginia State Asy- 
lum for the Insane, I entered, with a friend and Dr. 

S , the head physician of the institution, one of 

the public parlors, where were" assembled some twenty 
or more of the less dangerous class of patients. They 
variously employed in reading, conversing, sew- 
ing, etc. ; but apart from all the rest, standing pen- 
sively near the door, was an aged lady, apparently of 
more than threescore years. Her countenance was 
mild and placid, and her manner subdued, but 
there were marks of sorrow and suffering in every 
line of the pale, sad face. As we entered, she gazed 
wistfully on me, and murmured, "My dear daugh- 
ter;" but made no attempt to elicit further atten- 
tion. 

Dr. S whispered me to speak to her, and try 

to lead her into conversation; and told me she was 
fond of music, and that she played and sung. There 
n open piano in the room, and running my 
fingers over the keys, I asked her if she would sing 
with me. She shook her head mournfully, and said 
with marked emphasis, "/ never sing except in church" 
" Then play a piece of church music for me," I urged; 
but she continued for some time to refuse. Sudden- 
ly, however, as if struck by some hidden emotion, 
she looked wistfully in my face as she had done when 
I first entered the room, and again murmuring, "My 
poor child," she seated herself at the instrument, and 
after playing an exquisite symphony, she broke forth 
in a dear sweet voice — 

0* 



202 SKETCHES FliOM LIFE. 

"How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord, 
Is laid for your faith in his excellent word," 

and sang joyously through the first three -verses of 
this good old hymn. But when she came to the 
fourth stanza, 

"When through the deep waters I call thee to go, 
The rivers of sorrow shall not thee o'erflow," 

the aged voice trembled, and gradually became 
choked with deep emotion, tears coursed their way 
down the pale cheek, and her frame was convulsed. 
But suddenly the head was uplifted, the face turned 
heavenward, glowing with holy confidence and truth, 
and in a voice almost angelic came forth the remain- 
ing lines of the stanza : 

"For /will be with thee, thy troubles to bless, 
And sanctify to thee thy deepest distres 

There was no trace of sadness now, but strong 
faith and burning love hi every line of that pale, 
sorrow-stricken face. In the same rapturous strain 
she sung through the other three verses of the hymn ; 
and then rising, passed out of the room, to which no 
persuasions could induce her to return, nor was she 
apparently able to converse rationally on any of the 
topics I introduced, save some half-uttered sentence 
about "deep waters," or "fiery trials," and "an un- 
changeable Friend."' 

I afterwards learned that the dee}) emotion she 
evinced towards me arose from a striking resem- 
blance to her only daughter, for whose conversion 
she had often appeared in intense agony when she 
was able to concentrate her thoughts on any one 
subject. 






AN AGED DISCIPLE. 203 

Was it strange that, amid the wreck of mind, the 
affections should thus retain their hold; and that, 
when earth had no balm to offer, GocVs promises 
should be able to lift the feeble sufferer above her 
dreary pilgrimage, and lead her to rely in firm, un- 
shaken faith on his own promised aid to comfort and 
to bless ? F. G. B. D. 



y\N y\QED DIgCIPJLE. 

"Let me tell you, Mr. W ," said old Mrs. 

J , a poor lone woman of ninety-three years, and 

her eye kindled as she said it — " let me tell you that, 
poor and desolate as I am, i" would rather be as I am 
to-day, than be the richest person in America." And 
yet she dwelt entirely alone, and was sustained by 
the charities of the church. Her hearing and her 
sight were almost gone, and she could only totter 
about her little chamber, subject to frequent falls on 
account of growing dizziness. 

How came she to feel so rich ? Her treasure was 
laid up in heaven. " I trust I am a child of God," 
she said, " and Jesus Christ is the sure foundation of 
my hope. I know in whom I have believed. He is 
a precious, precious Saviour. Oh the riches of the 
love of God in Christ Jesus, my Lord! Truly it is 
a love which passeth knowledge; it cannot be fath- 
omed — that is, the word, it cannot be fathomed," 
She had crossed the ocean once; and she retained 
this as one of her most vivid impressions in regard 
to its fathomless depths, that nothing so fitly repre- 
sented the unsearchable riches of the love of God. 



204 SKETCHES FROM EIEE. 

The apostle, seems to have had the same similitude 

in mind, when he exclaims, " Oh the depth of the 
riches both of the wisdom and knowledge of God! 
how unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways 
past rinding out !" Rom. 11 : 53. And again, " Thaj: 
ye may be able to comprehend with all saints what is 
the breadth, and length, and depth, and height ; and 
to know the love of Christ, which passeth knowl- 
edge." Eph. 3 : 18, 19. 

Mrs. J had outlived all her kindred, and she 

now preferred to live alone, neighbors being near in 
case of necessity. And yet she often said that she 
never felt lonely. She desired no company except 
of those who would talk of Christ and of heavenly 
things. She could still see to read a little in her 
large Testament, in the " Sermons for the Aged," and 
some other such books, and she want 3d no better 
company than these. 

She wondered that the Lord should keep her, a 
poor old worthless thing, so long on the earth, while 
so many of his young and useful servants are called 
away. She is sometimes almost impatient to be 
gone; and whenever any little illness comes upon 
her, she expresses the earnest hope that this is now 
the signal for her release. And yet she desires to 
have no other will than the Lord's will, in regard to 
this or anything else. With her Bible and her God, 
and a crust of bread, she is content. 

Tims it is that religion can afford riches in the 
midst of poverty, the best of company in the midst 
of solitude, and heavenly contentment in discomfort 
and trial. V,T - 



A WELCOME LETTEE. 205 

A WELCOME LETTER. 

It came to a secluded country parsonage. The 
writer was the eldest son in a home sheltered by 
prayer and holy example. He had obtained a hope 
in the Saviour, and at an earlier age than usual was 
exposed to the snares and enticements of a college 
life — college life too, many years ago, when it was a 
rare thing to find "Abdiels:" when few so young, so 
soeial, so warm-hearted, had courage and moral nerve 
to withstand the temptations and persuasions to con- 
viviality and dissipation. It was no trifling matter 
to reserve, from the small salary, money sufficient to 
equip and pay the expenses of a son at college. That 
item had not been contemplated in the call ; and 
though his laborious duties had extended every year 
with his widening parish, the modest pastor had not 
increased his demands. Their sacrifices drew the 
cords closer which bound the family in mutual sym- 
pathy. At morning and evening prayers, the voice 
of the patriarch faltered, as special petitions were 
made for guidance, protection, and blessing for the 
" absent son." Still, many a fear was felt, and many 
an anxious solicitude admitted, lest their hopes should 
be disappointed and their prospects blighted. 

At last, for mails were more unfrequent in those 
days, came with the coveted post-mark a very large 
letter. What could it be? Extravagant bills, im- 
possible of liquidation? Censures from the profes- 
sors, with appeals to parental authority? They 
hardly dared open it. They remembered many a 
yonth who, away from the restraints of home, had 



20G SKETCHES FfcOM LIFE. 

listened to the roice of the tempter, and had then 
begun his own descending career in vice. The father 
Well knew, for he had himself passed through the 
scathing ordeal, how difficult it was to stand faithful 
among the faithless. 

The seal was broken. It was a beautifully drawn 
sketch of Us distant home. Their anxieties were dis- 
sipated. With what exclamations of delight did 
that home circle gather around that precious letter, 
as it was first spread out before them, photographed 
by the light of memory. The painted scene was 
bathed in sunlight. It seemed more fair than the 
original. Distance had lent its magic to the view. 
There was the parsonage embowered beneath the 
graceful willows; the rows of fruit-trees, all bridal 
with their wealth of blossoms; the festooned grape- 
vines; the rose-bushes, sister's special care; the 
mound they had raised in the garden to cover an old 
white rock that would raise his bald head just among 
the flower-beds; the mossy well with its travelling 
bucket— all, even to the petted house-dog watching 
at the gate for his young master. The picture need- 
ed not the added lines of love and gratitude. This 
sketch told all, even more eloquently than words. 
This had been his recreation. He could not go 
from such an occupation to scenes of riot and insub- 
ordination. It told that he loved his home, that it 
was engraven on his heart; that he loved to give its 
inmates pleasure; that he looked forward to his 
return with emotions of delight ; that he would do 
nothing to give them unhappiness. It told the truth ; 
it was one out-gushing of the generous, unselfish, 



FAITH'S VICTOliV. 207 

home-loving spirit which, all his life-long, made sun- 
shine under his roof. 

Then 1 is a touching lesson we may learn from 
this precious letter. We are all absent from the 
Father's house. We are all learning in the great 
school of life; all in circumstances of trial and temp- 
tation. True, our eyes have never been fed with the 
beauty of our celestial home; hut do we make it our 
goal? We may not pencil upon canvas the trees of 
life which bloom in that upper paradise, or trace the 
course of the pure river whose crystal waters flash 
back the light from its radiant temple ; but is there 
"joy among the angels" that dwell there, that we 
are preparing for its welcome ? If we love to think 
of its purity, and "so purify ourselves even as" it 
"is pure;" if our best affections are clustered around 
the blessed One, who is even now beautifying and 
preparing those mansions of love, soon the last les- 
son the great Teacher gives us shall be learned, the 
last temptation resisted ; the days of our exile and 
"mourning shall be ended," and we shall be wel- 
comed with shouts to our Father's house, our heav- 
enly home, "to go no more out for ever." 



FAITH'3 VICTORY. 

At the end of the road, in the midst of an orchard 
of apple-trees, stood the little brown house, the path 
overgrown with weeds, showing how few were the 
footsteps that trod it. It was a lovely secluded spot. 
We paused a moment at the threshold. The sum- 



208 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

mer Bongs of Hie birds had ceased, and the shrill 

notes of the crickets were the only sounds heart]. 
The forests that crowned the hilltops had put on 
their beautiful autumnal robes; the dark brown of 
the beech and the. yellow leaves of the elm mingling 
with the bright red of the maple and the deep crim- 
son of the oak. Glorious was this place of natoi 

decay. 

We were met at the entrance of the dwelling by 
a weary-looking woman, and the dark kitchen con- 
trasted gloomily with the brightness without. The 
sick daughter, the object of our visit, was in an 
adjoining room. There she lay on her low bed, a 
woman in the prime of life, a sweet smile illumina- 
ting her fair face, and as she greeted us with a kindly 
pleasant voice, she seemed a lovely type of gentle 
womanhood, fitted to adorn and bless a better home. 
We asked, and she told us of the years that she had 
made that room her home and that couch her rest- 
ing-place—years of suffering; nights when she had 
watched for the day, and days when she had longed 
for the night : she spoke of agonizing pain— of hopes 
of recovery one after another cut off— of dear friends 
sickening, lingering, dying, and she unable to minis- 
ter to a single want, or even to follow them to their 
last resting-place. All this was told with a calm 
voice, though occasionally a tear would fall, as ours 
fell freely at the recital 

Thus she spoke of the outer life, that visible to 
the looker-on. the one she was supposed to live; but 
she told us of another life, not one of loneliness and 
suffering: she made mention of strong arms under- 



FAITH'S VICTORY. 209 

neath her in her hours of weariness, unseen to the 
eye of sense, but seen and felt with the vision of 
faith. She spoke of sympathy in suffering sw< 
than the kindest earthly friend could give— of com- 
munion with her heavenly Father purer and more 
satisfying than earthly friendship could yield; and 
then she spoke of the pearly gates and golden streets 
of her future home — of the Bociety she should meet, 
of the friends who would welcome her there, of the 
Sayiour her "Elder Brother" who had purchased 
and prepared her a mansion there. As we listened 
to her earnest words, and saw her kindling eye, that 
lone room seemed a Bethel, that couch an altar ; and 
as we knelt beside it, praises for sustaining grace out- 
numbered prayers for patient endurance. 

The opening spring had many times gladdened 
the heart of man, summer suns had shone and 
ripened many a harvest, autumnal frosts had again 
and again blighted what spring and summer had 
brought forth, and the snows of winter had often 
drifted around the solitary dwelling, and still our 
friend lived on. To her other afflictions were added 
the death of her patient, faithful mother, and the 
almost total loss of sight. 

'T was" pitiful to see her thus — desolate, blind, 
helpless. The effects of these accumulated suffer- 
ings were seen in the wasted frame and decaying 
strength of the poor body ; but they were also seen 
in the growth of her spiritual life, disciplining and 
purifying and working out for her, through God's 
grace, "a far more exceeding and eternal weight of 
glory.'' And that grace never failed. As the tired 



210 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

laborer on his homeward path gain and again 

to the bubbling fountain and finds a fresh supply, bo 
she wont to the wells of salvation, and from their 
inexhaustible depths drew each day and each weary 
night supplies of grace and strength. 

Death came at last, not as the king of terrors, 
but as a friendly messenger to convey her to her 
heavenly home. One quiet summer day a few friends 
and neighbors gathered together to offer one prayer 
of thankfulness over her coffin, and then bore it to 
the solitary graveyard, and laid her beside her kin- 
dred, "in the sure and certain hope of a blessed and 
glorious resurrection." 



WEEPINQ ON THE gTEPg. 

There once stood in one of our most beautiful 
New England towns, a large brick mceting : house, 
occupying a commanding position, and observed for 
its comeliness by every one who passed that way. 
But the doors were locked, the bell in the tower was 
silent, and from the pulpit came no sound of salva- 
tion. The Sabbath-day dawned, but those d< 
were not opened, the bell was not rung, the pulpit 
was not occupied. All around were beautiful resi- 
dences and a happy community, but from year to 
year that church was abandoned by God and unoc- 
cupied by men. 

It seems that divisions had arisen in the church, 
the members had been alienated from each other, 
and God had withdrawn his presence. No souls 



WEEPING ON THE STEPS. 211 

were converted, no spiritual life enjoyed. Time 

rolled on, and still the deserted meeting-house in 
fair proportions stood, the monument of division and 
spiritual declension. 

But there was one man who loved God and the 
church. Every Sabbath morning, on his way to an- 
other sanctuary, he would stop and look at the closed 
doors of the house in which he once went with his 
family to worship the God of his fathers. Often he 
would be seen sitting on the steps, his Bible in his 
hand, and drops of sacred grief flowing down his 
cheeks. When urged to unite with some other church, 
and give up the old one, he refused. Nothing could 
induce him to stop praying that those doors might 
be opened, and those walls again echo the sound of 
salvation. He prayed, while others fainted ; he wept,, 
while others turned away; he believed, while others 
in despair gave up all as lost. Sabbath after Sab- 
bath that poor old man was seen weeping on the 
steps of that closed sanctuary, and to all who asked 
why he wept, he told the sad story, and his confi- 
dence that God would come and open those doors 
and again visit his people. 

Eight years he waited. For eight years he sat 
upon the steps and wept ! Eight years his faith fal- 
tered not. Then God came. While all the other 
churches in that town were cold and formal, a few 
persons were converted in an adjoining city, and 
came back to their own homes with the love of 
Christ burning in their souls. They saw the old man 
weeping on the steps, they looked at the closed 
doors, and said, "The God of heaven, he will pros^ 



212 SKETCHES PROM LIP] 

per us; th« refore his servants will arise and build."'' 
They unlocked the doors, swept the aisles, called a 
pastor; and now one of the most nourishing churches 
in the state, led by a devoted, educated, and popular 
minister, worship within those walls so long silent 
and deserted. The man who sat on the steps and 
wept has beheld the redemption of his people, and 
heaven has echoed with joy over the conversion of 
hundreds of souls. 

How ought cases like this to strengthen our faith 
and encourage our hearts! The Christian is often 
compelled to weep bitter tears over the desolations 
of Zion. But those tears do not long flow. Heaven 
is moved to mercy by the sorrows of the believer 
over the lost state of man, and a glorious change 
comes. God never forgets a weeping, praying saint. 
He never disappoints the hopes of those who pray 
for the welfare of his kingdom. 

Do these lines reach any one weeping over the 
desolations of Zion? Is your heart moved as 
see the walls broken down, and Jerusalem in ruins? 
If so, God will not forget to be gracious, he will 
come; the desolation will pass away; the waste 
places shall blossom as the r c. B. 



THE OLD /4AN'3 FAITH. 

A FEW afternoons since, while sitting quietly at 
my work, I was surprised by the entrance of an aged 
friend, to whom I had not been permitted to speak 
words of welcome for many a long month. Age and 



THE OLD MAN'S FAITH. 213 

infirmities have bowed him towards the grave: yet 
his heart is still young, and strong in the faith which 
bids him walk humbly with God. 

I knew not that his trend ding limbs could bear 
him so far from his home, for when I had last met 
him he was suffering from a disease, as he supposed, 
which might any day stop the throbbing of his pulse. 

He said he "was well, and could walk three or 
four miles to attend meeting, rain or shine, and back 
again." 

When asked what had cured him, he answered, 
" Faith in God." I will try and tell his tale as near 
his own language as I can remember : " You know I 
always loved to go to meeting ; I have been when I 
was the only one who dared to venture out hi the 
storm. For some time I had not been able to go; 
but I had heard so much about a noted young 
preacher, whose labors with a neighboring" church 
had been blessed by a great revival, I wanted to go 
and hear him; but I couldn't have a horse to go 
with, and the place was nigh on to three miles away. 

" I told my wife I believed I should try and walk ; 
rid I couldn't get there ; but I said I was deter- 
mined to try, and if I got too tired, I would turn 
about and come back. 

" You know what a high hill there is just beyond 
my house. "Well. I got somewhere nigh about half 
way up, when I felt as though I couldn't go any 
farther. I turned to go back, but something whis- 
pered, 'Clod will help you. if you ask him;' so I knelt 
down and asked him to help me; my courage re- 
vived, and I went on to the meeting ; and bless the 



214 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

Lord, I have been ever sine.-, and 1 mean to go as 
long as I live: I'm old and can't expect to live 
much longer, and I'm ready to lie down in my gr.- 
to-night if 'tis God's will; but I want to live for God 
while I do stay, and faith in him is what helps me."' 
The old man's story bore a lesson with it. Surely 
it is true, "Faith works wond< a. M. l. 



"I WAg TA;LKINQ WITH MY gAVIOUR." 

A few years ago, hi one of my visits to distribute 

tracts in the P county poorhouse, as I was 

ascending the stairs my attention was directed to a 
small dark room, by a low, plaintive sound like the 
voice of earnest prayer, and as the door stood a lit- 
tle ajar, I felt at liberty to enter. There on a bed 
of straw lay a poor afflicted Irishman. From a pro- 
tracted sickness and long exposure, he had lost the 
use of his lower limbs, and, to add to his cup of sor- 
row, he had lost his eyes. He was poor, blind, and 
friendless, and yet a happier man I have never seens 

I asked him if I^could do anything for him. His 
countenance brightened, and with a sweet smile he 
answered: "No, you can do nothing for me; my 
Saviour can supply all my wants." I then asked 
him what he was doing when I entered the room. 
He answered, "I was talking with my Saviour." 
" Do you never get lonely here by yourself?"' " Oh, 
no; how can I be lonesome when my Saviour is 
with me ?" " Do you not think it hard that you are 
so much afflicted?" "No, for my Saviour is with 



THE INJUUED WIFE. 215 

me." He was always happy in talking with his 
Saviour. 

I shall never forget the lesson of submission I 
learned from that afflicted but happy son of Erin. 
He had once been a Roman-catholic, but as he. told 
me, a.s soon as he commenced talking directly to his 
Saviour, he could rind no comfort in counting his 
heads; so he put away his rosary, and like blind 
Bartimeus of old, he applied directly to his Saviour, 
nor did he apply in vain. s. B. W. 



THE INJURED WIFE. 

Me. and Mrs. S r owned and occupied a 

farm, from which they made a comfortable living 
for themselves and several children. But the insid- 
ious tempter who has destroyed the hopes and hap- 
piness of so many families, entered their dwelling. 

Mr. S r was induced to spend his Sabbaths in 

the tavern, where he gradually acquired an appetite 
for strong drink, until he became a confirmed drunk- 
ard. His distressed wife saw the fearful advances 
he was making, and she reasoned, entreated, and 
pleaded with him, but in vain ; he was painfully con- 
scious of his degradation, and would often weep, 
re, and promise amendment, but he was the 
slave, the victim of intemperance. Manacled and 
fettered, he seemed to have no power of resistance, 
and his resolutions and promises were as chaff driv- 
en before the wind. 

About this time, and in the midst of her trouble, 
Mrs. S r began to attend the worship of God. 



216 SKETCHES FROM LIFE- 

When Mr. S r - * ""ffV. her „ oiug to any 
was v( ,,v indignant, and ^^/ & .^ re - 

mole f these "^ *££ Christian duties. 

solved at whatever cost to raltd be ^. ^^ 

The night of meeting came. M* he 

cated, and as he ~ 1 -£j£3U»Ll« 
took down his gun -^J2 Bhopt her .*. 
presence, dechmng th| be* ^ ^ 

she -tamed home.^ ^ to ^ L a 

WM staggered bat bftrng uj ^ 

for assistance, ^^X*ieated compan- 

r^^tSe^aTr^ner hearts 
^r^dr^b e X-d%too P ingdow, 
^n^rbSfiSdlloehe, Wi* 



THE INJURED WIFE. 217 

difficulty she gained admission, and found her hus- 
band fast <lsh 

Such were some of the trials to which the faith 
of this young Christian was exposed, but in after- 
years they were multiplied exceedingly. Mr. S r 

became worse and worse; his business was neglect* d 

until it was ruined, the farm was sold, and the court 

allotted a separate maintenance to Mrs. S r and 

her children. 

We must now pass over an interval of years. I 
had become the pastor of the church of which Mrs. 
S r was a worthy member, and was often im- 
pressed with the earnestness with which she asked 
the prayers of her Christian friends in behalf of her 
erring husband. Frequently I -met him on the 
street, his countenance bearing the unmistakable 
evidences of drunkenness. At length " his sin found 
him out." His body became emaciated, his prop- 
erty was squandered, while inward fires were hourly 
consuming him. At last an arrow shot at a venture 
pierced his heart. He began to reflect; became 
alarmed, and oh, the bitterness of that poor sinner's 
repentance ! He seemed to be * drinking a cup of 
treasured anguish. I endeavored to point him to 
the " Lamb of God that taketh away the sin of the 
world ;" but for several days he could only contem- 
plate his own guilt and pollution. Yet at length it 
seemed that he was enabled to believe in the Son of 
God, to the salvation of his soul. Brandy was or- 
dered for him by his physician, but he refused to 
take it, even at the risk of life. He died professing 
to love the Saviour, in whose hands we leave him. 

10 



•218 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

Mrs S t still survives, ami it is possible her eye 

r 7 meet these lines. May she be faithtul even 
unto death, that she may receive a crown ot lite. 

<<ALL WILL BE RIQHT." 
A YOONG la.lv of rare attainments in piety and 
intelligence Was one day assailed by a young female 
acquaintance with the severest language, denouncing 
her integrity, and branding her as "a hypoente en- 
deavoring to cloak her iniquity under the robe of the 
Christian livery." The attack, so unexpected from 
one whom she had regarded as a personal friend, led 
her to express surprise, and desire an explanation. 

But it was all in vain. 

Distressed by a repeated manifestation of this 
bitterness, she, without a word, dropped her head 
upon her hand in prayer that God would make 
known to her the sinfulness of her own hear , and 
kad her to more entire conformity to the blessed 
Saviour. But her young companion was only he 
nmre irritated, and insisted that she should mstanth 
Shdraw from her presence. Without a murium, 
Ellen cajmiy retired, and in her chamber, alone with 
Jesus, she found comfort and peace amid sobs and 

: " tl length she ventured to go again to her young 
friend and ask an explanation. But her only reply 
v,,s -I cannot inform you. plough that you have 
been the constant disturber of my happiness tor more 
than three months." Unable to gam any satisfac- 



•ALL WILL BE RIGHT." 211) 

tion, Ellon returned to her room, feeling that God was 
able to make the "wrath of man to praise him," and 
would in duo time relieve her anxiety. 

The morrow came, but the heavy cloud still rested 
on the brow of her young Companion; and not a 

word was uttered. Ellen's distress increased, and 
unable to conceal her emotions, she again withdrew 
to her chamber to weep. Soon a dear friend en- 
tered, and seeing her overcome with grief, conso- 
lingly asked, " Why, Ellen, is there any sorrow Jesus 
cannot heal?" "Oh, no," she replied; "but I fear 
I have grieved my Saviour by my example, and the 
thought is more than I can bear." Happily united 
in covenant vows, and possessing the utmost confi- 
dence in each other, at her friend's earnest solicita- 
tion she related the incident which had occasioned 
her sadness, and despairingly said, " I have tried for 
many months so to live as to be a means of good to 
Sarah ; but instead of leading her to Christ, as I had 
hoped, she believed me 'a hypocrite,' and now my 
influence over her is at end." Her friend sat in 
silence for a moment; and as Ellen wept, she at 
length replied, " Trust in God, Ellen : all irHl he 
right" 

Ellen soon after went to a distant state, leaving 
her companion unreconciled, and with no cause 
assigned for the estrangement. Months passed, and 
no tidings came from her aggrieved companion. But 
she was still enabled to stay her soul on God, to cast 
her burden at his feet, and trust hi him that "all 
would be right." 

At length her heart was relieved bv the intelli- 









220 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

gence that "Sarah had become a Chi A brief 

extract from a letter received froin her companion 
explained the cause of the estrangement, and stri- 
kingly displays the workings of the natural heart in 
opposition to the influence of the Holy Spirit, which 
would woo it to Christ. 

"While you were with me," she writes, "yowr ear- 
nest devotion to the Saviour was a constant reproof to 
my wicked heart, disturbing my happiness in sin, 
and adding every hour to my wretchedness. Your 
very presence became a burden, and the remem- 
brance of your patience under severe provocation in 
my wicked treatment of you, so increased my misery, 
that I could find no rest to my soul till I found it in 
Jesus. Dearest Ellen, oh, how much do I owe >/>>;>, 
you have been the means of my conversion. May God 
forgive my wickedness to you. I trust I have his for- 
giveness; may I have yours?" 

Thus in life's various exigencies we are taught 
that, in the faithful performance of Christian duty, 
God's eye will kindly approve, and so dispose of the 
minutest events, that in the end all ivill be right. 
"All things shall work together for good to them that 
love God."' H. A. B. 



■■ F{ICH IJVI FAITH." 

For many days I had been passing through "deep 
waters." A great cloud had settled down upon me, 
and I felt assured it would never lift oi rift — nor yd, 

in my own unbelieving blindness, could I see a 



"HICH IN FAITH. ' r 221 

"bright light in the cloud." So, desponding, I sat 
one morning in my darkened room, and wondered if 
anv human being could be more miserable than, 
myself. 

The door-bell rang, and a neighbor entered. He 
was a poor man, but a consistent, devoted, happy 
Christian. Often had I met him, and as often had I 
been reproved for my own lack of faith in a cove- 
nant-keeping God. His faith never wavered, Ms 
love never grew cold. Outward circumstances, 
however untoward, seemed not to affect his inward 
peace. 

That morning, as I looked on his face almosi. 
shining with the happiness in his soul, I asked him, 
impulsively, how he contrived to be always so happy. 
It was a thoughtless question, even a cruel one, and 
so I felt as soon as'it had escaped my lips. 

A shadow for a moment passed over his face, and 
a tear dimmed his eye ; then I could not but remem- 
ber his history — how a daughter, the pride and joy 
of his heart, whom he had tried faithfully to lead in 
the path of virtue, had gone astray, and brought 
shame to the poor man's home. I remembered too 
a son, his firstborn, on whom he depended for sup- 
port in his declining years, but who had wandered 
far from his father's God into the ways of sin, till he 
was now an inmate of the state-prison. I thought 
also of a large family dependent on his daily labor 
for their daily bread. 

These thoughts rushed through my mind as soon 
as I had asked the question, and I regretted that I 
had been so thoughtless. But his reply was such a 



222 • SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

rebuke to my own lack of faith, and such an exem- 
plification of the power of a living faith ! 

"I read," said he, "that all things work together 
for good to them that love God ; why should I not 
be happy?" 

Poor man ! Poor in this world's estimation, but 
" rich in faith," exceeding rich in the sight of God. 

I counted over my mercies after he left the room*. 
I enumerated friends, home, health, an open Bible, 
a living Saviour, an ever-present Spirit, a promised 
heaven; these, and many, many more. What if 
some had been removed? So much the higher 
might I prize those that were left. 

Then I went out from my darkened room into 
the light of day, went out also from the state of 
dark unbelief into the bright region of an unques- 
tioning faith. Now .the cloud lifted, and I saw a 
" bright light in the cloud." 

Yes, " all things work together for good to them 
that love God;" cannot we believe it? Ah, when, 
when shall we learn to take God at his word ? Shall 
we ever entirely trust Him, till we "see as we are 
seen, and know as we are known?" A. F. it. 



THE PERSECUTED DlgCIPLE. 

In a small country congregation in the state of 
New York lived Mrs. K . She was a mild, gen- 
tle, retiring woman, ready to yield all for the sake of 
peace where no principle was involved ; but when 
duty called, she was steadfast. Nothing could in- 



THE PERSECUTED DISCirLE. 223 

ducc her to acl contrary to the dictates of con- 
science. 

After her marriage she attended the evening 
meetings held in the neighborhood where she lived, 
and became interested. Her heart was moved by 
the Spirit of God, and at length she was made a 
subject of renewing grace. This aroused the oppo- 
sition of her husband, a profane, wicked man. He 
peremptorily forbade her attending meetings. She 
counted the cost, and persevered. When he learned 
she intended publicly uniting with the people of 
.God in confessing her faith in Christ and commemo- 
rating his dying love, he was greatly enraged. In 
his wrath he flourished the carving-knife around her 
throat, assuring her if she persisted in going, he 
would certainly kill her on her return. 

She had no doubt as to his design of killing her 
if she went, but here was the positive command of 
Christ, "Do this in remembrance of me." Duty was 
plain, and she did not waver. In the spirit of a mar- 
tyr she crawled out of her bedroom window, and 
walked three miles to church ; thus manifesting her 
love for Him who died for her. 

On her return she met with curses and abuse 
from her husband ; but his hand was restrained from 
taking her life. She found that "the angel of the 
Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, 
and delivereth them." 

The few years that her husband lived after this, 
he continued to persecute her even until his death. 
Her trials led her to maintain a close walk with 
God, maturing her Christian graces, and ripening her 



284 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

for heaven. Her countenance seemed to speak forth 
heavenly joy, and k - her peace was like a river." No 
cue showed more affection for her pastor, or in 
in his work. Her place in the house of God was 
never vacant. Through rain and sleet and snow I 
have seen her walking to the sanctuary, while those 
living near by would excuse themselves for staying 
at home. She loved the ordinances of God's house, 
and felt too deeply her need of the strength she de- 
rived from the public ministrations of his word, and 
fellowship with his people, to be deterred. She has 
now finished her course with joy, and gone to be for , 
ever with the Lord. 

"Fear not," persecuted believer, " I am thy shield, 
and thy exceeding great reward/' Hesitate not in 
the path of duty, though tempests may blow, and 
billows roar, God, even thy God, shall bring thee to 
thy desired haven. "These are they which came 
out of great tribulation, and have washed their 
robes, and made them Avlrite in the blood of the 
Lamb." G. 



A THOUQHT FO-F( HARD TIMES. 

How many hearts to-day beat anxiously as they 
think of the future. "What shall we eat, and 
wherewithal shall Ave be clothed*?" are thoughts that 
disturb the peace of thousands. Let this thought 
cheer you : "Your heavenly Father knoweth ye have 
need of all these firings." Not a single little need, 
but he knows it. The Psalmist could say in old age, 
"I have never seen the righteous forsaken, nor his 



A THOUGHT FOR HARD TIMES* 225 

seed begging bread." Most wonderfully has God 
come to the help of his children in times of distress 
ever since the world began. Thousands of recorded 
instances teach us his watchful care, and there are 
tens of thousands more the world never hears of. 

The early Greenland missionaries seemed con- 
stantly supplied from the Lord's table. They were 
once in great straits for food, having nothing left but 
a few old tallow candles. In this extremity God put 
into the heart of a stranger native to travel one hun- 
dred and twenty miles to sell them some seals and 
oatmeal, a delicacy indeed compared with their for- 
mer fare. At another time a party was returning 
from an unsuccessful search for food, when contrary 
winds drove their boat on a desert island. Here 
they shot a large bird, which afforded them food, 
and quills for writing. After another similar excur- 
sion, as they came home disheartened, a native 
brought them word that a Dutch ship had letters for 
them. On sending to the vessel they found a large 
cask of provisions from a kind friend in Amsterdam, 
with a promise to send more if needed. We who 
have never been in such extremities cannot realize 
their joy and gratitude. 

They had established a new station at Lichten- 
fels, but were likely to perish for want of shelter, as 
no building materials could be obtained. But now 
God chartered even the waves to do his bi( 
Some large timbers suitable for beams drifted 
spot, and the house was built. For twenty-nino 
years were the founders of the mission thus pre- 
served in all then perils and sufferings. Hundreds 

10* 



to the 



226 SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

of poor heathen were Led by them to embrace Christ, 
and many had died rejoicing in his love. 

Do not despond, Christian, though the future for 
yourself and little ones looks dark. He who rules 
the world is "the same yesterday, to-day, and for 
ever." He can bring relief from sources whence you 
least expect it. Commit all to him, doing well what- 
ever duty comes to your hand, and " He shall deliver 
thee in six troubles, yea, in seven there shall no evil 
touch thee." E. L. M. 



A J^0THEF('3 TRUgT 

SEVERAL years ago I became acquainted with 

Mrs. M , an aged widow, whose character deeply 

impressed me. She had passed through much sor- 
row, and from her trials had come forth as gold. 
Her faith was sustaining and triumphant. She ap- 
peared to live on the mount with God. Her joy in 
God, in his providences, in his purpos, >ntin- 

ually breaking forth in praise. Her delight in the 
doctrines of grace was singularly intelligent and 
hearty. Sin was rebuked in her presence; but so 
beautifully did she combine fidelity with the charity 
of the gospel, that no one was known to resent her 
admonitions. Scoffers who were wont to mock at 

otJML professors, when the name of Widow M 

mentioned, acknowledged that she was a real 
Christian. Her speech was " always with gract . 
soned with salt," and not a few owe their conversion, 
under God, to her personal efforts and prayers. 



A MOTHER'S TRUST. 227 

It was my delight to visit her, as often as the 
varied and exhausting caves of a large congregation 
would allow it. From the tirst I took my place at 
her feet as a learner. I wondered at her childlike 
and filial spirit, the constancy of her communion with 
God, and the ardor of. her love. On one occasion, 
after a long interview with her, I asked her eldest 
son, a valued member of the same church, "How 
long has your mother been in this heavenly frame?" 
He replied, "For forty years she has lived in the 
land Beulah. During all this time I have seen 
scarcely any change." 

Widow M was a firm believer, and in the 

spirit of faith offered many prayers for the conver- 
sion of her children and grandchildren. It was my 
privilege to ordain as deacon the son to whom refer- 
ence 1ms been made. He had six children, some of 
them already grown to man's estate, but only one of 
them, the eldest daughter, gave evidence of piety. 

Still Widow M was unshaken in her trust that 

her grandchildren, as well as her children, would be 
saved. 

This aged pilgrim ripened for heaven, and at 
length a token was given her that she was to bo 
called home. She was visited with a cancerous affec- 
tion, which speedily brought her days on earth to a 
I saw her frequently during her last sickness, 
and the nearer she approached the dark valley, the 
more clear and resplendent her piety shone forth. 
Her faith overcame all difficulties. Her confidence 
and joy were unbroken. Christ was, in a wonder- 
fully real sense, her companion. When I inquired if 



228 SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

her sufferings were rery seyere, she would reply, 
"No. Sometimes the sharp pain sets in, but I pray 

the Lord to take it away, and lie takes it away." 

Her work was done. Sweetly she sunk to her 
rest, and with tears of mingled gratitude and grief 
we bore the inanimate dust to the tomb. Widow 

M was dead; but the faithful, prayer-hearing 

God in whom she trusted, lived. 

A few months passed away. The three eldest 
sons of Deacon M found pardon, as they be- 
lieved, through the blood of Christ, and made public 
profession of their faith. 

A fifth child, a lad of about nineteen, was in del- 
icate health, and fell into a profound melancholy. 
He said he had sinned away his day of grace, and 
there was no mercy for him. He was pointed to the 
cross, and urged to flee to it. He was assured of 
the sufficiency of Christ and of his willingness to 
save, but all in vain. His -gloom was fast deepening 
into despair. His father had waited and hoped for 
his salvation ; but now it was evident the question 
must be speedily decided, once and for ever. On 
Tuesday morning the father went up to the neigh- 
boring village for medical aid; and as he went he 
wrestled in an agony of prayer that William might 
be converted. "All at once," as he narrated the 
story to me, " a promise flashed upon my mind. My 
distress was gone, and I went on, leaping for joy, 
and praising Cod for that promise. On my return, 
I found William engaged in audible prayer for 
mercy, and as soon as lie stopped praying he fell into 
a sweet sleep, the first he had had in two days. He 



"UNWOKTHY "-'JESUS CHRIST." 229 

slept two or three hours, and awoke. Immediately 
he called the family around his bedside, and wanted 
to shake hands with them. I asked him how he felt. 
He replied, "All is peace. I have given my heart to 
Christ, and he has accepted me." His confidence 
in God was serene and cloudless to the last; so that 
his father said to me, "I have as full confidence and 
assurance that William is in heaven, as I have that 
my good mother is there." I did not wonder at his 
saying so. That grandmother's reliance, that father's 
agon)* and exultant trust, were graciously accepted. 

These events were blessed by the Holy Spirit hi 
arousing to thoughtfulness the deacon's sixth child, 
and in a few weeks she was rejoicing in hope, and in 
due time connected herself with the church. The 

remoter consequences of Widow M 's faith time 

will unfold, and the story will be told in eternity. 

It is a great thing to trust in God. If there were 

more undaunted believers like Widow M , there 

would be more fathers like Deacon M , and more 

brands plucked from the burning, like William. 

A. D. 



" UNWORTHY"- "JESUg CHRIgT." 

Janet was the only daughter of a humble Scotch 
widow. She was a child of many prayers, and her 
pious mother was made glad by perceiving that the 
snds of God's word wire sown in her heart, and 
were springing up to bear fruit unto everlasting life. 

As the diphtheria removed several of the little 
ones to the eternal world, Janet's mother offered 



230 SKET< BES FROM LIFE. 

many a prayer that her dearest earthly treasure 
might be spared; bat she ever added in a Christ- 
like spirit : "Nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou 

wilt." 

At length this beloved one was brought down with 
the epidemic in its malignant form, and human aid 
seemed powerless. Tearfully the mother watched 
over her suffering child, as the disease gained rap- 
idly upon that strong young frame. 

From the first, Janet had been unable 
without great effort, and at last it was impossible 
for her to articulate at all; but she seemed to watch 
every movement of her beloved mother, as she 
moved about her sick bed. 

Mrs. L felt anxious to know if Janet realized 

how near she was to the confines of another world. 
She sj)oke gently to her of the great change that 
awaited her, and asked her if she felt willing and 
ready to appear before her Judge and Saviour. The 
suffering girl fixed her eyes tenderly on her mother, 
and tried to speak; but that was impossible. She 
then made a motion that she could write. Her 
mother immediately handed her a pencil and paper. 
Feebly the pale fingers grasped the pencil, and 
traced distinctly but one word: "Unicorthy" Clos- 
ing her eyes a moment, her head fell back upon the 
pillow; but at once a heavenly smile illumined her 
face as she again seized the pencil and wrote one 
more word: "Jesus Christ;" then motioned for her 
mother to take the paper away. Thus stood the 
precious, touching expression of the dying girl, the 
two words : •• / r nworthy" "Ji sus ( 'hrist," 






WHAT COURSE TO PURSUE. 231 

As the pencil dropped from her fingers, the soul 
was released. With no plea but her own unworthi- 
.iinl a dying Saviour's love, she stood before 
her Judge. What a precious legacy was thus be- 
queathed to the grief-stricken mother; "a crumpled 
slip of paper, with two simple words almost illegibly 
traced upon it. The wealth of India could not buy 
that sacred legacy — two words: k * Unworthy" "Jesus 
Christy What humility, what sense of sin, what 
faith, what trust in a Saviour's merits ! 

"Just as I am, without one plea. 
But that Thy blood was shed for mo, 
And that Thou bid'st nic come to Thee. 
Lamb of God, I come." 

C. P. 



' WHy\T COURSE DO YOU MEAJN TO 
PURSUE? " 

In the month of August last, I spent a few days 

in a village in the central part of New York. At 
the close of a lecture which I was invited to preach, 
a lady in middle life came to me and said : " I pre- 
sume you do not recognize me. My name is Mrs. 

. "When you knew me, it was E. B ." 

Many years before, when quite a young girl, she sat 
under my preaching. She invited me to tea the 
next day. During a pleasant visit she gave me the 
following account of herself: 

Her father w^is a man of strong mind. I often 
met him, but he was an opposer of religion. Her 



232 SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

mother I never knew. My impression is, she died 
when E was a child. During a very exten- 
sive revival of religion, her father was almost the 

only man who was not affected. So far as I can rec- 
ollect, he never attended any religions meeting. In 

the midst of the revival, Mr. B said to his 

daughter (she was his only child) : " What course do 
you mean to pursue ? " He had probably perceived 
that her mind was seriously impressed. She frankly 
told him that she was interested in the subject of 
religion ; that she felt it to be her duty to attend to 
the salvation of her soul. At this time she was 
young, and attending school. " Very well," said he, 
sternly, " then you may consider your education fin- 
ished. You may bring home your books. Hence- 
forth you may take your place in the kitchen with 
the servants." 

This was in the evening. He had always treated 
her with great kindness before. Now his opposition 
to Christ and the work of grace then in progress 
broke out. She went out fro.m the presence of her 
father borne down under a double load. She felt 
herself to be a creat sinner. She was alarmed at 
such an exhibition of enmity in her father. She 
went to her room to pray. She said but little that 
night. She said she could hear her father walking 
his room till a late hour. It was a solemn time in 
that house. 

The next morning she went early Lo the school- 
house and brought home her books. As her place 
was to be with the servants, she went in at the back 
door. Her father, who was walking on the piazza, 



WHAT COURSE TO PUR&UE. 

saw her, and went into the house. He inquired 
where she had been. "When told, he said: "You 
can take your hooks back." He began to relent, 
and never after that made any opposition to her 
course. She was long and deeply exercised in mind. 
She at length east herself upon Christ, and found 
peace, in believing.' After I left that region she made 
a profession of religion, was married to a worthy 
member of the church, removed to another part of 
the town, and was living happily and usefully when 
I visited her. 

I was anxious to know more of her father. She 
said, after many trials and reverses, he came to live 
with her. It was her happiness to care for him 
while he lived, and to watch around his dying bed. 
" He died in this room," she said. " I gave it up to 
him. He allowed me to read the Bible to him. I 
could perceive a change in Iris feelings. He re- 
nounced his infidelity, and finally suffered me to 
invite my minister to call and see him. He received 
him very kindly, and cordially united with him in 
prayer. "Oh," said she, "how did my heart rejoice. 
It was a great change*" That a man of strong prej- 
udices, obstinate purpose, who had lived without 
God all his days, should become like a little child," I 
thought indeed was a great change. After a season 
of prayer I left her hospitable habitation, magnify- 
ing the grace of God. 

When God visits the soul, let none turn back. 
Grieve not the Holy Spirit of God. 

Let believing children never give up their parents. 

X. 



234 SE ETCHES FBODJ LIFE. 

"DOES )E3U3 LIVE WITH YOU?" 

Babels have we attended the union prayer-meet- 
ings held in the old Dutch church, Fulton str 
without hearing something interesting and instruct- 
ive. x\t one time a pleasant and venerable-looking 
stranger arose and said : " "While walking up Broad- 
way yesterday, having lost my spectacles, I looked 
around to see where I could purchase some. Find- 
ing a stand on the corner, I stopped to select a pair. 
Noticing that the dealer was an intelligent man, who 
had evidently seen better days, I entered into con- 
versation with him. 

'"How long have you been I in this busi- 

ness, sir ? You seem thoroughly to understand your 
calling.' 

" ' Only a short time, sir. I have not always been 
so poor. I formerly lived in Charleston, South Car- 
olina, and was in good circumstances ; but myself 
and family were compelled to flee to save our li 
We barely succeeded in getting on board of a vessel 
about sailing for New York, and secreting ourselves 
in the hold. We had no time to save anything, not 
rwii money enough to pay our passage. We were 
thankful to get away alive.' 

"'But how have you lived since you came here? 
You certainly cannot make enough at this business 
to support your wife and children?' 

" ' ( iod has eared for us thus far, sir. We had no 
money to pay rent, but we found a cedar up town, 
that we f^ct for nothing, and my wife and I make 
enough to keep us in food and clothing. We are 







"ALL IS BIGHT— *AM SATISFIED." 236 

are very thankful, very thankful to God, sir, that wo 
came here.' 

'"How, sir, can you be thankful that you were 
compelled to give up all your property, leave a 
pleasant home, and live in a cellar?' 

"'Oh, sir, it is because we have found Jesus Christ 
since we came here ; or, rather, he has found U8, 
and we are more happy and content than when we 
lived in our pleasant southern home ; for though we 
do live 1 in a cellar, Jesus Christ boards with us. 1 " 

Reader, Jesus Christ has stood at your door and 
knocked. Have you opened unto him? Has he en- 
tered in and supped with you, and you with him? 
Does Jesus Christ live with you ? If so, you must 
be happy, whether you live in a mansion, cottage, 
house, or cellar. He says: "Behold, I stand at the 
door and knock; if any man hear my voice and 
open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup 
with him, and he with me." 



ALL Ig RIQHT— I AJVI £ATI£FIED." 

A YOUNG colored woman, Mary E. Massey, was, 
by the grace of God, early converted, and became a 
humble and devoted Christian, adorning her profes- 
sion by a consistent walk and blameless conversa-* 
tion. To all that knew her intimately it became 
evident, toward the close of the past summer, that 
Mary was rapidly growing in grace, increasing in 
spirituality of mind, and becoming more and more 
assimilated to Christ. 



*j:j<; SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Her residence was in the country, where she was 
ad being desirous to remove to the 
neighboring town far the sake of increased religious 
privileges, she went to the railroad station to take 
the cars for her new home. She was full of hope 
and anticipation. The cars were much behind time, 
and it was after night when the train arrived. It 
ran a short distance beyond the station before it 
stopped, and she, thinking it would not come back, 
started in a run after it. She had gone but a few 
yards when she met the cars returning for her, and 
from the darkness did not observe them till too late 
r out of the way. One car passed over her, 
fearfully mangling both of her limbs and one hand. 
She dragged herself into a fence-corner, and called 
pleasantly to those searching for her: "Here I am." 
She never made a complaint, only asking the phvsi- 
eians to administer something when they amputated 
her limbs. When told that nothing of the kind 
could be done for her, and that she could survive 
1 rat a few hours, she replied in the spirit of sweet 
submission: "It is all right ; I am satisfied. I have 
a mother and two sisters in the kingdom, and I shall 
be glad to join them." To a friend who add: 
h« -r. she said: "I am perfectly composed. I am 
going to my "Father's house." I do not wish to get 
■well, for it was to be so. There is nothing I want 
but to see my father. If he does not com- 
him farewell, for I am going to heaven. I started in 
an early day; I have kept the faith, and am now- 
going to wear the crown." 

When asked it the religion - which were 



''ALL IS RIGHT — I AM SATISFIED." 237 

held in her room wearied her, she said: "No, I am 
not tired of singing and praying, but my breath is 
growing short If tfcis is death, all is well, all is 
well." These were her last words, ottered a few 
minutes before she* died. With her mind fixed upon 
the love and the promises of her Redeemer, and re- 
membering his sufferings rather than her own, she 
<1, about midnight, quietly and sweetly to rest. 
The chamber in which she died was a privi! 
spot. It was instructing and most comforting to 
witness how completely this humble child of God 
u stained, in her hour of trial and suffering, by 
her simple, trusting faith in him. To her, death had 
lost its sting, and the grave was robbed of its terror. 
She had obtained the victory through our Lord 
Jesus Christ, who, through death, hath destroyed him 
that hath the power of death, and delivers them who 
through fear of death are all their lifetime subject to 
bondage. 

In this narrative we have another illustration of 
that blessed truth, which many are slow to perceive, 
that "God is no respecter of persons," and that, as 
he hath made of one blood all nations, so the gospel 
of salvation is to all people. There is no difference 
between Jew and Gentile, bond or free, white or 
black ; all are one in Christ Jesus. Surely the gos- 
pel is glad tidings of great joy to all people, and the 
power of God unto salvation to every one that bc- 
lieveth. 

The power of faith to sustain the child of God 
under the .most painful circumstanees is illustrated 
in the last hours of this lowly colored woman. 



238 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Naught but the presence and the power of God 
could have sustained her and kept her joyful amid 
her excruciating pains. Her jleath was a glorious 

victory. She, though bruised and mangled, was en- 
abled to come off more than comfueror, and to 1 
off great spoil. "By faith she endured, a 
him who is invisible." "The eternal God is thy 
refuge, and underneath are the everlasting an 

The importance of constant preparation for death 
is seen in this narrative. The summons came sud- 
denly and unexpectedly, but it found her ready, with 
her lamp trimmed and burning. She had nothing 
to do but to commit herself into the hands of her 
Lord, and submissively await the moment when her 
spirit should be released from its suffering taberna- 
cle. In the morning of life, in the season of health 
she had given her heart to the Saviour; and when 
he called, her answer was: "It is all right; I am 
satisfied." "Be ye also ready; for in such an hour 
as ye think not the Son of man cometh." "Prepare 
to meet thy God." 

A dying monarch would his kingdom give 
To say, "All's right, and I am satisfied/' 

DAVIES. 



11 AFTER MANY DAYS." 



k_ , 



In the very commencement of her Christian life 

Margaret M had felt an intense desire to be the 

means of "converting one soul from the error of his 
ways," mindful of the two-fold reward, '/saving a 
soul from death, and hiding a multitude of sins." 



"AFTER MANY DAYS." 2:JD 

Through all her prayers this petition van, and many 
little endeavors were put forth quietly, but no an- 
swer was vouchsafed apparently. Margaret could 
not feel sure that one soul had been influenced by 
her secret remembrance or out-spoken sympathy. 

When the needful discipline of years had driven 
Margaret to cry, " Whom have I in heaven but thee? 
and there is none on the earth that I desire besides 
fchee ; thou art the portion of my soul," she was im- 
pelled to write a rigid and urgent appeal to those 
who had not yet found " Christ precious." In the 
brief four pages were crowded the very essence of 
salvation. It went forth accompanied by a prayer 
from the heart that it should " accomplish that 
whereunto it was sent." 

Margaret, having cast her bread upon the waters, 
and finding no trace of it again, had become almost 
faithless in her intercession for others, when mar- 
riage and the responsibilities of a mother awoke in 
her once more the early hope of her religious life. 
Her great desire was to lead her child to Jesus. 
Again there was no response to her prayer. The 
manhood of her son found this mother helpless, and 
restricted to a narrow sphere of joys and usefulness. 
It was necessary for our Lord to take away her hus- 
band by death, and her son to the battle-field, be- 
fore she was brought to the point of entire submis- 
sion and unwavering faith. The importunate prayer 
returned to her heart and lips; for now she longed 
to induce even the most ignorant soul to turn from 
the error of his ways. 

Thus bound and imprisoned hi her rolling-chair, 



240 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

the mother looked from her window on the dazzling 
scenery of a winter morning. Sunlight on snow, on- 
dimmed in its freshness, has almost an unearthly 
brightness. The invalid was glad to rest her eyes 
by looking at the blue shadows. There came into 
her mind these words: "In the shadow of thy wings 
will I make my refuge, until these calamities be 
overpast." It was a very quieting thought that God, 
in his ineffable glory and infinite purity, had yet a 
shadowy hiding place for our trembling souls. 

The comfort of this remembrance had not died 
away when a sudden glance at a newspaper revealed 
her son's name among the wounded in a deadly bat- 
tle. Now was the time to take refuge under the 
shadow of His wings, until these calamities of war 
"be overpast." In a military hospital a wounded 
soldier had just escaped the bitterness of death. In 
his delirium he called for his mother. Power] < 
help him, she sat fettered in her chair, only able to 
•pray. After days of excruciating agony came the 
tedium of a convalescence, unallcviated by watchful, 
patient friends. 

Through the hospital wards a stranger flitted one 
day, scattering a shower of little fluttering leaves. 
One fell within reach of this disabled soldier's hand. 
It would do to wrap a picture in ; but first it must 

be read. Little knew Margaret M , when she 

sent forth those leaves, whither they would drift, 
even to the conscience of her unbelieving son. Un- 
conscious of their origin, the young man read eagerly 
the short four pages, the> turned to examine them 



THEPBAYING COLLIER. 241 

Thus after many days the bread was found, the 
son became "a now creature in Christ Jesus." 
Home 'gained, after the dreariness of a hospital life, 
the worn tract pulled from the soldier's breast first 
made the mother realize that her prayer was an- 
swered. In this manner it pleased God to grant her 
request that a soul might be "turned from the error 
of his ways.*' 



THE PRy\YINQ COJLLI£F(. 

Caleb - Joxes was a poor collier in Wales, living 
among the hills between Abergavenny and Hereford. 
He was a very pious man, and for one in his circum- 
stances, his knowledge and understanding were re- 
markable. Every Sabbath he walked about seven 
miles to the house of God. Bad weather seldom 
kept him away. But, one winter, a violent snow- 
storm so blocked up the passes of the hills that he 
was shut up to his dwelling, unable to go to the 
mines without danger, or to do anything for the sup- 
port of his large family. 

His pastor, Rev. Dr. Stennett, and other friends 
were concerned lest he and his household should 
perish from want ; but it was impossible to get to his 
dwelling to aid him. No sooner, however, did the 
snow begin melting, so that the passways of the 
mountains were opened, than Caleb appeared 'again 
as usual in the sanctuary. His good pastor spied 
him with joy ; and as soc *a the service was ended, 
went to him and said : 

Sketches from Life. L 1 



242 BKETCB BS FROM LI IK. 

"O Caleb, how glad 1 am to see you. How have 
you lived through the severity of this weatb 
" Never better in all my life," said the other ch 
fully. "I not only had necessaries, hut lived upon 
dainties, and have some still remaining. I think tin- 
Lord has been feeding us." 

Ho then went on to tell the doctor more particu- 
larly that one night, just at the commencement of 
the storm, they had eaten up the last of their food, 
nor was there any human possibility of getting any 
more. But still he was quite composed, and felt 
that he was able to rely on God, who had both the 
power and the willingness to provide for his wants. 
He went to prayer with his family, and tin : 
and they all slept till morning, when they were 
awakened very early by a knock at the door, w] 
they found a man with a horse loaded with provis- 
• ions, who asked if Caleb Jones lived there. Caleb 
answered in the affirmative, when the man desired 
\ him to help unload the provisions, as they wer< 
t himself; and when he asked who sent it. the man 
said he believed it came from God; and no other 
answer could be obtained from him. When the 
things were in the house and examined. Caleb was 
astonished at the quantity and variety of the arti- 
cles— bread, flour, oatmeal, butter, c 
and fresh. 

The good pastor was affected with the account, 
and oft' ' tioned it in hope of rinding out the 
benevolent giver; but in vain, till, some two \ 
afterwards, he went to visit Dr. Talbot, an eminent 
nhvsician of Hereford, vdio, though kind-hearted 



in E n; \\ [NO ( 0LL1 EB. 

was an infidel in principle, though his 
wife w ■ 1 1 r. St tt's < hurch. I 

.nth daring the i I i 8fc anett 

lit it Uia »lut\ to introduce some topic that 
be profitable ; and bo speaking of tl.. 
of prayer, m< ntioned the poor Caleb. 

-C. id Dr. Talbot, " I shall never 6 

\s I live.* 1 '■ Wli\ ." said I hr. St. onett, 
"what do yon know of him?" "Very little,* 1 said 
1 1 Falbot : u and yet I am sore it must be the Bame 
man yon mean." He then went on to say, that the 
summer before the hard winter above mentioned, he 
was riding among the hills, when he saw a large 
number of people assembled in a barn; and • 

Learn the cause, he found a man preaching. 
All were very attentive to the speaker, and one poor 
man especially he noticed, who had a Bible in his 
hand, and turned to the mil 

I ! ted in this man tl 

over, he spoke to him, asking some ques- 
about t! ting, and also inquiring about 

nt, his family, and his name, which ho 
said was Caleb. 

After he had satisfied his curi rode oS, 

and thought no i matter till I 

rform «if the following winter, when, afi he lay in 
hardly knowing whether he was asleep or 
; to hear the won 
At first he was a little butrtib d ; but, 
iding it was a dream, endeavored to cob 
If to sKm j>. when again he thought he 1. 



244 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

the same words. He now waked his wife, and told 
her; but she thought it was only a dream, and fell 
asleep again. But his nrind was so impressed that 
he could not sleep; and again seeming to hear the 
same voice, he got up, called his servant, hade him 
bring the horse, which he assisted the servant in 
loading, and then told him to take it to Caleb. 

The result was, that Caleb and his wife and seven 
children were fed almost as wonderfully as the 
prophet in the wilderness, or the multitudes in the 
desert. 

The whole story is well authenticated, and is given 
more at length in some old reminiscences of Dr. 
Stennett. Does not God care for his people? Does 
he not hear and answer their prayers ? E. 



THE PR/WIE WlfE y^D /40THER. 

From one of the pleasant homes of central Penn- 
sylvania a man removed his family, seeking to 
increase his fortunes by settling on a prairie farm ; 
but sickness met him several years after, and then 
his wife was a widow, and an only son and s« 
daughters were fatherless. She was a disciple of 
Jesus, and to him she went in her troubles, and he 
gave her strength to bear the rod. But ere long her 
oriy s<>n became prostrate in death, and then she 
was called to mourn even as the widow of Nam. 

Mrs. was surrounded, as near as neighbors 

could be found in that region, several miles apart, by 
Roman-catholics and Universalists. She was alone 






THE PRAIRIE WIFE AND MOTHER. 245 

in her faith, and felt her solitude most deeply. Yet 
she had never sat down and folded her hands in de- 
spair, but often travelled miles ev« n in had weather to 
find the sanctuary of the true gospel. She had en- 
deavored "to do good as she had opportunity/' and 
no one ever came to her dwelling without receiving 
some message of truth for a never-dying soul. And 
the Lord, while lie saw lit to take her loved ones to 
himself, strengthened her to bear all which he had 
appointed. 

The day came which was to be the last in which 
she could look on the dead body of her only boy. 
She was to lay him away in his last bed until the 
call of the awakening angel. She had sent for the 
minister of the church where she attended, and a 
great crowd had gathered to the burial of the youth. 
A message came that the minister was from home, 
and could not be present. "Would she have a 
Catholic priest or Universalist preacher?" was in- 
quired of her. u Xo. She wished, if there was any 
one there who could pray, that he would lead the 
services." The inquiry went round the throng, but, 
alas, no one could pray. " Was there any one who 
could sing a hymn, or read one?" Finally a hymn 
was read and sung, and then the bereaved woman 
knelt by the cofim of her dead son, and committed 
his body to the care of the God who had created 
him, soul and body. In chastened sorrow she pub- 
licly honored her Lord by saying: "He gave, and 
he hath taken away; blessed be the name of the 
Lord." 

Among the crowd who followed the dead home to 



240 BKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

his prairie grave, was a man who had once pa 
to love God ; but he had come out to the prairies to 
find wealth, and had lost the true riches. Poor 
backslider, he could not even offer a prayer. When 

the widow's request went round, and it came to him, 
what a dagger it sent to his heart. The time was 
when he could pray, but now he could not open his 
mouth. When the trembling voice of the bereaved 
Christian rose on the still ah 1 , he involuntarily took 
off his hat, and stood abashed and humbled before 
his God. Those around followed his example, for 
he was a man of influence; but none imagined 
the thoughts that swelled his heart. From that 
funeral he went home a penitent man, and, after 
sorrowing long, his " backslidings were healed." 
And as time passed on, facts were revealed show- 
ing that others felt the influence of that funeral 
prayer to the saving of their souls. So true is it 
that those who honor the Lord shall be honored of 
him. 

A church was gathered on that prairie-ground, 
and from many sources it has . been ascertained 
that the pious widow was the chief instrument in 
bringing so many to believe in the gospel. The 
graves of her husband and son were the garden in 
which grew the germ of a tree which now overshad- 
ows hundreds of those who love the truth as it is hi 
Jesus. 

ETHEL. 



A TALE OF LONG AGO. 217 



A TALE OF LONQ AQO. 

A STRANGE old place is the city of Chester, in Eng- 
land, where Matthew Henry and Richard Knill 
lived and labored. No one can tell how long it is 
since it was founded first; for the Romans, when 
they built a fortress and town npon this spot, built 
them on the ruins of a British town which had been 
there for ages. 

Of course by this time most of the very ancient 
places were gone, but many of the houses are two 
or three hundred years old, and make the whole 
city look venerable. 

In one of these, while the house was yet almost 
new, there lived a good man and his family. It was 
a time of trouble hi the city, for the plague was 
there, and hundreds were dying every day. The 
shops were all shut, and the grass was growing in 
the forsaken streets. All that could stayed indoors, 
and those who were forced to go out held scented 
handkerchiefs to their mouths and noses, and fled 
when they saw any one coming, lest they should 
catch from him the terrible plague. 

In the midst of this solemn stillness our godly 
family lived on in their old-fashioned house. When 
evening prayer was over, and the little ones went to 
rest, perhaps they lay awake and trembled to hear 
the heavy nimble of the death-carts hi the street 
below, and the awful cry: "Bring out your dead."' 
But in the morning none were missing round the 
family table. Little brothers, sweet baby-sister, fond 



248 SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

mother, dear and honored father, faithful servants, 

all were there to join in the song of praise. 

Day after day it was the same, until the worst 
was over, and the more venturesome tradesmen be- 
gan to take down their shutters, and the country 
people brought their wares into the grass-grown 
market-place, and the church-bells ceased their con- 
stant tolling, and the children returned to school, 
and to their merry street games, and the plague was 
almost forgotten. Yet it had been a fearful time. 
Every house but one had lost some cherished in- 
mate ; every family was in mourning. 

But from the favored dwelling of our pious citi- 
zen what sweet thanksgivings arose to heaven ! 
While they wept for others' sorrow, they thanked 
God for Iris care over themselves. And now, had 
you passed his house one morning, you would have 
seen a long ladder reared against its front, and him 
upon it going up. "What is he going to do ? There 
he stands, carving with busy chisel upon the huge 
crossbeam. That finished, he has the letters painted 
white upon the black ground of the beam. There, 
you can read them for yourself : " God's providence 

IS MINE INHERITANCE." 

"What does it mean?"' It means that as a 
Christian, God's loving, watchful, providing care is 
his portion; that he has just had a proof of it, and 
that he is thankful for it, rejoices in it, and trusts it 
for the fixture. " Why did he write it there ? " As 
a memorial of God's love to him, and a testimony 
of his gratitude to God. 

" Who was he ? " Ah, that I do not know. If he 



"YOU DON'T KNOW JESUS." 249 

Lad wished his name to be remembered, he might 
easily have carved it also upon the beam. But it 
was not himself, it was the Lord whom this good 
man delighted to honor, and so his name has per- 
ished from the earth, though it is written where no 
time can fade the letters, and no pen can blot it out. 

The old beam, with its blessed record, is there 
still, doing work for God. Anxious eyes, seeing it, 
have been raised with renewed confidence to 
heaven ; burdened spirits have thanked God, and 
taken courage; and grateful, loving hearts have 
echoed its "hallelujah." 

By it he who has been dead for 200 years yet 
speaketk. It does not matter much, does it, that his 
name is forgotten ? Let us try to live and act now 
so that what we do may live after us, glorifying God 
when we are gone ; and may your name and mine, 
when they are faded from every earthly memory, be 
found written, side by side with that of this holy 
man of old, "in the Lamb's book of life." K. 



1 1 



YOU DON'T K^OW JEgU£." 



RECENTLY a youthful husband and father, whose 
home had been darkened by trial, rose in a social 
meeting and told the following story to a group of 
young people, some of whom were anxious, and oth- 
ers calm in the fresh hope of pardon : 

"My friends, you don't know Jesus, amid the 

tags you enjoy, as those who have tried him in 

deepest trouble. I remember a little hut hi Ver- 

11* 



250 SKETCHES PBOM LIFE. 

inout, among the hills, in which a praying mother 
and her little ones were gathered, as not unfre- 
quently before, around a scantily-spread table, one 

stormy night, waiting the return of the father. At 
length his form is seen rising and falling in the sn< >w, 
until he steps across the threshold, and up the little 
hands go in thanks to Jesus. Oh, you don't know 
what Jesus is worth in such a scene. 

" One of that company, a boy ten years old, went 
forth into the cold and wandered thirty miles, find- 
ing, the first night, a shelter from the snow in a 
Christian family, who prayed for him, filled his bun- 
dle with refreshments, and sent him on his way 
rejoicing in Jesus. 

" At last he found a home in C . I was that 

little boy. And, soon after, when, in a prayer-meet- 
ing, the minister asked all who were for Jesus to 
stand up for him, I thought : ' Who else can I stand 
up for if not for him ? ' I was on my feet in a mo- 
ment ; and oh, such new light and joy ! And now, 
'stand up for Jesus.' You who build your little 
leave us about you don't know him. Take them 
away and be out in the storm, then how quick to run 
right to him. I feel that I know him, but can't tell 
you how precious he is." 

We can give no correct impression of the manner, 
the faee, the glow of feeling; but no skeptic could 
look and listen, and doubt the glorious meaning of 
the inspired assurance: "To you who believe, He is 
precious." r« C. n. 



THE DISTRESSED ELDER. 251 

THE D1$TRE5?ED ELDER. 

The elder had a noble farm, as well as a fino 
growing 1'amilv, and, to outward appearance, all was 
going on well. But on that farm there was a mort- 
gage, now soon due. The season had been unfavor- 
able, and, though he had sown much and labored 
hard, it was but little that he reaped. To meet his 
payment was impossible. He had written to his 
creditor, stating fairly his situation, and asking for 
indulgence for a time on the principal, provided he 
should pay the interest. The reply came, dashing 
all his hopes to the ground. The man demanded 
immediate payment of principal and interest, or the 
sacrifice of the property. 

The poor elder was sorely tried. His sleep de- 
parted from him. His food was scarcely tasted. 
Wherever he went a dark cloud hung oyer him, 
interfering with the proper discharge of his daily 
duties. What should he do for the future ? What 
would become of his family? He continued with his 
head bowed down and his heart filled with distress 
for several days; then he thought within himself: 

"Why should I, who have a work for eternity to 
do, be so troubled about these worldly matters? 
My heavenly Father knows my need. If he sees 
fit to take away my property, let him do as seems 
to him good. How foolish it is for me, a child of 
God, to be distressing myself, and unfitting myself 
for present duty, by worrying about worldly things. 
I will do so no longer. T will serve God as well as I 
can, and leave my temporal interests to his care." 



252 8KETCH BS PBOH LI IK 

No sooner had he, with this child-like simplicity, 

rolled his burden upon God, than he became calm 
and cheerful. Daily duties, as in former times, were 
discharged with pleasure. 

Soon he received another letter from his creditor. 
How changed his tone! As he read, how thankful ly 
did he acknowledge the hand ef God, who works in 
our day as really as in the days of old, in behalf 
of those who trust in him. The creditor no longer 
demands payment ; no longer makes threats of legal 
measures. On the contrary, he says: "Let both 
principal and interest lie till it is convenient for you 
to pay." 

How faithful is our God to his promises ! If we 
roll our burden upon him, how surely will he sus- 
tain us ! H. 



THE TWO gTFJONQ ARJVlg. 

A great scholar in Germany, who was anxious to 
find the right way to heaven, but for all his learning 
could not succeed, went, one day, to church. On 
his way he met a poor old man, to whom he wished 
"Good morning." The poor man thanked him, but 
added he did not exactly remember ever having a 
bad one. "Well, then, I wish you much luck." "I 
thank you, sir, but, to tell the truth, I never yet 
have had bad luck." The scholar did not know 
what to make of the man, so he requested him to 
explain his meaning. "With pleasure," said the 
poor man. "I have never yet had a sorrowful 



THE TWO STRONG ARMS. 253 

morning; for if I am hungry, I praise God; if I am 
cold, I praise God; if it rain or snow, thunder or 
lighten — let the weather be what it may, I praise 
God ; and am always joyful. And I have never had 
a bad week. I resign myself to my dear Lord and 
Saviour, and am sure he does nothing wrong. What 
he permits, whether sweet or sour, joy or grief, I 
know is all for the best, and accept it with thanks 
and joy. 'All things work together for good to 
them that love God.' " 

The scholar was astonished at the faith of the 
poor man, and asked again what he would do if God 
should thrust him into hell at last, "Thrust me into 
hell ? That he will never do," answered the poor 
man ; " but if he should, I have two arms — the arm 
of faith and the arm of love. With them I would 
grasp him and hold him so fast, that he must go 
with me ; and where my Lord and my God is, there 
is my heaven." s. s. 



254 SKETCHES PROM LITE. 



INFLUENCE OE A BOOK. 



THE BIBJ.E : 

ITS POWER WHEN APPLIED BY THE HOLY SPIRIT. 

Many years since I well knew and often met in 
society the lady referred to in the following narra- 
tive. She was in the morning of life, of a prominent 
family, highly educated and accomplished, poss 
of fine conversational talents, and a general favorite 
of all that knew her. She was the centre of a fash- 
ionable circle, though not herself excessively given 
to fashion; gay, light, and joyous in temperament, 
and yet thoughtful ; thoughtful on almost every sub- 
ject except the subject of religion. 

Except the subject of religion. For this, alas, she 
seemed to have no thought; on this subject never to 
have reflected, at least with anything like serious- 
ness or personal interest. AW 1 had conversed not 
unfrequently on the great subject of salvation, and 
at Buch times I had urged her by every argument 
and motive to seel; an interest in the only Saviour. 
She listened willingly and kindly to everything that 
was advanced, and readily admitted the importance 
of the subject; bui never, apparently, did the im- 
pression reach farther than the intellect ; never Were 
tin- feelings touched, or the heart moved. And thus 



am 



THE BIBLE. 255 

month after mouth and year after year were passing 
away, and she seemed not nearer to, but farther and 
farther from the kingdom of God. 

At length she was asked in conversation: "Do 
you ever read the Bible?" And the answer, frankly 
given, was: k ' No, I do not." "Are you willing to 
begin reading it to-day, opening your mind to the 
impressions its truths are fitted to make, looking to 
its teachings for guidance, and asking that God will 
show you from its pages your duty and the way of 
salvation?" And this inquiry, or rather request, 
was urged in various forms and by many motives, 
until, at length, she promised to raid at hast our 
chapter of God's word every day;. She would not say 
that she would read it with prayer, though this was 
kindly pressed upon her; but she did promise to 
read it thoughtfully and seriously, remembering it 
was the word of God, and with the desire that it 
might lead her to right views of both truth and 
duty, and to a right course for time and eternity. 

She was faithful to that promise. For more than a 
year she every day read the promised chapter, and 
read it in a thoughtful and serious spirit. And now 
mark the result. Though there was no manifest and 
remarkable change in her character and conduct 
from one day to another, no very marked and pal] ta- 
ble difference between one week and the one that 
followed it, yet, at the end of about a year, it was 
clearly evident to all who knew her that she was a de- 
cided and faithful Christian. Quietly, calmly, gently, 
beautifully as the opening of the rose under the 
sunlight, from the bud to tl it" fulness of its bloom, 



250 SKETOB ES FROM i.l PR 

so, under the beams of the Sun of Righteousness, 
under the light of divine truth, her Christian charac- 
ter had become unfolded. The transition had 1 
as silent and gradual as that from the darkness of 
night to the twilight of morning, or from the dinu 
of that twilight to the opening of day. And yet the 
change had been as palpable and clear in the former 
ease as in the latter. Friends and acquaintances 
could not mark the time of the change, but they 
could all see that it had taken place. She her 
could not fix on any one day, or week, or month 
even, in which she had passed from darkness to 
light, but she could say : "This I know, that whei 
I was blind, now I see." "Once I knew nothing of 
the Saviour, but now 'I know in whom I have 
lieved,' and that he is all my salvation and all my 
desire." And her life, to her dying day, gave evi- 
dence of the reality of the change, and that for her 
"to live was Christ." 

How mighty is the power of the Bible when its 
truth is applied by the Holy Spirit ! It is ind< 
"the power of God unto salvation to every one 
that believeth." We should more and more cherish 
ourselves, and encourage in others the h 
ing it, for it is meant to be "a light to our feet, and 
a lamp to our path ;" and if we will but faithfully 
study it and follow its guidance, it will point us to 
the "Lamb of God, who taketh away the sins of the 
world." It will guide us to the joys of the just 
made perfect in heaven. "He that hath my com- 
mandments, and keepeth them. In 1 it is that loveth 
me ; and I will love him, and will manifest myself to 



THAT BEAUTIFUL BOOK. 257 

him." So says the blessed Redeemer; and of all 
such he adds: "I know them, and they follow me, 

ami I give unto them eternal life ; and they shall 
never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out 

of my hand." x. s. 



THAT BEAUTIFUL BOOK. 

First impressions iu childhood are deep and en- 
during. The Hues first engraved on the heart and 
memory are never effaced, and their influence for 
good or evil reaches to the end of life. 

My first book in reading was the New Testa- 
ment, and with it the Pilgrims Progress. We had 
a large English edition, with fine plates freely inter- 
- id, and notes in the margin. I was very young, 
but loved this book so fondly that it was my study 
from morning till night. Day after day, I sat in the 
comer of the cheerful open fireplace, now and then 
easting a glance at the huge bright andirons, poring 
over the scenes, which to me were as real as those 
hourly passing before me. Often would my mother 
take the book from me, saying, "Your eyes will be 
ruined, child;" for the tears were streaming from 
them at the sorrows of "poor Christian." I often 
asked explanations of what I read, but they seemed 
darker to me than the book where such vivid pic- 
tures and strange beings were portrayed in living 
light. All through my life have the scenes, the con- 
versations, the descriptions of that inimitable book, 
with all their beauty, dwelt in my memory as "joys 
for ever." 



258 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

I think I comprehended more fully the reality of 
the dream from the true and fine plates with which 
it was illustrated. They were no coarse caricatm 

no outrages upon appropriateness, but faithful to 
the spirit and intentions of the author. All uu 
deep and ever-recurring impressions upon my mind, 
but the deepest of all was the picture of the man 
with the muck-rake, who could not look up noi 
raise his eyes to heaven. My childish mind deemed 
this the most pitiable thing which could possibly 
happen ; and when, in after-years, I often found my- 
self too deeply engaged in the cares of this life, the 
thought of becoming a Muck-rake would startle me 
into repentance and watchfulness. Not a scene in 
that book but has had a holy influence on my mem- 
ory, the extent of which can be determined only in 
eternity. Even the deep, dark river of death has 
lost some of its terrors when learning how the Pil- 
grims passed over, when reading of the Shining 
Ones and the sunlit glimpses of the Celestial City. 

There never was but one "Pilgmm's Pbogbj 
and there never will be another. I pity the child 
whose parents have not given him or her this book 
to read. I pity the man or woman who has n< 
read it. If I had means I would contribute to the 
Tract Society funds to give it to every human being 
in all the languages of the earth. On earth it will 
never die, in heaven it will be remembered for ever. 
Glorious John Bunyan, what a star-gemmed crown 
is thine ! etiiel. 



ALL ABOUT A BOOK. .259 

AjLL ABOUT Jk BOOK. 

Modern works are casting those of the past quite 
into the shade. But the lustre of true genius never 
grows old, and when placed by the side of artificial 

scintillations, their value becomes easily recognized 
and acknowledged. One of these is that precious 
old book, beautified still more by its modern setting, 
" Doddridge's Bise and Progress." 

Years ago I felt myself a lost and ruined sinner. 
I knew not which vway to go, and was too proud to 
seek counsel of my friends. My Bible would have 
told me, but I read it with blinded eyes, and loved 
it not. This was the fault of my early religious 
training, which had not been judicious. Some- 
where I obtained a glimpse of the " Bise and Prog- 
ress," and thinking it would help me, procured it 
secretly, allowing no one to know my state of mind. 
In the solitude of my room I read it with bended 
knees, and followed its instructions closely as I 
could ; it led me to my Bible, and that to my Sav- 
iour. Finally, to the surprise of all who knew me, 
I acknowledged myself a believer, and requested 
the privilege of confessing Christ before men. 

Thirty years have passed since then, and though 
beset with trials both spiritual and temporal, I have 
never once regretted the vows I took upon me. My 
only sorrow has been that I have lived so unwor- 
thily — have followed my Master so " far off." The 
is of that book have been daily present to my 
mind, and I praise Clod I was ever permitted to 
read it. 



260 SKETCHES PROM LI FE. 

Soon alter uniting with the church, I returned 
the borrowed volume to its place in the library. 
Books then were scarce in comparison with the num- 
ber issued in later years, and I presume more highly 
valued. Passing an "antique bookstore" in Corn- 
hill, Boston, I stepped in and inquired for the work, 
and was shown an old copy in which every s was 
life an f, and (-very sentence quoted from the Bible 
was in old-fashioned italics, and the worn binding 
of the coarsest leather. The price was twenty cents, 
or as the man said, a "pistareen." I paid it and 
walked away, almost hugging the dear treasure to 
my heart. That dear old book has its place in my 
library yet; it is rather the worse for wear; its 
leaves are yellow with time; but I have charged my 
children to preserve it with sacred care when I am 
gone, in remembrance of the good it has done. 

I took my book to my chamber, and read it daily 
in connection with my Bible. What a precious 
counsellor it was. A revival commenced in the 
church of which I was a member, most of the sub- 
jects being, like rnyself, young in years. One of 
them was an especial friend of mine, a sweet inter- 
esting girl. Often had we visited together the scenes 
of fashion and folly. An anxious inquirer was she, 
but so doubtful, so full of fears, so ignorant of the 
workings of her own heart and of all religious knowl- 
edge. She was from a family of which no member 
had ever known or feared God's laws. I placed my 
book in her hands, and begged her to read every 
word of it carefully and then return it. Two weeks 
passed, and then she came to me witli tears in her 



^ ^ 



ALL ABOUT A BOOK. 201 

but smiles on her lips, saying, "Your Look lias 
showed me myself. It lias explained the Scriptures, 
and in them I have found Christ my salvation. Can 

r love Jesus enough for calling me to him? I 
shall never cease to thank you for the reading of 
that hook.*' She very soon purchased a copy for 
herself, and became one of our most lovely and con- 
sistent church-members. So my dear old book had 
gained new value in my eyes. I will add, that 
through her instrumentality a lovely sister was made 
happy by believing the gospel, and her hitherto irre- 
ligious family became attendants on public worship. 
Several others professed religion through her means. 
I had another dear friend who sometimes came 
to our meetings, and showed much interest in what 
she saw and heard. She too was from a family 
entirely irreligious. She was a remarkably sensible, 
practical girl, and passionately fond of card-playing 
and dancing. She was engaged to marry a young 
man who was an avowed hrhdel, and her own mind 
was of a speculative cast. All these things were 
against her, yet I formed a determination that Satan 
should not have Sarah if it was in my power to pre- 
vent it. I went to God with my resolve, and asked 
him to assist and bless me. I followed my friend 
everywhere I could without being impolitely intru- 
sdve, called for her to go to meeting, and when I 
could not, sent her notes. I wrote her letters, con- 

1 with her. argued and pleaded, until I nearly 
lost her good will. I introduced her to my pastor, 
and he called on her for conversation ; but her fam- 
ily declared, if he came there again, they would 



262 SKETCHES FBOM LI II. 

shut the door in his face. I began to despair, and 
then 1 thought of my dear old book. 

Sarah had not attended church for one or two 
Sabbaths, so I made that an excuse to call on her 
and learn if she was in ill health. "Doddridge" 
was secreted carefully under my shawl, and while 
the family were present I made only commonplace 
remarks. Sarah accompanied me to the door, and 
then I said, "I have a book here which I love very 
much; it will not hurt you to read it; will you not 
do so, just to please me ? Bead it all through, will 
you?" 

" I suppose I must promise, you arc such a teaze; 
but I warn you it will not change my sentiments, if 
that is what you expect."' 

" Only read it cfJ, and read it when you are 
((June: and when you have finished, tell me what 
you think. Keep it a long time." Sarah was a 
truthful girl, and I knew I could depend upon any 
promise she made. 

It seemed long, long weeks before I saw her 
again; but at List, one Lord's day she was in her 
place in the sanctuary. My heart gave a 
lea}) for joy, and I greeted her with a smile, which 
she returned, while a warm blush, as of conscious- 
ness of something, stole over her face. The sermon 
was a precious exposition of gospel truth, and often 
as I stole glances at Sarah, I saw. her tearful 
riveted on the preacher. After service I seized her 
hand; I pressed it in silence, for I knew the Holy 
Spirit was there 1 : in awe of his presence I could not 
speak. But she said, "I have given up at last. I 



ALL ABOUT A BOOK. 263 

cau never thank yon enough for that precious book. 
I have read it again and again. It showed me all 
my pride and stubbornness. But if I must perish, 
it shall be in crying for mercy." 

I wept with her, but they were tears of joy. Not 
many weeks after, Sarah sat by my side' at the 
Lord's table. She was very decided in everything 
she did, and when grace works on such a spirit it is 
thrice blessed. Thus another gem was added to the 
crown of the sainted Doddridge. 

Sarah never married her infidel lover. After she 
had come out of the kingdom of darkness, she told 
me that when I used to urge her so much to seek 
religion, she almost hated me ; and that when I 
called with the book, she was angry enough to abuse 
me. She said it was long before she would look at 
it, and then she would throw it down every few min- 
utes as she went along; but somehow it fascinated 
her, and she felt bound by her promise to read it. 
Sarah yet lives, the mother of a fine family, and a 
consistent Christian. "Doddridge" has a place in 
her library and in her chamber. 

One more soul was saved by means of that old 
worn copy of "Rise and Progress." It was the wife 
and mother who had all her life laughed at religion 
and its professors, even mocking at the "delusion" 
which had led her brother to give his life to the 
missionary cause. She was persuaded to read it, 
and in doing so became convicted of sin. She em- 
braced the gospel, united with the church, and died 
trusting in the Saviour for salvation. ETHEL. 



264 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

THE CUMBERLAND MOUNTAIN BOY. 

About the year 18-40, a solitary traveller was 
crossing the Cumberland mountains on horseback, 
and not wishing to journey on the Sabbath, took 
lodgings on Saturday evening for the following day, 
which, as no church was accessible, he occupied 
mostly in religious reading. 

During the day, he noticed a lad, a member of 
the family, amusing himself with a worthless volume, 
and asked him why he did not read better books. 
The boy replied, "Perhaps I might if I had them." 
The traveller simply said, "If I have an opportunity 
I will send you some good books ;" and about a year 
afterwards, a small package of books was left at the 
house for that boy, one of which was the Life of 
Harlan Page. 

In the year 1851, as I was laboring in the Cum- 
berland mountains, I called one day at the lonely 
house of a widow who told me they had om r< ry 
good booh She brought it out, and it proved to be 
the very copy of the Life of Harlan Page given by 
the traveller to her son ten years before. It was 
much worn, and had been newly covered with leather. 
She said the book belonged to her son, who was 
now learning a trade at the county-town, and that 
she had recently received a request that she would 
send it down to him. 

I afterwards became acquainted with this young 

man, and learned from himself that, mainly through 

the influence of that book, he received his first 

nous impressions, had obtained a hope of salva- 



THE TWO LEGACIES. 2G5 

tion through Christ, and had connected himself with 
the Baptist church. What is more, he was active, 
decided, and earnest in his religious life, visiting 
Sabbath-schools, attending prayer-meetings, and en- 
gaging in religious conversation. His Christian char- 
acter had evidently received its leading features from 
the book which had so long been his constant com- 
panion. 

He became a skilful mechanic, formed a highly 
respectable matrimonial connection, and when last 
heard from, sustained an outspoken and highly con- 
sistent Christian character. j. a. d. 



, . THE TWO LEQACIEg. 

A young sailor married a thrifty young woman, 
and in a house with two rooms they commenced 
housekeeping, and set up the family altar. Xo be- 
ginning could promise better. When the young sailor 
was in port, he was always in his seat at church. 
Sometimes too his voice was heard in the prayer- 
meeting. 

After a year or two the sailor fell down the hold 
of the vessel, while she was loading, and was so 
much injured that he could not make the voyage; 
but he had a snug harbor at home to cast anchor 
in, and a good mate to nurse him. When he mar- 
ried her, she brought him only a small legacy: 
namely, a bundle of old books left by her father. 
These books had been stored away in an old sea- 
chest, and never examined until the husband was 

1 2 






2<5u SKETCHES FROM LI I E. 

sick, when In- remembered and hunted them op to 
read; for unused as he was to keep in doors, the 
time sometimes hung heavy on his hands. 

Two or three years more pass away; Jam- 
well and has his berth in the ship again. But he 
is seldom seen at church ; another has taken his 
seat in the prayer-meeting ; his Bible is neglected, 
his Sabbaths are broken; he has no family altar. 
In a year of two more James is a swearer, a hard 
drinker, a scoffer, and a visitor of low dancing- 
houses. Would you like to know the date of the 
change which had come over this poor fellow ? Hear 
his own account : "My wife's legacy from her father's 
old chest, that lot of old unseaworthy books, ruined 
me. I read them from curiosity, but their poison 
entered my soul. They were iiihdel books and 'full* 
of blasphemy. I had not knowledge enough to 
argue them down, or faith enough to rise above 
them, so they drove me on the lee-shore of unbelief, 
and I am likely soon to be wrecked for ever on the 
rocks of perdition. Bad books abe A terrible leg- 
acy." 

Another young man, a wild young soldier, mar- 
ried a poor young woman whose only legacy ^vas 
A PEWTER SPOON and TWO OLD books. The kind talk 
of the pious wife won the young husband to spend 
his evenings at home ; and she told him many tilings 
of her godly father, and how he loved the books he 
had left her ; and the young husband falling sick, 
he took up the books and read them, and was well 
pleased with them. One of these books Mas "Arthur 
Dent's Plain Man's Pathway to Heaven." The 



"JUST THE BOOK FOR YOU." 207 

more he read, the more he loved the simple and 
pious talk of the little book, as it spoke of Christ 
and heavenly things. The young couple soon turned 
their own feet into the pathway to heaven. The wife 
went only a short time, when she reached the end. 
But the poor husband had a longer and a harder 
road to travel, yet he found the way brightening as 
he went, and he has left a shining track behind for 
thousands and thousands to walk in. It is called 
the Pilgrim's Progress. I dare say you have caught 
sight of it. The young man was John Bunyan. 
What a priceless legacy is a good book. 



"THAT'g JU$T THE BOOK FOR YOU." 

A RASTOR was seated in the wagon of a colpor- 
teur who was conversing with a farmer, one of his 
parishioners. As the man was about to leave, the 
pastor said, "There is one book he has, and it's 
just the book for you; you will never regret the 
money you give for it." The man drew his purse 
from his pocket, handed the colporteur his change, 
and we rode on. 

In a few weeks the communion season came 
round. The preparatory day was at hand. The 
minister was in the sacred desk, when before him he 
spied among his hearers the man who purchased 
the book. It was not customary for him to be at 
the church on that day. 

When the invitation was given to those who 
wished to connect themselves with the church by 



268 



SKETCH ES FROM U FE, 




confession, six came forward. The last one exam- 
ined was a man of middle life. His countenance 
was pale, but peace was unmistakably within; it 
med to be seated upon his brow. He met the 
question, "What was it that led you to take this 
solemn step?" with the answer, "Do you recollect 
that day when you said, ' That "s the book for you'2 
It was," oh, it was the very book for me. I had 
not read the Erst chapter before it convinced me T 



♦JUST THE BOOK FOR YOU." 269 

am the man, I am the sinner. Like the apostle, I 
was struck blind, and then mine eyes were opened. 
Blessed be God for this wonderful work of grace on 
my heart. Yes, that was the very hook for me." 

On the next Lord's day he sat down for the first 
time ixj commemorate the dying love of Jesus. 

It proved his last opportunity on earth. A few 
weeks after, he was brought to his bed by a violent 
disease. He lingered several days in great suffering, 
but rejoiced with joy unspeakable till the last, and 
then dropped asleep in Jesus. 

That book was Pike's "Keligion and Eternal 
Life." Would that every unconverted sinner might 
purchase it and read it prayerfully. It has led mul- 
titudes of souls to the Lamb of God. It would be 
well for every minister to keep a few copies on hand, 
and lend them in his congregation. josiaii. 



270 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



RESULTS OF PREACHING. 



gWEARINQ HENRY. 

Haying to preach one cold winter's night in a 
large, poorly heated church, I observed most of the 

congregation gathered round the stoves. Before a r- 
mon they were requested, if sufficiently warmed, to 
be seated together in front. 

The subject of discourse that evening led me to 
a description of " the wicked ;" and among the clae 
of the "wicked" enumerated, prominence was given 
to the j>r(>;'<i/<r swearer^ as emphatically "wicked," 
irreverently taking his Maker's name hi vain, and 
frequently seeming to pride himself in the multitude 
and magnitude of his oaths. One man in the end 
of a pew was most earnestly attentive, with head 
erect, eyes extended, and his cheeks covered with a 
reddened flush. At the close of the service, as oth- 
ers gathered around the stoves again, he walked out 
with a heavy and hasty step, as if he wished no one 
to speak to him. 

About ten days after, I was informed of a child' 
that was sick and ready to die, and was advised to 
visit the family. It was said to he a child of Mr. Hen- 
ry : hut as there were others of the same name, 

I was told that lie was called, by way of distinc- 
tion, "Swearing Henrv." Yet he was an influential 



SWEARING HENRY. 271 

citizen, an extensive farmer, an obliging neighbor, 
free from other low vices, and paid sonic respect to 
religions institutions. 

I called at his house. The little sufferer was 
rapidly approaching its cud, and the weeping mother 
watching it with assiduous care. It was. two years 
old, she said, the only daughter in a family of eight, 
and a great favorite, especially of the father, who 
idolized it and mourned at the prospect of its death. 
But she said that, though glad to see me r she hoped 
I would not be there when her husband came hi. 
I had given him offence in a sermon he had heard 
me preach, and she feared he might not treat me 
well. He had said that I preached it expressly for 
him, and held him up to the whole congregation, 
who knew I was pointing Mm out all the while. She 
could not convince him that either she or some other 
person had not gone to me with a history of Iris 
character ; and he was certain that I had purposely 
requested the congregation to sit in front of me that 
night, so as to get him there and " then give it to 
It nn.'' He had been greatly agitated ever since. 
His appetite had failed, and he could not sleep. He 
had been alternately sullen and silent, then unrea- 
sonable and harsh, when he would vow vengeance 
on the minister, and especially on his informant. 
At times he had been even more profane than she 
had ever known him, then relapsed into his previous 
silence again, and for the last two days had said 
little, but seemed full of trouble. 

I had scarcely assured her that "the whole was 
a grand Mistake" I having previously known nothing 



272 SKETCH E8 FliOM U ll 

of the man, nor of his character, when a man came 
in whom I recognized at once as the hearer in the 

end of the pew, who had given such earnest heed to 
the discourse. This was the veritable " Swearing 
Henry." Little had I suspected that so notable a 
person had sat in God's house, while holding up the 
prqfam swearer as so "wicked" in God's sight. 

He now appeared confused on seeing me, looked 
stern, and made no return to my salutation. His 
wife informed him of his great mistake, and of my 
denial of any particular knowledge of him until I 
had heard of their affliction. With an expression of 
mystery on his countenance, he then said to me, 
"Well, I ani not acquainted with you, hut suppose 
you ought to be a man of truth, any how." k ' / am," 
said I, " and would rather lose that right hand than 
be guilty of falsehood." 

The man looked confounded, stared upon me for 
some seconds, wiped his eyes which were becoming 
suffused in tears, and then proceeded : " I see the 
Almighty is following me up. I am just such a sin- 
ner as the sermon described! Swearing has been 
my great sin, and I thought you knew all about it. 
I am a great sinner. Oh, what an example I have 
set my family ! And now the Almighty is taking 
away the dearest of my children. I was very angry 
at you, but have more reason to be angry at myself. 
I have suffered everything the last two days. I was 
wishing I could see you. and am glad you have 
come. If there is such a place as hell, I know I am 
fit for that place, and I beg you to pray that I may 
be delivered." He spoke with such emotion that 



SWEARING HENRY. 273 

his family were as much affected as himself, nor 
could my own heart remain unmoved. 

1 sympathized with them, and spoke of the wis- 
dom of God in sending afflictions, to make us think 

of liini and of our duty towards him. I B}K)ke of 
the heinous nature of sin against so good and holy a 
Being, and especially of the sin of which he con- 
fessed himself guilty. I expressed the opinion that 
the merciful God had ordered all the late incidents 
to lead him to reflection and repentance, and ex- 
horted him to flee to Christ and sue for pardon 
without delay. 

The spirit of the strong man was broken. He 
admitted everything, penitently wept, and again re- 
quested me to pray. I called for the Bible, read a 
short portion, and then complied with his request. 
As the last word of prayer died upon my lips, he 
himself broke forth: "0 Lord. God, I am a great 
sinner. Father in heaven, I have sinned by swear- 
ing more than all men. What an example I have 
given my children. Oh, almighty Father, pardon 
my great sins, and save my soul if it can be saved, 
for Jesus' sake. Amen." 

The efl'eet upon us all was overwhelming, and 
reminded me of David roaring by reason of the dis- 
quietude of his heart. "How wonderful is (rod!"' 
thought I. "Here is an avowed swearer addressing 
him with the voice of prayer, AY ell may every 
swearer tremble and cry out. Would that every 
similar trans was now present to witness this 

Scene." 

We parted. The following day at evening, the 

1 2 



27± SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

little sufferer died, and two days after, the funeral 
services were held in the church. My friend occu- 
pied the same pe\v he occupied on the previous 
ion, with a countenance solemn as the grave, 

intently fixed, and cheeks glistening with rills 
of descending tears. As the implied truths of the 
words, " I shall go to him, but he shall not return to 
me," were unfolded, his earnest face seemed lighted 
up with an expression not to be described. That 
very day he found peace to his riven soul. In the 
graveyard he came up to the minister, on whom he 
had once vowed vengeance, and throwing an. arm 
round his neck, said, "Dear sir, I deserved God's 
wrath, but think I have found his mercy. I mean 
to follow my child to where you think she now is. 
Come and see me and pray with me soon." 

And to the praise of sovereign mercy be it spo- 
ken, " Swearing Henry " has ever since been distin- 
guished as praying Henry I His humble, Christian 
life has been a source of joy to God's people, and a 
standing reproof to all around him who take then- 
Maker's name in vain. C. M. 



AN AQED gINNER. 

"The hoary head is a crown of glory if it be 
found in the way of righteousness,"' but how melan- 
choly when it is found in the way of death. In 
every congregation we find some who have reached 
threescore or fourscore years, impenitent and unpar- 
doned. They seldom appear in the house of 



m 



AN AGED SINNER. '21 5 

Because of infirmity or indifference; they turn their 
backs upon the means of grace, and their insensibil- 
ity to their spiritual state leads us to fear that God 
lias said, "They are joined to their idols, let them 
alone." Old sinners, how terrible their prospects! 
No wonder that ministers mourn in secret places 
over their impenitency, and that so many note the 
conversion of an aged sinner as a moral wonder. It 
is not because the arm of the Lord is shortened that 
it cannot save, or Iris ear heavy that it cannot hear, 
that so few of the aged are brought to Christ, but 
because they have hardened their hearts, resisted 
the Holy Ghost, rejected offered mercy, trampled on 
the blood of the Son of God, and chosen the road 
that leads to destruction. 

I had labored for some years in L without 

seeing the fruit of my labor. Often in my unbelief 
did I cry, surely, " I have labored in vain, and spent 
my strength for naught." Often did I cry, " Will 
the Lord cast off for ever? Doth his promise fail 
for evermore? ' 

In the congregation was a man who had lived 

nearly eighty years without God, Mr. J. J . He 

was an early settler in this' part of the country, and 
had passed through the toils and privations of bor-. 
der life. He thought there was nothing wrong in 
working on the Sabbath, at least " in hay and har- 
vest," and he would occasionally " take a glass,'' and 
when in a passion use profane language. When I 
preached in his neighborhood he was generally there, 
and listened respectfully, but he was a stranger to 
heart- religion, and "cared for none of these things." 



276 SKETCHES FROM U FE. 

When God was pleased to pour out his Spirit upon 

us, Mr. J joined with others in denouncing pro- 
cessors of religion as hypocrites and deceivers, and 

tlie conversion of sinners as delusion and fanaticism. 
I thought he was the most hopeless ease in the 

whole town, and dreaded almost to see him at our 
meetings. 

One afternoon, when I had appointed to preach 
at a private house near his residence, I found the 
house filled to its utmost capacity. To my aston- 
ishment, and — with sorrow I confess it — to my re- 
gret, old Mr. J was there. I was confident that 

some who were present felt that they were walking 
in darkness, and having no light, were seeking Jesus 
sorrowing; while some had sought and found joy 
and peace in believing. The presence of old Mr. 

J confused me for some time, but at length I 

rose aboye the fear of man, and I believe the word 
spoken was in demonstration of the Spirit and of 
power. 

I requested those who wished to converse on the 
subject of their salvation to remain after the congre- 
gation Avas dismissed, and to my astonishment Mr. 

J was among them.' I tried to rind out the 

spiritual state of each, and to speak a word in sea- 
son to the weary. But what was I to do with Mr. 

J ? If 1 passed him by, he might well say. "No 

man careth for my soul/' If I addressed him, I 
expected nothing but abuse and insult. When I 
came to him I said as affectionately and tended \ 

I could, "Mr. J , you are now a very old man, 

and you cannot expect to live long: if God should 



AN A ( ; I : I ) SINNER. 277 

call you soon and suddenly, d> you think you are 
prepared to die?" He said in a very surly tone, "I 
was told that you came here to tell us who are right 
and who are wrong, and you have said nothing about 
it. The Baptists say they are right, the Methodists 
say they an 1 right, and the Presbyterians say they 
are right; and how can we tell who, or what to 
believe ?" I replied that I did not come there for 
any such purpose, and that my great anxiety was to 
see all the people converted to God, and exemplary 
Christians. If I could see this, I was willing that 
they should study the word of God, and unite with 
any church they chose. I urged him to attend to 
religion without delay, reminding him that now was 
the accepted time, that now was the day of salva- 
tion. Not a few went from that house asking, "What 

must I do to be saved?" When Mr. J was 

leaving, he took me by the hand, and with a trem- 
bling voice said, " If I said anything to hurt your 
feelings, I am sorry for it; I hope you will forgive 
me, and I want you to pray for me;" and the large - 
tears ran down his furrowed cheek. I mingled my 
tears with his, and from that hour began to hope 
that God's Spirit was striving with this aged man, 
and that he might be brought to Christ even at the 
eleventh hour. I returned from that meeting rejoi- 
cing in the tokens of God's grace which I had wit- 
d, and praying that none might be left to grieve 
the Spirit, or say to the divine messenger, "Go thy 
way for this time." 

A few evenings after, I preached in the school- 
house of the same neighborhood, from the words. 



278 



SK ETCH ES FROM 1.1 FE 



"The Master is come, and calleth for thee." The 

house was crowded, and Mr. J sat on the plat- 
form at my feet. The greatest solemnity prevailed 
dining the discourse. I had no sooner closed than 




the old man rose, and with a tremulous voice and a 
melting heart, said : "My neighbors and Mends, God 
has often called me in judgment and in mercy, and 
T feel that he is calling me this evening for the last 



AN AGED SINNER. 279 

time." Jt was all lie could say. He wept like a 
child, and his Bobbing tilled the house. Nor was he 
the only one who wept. His words reached many 
a heart, and eyes unused to weep melted with the 
unhidden tear. Not a few from that night began to 
cry,"God he merciful to us sinners," and others to 
rejoice in the hope of pardon and salvation through 
faith in Jesus. There was joy among the angels of 
God over repenting sinners. 

Mr. J went for nearly two weeks with his 

head bowed down, mourning and weeping and pray- 
ing. At length his weeping was turned into rejoi- 
cing. The dark night passed away, and the dawn of 
a spiritual day cheered his soul. The burden of sin 
was removed. He felt that, old and hardened in sin 
as he was, God, for Christ's sake, had pardoned his 
sins ; and he had a joy and peace in believing which 
the world could not give nor take away. The Bible, 
preaching, praying, Christians, everything connected 
with religion, appeared in a new and interesting 
light. He loved, he said, everybody, and desired 
their salvation, \Vith him old things had passed 
away, and all things had become new. The change 

in Mr. J 's conduct was so manifest and great 

that we could scarcely doubt that he had been cre- 
ated anew in Christ Jesus, that he was a Christian. 
Even the TJniversalists in the neighborhood con- 
1 that there was a great change for the better. 
The faith of Christians was increased, their hoj • 
vived, and all said: "This is the Lord's doing, and 
marvellous in our eyes. Is not this a brand plucked 
from the burning? " 



280 SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

One of the most solemn and pleasing duties I 
<\cr performed was to administer the ordinance of 
baptism to this aged man, now eighty years of i 
his son and daughter, the father and mother of a 
number of children, and an unmarried daughter, all 
at the same time. As the fruit of that revival many 
were added to the church. No wonder if there was 
great joy among us. What a glorious change. The 
wilderness and solitary place were made glad, and 
the desert became like the garden of the Lord. 

The change in Mr. J was real and permanent 

He held on his way. He manifested his attachment 
to the preaching of the gospel by frequently walking 
more than five miles to the house of God, and by his 
regular attendance upon all the means of grace. 
From this time he contributed statedly, and, accord- 
ing to his means, liberally, to support the gospel in 
his oavii church, and also to send the Bible and the 
missionary to the destitute at home and abroad 
Although almost blind, with staff in hand, he would 
walk miles for missionary papers, or tracts, or reli- 
gious books; and after hearing them read at home, 
he would carry them froin house to house till they 
were read by most of the families in his vicinity. 
By his precept and example he recommended reli- 
gion and the Saviour to others. "We might almost 
say he did what he could to save his perishing neigh- 
bors from destruction. For eight years he lived to 
prove the reality of his conversion by his consistent 
walk and godly conversation; and in the hour <>f 
death he was cheered by the prospect of a glorious 
immortality. To die was gain. His hoary head be- 



THE TIMELY VISIT. 281 

came a crown of glory, and we doubt not lie has 
joined that glorious company now arrayed in white 
robes, with palms in their hands, who came out of 
great tribulation, washed their robes, and made 
them white in the Mood of the Lamb, and unite in 
singing the song of redeeming love on mount Zion. 

Q. P. 



THE TIJVIELY VlglT. 

During a ministry of almost a quarter of a cen- 
tury the writer never witnessed a revival of religion 
in which the sovereignty and freeness of divine 
grace were so clearly manifested as that in which 
his church was permitted to share in the early part 
of the ever-memorable "year of grace, 1858." 

For two or three weeks immediately succeeding 
the solemn services enjoyed on the first day of the 
year, meetings were held nightly in our humble 
basement room, a place hallowed in the grateful 
memory of very many as the birthplace of their 
souls. 

As the gracious work extended, many were influ- 
enced to come to the house of God who were not 
accustomed to sit beneath the droppings of the 
sanctuary. Among other new faces that were no- 
ticed from evening to evening, was that of a lady 
well known in the community. Her solemn coun- 
tenance and downcast eyes showed that she was an 
interested hearer. Of her religious state nothing 
was known, but it was evident to all who noticed her 



282 skktch BS FEOM L] I I. 

that her mind was deeply exercised in reference to 
spiritual things. She was not spoken to personally 
by any one, for as soon as the services closed she 
would hasten from the house, as if to avoid conver- 
sation. But the pastor became deeply impressed in 
reference to his duty towards this new attendant on 
his ministry. He had never been invited to call 
upon the family, and as her social relations were 
outside of the church which he served, the question 
arose whether he ought to go unbidden to her house, 
and personally converse with her, or whether he 
should rest satisfied with having, from the pulpit, 
plainly and fully preached to her Jesus and him 
crucified as the power of God unto salvation. 

Divine direction was sought, and he went, "doubt- 
ing nothing," choosing for his visit an unfashionable 

hour of the day, when he hoped to find Mrs. 

without company. He was received with the free- 
dom and kindness of an old friend, and welcomed to 
her house with characteristic openness and benevo- 
lence of manner. All embarrassment was removed. 
He felt that God had prepared the way for his visit, 
and would "make his journey prosperous." 

At once the purpose of his call was stated, and 
flie reasons which had led to it briefly rehearsed. 
As the pastor spoke of his earnest desire to lead her 
to Christ and happiness, tears filled the' eyes and 
rolled down the cheeks of his new friend, and with 
deep emotion she confessed herself to be a poor lost 
sinner in the sight of God, and sincerely desiring to 
know what she must do to be saved. She stated 
that from her childhood she had been the subject of 



THE TIMELY VISIT. 283 

deep convictions for sin, and especially ever since she 
had become a mother had she felt the solemn re- 
sponsibility of bringing up her children in the nur- 
ture and admonition of the Lord — a duty for the 
proper discharge oi which she felt that she was ut- 
terly unprepared. For years the importance of re- 
ligion had been impressed upon her mind, and she 
had wished that some Christian friend would speak 
to her on the subject. But though for years sur- 
rounded by and mingling with Christians, this was 
the first time she had ever been personally addressed 
in reference to her obligation to love and serve God. 

The duty of imme.diate and entire submission to 
God was pressed upon her heart and conscience with 
great earnestness. With tears was she entreated to 
go to Jesus Christ just as she was, and, casting her- 
self upon the mercy of God, cry : "I yield, I yield, I 
can hold out no more." The cross, " all stained with 
hallowed blood," was uplifted before her eyes, and 
she was directed to look and live, believe and be 
saved. 

The word of truth was read and explained, and, 
with strong crying and tears, prayers were offered 
unto Him who delighteth to pardon. The next time 
the doors of the sanctuary were opened, she was 
found among the worshippers a weeping penitent. 
Not once during the service did she lift her eyes. 
Unchecked .the tears rolled down her cheeks until 
portions of her raiment were bedewed with "drops 
of grief." 1 A mighty struggle was going on within 
-ail. The Spirit of God was striving with her 
mightily, wooing her to Jrsus, whispering in her 



284 SKETCHES FROM LI I I. 

heart: "Sinner, coine." And the enemy of all 
righteousness was assaulting her with the tempta- 
tions of the fashions, the riches, and the pleasi 
of the world. Her soul was driven to and fro, back 
and forth, tossed by the surges of the storm within. 
The conflict was fearful. For several days her dis- 
tress of mind was very great. She could not under- 
stand how a sinner like her could be saved, until, 
through the teaching of the Spirit, she was brought 
to that state of mind in which she could tmthfully 
say : 

"Just as I am, though tossed about 
With many a conflict, many a doubt, 
With fears within and wars without, 
Lamb of God, I come. 

"Just as I am ; thy love unknown 
Has broken every barrier down ; 
Now to be thine, yea, thine alone, 
Lamb of God, I come." 

Among the worshippers on the next Sabbath were 
seen both husband and wife, with happy hearts and 
beaming faces, rejoicing in the excellency of the 
knowledge of Christ Jesus their Lord, and, with lov- 
ing words, persuading others to come to Jesus and 
be blessed. 

In this narrative we have an illustration of the 
importance of j><-rs<>it<il labor for the salvation of sin- 
ners. The lady who is the subject of the narrative 
had from her childhood been an attendant upon tin 1 
ministry of the word, but the impressions made on 
the Sabbath were, for the want of proper attention, 
obliterated by the cares of the world before another 



THE PRAYEB- MEETING. 285 

Sabbath came, and thus she had been passing 
through life. And such, probably, would still have 
been her condition, had not the Spirit of God sent 
one of his servants to her fireside to preach repent- 
ance toward God, and faith in the Lord Jesus Christ. 

Not only were the visit and personal effort blest 
to the conversion of the wife, but her awakening and 
decision were the means, under God, of the conver- 
sion of her husband, and, subsequently, also, of two 
other members of the family ; a beautiful exemplifi- 
cation of the passage : " He that goeth forth and 
weepeth, bearing precious seed, shall doubtless come 
again with rejoicing, bringing his sheaves with him." 

The time has come when the church must feel her 
duty to labor for souls, not representatively, but per- 
sonally ; when every one must preach and labor in 
the sphere where his lot is cast, and seek by every 
means to win souls to Christ. Have you a friend or 
relative who is not a Christian, do not be satisfied 
with the ordinary means of grace. Go to him, throw 
the arms of affection around him, with tender words 
and tearful eyes tell him of his danger, and entreat 
him to come to Jesus. Pray for him, pray with hira, 
and thou shalt win his soul. davies. 



THE PRAYEFt-MEETINQ A T THE HALL. 

In the centre of a beautiful village in New Jers. y 
stands a hall which, for several years, had been used 
for various purposes of a worldly character. During 
the winter season that hall was crowded once a week 



BK ETCH ES PROM LIFE. 

with intelligent men and women, congregated to heat 
literary and scientific lecture*. Many times (rod's 
dear children expressed the wish that the time might 
come when that hall would be a "house of prayer," 
and be filled with devout worshippers, little expect- 
ing that the time was near at hand when their de- 
sires would be realized. With God all things are 
possible, and he brought about that which, to the 
unbelief of the human heart, appeared so improba- 
ble. The proposition to secure the use of the hall 
for a union meeting was discussed by a few of the 
earnest workers in the vineyard, and before they 
could come to a decision as to the wisdom of the 
measure, one more hopeful than the rest procured 
the hall, and published a "union prayer-meeting," to 
be held the next week. 

It had the attraction of novelty. It was an inroad 
upon the stereotyped customs of the place. The 
curious were excited, the prayerful became more 
prayerful, and the intelligence spread from mouth to 
mouth. The evening came, and with it came a 
crowd of men, women, and children, filHng the capa- 
cious room at an early hour. A deputation from 
the Christian Association of a neighboring city was 
present, and added much to the interest of the 
meeting. But the best of all was. God was there by 
his Spirit, and from the beginning of the services all 
became deeply impressed with the thought: "God 
is in this place ! " Deep seriousness settled down 
upon all, and those who came to mock, if they did 
not remain to pray, at least were subdued into ap- 
parently reverent hearers. The prayers were ear- 



THE PBAIEB-MBETINi 287 

nest feryent, and prevailing; the exhortations were 

E£g and affectionate, and came f™&*™ 

lu .. ivt ; burning with love to Jesus; and as they t 11 

\,,, li,,. were mellowed with tears of pity. 

ne 1;" the hymns were animated and joyous, 
r^le^yor^teV^ably^e-- 

lualu l: "Let the people praise Thee, O God let all 
the people praise Thee." The music of these voices 
nitel fiUed the room with sounding praise and 
floated off through the open easements, and was 
Lfly wafted on the night breezes to many an ear, 
Sing melody as if the "heavenly bands of musrc 
wflre sounding through the air. 

In his quiet home, some distance from the p ace 
of meeting, sat a hard-working mechamc, res mg 
himself after the toils of the day preparatory to 
Xing for the night. Presently there came steal- 
Jl that chamber the notes of the "vesper 
Tvmu, soft and clear;" they fell upon the ear <rf 

T D D and awoke strange echoes m his soul 

He called to his wife, and asked what it meant ; and 
at once it flashed upon both their minds what t h j 
had forgotten, that it was the evening for the praj er- 
mpptin^ at tlie hall. ' . 

Shough it was late, yet, urged by his wffe , he 
shpped on his coat and shoes, and hastened to the 
«S?' He quietly passed up two flights ol stands, 
and finding the roam tilled, and being ashamed to 
Ween in his working dress, took his seat on the 

.tabs, on the third step from the top. so as to be 
out of sight. He was indeed out of the sight of the 



288 SKETCHES PBOM LIFE. 

congregation, but he was not out of Gods sight, nor 
beyond the influence of the Holy Spirit, which had 
" kindled flames of sacred love" in many hearts that 
night, and was hovering over the entire assembly : 
gently, noiselessly, and without observation, it fell 
upon him who came last to the meeting, making the 
" last first." 

A strange, undefined feeling took possession of 
him, and as he listened to the tearful pleadings of 
one of his neighbors, a young deacon in the church, 
he began to tremble with uncontrollable emotion. 
The Spirit sent every word as a barbed arrow to his 
soul, the sins of his whole life rose up before him, 
conviction seized him, and he stood a condemned 
criminal at the bar of his own conscience ; " the sor- 
rows of death compassed him, and the pains of hell 
gat hold upon him: he found trouble and sorrow." 
Then and there he was made to realize his lost con- 
dition as a sinner against God, and to resolve that 
he w r ould seek the Lord with all his heart. 

He w r ent home in great distress of mind, and 
although he had for many years been accustomed 
to bow the knee in the form of prayer, noic he prayed 
from a full heart, " God be merciful to me a sinner." 
His ingratitude to God, his mercies abused, his time 
wasted, his murdered Sabbaths, the sanctuary neg- 
lected, his life of rebellion, his broken vows, and 
the calls of God slighted, all rose up before him as 
a thick cloud, and guilt like a millstone pressed upon 
his conscience. In vain he sought relief in prayer 
and reading; in vain he sought direction from those 
who had passed the same way to peace and joy in 



THE PRAYER-MEETING. 289 

Christ: no relief could ho find; the cloud of dark- 
ness was over his mind, and the cross was hidden 
from his eyes. Ignorant of God's righteousness, he 
went about to establish his own righteousness, and 
sought by various means to find some good thing 
which he might do, to inherit eternal fife. His wife, 
through whose persuasions he had been induced to 
go to the prayer-meeting, had long been under seri- 
ous impressions, and was now in as dee}) distress 
of mind as her husband. Unitedly they read and 
prayed with mingled groans and tears. Their cry 
was, Lord, save, or we perish. And he who walked 
upon the waves of the stormy sea, and calmed the 
raging tempest, did not disregard the cry of these 
sorrow-stricken ones. 

In a few days, the absent pastor, for whose com- 
ing they longed, returned to his flock, and joyfully 
unfolded to these contrite sinners salvation by Christ, 
and directed their minds to him and to his finished 
work; assuring them that "he was mighty to save," 
" even to the uttermost, all who come unto God by 
him;" and pointing them to the fountain open in 
the wounds of Christ crucified, he proclaimed, " Be- 
hold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of 
the world." Under the instructions rflfeeived, and 
the Spirit's power, they were both enabled to cast 
themselves entirely upon the mercy of God in Jesus 
Christ, and to rejoice in hope of the glory of God. 

"Oh, tlu> rapturous height of that holy delight 
Which they felt in the life-giving blood ; 
Of their Saviour possessed, tiny were perfectly blefl 
idled with the fulness of God." 
1 o 



290 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

"The world beheld the glorious change," and 
took knowledge from these happy converts that they 
had been with Jesus, 'that he Lad brought them into 
his banqueting house, and that the banner of his 
love was over them. Great and marvellous was the 
change effected. Now the incense of prayer and 
praise is daily offered from that family altar, and 
when the Sabbath comes, it finds both husband and 
wife attentive hearers of the word, and earnest work- 
ers in the Sabbath-school They are the first -fruits 
of the " prayer-meeting at the hall." davies. 



k 'WIgER THAN MY MAKER." 

A young man of skeptical tendencies, walking out 
one Sabbath morning, proposed to a comrade in sin 
to spend the day in a fishing excursion down the 
harbor. A Christian friend, passing them on his 
way to church, had overheard the remark, and 
politely invited him to accompany him to public 
worship. The young man reluctantly consented, 
saying, that "if preaching was effectual to convince 
him of error, he should believe in it, but if not, he 
would nevef again be caught listening to it." 

They entered the house of God. After the usual 
devotional services the pastor arose, and casting his 
eye over his audience, in the deepest tenderness and 
solemnity said, ''I do not rise to preach to you, it 
is God addressing you: 'Whosoever shall not rect 
the kingdom of God as a little child' — do yo< 

eive it? If not/" he added with (hep commis- 



"CAUGHT AT LAST." 291 

oration, "the closing words of this text are God's 
message to you: ' He shot! no! enter th rein* " 

The words wire uttered with deep emotion, and 
all felt that they came from the heart of the preach- 
er. At the close of the services the young man said, 
"I have never seen such simplicity and tenderness 
in a preacher, and his words sunk into nry heart. I 
felt I had not received the word of God as a little 
child, but as one wiser Hum my Maker, That to me 
was preaching effectually." 

" From' that hour," he afterwards said, " skepti- 
cism vanished from my mind, and the truth uttered 
in the simplicity of a little child brought me to the 
feet of Jesus." He is now an earnest laborer in the 
cause of his Master, preaching that gospel he once 
derided, in its simplicity and power, to the souls of 
men. If we would save souls, let us be " filled with 
the Spirit," and our utterances shall be clothed with 
power to their salvation. M. A. B. 



Cl CAUQHT AT JLAgT." 

It was a season of spiritual interest in the church 

at K , then under the care of the venerable Dr. 

Y , its pastor for half a century. Having been 

invited to his assistance, I found the man of God 
burdened with the 'care of souls, and especially 
troubled for a certain class who had remained im- 
movable under his ministry for a long series of years. 

As he was called to other services that day, he 
commended me and his people to God, in the sol- 



292 SKETCHES FROM LITE. 

emn maimer peculiar to him, and left me alone early 
on Sabbath morning. Then I felt his burden and 
anxiety become my own, and with trembling I ven- 
tured to stand in Ins place between the living and 
the dead. 

Entering the pulpit, I observed a respectable 
looking gentleman of about fifty or sixty years bend 
forward and whisper to one in front of him, and 
then look earnestly towards the pulpit ; but the - 
vices proceeding, and the people generally becoming 
attentive, I took no further notice of him through- 
out. 

The subject of discourse was the work of the Holy 
Spirit, and that divine Agent was present in the 
assembly with power that day. The people pa- 
out from the service as if the weight of eternal 
things rested on their hearts, and none turned to 
the right or left to salute a friend. They " walked 
softly before the Lord of hosts." When all had left 
the sanctuary, I retired to the pastor's study, to 
spend the customary " intermission of half an hour " 
alone. 

As I entered the study, there stood before me 
the gentleman above referred to. presenting an aspect 
beyond the powers of description. Tears rolled down 
his cheeks, despair was depicted on his countenance, 
and his emotion prevented the trembling lips from 
saluting me, which they attempted more than once. 

At length he said, "Excuse me, sir; I am Mr. P . 

I passed through your place yesterday. While riding 
slowly along, I was saying to myself, ' Here, I - 
is a church: this shows that there are Christians 



•<!AUGHT AT LAST." 293 

here. Wherever I go I find churches and Chris- 
tians; but i" am not a Christian, and fear I shall 
never become one. I'll have to attend to this mat- 
ter soon, or I must lose my soul. No doubt there 
is a gospel minister in this place, and I had better 
stop and see him. No one will suspect my business, 
since I am a stranger here; I can enjoin secrecy 
upon him, and he may do me good.' Something 
seemed to urge me thus to stop, and I now believe 
it was the Holy Spirit; but I did not stop, I resisted 
him, as I have done many times, and passed right 
on. 

" When you came into church to-day, I inquireu 
who you was, and found that you was the very min- 
ister whom the Holy Spirit prompted me to stop 
and see yesterday. It seemed as if God had sent 
you after me, to stand before me as my reprover, 
and to show me to be one of the wickedest of men. 
I could not keep my eyes off you. The first word 
you spoke went to my heart. The chapter, the 
prayer, the text, and the sermon, were like a con- 
tinual shower of arrows upon my soul. I am a great 
pinner] I have passed through revivals. I lost one 
beloved Christian wife, who besought me on her 
dying bed to attend to my salvation. I have had 
many warnings, but resisted all, and fear I have 
committed the unpardonable sin. I have called 
upon you to ask whether you think there can yet be 
mercy for my soul. Oh, sir, tell me! Com you do 
anything in sun me ?" 

His grief became overwhelming, and he could 
say no more. My heart bled for this man, yet I 



294 SKETCHES FfcOM LIFE. 

dared not then whisper peace to a soul tliat had re- 
sisted God so long. He told me the hour at which 
he had passed through my place of residence, and, 

remarkable enough, it proved to be a little before I 
started, so that God did literally " send me after 
him." I begged him to look to the blessed Eb d< t >mer 
whom his sins " had pierced," and warned him that 
he was probably receiving his last vail. After a brief 
exhortation and prayer, he unwillingly departed, 
apparently a subject of the keenest despair which a 
poor sinner could bear this side the pit of woe, and 
his case was a burden on my heart. 

The above interview was truly affecting and un- 
expected, but was only a prelude to other similar 
ones that day. Returning to the house of God, 
scenes were witnessed which will never lose their 
interest while memory retains her powers. Groups 
of people were, here and there, talking of their souls' 
concerns, while individuals were isolated in corners, 
and under the sheds, lamenting their sins, and 
mourning over their lost estate. The strokes of the 
bell sounded like the knell of death to some, and all 
seemed to resume their seats under the impression 
that eternal life was the prize to be either l<»^t or 
won. 

Then was the CROSS lifted up before them — the 
wn-Ught, to which lost mariners might steer — the 
8, in which all the rays of redeeming love for 
ruined souls were centred — the Sun, from which 
diverged the beams of forgiving mercy upon those 
sitting in darkness, and hi the region and shadow 
of death. Repentance seemed to bow down the 



"I SEE LIGHT." 205 

spirits of hitherto unyielding sinners, and the harp- 
Btrings of angels began to leap! A ladder reached 
from earth to heaven. 

"Do toll the doctor," said the wife of the vener- 
able pastor, as soon as he returned, "what God hath 
wrought." While a brief account of P and oth- 
ers was given, the devoted patriarch was sensibly 
affected, and said: "This is not the work of man, 
but of God. 'Xot unto us,' my brother, 'not unto 

us, but unto God give glory.' So P is caught at 

last!" 

In the meeting of inquiry that evening, P sat, 

amid fifty others, humbled and oppressed. When 
tiny met, neither pastor nor parishioner could do 
more than weep. But as God had waited long for 
him, it was ordained that he should wait several 
anxious days for God, to experience the bitterness 
of a life-long resistance. At last the blissful moment 
came when he could say, "God is all-glorious, Christ 
is unspeakably precious, and my peace is like a 
river. 

• • For while be thus iu anguish lay, 
The gracious Saviour passed that way. 

Ami felt his pity move ; 
The sinner, by his justice slain, 
X w, by his grace is born again, 

And sings redeeming love." c. m. 



"l £EE LIGHT." 

A young minister had recently been settled over 
a feeble and somewhat distracted church in New 
England. It was his first charge, and he labored 



296 SKETCHES PROM LI PE. 

faithfully for many weary months ore he saw sign 01 
token that God was blessing his efforts. At length, 
when he was almost ready to despair, God in merer 
visited the congregation with an outpouring' of his 
Spirit, and many souls were led to give themselves 
to Christ. 

One of the first who was heard anxiously asking 
the question, "What must I do to be saved?" was 
a young lady who had been religiously educated, 
whose parents were members of the church, and 
who had herself long felt the necessity of a change 
of heart. But days and weeks passed, and while 
others were heard rejoicing in the love of Jesu - 
still found no peace in believing. Friends who loved 
her, and who longed with ardent solicitude for her 
conversion, visited her, conversed with her, prayed 
with her, and tried in every possible way to point 
her to the Saviour. She seemed willing to do any- 
thing, to give up anything and everything for Christ ; 
and still to all their appeals and all their directions, 
she mournfully replied, "It is so dark ! I long to 
find Jesus, but oh, it is all dark — so dark !" 

During this time she attended faithfully upon 
the means of grace. She heard sermon after sermon 
directing her to Jesus, the Saviour of sinners. She 
read every book she could find that she ima._ 
could give her any new fight. "James' Anxious 
Inquirer," "Baxter's Call,'" and several other books 
of the same nature she read and reread, till she had 
almost committed them to memory. Still she was 
obliged to say, in answer to every inquiry, "It 
dark." 



"I SEE LIGHT." 297 

It seemed to her there was something wanting 

in both books and sermons, some step of the process 
by which one becomes a child of God, omitted; and 
that too, the very step she needed to know. 

At length, after the struggle had been protracted 
for weary weeks — a struggle so severe that it had 
materially affected her health — she was induced by 
a friend to spend an evening at the house of the 
pastor. She went solely to gratify her friend, for 
she had almost persuaded herself that she was given 
over of God to hardness of heart, and that there was 
no room for hope in her case. 

As she entered the room, her pastor greeted her 
with, " Have you yet found peace ?" She shook her 
head sadly, and burst into tears. "And are you 
going to give up?" he continued. " Give up !" She 
had not thought of it in that light. She had been 
almost persuaded to despair of forgiveness, but she 
had not called it, "giving up." "No, never," was 
her earnest reply; "but I know not what I am to 
do next." 

" "Well," said her pastor, " you are to do nothing, 
only believe. Jesus has already done the work ; believe 
in him. And if it is still dark, why, pray for light." 

As he turned to converse with her friend, she 
seated herself on a sofa, and resting her head on 
her hand, engaged in secret prayer — a prayer for 
light, for guidance, for direction from above. Then 
and there she felt for the first time, that she could 
do nothing of herself; and so, casting aside every 
dependence on her own exertions, she simply threw 
herself on the mercy of Christ. 

13* 



298 SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

•■ II. iv. Lord, I give myself away, 
Tia all thai I can do." 

was the spontaneous language of her heart 

And all at once, even as she prayed thus, a great 
light seemed to break in upon her soul. During all 
the weeks of her mournful seeking after Christ, the 
sad complaint of her heart had been, "It is so dark." 
Now she seemed to see a light breaking through 
that thick darkness, and as she beheld it and felt 
her burden removed, she joyfully exclaimed to her 
pastor, " I see light, I see light !" 

That spot had been to her soul the very " gate 
of heaven." A burden was there removed that has 
never since rolled back upon her. Indelibly is im- 
pressed upon her grateful memory everything con- 
nected with that scene — even the very furniture ( >f 
the room seemed to stamp itself upon her recollec- 
tion. 

Years have passed, but the light God then per- 
mitted her to see has ever since shone upon her 
pathway. Sometimes she walks for a season in 
doubt, but going again and again to the Saviour 
who then so graciously revealed himself, she is led 
to rejoice in him, and to bless him that she is still 
permitted to " see light." a. p. el 



THE ABRUPT PRAYER, AND HAgTY TEXT. 

It was in a season of great awakening among 
his people that the writer had been out all day on 
pastoral labors. There had been preaching every 
evening, and on returning home he found it within 



THE ABRUPT PRAYER. 209 

an hour of evening service, and himself unprepared 
for its duties. Entering his study, with a trembling 
hand he turned over the pages of God's word. He 
knew that the church would be full. At hist his 

3 fell on a text rich in suitable matter. 

Suddenly he bethought himself of an inquirer 
whom he had intended to call upon, but had passed 
by. " I nnist certainly see her before service," said 
he, " or I shall not see her to-day." So he went at 
once to her house. And what a sight awaited him ! 
In one chair sat the irreligious husband, in another 
a pious neighbor who was vainly striving to calm 
the almost frantic young wife, who, wringing her 
hands and groaning bitterly, was pacing the room. 
Except in a remarkable ' case of insanity, never did 
the writer see so fearful a face ; it seemed furrowed 
by the dee]) lines of despair. 

-Mrs. W , what is the matter?" asked the 

minister, not without alarm. 

"Oh, sir, I am lost! I am lost!" she answered 
in the stolid utterance of despair. 

" Sir," said the pious neighbor, " she has been 
going on in this way, walking the floor and giving 
up everything, for a day and night; I have been 
trying to tell her of the Saviour, but it 's all of no 
use." 

"But, Mrs. W ," urged the pastor, "did I 

not see you Ui^ other day, and plainly and truth- 
fully show you God's readiness to save sinners ?" 

"Oh, yes, sir; I know all that; that will do for 
others. But God has given me up. /am lost! I 
am lost ! God have mercy upon me!" 



800 SKETCHES FEOM LI I I. 

- Mrs. W , did I not tell you, 'This is a faith- 
ful saying, and worthy ol all acceptation, that Christ 
Jesus came into the world to save sinners,' not even 

excepting the chief?" 

" Yes; but God has given me up," she insisted. 

"Mrs.W , I am ashamed of you. You are 

hard upon Clod. Y^ou set aside his mercies. You 
are 'strengthening yourself agahist the • Almighty, 
and running upon the thick bosses of his buckler.' 
You are courting his judgments. ' God is good, and 
ready to forgive,' but you are not ready to be/orgi 

O Mrs. W , you are wicked and unbelieving; a 

rejecter of the mercies of God. Come, I can hear 
no more. Let us fall upon our knees, and pray God 
toforgive you this great sin™ 

Not waiting, the pastor dropped upon his k: 
The husband gazed awestruck, while his wife and 
neighbor knelt with the minister. It was a solemn 
moment. Under no common impulse did the pastor 
pray. It scorned abrupt; nay, it startled the woman 
and her pious friend. Still, as knowing nothing else, 
the pastor prayed that God would pardon the wom- 
an her great sin, the condemning sin of unbelief. 
Nothing rise was in his mind, that one great sin. 
He felt that it — not the sin- of the woman's j 
life — but it was the separation between that poor 
sinner and her Saviour; against that he prayed, that 
God would pardon that, and take that away. 

Rising from his knees, he said, " Mrs. AY , the 

church bell I hear is tolling, and I must g<>: but 
don't, oh don't insult our heavenly Father by dis- 
believing him any more." The woman seemed more 



THE ABRUPT PRAYER. 301 

calm, but said nothing, and the minister hurried 
away. The night was dark, the church bell had 
stopped ringing, he walked rapidly, with feelings 
painfully excited. 

When he readied the church, he found a large 
audience waiting impatiently. In a poor state of 
health, the scene through which he had just p, 
nearly unnerved the preacher. Presently, with ft 'al- 
and trembling, he announced his hastily chosen text, 
when lo ! his subject had wholly departed from him. 
Again he read the text, but it seemed a blank; all 
its full rich meaning had gone, like the pleasant odor 
from a wilted flower. All seemed dark. He tried 
to talk, but he felt it to be incoherent, and very wide 
of true preaching. Meanwhile he prayed mentally, 
but with deep violence of spirit, "Lord, give me 
light."' And light came into the preacher's mind; 
for his subject returned, and at once opened up 
with great force and beauty, enabling him to pre- 
sent the truth in saving power. Said an elder, " It 
seemed to-night as if the minister was almost in- 
spired." 

At the close of the service, it was announced that 
the congregation would be dismissed in the usual 
way, but if any desired conversation with the minis- 
ter, such could stay behind. While waiting for the 
people to retire, he felt a strong yearning again tow- 
ards that despairing woman, and thought, if she had 
been here to-night, the word might have proved pre- 
cious. But it was considered, even by her pastor, 
that owing to her extreme prostration, both physi- 
cally and mentally, it was not prudent that she should 



302 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

leave home at present. Still lie felt that she was ill 
God's hands. 

The congregation had retired, and the ] 
lose to approach personally such as remained in 
their seats. His face was downcast and sad; for 
the awful vision of that despairing woman was viv- 
idly before him. 

He approached a pew containing two ladies; 
one sat erect, her face beaming forth love and joy, 
and her dark lustrous eyes gleaming divine affec- 
tion. 

"What! Mrs. "W , is this you?" exclaimed 

the minister; "and how is it with you now?" 

" O sir," said she, raising her hands almost in 
ecstasy, "I have found Christ !"* 

" Then, blessed be God," said the minister, drop- 
ping a tear, which despite him would come. " Then 
He has j <T<1<> n r<l that great sin /" 

" Yes, sir, and told you to preach that sermon for 
O sir, that is my text.*' 

" So it is, Mrs. W , although I did not know 

you were here. "Well, did I not say God was ready? 
Now give him all the praise." 

Some things must be said on this narrative: 

1. As to the divine providence, ('an any one 
doubt God's agency in the abo 

2. It shows that in the treatment of some Ci 

we must out with the truth in love, and do it prompt- 
ly. In the present case the very seeming abruptn 
of the truth was itself made a blessing. 

8. As to preaching. While preparation is a 
bounden duty, the preacher may be caught without 



NOT TO BE CAUGHT SO. 303 

it : \t t even then God can give signal aid and great 
success to snch as ask him. 

•i. The above is an unmistakable comment on the 
nature of unbelief. It is the great sin. "He that 
cometh to God must bdi 



"l-'JVI J^OT TO BE CyVUQHT IJM THAT 

Wy\Y \" 
While the Holy Spirit was poured out hi H— 



M , and the gospel nightly proclaimed to a seri- 
ous people, a young man was observed several even- 
ings seated by the door, where, if he chose, he could 
make a speedy exit. Inquiries ascertained him to 

be J. L. K . He was a youth of no ordinary 

promise, but who cared only for the pleasures of the 
world; and he became the subject of earnest Chris- 
tian solicitude and prayer. 

One evening, those desirous of conversing with 
the pastor were invited to tarry, and he immediately 
left the house. Many hearts went after him, and a 
few friends who had lately found a Saviour quietly 
followed, and begged him with tears to return. " I 'm 
not to be caught in that way," he replied ; and he 
went away, heeding not then* tears. 

But he was not at ease. An anxiety came over 
him that robbed his breast of comfort and his eyes 
i • p : his sins rose up from the recesses of mem- 
ory : their guilt made his soul afraid, and he longed 
lor day. With the day came an ungodly acquaint- 



304 BK KTCHE8 PROM L] 

ance to visit him, who ridiculed the work of grace 
then in progress, and nearly drove his serionsm 
away; but an unseen power constrained him, and 
again the evening found him in the sanctuary. It 
was an evening of the right hand of the Most High. 
"The Holy Ghost fell on them, as on us at the b< - 
ginning." Sturdy sinners were broken down; eter- 
nal things impressed and chained the people, and 
thrice the benediction was pronounced before they 
passed away. To all eternity praise shall ascend to 
Jehovah's seat for that hour. J. L. K was im- 
pressed. His fixed eye and changing color bespoke 
the intensity of his emotions. A venerable elder 
addressed him on the danger of his soul, and pointed 
him to Jesus; and the announcement was received 
with joy that he had promised to give his heart to 
Christ. 

Our joy, however, was short, and gave place to 
alarm for his safety. He had not given himself to 
prayer. Sin had not appeared an exceeding great 
evil. He had not seen the plague of his own heart. 
" Deliverance from hell when he should die " was the 
motive that had prompted him to take an interest in 
the subject, and "having resolved to become a Chris- 
tian, he felt easy, and thought all right" 

In a meeting of inquiry, his pastor, who had 
regarded his state with intense interest, for the first 
time addressed him. He lifted his heart to Cod for 
him, but perceived, from his self-confident maimer. 
that "all was" not "right" with the lovely young- 
man, whom it seemed dangerous either to comfort or 
discourage. He "felt much better than he had 



NOT TO BE CAUGHT SO. 305 

done, and thought lie had given himself to Christ ;" 
although to Christ he had not yet bowed the knee! 

At the meeting for prayer which followed, he was 
called upon to pray J It fell like thunder upon his 
ears. It was the first keen arrow that entered his 
soul; Ins confidence was gone, and he could have 
sunk into the earth; yet he resolved to pray, "if he 
must sink to hell in the attempt." He fell upon Iris 
knees and uttered his Maker's name, but beyond this 
his lips were sealed; the heavens were brass, and he 
trembled before God. Remarks were interposed on 
the nature of prayer, designed, as he supposed, to 
encourage him ; but every word was a barbed arrow 
to his soul. Around was darkness, above Divine 
displeasure, within depravity, and beyond "a certain 
fearful looking for of judgment." He retired in con- 
fusion, and was for several days overwhelmed in 
despair ; " but prayer was made without ceasing of 
the church unto God for him." 

He awoke on the Sabbath with the distinct im- 
pression, as if whispered to him by some unseen 
power, that he must rise instantly and read the his- 
tory of the crucifixion in all the four evangelists ! 
He did this, and it filled him with a -view of the sin- 
fulness of sinners he had never realized : " How great 
their wickedness, to require such sufferings from infi- 
nite Innocence, before one sin could be pardoned, 
one transgression blotted out ! but his sins were infi- 
nite." He eagerly sought the sanctuary, but still 
continued "an infinite sinner" without a hiding- 
place. 

Though striving to hide his convictions from the 



30G SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

family, they were marked by all, especially by a 
( ihristian female boarding there, who felt for his soul. 
She affectionately handed him the invaluable tract, 
published by the American Tract Society, entitled 
Procrastination. It was a messenger from the Holy 
Ghost. He read, and the first tears shed since boy- 
hood began to flow apace. In the cases there de- 
scribed his own character was portrayed. " Not only 
darkness, but blackness came over him ;" his very 
spirit seemed to die; and, ready to sink into the 
abyss, holding firmly the precious tract, he fell upon 
his face and cried, "O Lord, O God, have mercy !" 
Long did he thus wrestle, and seek to pierce the 
heavens with his feeble voice. AVith tearful sympa- 
thy the lady of the house looked in upon him, but 
softly retired, and left him, like his Saviour, to grap- 
ple with infernal powers alone. But victory came. 

'•In Satan's grasp, on hell's dark brink, 
My spirit reels : ah, must I sink ? 
No, Jesus, no ; him I defy, 
While here, beneath thy cross, I lie.*' 

In the spirit of these Hues of the great Zwinglc, 
he conquered sin and Satan at the foot of the a 
and an indeseribabl inspired him. He knew 

not what it was, knew not that it was on : but 

frowns had left Jehovah's brow, and Je>us Christ 
was unspeakably precious. 

He walked forth exhausted into the open air. 
But what a world! and what a God! God in the 
rolling clouds, and in the rays of light, and in the 
music of the birds; God on the mountain-tops, in 
the lofty trees, in the verdant pass, in the flowers of 



"THE STILL, SMALL VOICE." 307 

the field, in the drops of water poured from the well 
to quench his thirst; God in the pendent leaf, in the 
glowing sun, in himself — everywhere God! "Glory 
to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will 
towards men." "If any man be in Christ, he is a 
neio creature." 

Years have passed away. With tears of grati- 
tude 1 and joy, and the warm affection of a father in 
God, the once anxious, now delighted pastor of J. 

L. K finds him a spiritual watchman high up on 

the walls of Zion. A man of prayer and eloquence, 
full of the Holy Ghost and of faith, an unction from 
the Holy One attends his ministry, and he has been 
honored in leading numerous souls to Christ. "With 
him this tract is a precious keepsake; somewhat 
soiled by use, somewhat faded in color, but of more 
value than his costliest volume. Its name is told to 
many; its fac-similes are recommended for perusal, 
and given away; but its precious two leaves, their 
weight in gold cannot purchase. It is to be kept 
till death, and its history rehearsed in the judg- 
ment. C. 31. 



"THE gTILL, 5MAJLL VOICE." 

The cloud of the Divine mercy had gathered over 
the church, and rested upon the lovely village of 

M , in New Jersey. A sense of the presence and 

the power of God seemed to impress the minds of 
all; the subject of religion became the engrossing 
topic of conversation in all places and among all 



308 BK ETCH BS PROM LI PE. 

classes. The saints of the Lord congregated nightly 
in the sanctuary, spending much of the time in de- 
vout supplication and in earnest exhortation ; and the 

occasional preaching of the word was "in demonstra- 
tion of the Spirit and of power." 

A much larger proportion than usual of the con- 
verts were heads of families, among whom were 

and his wife. The latter first led the way, and was 
found among the inquirers before the husband was 
aware of her deep convictions for sin. He had not 
been accustomed to attend regularly upon the preach- 
ing of the gospel, although frequently found in the 
meetings of the society in which he had been educa- 
ted. When he learned the state of his wife's mind 
and of her purpose to serve the Lord, he expres 
his satisfaction at what she had done, and encour- 
aged her to press forward in the path of duty with 
many loving words, and willingly accompanied her 
to the house of God. 

As for himself, he declared he was without any 
y e wliar sense of personal guilt as a sinner against 
God, or of any special obligation to devote himself 
to his service. He said ho did not feel more than 
usual on the subject of religion, but expressed a 
desire to become more deeply impressed with a mat- 
ter which he knew to be of the greatest importai 

In this state of mind he left home for the city to 
purchase goods, first having spoken words of cheer 
to his sin-sick companion, directing her "to read her 
Bible and pray;" promising her that he would pray 
for her while he was absent, though at the same 
time he believed himself to be without one serious 



"THE STILL, SMALL VOICE.'' 309 

conviction as to his own spiritual condition. Upon 
Lis arrival in the city, lie commenced his mind- 
absorbing duties, and for a season the world crowded 
out the things of eternity. The merchant stood in 
the auction-room, in the midst of tlie eager crowd of 
buyers, his mind absorbed in thoughts of merchan- 
dise and bargains, when in a moment he became 
lost in the midst of the crowd, and shut out from all 
the world around; and a voice so sweet, so clear, 
rang in his ears above the din and bustle about him, 
rising higher, swelling clearer than the voice of the 
salesman and the rap of his hammer — a voice which 
thrilled his soul as it uttered the blessed invitation, 
"Come to Jesus," "Come to Jesus," and which so 
touched the hidden springs of feeling, that the tears 
gushed from his eyes as from a fountain. He left 
the busy mart of trade with the voice of love and 
mercy sounding in his ears ; he walked the streets, 
and passed through crowds like one led by an invis- 
ible guide, while at every step he heard the heavenly 
call, "Come to Jesus," "Come to Jesus," and anew 
the tears would gush from his eyes and roll down 
the cheeks. He entered stores and counting-rooms, 
and in every place he heard the silver tones of the 
unseen messenger calling to him, "Come to Je 
" Come to Jesus."' 

He resolved to obey the call of God and go to 
Jesus, and to do it at once. With this determina- 
tion he returned home, and in the evening 1 
with the worshippers in the temple of God, eagerly 
listening to the message of the gospel: "Ho, every 
one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and ho 



310 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

tli.it hath no money; come ye, buy and eat;. yes, 

come, buy wine and milk without money and with- 
out price." Afl he heard of the merchandise of \ 
dom, better than that of silver and gold, and of the 
liberal terms, "without money and without pric 
his feelings were almost beyond control. Tears were 
glistening in his eyes; his lips were compressed, his 
arms tightly folded across his breast, and his body 

ced firmly against the pew, to keep in sul j 
tion his quivering muscles. He could hardly wait 
until the close of the more public service, when the 
inquirers were asked " to stand up for Jesus, and to 
come out on the Lord's side."' Then and there he 
made the wise choice, and fell at the feet of J< - 
crying, "Lord, I come to thee; cast me not away 
from thy presence. I give myself to thee, 'tis all 
that I can do." In the course of a few days, days 
of severe conflict and trial, he was enabled to exer- 
cise faith in Jesus as the great atoning sacrifice, and 
to rejoice in the application of his peace-speaking 
blood to his troubled conscience. He was made a 
new creature in Christ Jesus, and his heart over- 
flowed with love and gratitude, 

"His tongue broke out in unknown strains, 
And sung surprising grace." 

The voice which arrested the merchant in the 
marts of trade is calling after us: "Wisdom crieth 
at the gates, at the entry of the city, at the coming 
in at the doors; unto you, O men, I call; and my 
voice is to the sons of men." '"Turn ye at my re- 
proof; behold, I will pour out my Spirit unto you; 



"THE SINNERS' COHNER." 311 

I will make known my words unto you." "See that 
ye refuse not him that speaketh." 

"Delay not, delay not, sinner, to come, 

For mercy still lingers, and calls thee to-day ; 
Her voice is not heard in the vale of the tomb ; 
Her message, unheeded, will soon pass away." 

DAVIES. 



''THE 31NNERg' CORNER. " 

Last Sabbath it was my privilege to worship 

with the church at P k, where a precious revival 

was in progress. The members of the church had 
become earnest in their labors and prayers for the 
conversion of sinners; and not a few were hoping 
in Christ. 

Among the converts were two brothers named 
R . In the evening they related their experi- 
ence preparatory to uniting with the church. They 
had occasionally attended divine service with that 
congregation for years, but since these meetings be- 
gan, had been very regular in then* attendance, 
selecting the last pew in the most remote corner of 
the house for their seats ; their object being to avoid 
the minister, fearing he would speak to them. This 
was continued by them and their companions until 
that comer became known among them as th 

After a few weeks, it pleased the Lord to direct 
the arrows of truth to their hearts, and they became 
very unhappy. On their way home one evening, 
they conversed on the subject of religion, and were 



312 SKETi BES I BOM LITE. 

mutually surprised to find that they had similar 
feelings. They said to each other, it is high time 
they got out of the sinners 1 comer. The next night 
they went farther up the aisle, and placed them- 
selves where the minister could readily speak with 
them. In the meantime, their distress increased, 
until, to use the language of the elder brother, "I 
felt almost discouraged, and thought there could 
certainly be no hope for me." 

But the day at length broke, and they are now 
rejoicing in the common salvation, through faith in 
Jesus Christ. Having made a public profession of 
attachment to Jesus, they are DOW united with his 
people; and I humbly trust wfll by the grace of 
God, be "faithful unto death," that they may each 
receive a crown of life. 

How many of the beautiful sanctuaries which 
adorn our land have a corner within them: 

and how many, like these young men, studiously 
avoid Christians, especially Christian ministers, lest 
they should speak to them concerning their ever- 
lasting welfare. Well is it written, "Every one that 
doeth' evil hateth the light, neither cometh to the 
light, lest his deeds should be reproved. But he 
that doeth truth cometh to the light, that his deeds 
may be made manifest that they are wrought in 

Cod." J ' T ' 

. ♦ 

THE STUDENT AND THOMAS V . 

Two young men, students for the ministry, \ 
anxious to spend the period of the midwinter vaca- 



THE STUDENT AND THOMAS V . 313 

tion in active service for Christ. Possessing the 
true spirit of missions, they resolved like their 
ter to go into the neighboring towns and there 
preach the gospel. Staff in hand they departed upon 
their errand of mercy, and reached tin- Lovely village 

of M late in the afternoon of the last day oi 

the year 1835. Knowing no one in the place, they 
passed along the quiet street asking those they met 
to direct them to a Christian family. They intro- 
duced themselves, told their mission, and were cor- 
dially received and entertained by a pious lady. A 
few persons were found who sympathized with the 
purpose of their visit, and by their assistance a room 
was procured and arrangements made for public 
services on the evening of the next day. 

New-year's day was faithfully enipk^ed in visit- 
ing from house to house, talking of the things of the 
kingdom, and praying with the people. In the 
evening the place of meethig was filled with an 
interesting congregation, many of whom had been 
attracted to the place by a desire to hear the stran- 
gers, for their zeal had excited much interest. 

The younger of the two evangelists preached a 
most earnest and impressive sermon from Acts 17 : 6. 
Deep solemnity rested upon all who were present, 
and the word preached fell with power upon the 
hearts and consciences of the hearers. Yet thei 
were no visible manifestations that the bow draw: 
at a venture had been effective, or that the arrows 
of truth had been directed by the Spirit, and men 
had been pricked in then- hearts. 

The young ministers returned to then* studies 

pketclmi 2.4 



314 SKETCHES l'KOM LITE. 

with the consciousness of having done what they 
could in preaching Christ, which is " the best, hard- 
est, sweetest work on this side of beholding him." 
In a very few weeks the young herald of salvation 
was smitten by disease, and returned to his father's 
house; and after lingering for a few months, he 
sweetly fell asleep in Jesus. He had preached his 
last sermon, and was called to his reward on high, 
without knowing how precious had been the fruit 
of that one, and as it proved to be Ins last sermon. 

Among those who heard the young man preach, 
and to whom the word came in the power and dem- 
onstration of the Spirit, was Thomas Y , a man 

more than fifty years old. He was the father of a 
large family, was naturally kind-hearted and ami- 
able, but had become quite dissipated in his habits. 
Not unfrequently he would fall by the wayside, and 
on one occasion he was saved from death by being 
providentially discovered in the path on one of the 
coldest nights of the year. He was awakened to 
a sense of his condition as a sinner before God, and 
was brought to the feet of the Saviour as a penitent 
crying for mercy;* and in the course of a few weeks 
he and several more were enabled to rejoice in hope 
of pardoned sin, through the merits of a crucified 
Redeemer, and were enabled to tell to others " what 
a dear Saviour they had found." 

These converts were the first-fruits of a glorious 
revival which followed, in which many of the people 
hearing the gospel, believed, and were baptized. 
These were organized into a church, which has been 
greatly blessed of God, and has become a fountain 



THE STUDENT AND THOMAS V . 315 

of Christian influence from which streams have gone 
forth to bless our land, and which are also felt on 
"Burmah's shore and Allies strand." 

The conversion of Thomas V was a marked 

event ; the change was so decided that none doubted 
its reality, and all rejoiced in the change produced. 
Ho at once and for ever cast aside the cup of devils, 
and never in the course of his subsequent life of 
twenty-live years did he touch the polluted thing. 
He opened his house for prayer-meetings, and long 
was it the place where the people of God met for 
social worship. He was an active, devoted member 
of the church, beloved by all as one in whom there 
was no guile. He was pointed to as one of the 
most striking illustrations of the power of the gos- 
pel. His whole life was a commentary on his pro- 
fession. 

Two years before his death he was laid aside by 
a cancer which appeared on his face; slowly and 
surely it did its work, consuming almost the entire 
side of his face and mouth. He was a great sufferer, 
but in all that time he was not heard to utter a 
murmuring word, or express one feeling of inrpa- 
tience ; but on the contrary, was filled with a sense 
of God's great gooduess to him, in taking him from 
the horrible pit and miry clay, and preserving him 
through all his Christian course. Ho expressed his 
sense of gratitude that he was. not an inmate of the 
almshouse, where many, more deserving than he, 
were compelled to be. He was grateful that God 
had spared his aged companion, and given her 
health to minister to him in those offices of love 



316 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

from -which strangers, from the nature of his disease, 
would shrink. He was patiently waiting his ap- 
pointed time when his change should come. It was 
his delight to have his brethren gather in his room, 
and sing and pray with him. At such times his 
soul seemed to be on wings, and like an imprisoned 
bird beating against the bars of its cage, longing for 
liberty, so his soul longed to be free. When unable 
to articulate so as to be understood, he would at- 
tempt to unite in singing his favorite hymns; as, 

"There is a fountain filled with blood," etc. 

Thus wading through deep waters, he passed on 
towards the dark river that divides the heavenly 
land from ours. When conscious that the hour had 
come that he should be released from his sufferings, 
he cast a farewell look of tenderness upon his loved 
ones ; and placing one hand under his head, and the 
other upon his breast, he met the messenger with 
composure, and peacefully slept in Jesus. 

"Sweet is the scene where Christians die, 
Where holy souls retire to rest : 
How mildly beams the closing eye, 

How gently heaves the expiring breast !" davtes. 



"I'VE A PAIN IN MY BREAgT." 

In an evening meeting in Western New York, a 
Pew years ago, the clergyman called upon Deacon 

S to pray. He was a prominent man both in 

the town and in the church, but to the surprise of 
many he arose and said, "Please excuse me, sir; I 
am really unable ; I have a pain in my breast." 



"I'VE A PALN IN MY BREAST." 317 

Two evenings later a similar request was made, 
with a similar result. "I must ask again to be ex- 
cused,'' replied the deacon, "the pain in my breast 
is as bad as ever." 

On tho next Sabbath evening a meeting was ap- 
pointed for all who were earnestly inqiiiring, " What 
must I do to be saved?" and the pastor, surprised 

to see Deacon S and all his family present, 

spoke to him privately, explaining the true object of 
the meeting. " I understood you perfectly," answer- 
ed the deacon with deep feeling; "I have come as 
an inquirer. I fear I have deceived myself, and have 
never known the power of religion in my own heart." 

Towards the close of the meeting the deacon 
arose, and with a choking voice said, " I have come 
here to-night to make a confession. I have brought 
my whole family with me, because I wish to make 
it to them. I need not tell you that I hold a sacred 
office in this church, and yet, brethren," covering 
his face with his handkerchief, "I have neglected 
prayer in my family for six months, and yet, with 
unholy hands I have dared to carry around the ele- 
ments of the Saviour's, I dare not say my Saviour's 
blood. Do you wonder that I fear I have deceived 
myself in thinking I had been born of the Spirit? 
For the sake of the warning I hope it may prove to 
you, and for the sake of my family, I will explain in 
brief how I first came to neglect this duty. 

" I was at the breakfast-table one morning when 

lawyer Y called. He was shown by the servant 

into the room. I was just going to invoke a bless-, 
ing on the food, but as I knew him to be an avowed 



318 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

unbeliever in religious things, I said to myself, 'I 
will for this once omit the service.' It was our cus- 
tom to have prayers directly after the meal; but as 
I had neglected the short prayer, the same reason 
prevented me from the longer one. Turning to the 
lawyer, I said, as an apology to my family and also 
to my own heart, ' You are in a hurry, sir ; I will 
attend to your business at once.' I had then not 
the slightest idea but the evening would find us 
gathered as usual about our domestic altar ; but no, 
notwithstanding the remonstrances of my wife and 
the wonder of my children, since that day my lips 
have never been opened in prayer before them. The 
other night when I was asked to pray, I said I had 
' a pain in my breast.' It was not bodily pain, it 
was anguish of soul. God had begun to fasten a 
conviction of my guilt upon me. 

" Now, brethren," he added with a burst of feel- 
ing, " if you think there is pardon for me, I implore 
you to besiege the mercy-seat in my behalf. Pray 
God, for the sake of his Son, to forgive the dishonor 
I have cast upon his cause." 

His case was presented before God, and before 
the next meeting he was rejoicing in the fulness of 

renewed hope. Madeline Leslie. m 



HUMBLE OPPORTUNITIES 

A pastor in Massachusetts states that in looking 
bark over a ministry of more than twenty years, 
during which his labors have often been crowned 
with the divine blessing, no sermon has been pro- 



HUMBLE OPPORTUNITIES. 310 

ductive of so much visible good to souls, as one 
which, in the early part of his ministry, he preached 
to Jifteen persons. Ho had appointed a lecture in- 
stead of the stated weekly prayer-meeting. It was 
an October evening, damp, dark, and chilly. But 
few attended, and so far as he observed, they were 
all professing Christians. 

He had spent the day hi preparing the discourse 
on Horn. 10 : 1 : " Brethren, my heart's desire and 
prayer to God for Israel is, that they might be 
saved." Showing, first, what it is to be saved; sec- 
ond, how Christian hearts desire that sinners around 
them may be saved ; and third, that there is danger 
that sinners will not be saved. The room was poor- 
ly lighted ; the hearers were few and scattered ; and 
it seemed almost like preaching to the walls, at least 
so far as that part of the sermon was concerned 
which was designed for warning and invitation to 
sinners. 

But, one stricken heart was there. The next 
evening, a lady called on the minister in deep anxi- 
ety, and made known her errand by saying, " Last 
evening, at the meeting, I resolved that I would not 
let another day pass without coming to see you, and 
talk with you about the salvation of my soul." She 
soon gave evidence of having embraced the Saviour. 
She then set her heart upon seeking, by prayer and 
effort, the conversion of her husband, and in the 
course of a few months he sought and found peace 
in believing in Jesus. They entered upon the study 
of the Scriptures, and grew in knowledge and in 
grace. They labored steadily to bring up their chil- 



320 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

dren in the^nurture and admonition of the Lord, 
and had the happiness of seeing them all in early 
youth profess their faith and hope in Christ. They 
labored efficiently in the Sabbath-school, and there 
is reason to believe that they were there instru- 
mental in leading numbers into the path of life. 
They consecrated their wealth to the cause of Christ, 
and bestowed it freely in large donations to religious 
and charitable objects. In his business he was influ- 
enced by Christian principle to a degree which com- 
mended religion to those who had dealings with 
him, and to those especially who were placed under 
liis charge. 

It seemed a humble opportunity of preaching 
the gospel, when that little company of fifteen per- 
sons was assembled. But one mind was awakened 
and led to Christ. That influence extended, and 
has been spreading and increasing for twenty years, 
till the grain of mustard-seed has become a tree. 
Ministers should not be discouraged at any time, 
because they have few hearers. "In the morning 
sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thy 
hand : for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, 
either this or that, or whether they both shall be 
alike good." The Lord prepares the hearer. He 
opened the heart of Lydia by the river- side to attend 
to the gospel. Faith and prayer bring down his 
blessing. 

Christians should not wait for great occasions to 
do good, but be encouraged to sow the good seed 
"beside all waters." Improve small opportunities. 
"A word spoken in due season, how good it is." 



WAITING FOR A REVIVAL. 321 

Giving a tract — giving a tract, small as it might 
seem, lias often been the germ from which a clmrch 
has grown, and in its turn, that clmrch has been the 
mother of churches. Write a note of Christian en- 
treaty to a friend; speak to a child about Jesus and 
salvation. In this way Harlan Page labored so suc- 
cessfully. It is by Christians laboring in this man- 
ner that the great harvest of souls is to be gathered 
to Christ, L. s. 



WAITINQ FOR A REVIVAL. 

On commencing my ministry in J , I found 

the people had for a long time been divided into 
two parties, which agreed in nothing but keeping 
up the flame of contention. Prayer-meetings were 
almost unknown. At the beginning of my labors in 
the early fall, a prayer-meeting was commenced. 
The congregation paid respectful attention to the 
preached word, but the prayer-meetings were thinly 
attended, the party strife raged, and utter deadness 
seemed to be resting on church and people. 

I proclaimed the truth as faithfully as I knew 
how, but no good impression seemed to be produced. 
Soon repeated attempts were made to discontinue 
the prayer-meeting, but we struggled on through the 
winter, matters continually growing worse, and my 
own heart almost ready to sink. In May, I was 
absent two weeks, and when I returned found the 
prayer-meeting was given up. I said to my dea- 
cons, "We must start the prayer-meeting again." 
They replied, "No; we have never had a prayer- 



322 SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

meeting iu the summer, and can t sustain one." I 
answered, " We must Lave a prayer-meeting; I can't 
think of doing without one." That meeting was 
resumed, Imt during all the summer it dragged 
heavilv. My solicitude steadily rose, and at length 
amounted to agony! 

In August, I prepared a sermon on the text, 
" Thou art not far from the kingdom of God." My 
study was witness of the prayers and groans with 
which that sermon was penned. It seemed as if the 
question was to be decided whether I had not mis- 
taken my call to the ministry. I preached the ser- 
mon, and went home imagining I could see that no 
good had been done. I was well-nigh in despair. 

Two or three weeks later, I was told o£ three 
young ladies who were inquiring the way of life, and 
would be glad to see me. The news was almost too 
good to be credited. For twelve weary months I 
had toiled, and had seen no fruit of my labors. But 
at length the blessing had come. In two weeks more 
the whole place was shaken. In the village acade- 
my, containing about one hundred pupils, every child 
above ten years of age, and many younger, were vis- 
ited by the Spirit of God. Soon a little band g 
evidence 4 of a saving change, and began to work for 
the Master. Each of them selected one or two of 
their companions as the special subjects of prayer 
and effort, and where there was encouragement, 
would bring them to my study for religious conver- 
sation. I have never seen another so faithful a corps 
of Christian laborers. The good work went on. 
Converts were multiplied. Two, three, and four were 



WAITING FOB A REVIVAL. 323 

gathered '111 from a single family. The academy 
shared largely in the blessing. And still that band 
of youthful disciples kept on, unremittingly toiling 
and praying for the salvation of their mates, and 
leading them to the foot of the cross. For eighteen 
months the little company kept at work, and the sea- 
son of ingathering was prolonged, until one by one 
those youthful harvesters were nearly all scattered. 

I was talking one day with a young lady, my first- 
born child in the faith, as I have reason to believe, 
and she gave me a more particular account of the 
dealings of God with her than I had before had. 
She told me that she was solemnly impressed by the 
first sermon I preached, but resisted the blessed 
influence. A few weeks after, her impressions re- 
turned with increased power, and again she struggled 
with them and subdued them. " Then," said she, 
"you preached a sermon on the text, 'Thou art not 
far from the kingdom of God,' and my convictions 
returned with tenfold power." She* then told me 
how she had confided in her morality, and would not 
believe that she was at enmity with God; but after 
hearing that sermon her whole heart rose in rebel- 
lion against the Almighty. She hated God, and ha- 
ted the way of salvation, and hated me, and did not 
care what became of herself if she could only get 
rid of her distress. But the Spirit of God prevailed, 
and soon she came to her pastor with the inquiry, 
" What must I do to be saved ?" It would be impos- 
sible to describe the effect which this simple narra- 
tive made on my mind. I was amazed ; I was con- 
founded ; I was deeply humbled. My soul magnified 



324 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

the Lord. I resolved that I would never again dis- 
trust him. I had been unwilling to walk by faith; 
and yet the Lord had condescended to bless my poor 
labors, and was blessing them while I knew it not. 
That yom g lady has been for some time an efficient 

fcor's iie, and able articles from her pen L 
adorned the columns of the American Messenger. 

The lesson was invaluable. In many a dark day 
since, I have looked back to that interview, and have 
been strengthened. The words of that dear young 
disciple were like angels' food. God spoke to me 
through her lips. Ever since, when the clouds look 
angry, my prayer is, " Lord, increase my faith;" and 
I have cherished the precious sentiment of one who 
had seen affliction : " It is good that a man should 
both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the 
Lord." A - D - 



"THE QOOD JNEWS." 

On a Sabbath evening, a pastor in a beautiful , 
village in Massachusetts was speaking to his people 
from the words, " The blood of Jesus Christ his Son 
cleanseth us from all sin." Before him sat a young 
Lady, bathed in tears. In the morning the pastor 
sought her out, and learned that she was a native 
of Boston, where she had attended a ministry in 
which the doctrine of the words of this text had not 
been taught; that she was on a brief visit to her 
friends in the village; and, more important than all, 
was at this very time under deep conviction for sin. 



"THE GOOD NEWS." 325 

She quickly answered the summons to the parlor* 
and, recognizing the speaker of the previous evening, 
at once asked, almost abruptly, " Is the doctrine you 
preached last night true? Are those words, * The 
blood of Christ decmseth us from oil sin,' tru%?" "Cer- 
tainly they are true, my child," answered the venera- 
able man ; and referred her for proof to passage after 
passage expressing the same doctrine. With an art- 
less frankness she told him her story. Some months 
before, she had seen her mother and sister die. It 
then Hashed upon her with new distinctness, " I too 
must die." She was conscious of sin, and hence 
shrank from the thought of death. From that mo- 
ment she had been deeply impressed. Sent by a 
doting but mistaken father to the resorts of the fash- 
ionable and the gay in the hope of diverting her 
attention, the fearful thought, "I am a sinner, and I 
must die," would not leave her. Boding sounds of 
coming wrath were in her ears. Dismal thoughts of 
a coming judgment distressed her soul. In vain had 
she tinned to her pastor for relief. In vain had she 
been reminded of the goodness of God. She was a 
sinner ; and the mere goodness or mercy of God did 
not meet her case. 

Now, for the first time, had the gospel been clearly 
presented to her mind ; and with the quick instincts 
of one awakened and almost despairing, she felt, "If 
it be true, it just meets my case, and satisfies my 
wants." Hence, as she heard the messages of peace 
on the night before, her eyes had swum with tears, 
and her heart, as hope clasped the precious truth, 
or fear whispered, "It is too <j<»>d to be true," bound- 



326 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

jL'd with an untold joy, or sank in deeper grief. Doubt 
continued to return and fear to predominate through 
the long and gloomy night, and hence the eager qi, 
tioning, "Is that doctrine true?" 

For hdurs she pored over the passages of God's 
word which, with a compassion for our weakness all 
divine, assert and reassert, in many forms, the good 
news, " The blood of Christ cleanses!' Gradually doubt 
disappeared before the dawning light, peace took the 
place of distressing mental conflicts, and joy filled 
the heart to which it had been so long a stranger. 

The next morning, with a glad smile she met the 
man of God, exclaiming, " It is true, it is true : the 
blood of Christ does cleanse from all sin." She now 
believed, not because of his word, for she had felt the 
power of that blood upon her own guilty conscience. 
She returned peaceful to her home. She lived and 
walked by faith in Christ, in the cleansiwj power of 
the blood of Christ. The fear of death gave way to 
a joyful anticipation of an exchange of worlds ; and 
she is doubtless now among the blood- washed throng. 
How precious are these assurances of the sufficiency 
of Christ to weary and heavy-laden ones. How 
sweet the peace which comes to the soul, when one 
can say, with assured trust, "These words are t 

YAD. 



A BF(AND PLUCKED OUT OF THE FJFfE. 

A few years ago, on the invitation of a brothel 
minister, I went to assist him in his labors under the 
special outpouring oi the Spirit. I soon found that 



A BRAND PBOM THE FIKE. 327 

the Prince of darkness was at work throwing up in- 
trenchments and concentrating his forces to resist the 
influence apparent among the people. 

The most formidable enemy was a band of infi- 
dels headed by Mr. K , a man of unusual argu- 
mentative powers, exceedingly bitter in his attacks 
on the Bible, with a heart full of hatred to Jesus of 
Nazareth. These enemies of truth would attend our 
meetings one evening, and the next evening would 
meet to analyze and sneer at what they had heard 
in the house of God. Their comments were often 

bitter and blasphemous. Mr. K , then- leader, 

exhorted all to stand firm against the appeals of the 
fanatics, who, he claimed, were aiming to break up 
their association founded on reason and directed by 
common sense. 

In closing a sermon — referring to the eternal des- 
tiny of the righteous and the wicked — I announced 
that if any one present wished to converse with me 
on the subject of revealed religion, no matter how 
widely we might differ, I should be glad to meet him 
at any time and place that might best suit his conve- 
nience. The services were hardly closed when the 

pastor of the church, Br. C , said, " I am rather 

sorry you gave just such a notice. Mr. R is 

here, and will immediately seek an interview with 
you, and will make us trouble if he can. We know 
the man too well. He has for many years given us 
great trouble in our meetings. He has been the 
subject of many prayers, and is now regarded by 
Christians, (except his pious uncle .1 as a hopeless 
case, given over to believe a lie and seal his own 



328 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

fearful doom for ever." I replied, " Let us take his 
case ouce more to God. A Saul of Tardus was met, 
conquered, and humbled." 

Immediately after the benediction we saw Mr. 

E pressing his way up to the pulpit. He gave 

me his hand, saying, " Sir, I am an unbeliever in 
the Bible and in the doctrines preached by those 
calling themselves Christian ministers; and I pro- 
pose, as you have offered, to meet and discuss with 
yeu the points on which we differ." I consented, 
and we arranged to meet at the house of the pastor 
the next day at four o'clock. 

At the hour appointed, I found Mr. E 's 

horse standing at the gate, and himself quietly seat- 
ed within, ready for a combat. I gave him my hand, 

and said, " Well, Mr. E , I am glad to see you 

here ; you have, I suppose, come to talk a little on 
the subject of revealed religion as opposed to infi- 
delity ; and let me ask, are you still firm in rejecting 
the teachings of the Bible, and Christ as the great 
Saviour of the world?" He replied, "I am; to me 
the whole is a mere fiction, the result of disordered 
brains, having no foundation in truth; this I can 
demonstrate beyond a doubt." I asked, "Do you, 
sir, believe there is a (rod?" " Certainly I do, but 
not such a God as you and your Bible represent 

him to be." " Do you feel confident, Mr. E , that 

you are right upon this grave subject ?" " I will not 
claim to be infallible," he replied ; " but I am folly 
settled in the correctness of my present viev 

"Well, Mr. E , if you are right, I certainly must 

be wrong, and you surely ought to labor to convince 



A BRAND FROM THE FIRE. 329 

me of ray sad mistake, and bring me to the only true 
light; and now, as we both believe in a Supreme 
Being, who can remove our blindness and give us to 
see the truth, I propose that we agree to kneel down, 
each before his God, and here pray for each other: 
you pray to your God that he may open my eyes to 
see my errors and abandon the Bible and give up 
preaching Christianity, and at the same time I will 
pray to my God in mercy to open your eyes to see 
the fearful rock on which, I believe, unless you iv- 
pent, you will soon be wrecked and lost for ever." 
" I am not accustomed to pray/' he replied, " and I 
had rather not attempt it at this time." 

I urged again, " Mr. R , if you are an honest 

man in your religious faith, you surely ought to pray 
to your God to bring a brother man out of the gross 
darkness of Christianity, into the sunlight of infidel- 
ity ; and as my proposition is certainly a reasonable 
one, come now, let us pray before we begin to con- 
sider the points at issue between us ; perhaps we can 
get a little nearer to the truth if we seek to be taught 
of God." To which he replied, " I agreed to meet 
you to discuss points on which we differed — not to 
pray together. If you wish to pray you may. I 

can pray in secret." "Very well, Mr. B , come 

let us both get down before our Maker, and pray for 
each other." Again he hesitated and refused to 
kneel; but I still urged, "This is a solemn moment, 
sir. and I beg of you, if you will not pray for your- 
self, pray for me." At this urgent request he bent 
one knee to the floor. I still pleaded, " Get down, 
Mr. B ; we need help from God, and we may 



330 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

hope he will hear and help us in this time of need." 
He then placed his hands over his face and prostra- 
ted himself in the position of a true suppliant. 

Again I urged, " Pray, Mr. K , for me, and I will 

pray for you." The place, the circumstances, and 
our humble attitude, our bodies pressing warmly 
against each other, rendered it a momentous and 
solemn point of time, on which it would seem that 
the future destiny of an undying soul was suspend- 
ed. Prayer went up before God, not from one heart 
only, but from that of the pastor and one or two 
others who were present. 

After commending Mr. R to God, we rose 

from our knees, and I said to him, "We are now 
ready to talk. What have you to say against Jesus 
of Nazareth, that Saviour who when on the cross 
prayed for his enemies, 'Father, forgive them; for 
they know not what they do ' ?" He replied, "Noth- 
ing, sir, nothing. I cannot talk with you at this 

time." "And why not, Mr. E ?" " My mind," 

said he, "is scattered ; I camiot for some reason call 
up the arguments with which I intended to meet 
you; you will have therefore to excuse me for this 
time ; I will try and meet you again." " But hold, 

]\j r# J{ f have you no argument to urge against 

the Bible, none against Jesus, that we, like honest 
men, may look at it?" "None at present, sir, none 
at present. I am not in a proper condition to hold 
conversation with you, and I must go ; please excuse 
me for this time. Good-day, sir." He 'immediately 
mounted his fleet horse, and rode off at full speed. 

Sickness in my family rendered it duty for me to 



A BKAND FROM THE FIRE. 331 




return home, which I did the next morning. A few 
days after I received a line from a prominent mem- 
ber of the church in that place, saying that at the 

next evening meeting Mr. E was there; and 

when the invitation was given that any one desiring 
to be remembered in the prayers of God's people 
should manifest it, Mr. K sprang to his feet, say- 
ing, " Pray for me. I am a lost man. I am stand- 
ing on the veiy verge of ruin. My infidel foundation 
was entirely swept away when on my knees with Mr. 



332 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

W on Monday last. Friends, you have known 

my history and Avicked course too well for many 
years. I have, as you well know, been the unblush- 
ing advocate of open infidelity; and now I make a 
full surrender. I beg you to pray that if there is 
mercy for one so hell-deserving, it may be extended 
to my guilty, sinking soul. My former refuges of 
lies are all swept away. I stand before God and 
before you a condemned, lost, guilty sinner, and I 
beg your prayers that I may find mercy, and become 
a follower of that Jesus I have hated, persecuted, 
and rejected" 

This poor man soon found peace in believing. 
He became a humble follower of the Lamb, and 
could say to his old companions in sin, " Come, see 
a man that told me all things that ever I did. Is 
not this the Christ, the Son of the living God ?" He 
was baptized, and became an active, useful member 
of the church. He rejoiced to say of himself, in the 
language of the Lord to the prophet, " Is not this a 
brand plucked out of the fire ?" c. c. W. 



THE FAINTINQ PAPTOR ENCOURyVqED. 

In the early part of the writer's ministry, when 
the preparation of sermons and the labors of a pas- 
tor made large drafts on his strength, he was subject 
occasionally to great depression of spirits. He en- 
tered with zeal upon the discharge of his duties, and 
was anxious, perhaps over-anxious to see the fruits 
of his toils. It seemed to him that the blessing so 



THE FAINTING PASTOR. 333 

earnestly desired was long delayed, and he became 
almost impatient to see the promised outpouring of 
the Spirit. 

One Sabbath afternoon he had preached from 
the words, " When the commandment came, sin re- 
vived, and I died." It was hard work preaching. 
The words which he uttered seemed to rebound into 
his face. The stupor of spiritual death appeared to 
be upon the congregation. As the services were 
closed, he returned to his home weary and sad, and 
felt as if it would be a ground of fervent thanksgiv- 
ing if God would open the way for him to leave the 
ministry, never more to return to it. This depres- 
sion continued through the evening, and he arose the 
next morning with a downcast heart, as he thought 
of the preparations necessary for the coming Sab- 
bath. 

Shortly afrer breakfast the door-bell rang, and a 
young man of promise, with whom the pastor was 
slightly acquainted, was invited into his study. In a 
short time the conversation turned upon religious 
subjects, and, to the inexpressible amazement and 
joy of the pastor, the young man said that the ser- 
mon the afternoon before was the first sennon he 
had ever listened to with interest. It made an im- 
pression on his mind such as no other sermon had 
over made, and he had come to talk about his own 
personal salvation. 

It was a most welcome call to the pastor, and lie 
gladly availed himself of the opportunity to point 
his young friend to Christ. It was not long before 
he was rejoicing in the Saviour. In a few weeks 



334 SKETCHES FROM LIFE 

he had the happiness of welcoming him into the 
church. 

Having already completed his collegiate studies, 
the question of his future calling in life pressed itself 
on the serious attention of the youthful disciple, 
and, after many struggles, was decided by his enter- 
ing the theological seminary to prepare for the min- 
istry. At the end of his term of study, he became 
the pastor of a church in the eastern part of the 
state of Maine, and his old minister and friend 
preached his ordination sermon. He remembered 
his former sadness and depression, and thanked God 
for such flints as he was then permitted to see of his 
pastoral cares and anxieties. And now, after the 
lapse of years, he rejoices as he thinks of the trains 
of holy influences, beginning in time and reaching 
on through eternity, which had their starting point 
from that sermon, preached under circumstances so 
depressing. 



/, FfEBEL gUBDUED. 

Some years since, in the city of , Mr. L , 

a gentleman of liigh standing, and blessed with an 
interesting family, occasionally attended my minis- 
try. Outwardly he manifested a becoming respect 
for the house of God. As the Spirit of the Most 
High was present with us, and our meetings in- 
> d in interest, the wife and two daughters of 
Mr. L became more constant in then attend- 
ance ; but the husband and father took an opposite 



A KE13EL SUBDUED. 335 

course, and manifested a most decided and bitter 
opposition, not only to our meetings, but to Christ, 
and to all who professed his name. It is due to 
say that lie had been an affectionate husband and 
kind father, but he had no sympathy with the cruci- 
fied Son of God, or those who advocated his cause. 
The wife and two daughters became deeply con- 
cerned for their eternal interests, and soon by faith 
saw in Christ an all-sufficient Saviour, while the hus- 
band and parent became more bitter in his unpro- 
voked opposition to their wishes. He was sullen 
and morose in his family; in doors and out every- 
thing went wrong, and every attempt to reason with 
him was met with a severe rebuke or cutting sar- 
casm that at times made even his best friends quail 
before him. 

The wife and daughters of this " Saul of Tarsus" 
felt, as every lover of Christ should feel, that they 
ought to find a home among the people of God. 
The Bible, that long-neglected book, had now be- 
come the man of their counsel, and the command- 
ment came to them, " Deny thyself, and take thy 
cross and follow me." After pondering well the 
subject of making a public profession of their faith 
in Christ, the wife and mother deemed it proper to 
talk the matter over with her husband, though she 
had little hope of securing his consent. She did 
this in the most kind, respectful, and Christian-like 
manner, calculated to reach or soften a heart in 
which there might be left one tender emotion, but 
she met with a stern refusal to comply with her 
wishes. The more she reasoned, the more decided 



336 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE 

were his objections, and he pronounced her purpose 
to be only the hasty result of a wild religious frenzy. 

The question of duty now assumed an impor- 
tance that had to be met in the spirit of one willing, 
if needs be, to forsake all for Christ and his cause 
on earth. With a soul now consecrated to God, and 
a heart filled with love to her divine Saviour, she 
began to reason something on this wise : " My hus- 
band I love and honor, and will ever respect in 
all that is reasonable pertaining to this world ; but 
in what pertains to my future and eternal welfare, 
neither he nor any finite being has a right to assume 
to be my judge. It is a matter between God and 
my soul. And now, as the companion of my life 
has deemed it proper to assume to control me on a 
subject for which God holds me personally responsi- 
ble, I must, leaving consequences with him, follow 
the plain teachings of his word and Spirit, and iny 
own convictions that it is not only safe, but duty, 
under all the circumstances, to obey God rather 
than man." 

After counselling with her pastor, she again 
pleaded with her heretofore kind husband to waive 
his objections; but seeing that all was in vain, she, 
with her two daughters, yielded to then* sense of 
duty, and offered themselves to the church. This 
step was met by the husband and parent with fear- 
ful threatenings, causing them to fear lest, in a fit of 

ge, he might be left to commit some act that would 
involve the loss of life. Like the poor maniac among 
the tombs, he raved with fearful madness, declaring 
to friends that the step already taken by his wife, 



A REBEL SUBDUED. 337 

to say nothing of that she yet contemplated, was not 
only disrespectful to him, but virtually forsaking his 

society and making choice of that of religious fanat- 
ics. His bitter curses fell on the head of the pastor 
for having, as he said, over-persuaded his wife and 
daughters to make a public profession of religion. 
He even threatened me with personal violence if I 
ever again entered his house. 

It was on a Friday evening that Mrs. L and 

her two daughters deemed it their duty to offer 
themselves to the church ; and, after returning home, 
when all but the parents had retired, the pious wife, 
true to her God and family, said in substance, " Dear 
husband, it becomes my duty to tell you that our 
two daughters, with myself, expect, the Lord willing, 
on Sabbath next to be baptized and unite with the 
church; and may I not hope that you will be pres- 
ent, with no feelings of hardness against us, for I can 
assure you that the step we contemplate is, by each 
of us, 'the answer of a good conscience towards 
God.' " At this unwelcome announcement, the feel- 
ings of Mr. L were again aroused with increasing 

asperity. He became very indignant. " Well, then," 
said he, "you have done all this, and now say that 
you intend even to take another step, and that, too, 
knowing as you do my objections to such a -course; 
and now, as you have thus deliberately crossed and 
wounded my feelings, yes, blasted my fondest hopes 
of happiness with you, I shall leave you to look after 

and care for yourself. The truth is, M , you 

have ruined me, you have forsaken me, you have 
trampled my counsel and my authority under foot. 



KETCHES FROM LI I 

Mv manhood can never submit to such treatment, 
and, as I have no sympathy with your present reli- 
gious frenzy, we must, unless you retrace your step-. 
separate for ever." As he with hurried step walked 
the room, his anger kindled to a rage like an infuri- 
ated maniac, until he broke out in bitter and fright- 
ful curses on the head of the minister, declaring that 
if I attempted to baptize his wife, he would be the 
death of me. " I will shoot him in the very act. 
Revenge on the man I will have. He has broken 
up and destroyed the peace and happiness of my 
family." 

Well indeed did that pious wife know that her 
husband was a proud, high-spirited man, with great 
decision of character, and an unvielding, indomita- 
ble will. She knew but too well he meant all he hacl 

said. 

And now what was to be done? The vows of 
God were upon her, while she saw her worldly pros- 
pects blasted. It was the hour of darkness, that put 
her faith to the severest test. Until a late hour at 
night she continued to reason, with the faint hope of 
softening his excited feelings, but was unkindly re- 
pulsed at every attempt. She wept and prayed over 
the blindness of his mind and the hardness of his 
heart, but her tears and prayers were alike treated 
with derision. The point had now been reached 
when the faithful wife felt more than ever before 
that God alone could give relief by leading him to 
the feet of that Jesus he had despised; and, with 
unshaken confidence in His power to save, she com- 
mended him to His pardoning mercy. At length 



A REBEL SUBDUED. • 339 

her mind became calm, and her frail nature being 
exhausted, she sank down on a sofa and was soon 
lost in quiet sleep. Few words were falling from the 
lips of her husband, though he still continued to 
walk the room in a high state of mental excitement. 
As the morning began to dawn, the wife was 
aroused from her slumbers with the inquiry, in a 

subdued tone of voice, "Dear M , where does 

your minister live ? " At first the wife hesitated to 
inform him, fearing that he had resolved on imme- 
diately executing upon the pastor his fearful threat. 
A few moments, however, dispelled her fears on this 
point, as she saw a tear stealing down his careworn 
cheek, indicating that during the hours of midnight 
solitude he had, like the poor prodigal, "come to 
himself." Trembling with fear, yet in hope, she ven- 

' tared to answer his question : " He lives in K 

street, No. — ." 

Without stating his intentions, he immediately 
left his home, and was soon at my door. On enter- 
ing, he inquired: "Is Mr. W at home? If so, 

please tell him there is a gentleman below anxious 
to see him." In a moment there was a hurried rap 
at my room, with the message as above, adding, "Be 
in haste." Of course I was soon below; and as I 
entered the room, who, to my utter surprise, should 

meet me but Mr. L ! He immediately extended 

his hand, with nearly the following words: "Sir, I 
am a lost man. I am going down to nun. I have 
called to request your prayers for me before I he 
down in sorrow for ever. God, I know, is angry 
with me, and justly am I condemned; and though I 



310 • SKETCB ES FBOM LIFE. 

see no hope of pardon, yet I want to make a fall 
confession of my heaven-daring sins, and beg your 
prayers before I pass into the eternal world, and 
stand before God in judgment." We together bowed 
before the mercy-seat, and together pleaded with 
the King hi Zion, that if mercy was not clean gone 
for ever, it might be extended to this penitent, de- 
spairing sinner, now overwhelmed with a view of his 
sins and his final doom. His cry, "Mercy, O God, 
mercy, or I perish," still lingers in my ear. He was 
trembling apparently on the verge of hopeless de- 
spair. He left me with the promise that he would 
spend the day with his family in reading his long 
neglected Bible, and in pleading with God for salva- 
tion alone through Him who on the cross prayed, " Fa- 
ther, forgive them, for they know not what they do." 
The day and even the following night were spent 
by this now praying family in pleading before the 
mercy-seat for the salvation of this persecuting hus- 
band and father. God, ever true to his promises, 
heard their prayers. On the following morning, 
being the Sabbath, and while it was yet dark, he by 
faith caught a vision of " One hanging on a tree," 
bleeding and dying for the vilest of the vile. He 
could now see that the only way to heaven, the home 
of the blessed, is by the way of the cross, and was 
sitting at the feet of Jesus, a happy man. 

When the hour for waiting before God in his 

sanctuary had come, Mr. L was there with his 

now happy family. I had already entered the pul- 
pit. I saw him enter with a smile on his counte- 
nance. Without waiting to seat his family, he. in 



A REBEL SUBDUED. 341 

the presence of a large congregation, deliberately 
came up to me, and taking me by the hand, said in 
a low voice, " My dear sir, I am a happy man ; my 
soul is full of unspeakable joy : praise God, he has 
heard prayer, and I am out of hell. Jesus, that name 
I once despised, is now to me the one altogether 
lovely ; his very name is music to my ear. And now, 
sir, if you will have the kindness after your sermon 
to request your people to tarry a few moments, and 
will allow me to tell them what God has done for my 
soul, and if then they can and will receive such a 
hell-deserving sinner, and will allow me to accom- 
pany my dear wife and daughters in the ordinance 
of baptism and union to this church, I shall be truly 
a happy man. Will you do it, sir?" My answer 

was, "You shall have the privilege, Mr. L ." 

"With this assurance he returned and seated himself 
with his family. 

At the close of the service he related to the 
church the wonderful manner in which he, by the 
grace of God, had been brought to repentance and 
to hope in his pardoning mercy. He was received 
joyfully. With his wife and daughters he cheerfully 
followed Christ in the ordinances of his house ; and 
it is only necessary to add, that husband, wife, and 
daughters became honored and useful members of 
the church of Christ, and to tins day I believe they 
are all living epistles, known and read of all men." 
Another proof is thus given to the world that it is 
always safe to obey God, leaving consequences with 
him in whose hands are the hearts of all men, to 
mould them as he shall pi 



342 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

"CHRIgT IJM ME." 

A tastor was pressing on his people the neces- 
sity of immediate repentance and faith in Christ for 
salvation. Burning words issued from his lips as he 
proclaimed Christ the sinner's friend, and besought 
all to become reconciled to him. The sermon was 
nearly ended. Pausing for a moment he cast his 
eye anxiously over the congregation, hoping to see 
in some a determination to seek Christ without de- 
lay. No one, to his view, was ready to accept the 
offer. Saddened by the conviction, he closed the 
Bible and fervently poured out his soul in prayer. 
"Thou knowest they will perish — must it be so? 
then give me this desire, 'Christ in me* for ever." 
The benediction followed, and the congregation dis- 
persed to their homes. 

With a heavy heart the pastor returned to his 
home, entered his closet, and there before God wept 
out his desires. The night was a long, anxious one 
to that young pastor's heart. He felt that he must 
have his desire granted in the conversion of some 
precious souls. 

The next morning, while seated at the breakfast- 
table, the door-bell rang. " That is for me," said he 
to his wife; and rising from his scat, he met at the 
door an aged man, who, without waiting for a word 
of welcome, extended his trembling hand, and in a 
faltering voice said, " Sir, I have come to ask you 
what I shall do for my soul." The pastor led him 
in, and found him struggling under deep conviction 
of sin, needing only to be led to Christ as the sin- 



"ONLY BELIEVE.' 343 

ner's ransom for guilt. Before the interview was 
concluded, another came. It was a lady who for 
many years had resisted the Spirit's strivings, and 
till now refused to give her heart to Christ. The 
pastor welcomed her in, and such a season of re- 
freshing to his spirit followed in leading these dis- 
tressed souls to Jesus, as he had never known. 

Said the lady to him, "I shall never forget your 
last prayer on the Sabbath. It aroused my sleeping 
soul. ' Christ in me.' I knew Christ was not in me; 
and if it was necessary for you to utter that prayer, 
how much more for me. I could not rest till I had 
sought the Lord Jesus." Both had been led by that 
simple petition to see their need of Christ, and to 
believe in him to the saving of the soul. 

Six years have passed since that interview. The 
aged man has gone to his rest. Fresh in the mem- 
ory of those he left behind are his dying words: 
"Christ i)i me—mj stay, my all." The lady still 
adorns her profession by a consistent and devoted 
life. Others were led to see their lost condition out 
of Christ, and accept of him as their dear Kedeemer. 
That day's labor proved to be the beginning of a 
precious revival, and many were brought in the king- 
dom of Christ. " Christ in me," the sinner's need, 
the saint's reward. M. A. B. 



"OJNLY BELIEVE." 

A PASTOR, weary and sad, was sitting in his study 
at the close of the Sabbath services, painfully putting 
to his heart the craery of the prophet, "Who hath 



344 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

believed our report?" while the too ready words 
would come answering back, " I have labored in vain. 
I have spent my strength for naught, and in vain." 

He was roused from Iris revery by a honied 
knock at the door, which, before he could reach it, 

was thrown open, and Edward B , a youth of 

fifteen, entered the study. Pausing for no word of 
salutation or of welcome, he said abruptly and with 
impassioned earnestness, " I have come to ask what 
I must do to be saved." 

Startled by the suddenness of the visit and the 
agitation of his visitor, the pastor could only reply 
in the words of the apostle, "Believe on the Lord 
Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved." 

" Oh, I know that. I believe in Christ ; but what 
am I to do to be saved ?" 

" Christ has fully satisfied divine justice," said 
the pastor; "what we have to do is to believe — to 
trust in him for salvation." 

" Oh, there must be something more than that," 
said Edward impatiently. "I believe in Christ as 
the Son of God and the Saviour of men, but I am 
not saved, nor do I see how my believing in Christ 
can possibly save me." 

" Do you feel yourself to be a condemned sinner 
in the sight of God, Edward?" 

" I do indeed. I feel the wrath of God resting 
upon me, and I want to know how to appease that 
wrath, that I may be forgiven." 

Edward's convictions of sin were so deep and 
his desire for salvation so yearning, that his pastor 
1 relieved he had but to unfold to him the way of sal- 



''ONLY BELIEVE." 345 

ration through the atonement of Christ, and he would 

accept it without hesitation, and rejoice in a full ami 
free pardon. -Your belief in Christ,'* he said, "is 
evidently nothing more than an intellectual as.-ent to 
the fact that Christ came into the world to save sin- 
n< ra; whereas God claims the full consent of your 
heart to receive him as your own personal Saviour; 
and until von do this, you cannot in a saving sense 
believe in him. Y~our present anxiety arises from a 
consciousness of having violated God's law, which is 
holy, just, and good; and you seek to be reconciled 
to the God whose law you have broken. The Scrip- 
tures assure us that 'Christ is the end of the law for 
righteousness to every one that believeth.' That is 
to say, Christ's perfect 'obedience unto death; the- 
atonement made by him, is accepted of God instead 
of the righteousness of the sinner, which the law of 
God demands. You can add nothing to Christ's 
work; it is finished, complete in all its parts. All 
that you have to do is, only bdi ■■ 

As he purposely laid a lingering emphasis on 
these last two words, he was pained to see the flush 
of pride mantle that youthful cheek and the lip curl 
in scorn. " Only believe, only believe !'•' he exclaimed ; 
" do I understand you to tell me that I am to be 
saved without doing anything myself, that will render 
me acceptable to God". J "' 

The pastor now clearly saw that pride of heart 
was the obstacle keeping Edward from Christ, and 
resolved that lie would press upon him this point of 
simple faith until he should see that it was the only 
door of entrance into the kingdom of heaven, and 

L5* • 



346 BKETCH ES FROM LI 

that he need cherish no lingering hope of working 
out a righteousness of his own. 

After bowing then* knees in prayer, the pastor 
looked anxiously at the face of Edward, and Mas 
disappointed to read there only stubborn rebellion 
and unyielding pride. "Xow, Edward," he said, 
"will you not receive this salvation as freely as God 
offers it ? Christ has paid the penalty of your sins, 
and only asks you to take the pardon he has pur- 
chased. Do you, my young friend, accept his 
grace?" 

"No, sir" answered Edward with fearful empha- 
sis; "I cannot take pardon as a free gift. J am 
willing to purchase it by any sacrifice or any service ; 
but I can never humble myself to take it for nothing." 

"I am authorized to offer you no other terms," 
said the pastor sadly. 

"I might then have saved myself the trouble of 
coming here in such a wild night as this," exclaimed 
Edward, as he rushed from the study even more hur- 
riedly than he had entered it. 

The following day, as the pastor and his wife 
were at then morning repast, the click of a latch 
drew their eyes towards the parsonage gate. Ed- 
ward was there, and a glance was sufficient to reveal 
the wholly changed expression of his countenance. 
" O sir," he exclaimed as he entered the room, 
"Christ is a glorious Saviour; his salvation is a glo- 
rious salvation." 

"With what have you purchased it, Edward?" 
demanded his pastor. 

" Oh, it is its freeness that is its glory ; I see it 



THE WELL-SPED ARROW. 347 

now. I was so full of rebellion against God's plan, 
and so angry at you for refusing to argue with me 
and insisting on the 'only believe,' that for a long time 
after I left you I was in despair. I did not see how 
my sins could be forgiven. After hours of sleepless 
agony, finding no relief anywhere, my pride yielded, 
and I cried earnestly, ' God be merciful to me a sin- 
ner.' At the same moment my heart gave its full 
consent to the truth I had so long resisted. Foolish 
boy that I was, to think I could purchase such a sal- 
vation by any poor services of my own." 

" Surely my judgment is with the Lord, and my 
work with my God," exclaimed the encouraged but 
humbled ambassador for Christ, as he entered his 
study to resume his work for the Master. 

Thirty years of Christian fidelity have proved 
the genuineness of Edward's conversion ; and to-day 
his favorite hymn is, 

"Rock of ages, cleft for me, 
Let me hide myself in thee. 
Nothing in my hand I bring ; 
Simply to thy cross I cling." h. a. 



THE WELL-3PED ARROW. 

Ox entering my pulpit one bright Sabbath after- 
noon, I saw a gentleman present who resided in a 
distant city, and who, I had been told, rarely attend- 
ed public worship. I had intended to preach a ser- 
mon on the judgment-day, but when my eye fell on 
this unexpected visitant, I regretted that I had not 
selected a different topic. I judged that a presenta- 



348 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

lion of divine truth more winning, would be better 
calculated to gain his attention, and touch his heart 
But the hour of service had arrived, and with mani- 
fold regrets I proclaimed my message, aud the con- 
gregation dispersed. 

Several months afterwards, a member of un- 
church asked me if I knew that her relative, Mr. 

C , attended our meeting one afternoon, about a 

year before. I replied in the affirmative. She again 
inquired if I remembered the subject of my dis- 
course. I remembered it well. She then went on 

to say that Mr. C was deeply impressed by that 

sermon, that he regarded it as under God the means 
of his conversion; that he had set up the family altar, 
was a regular attendant on the house of God, and 
gave every evidence of genuine piety. 

My astonishment and my gratitude were inex- 
pressible. I thanked God that his way was not as 
my way. I was humbled and instructed. .1 saw that 
I had distrusted God's truth and God's providence, 
and admired the sovereignty which ordered that that 
particular sermon should be preached on that day, 
and that this stranger should be brought from afar 
to hear it. I rejoiced that the All-wise had selected 
the arrow which* seemed good to him, and himself 
had sped it to its mark. And with what prostration 
of soul and ardor of consecration and joyous trust I 
again gave myself to my work ! It is the glory of 
(rod to conceal a thing; but the day is coming when 
it will be his glory to reveal all that now is hidden. 

A. D. 



OUT OF PRISON. 349 



CHRISTIAN SYMPATHY 



BENEVOLENCE 



OUT OF PRIjSON. 

I had just been let out of prison. The two years 
which I had been condemned to spend there had 
expired, and I was free. 

Free ! but what for ? "Who would care if I were 
or not ? As in all the world no one belonged to me, 
I belonged to no one. I had been told that when I 
was an infant both my father and mother had died, 
and that I, their only child, tossed here and there, 
had passed from one stranger's hand to another's. 
I had grown a lonely, miserable, despairing young 
man, who, in a moment of anger, had brutally struck 
one of his companions. The trial had come, then 
the sentence. And now, that my "home" for two 
years, even if but a prison, had done with me, I 
knew not where to go. 

I nearly tottered down the steps of the building 
as I came to the open, free air, and at first I felt 
bewildered by the hurrying crowds ; but it was a 
lovely summer evening, and as I wont towards the 
west, fascinated by that glorious orb that I had 
missed so long, I soon reached the bay. 



350 



SKETCHES FKOM LIFE 



What a scene for a released prisoner! The 
thousand sails glowing in the setting sun, the pleas- 
ure-boats crossing each other with their dripping 




oars that seemed to scatter gold, the noble ships 
with, the many gay flags floating in the breeze — it 
was too much for me. I gave it one long, hungry 



OUT OF PRISON. 351 

gaze, and overwhelmed by so much beauty, and by 
my own desolation, I sank on a seat and burst into 
tears. Unmindful of the passers-by, my face in my 
hands, I felt as if my poor heart was breaking for 
ever. Steps approached, but I heeded them not. 
By-and-by I felt a shadow between me and the sun. 
Then the shadow was removed, and some one sat 
beside me. A hand was laid gently on my arm, and 
a voice full of kindness spoke words that I never was 
to forget. 

"What distresses you so? Will you not tell it 
to me ? I am your brother." 

My "brother." I, the stranger, the orphan, the 
prisoner, to have a "brother!" I looked up. A 
wild hope for an instant flitted over my spirit. 
Could it be possible that I possessed a brother with- 
out knowing it, and that he had found me at last ? 
Ah, no ; those noble features did not belong to one 
such as me. I shook my head to say how mistaken 
he was, and again hid my face in my hands. 

"I am your brother, hideed I am," he repeated, 
"Is not Christ our 'Elder Brother'? Is not his 
Father our Father? Are we not all brothers, my 
friend?" 

Blessed words — brother, friend ! The outcast, the 
desolate, the convict, heard them addressed to him. 
Blessed words — they came as messengers of mercy 
to lift up the crushed spirit and breathe hope to it. 

I listened ; I looked up again ; I opened my 
heart to that Mend. I told what I was. W]x> I was 
I could not tell. From my own lips he heard where 
J had spent the last two years ; and after listening 



352 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

to a story that came bubbling out of a mind cloa d 
within itself so long and sorrowful, lit' said : 

"My poor afflicted brother, Christ lias come for 
just such as you. His heart is yearning towards 
you. He is ready to save and comfort you. If y< >u 
have no friends, he will be your faithful Friend. Let 
us go home. You will, I trust, rind there the rest that 
you so much need." 

On that memorable first evening in his opulent 
and refined abode, during which I felt all the time 
as if I was in a most delicious dream that would 
soon pass away, I did not join the family. My ben- 
efactor knew very well how many emotions had 
already this day crowded upon me, but he partook 
of the refreshing meal which was brought to my 
apartment; and as we were at table together, he 
found out what I was likely to accomplish. I told 
him that I was above want, and that I bad aimed at 
entering into some mercantile house, but that I felt 
now as if all doors would be closed against me. He 
quieted my fears. He assured me that I had the 
opportunity to return and establish my character: 
and after offering me again his friendship, he left me 
comforted, cheered, healed. 

He took me to his counting-house, taught me 
what I did not know, watched oyer me, trusted, ah 
yes, trusted me; and now, haying labored in his em- 
ployment five happy years, I delight in the presence 
of one whose life is all to the glory of our blessed 
Redeemer. My whole existence is changed, and by 
coming to my Saviour, I have indeed come out of 
the prison of sin and sorrow. 



THE PIOUS WASHERWOMAN. 353 

May the choicest blessings of our God rest upon 
that friend, whose Christ-like love and charity have 
dour so much for a poor sinner. alpha. 



THE PlOUg WASH£F!W0JV1AJM. 

Among the flock to which it was once my joy to 
minister in one of our southern states, there was a 
poor woman who, at the age of fifty, in spite of 
every obstacle in her earthly lot, sought and found 
the Saviour. Few cases in my charge touched my 
heart more than hers. 

Though homely in speech and ungainly in per- 
son, she is yet, I believe, one of " the pure in heart," 
who "shall see God." Probably she never knew 
much joy until she found it at the foot of the cr< >s>, 
for her husband was a drunkard, and she lived in 
the midst of poverty and ignorance. Through the 
abounding mercy of God, some word froin my lips 
was made the arrow that pierced her heart, and she 
besought the Lord with strong crying and tears, 
until he heard her prayers, and gave her peace. 
And now with what a beaming face and hearty voice 
and eager grasp of the hand did she always meet 
me ! 

But her gratitude to the Lord who had bought 
her did not end in protestations of love to me, one of 
his ambassadors. Like the woman of Samaria, she 
coidd not keep the glad news to herself, but went 
about telling to others what a Saviour she had 
found. Where there was sickness, sorrow or death 



354 SKETCHES FROM LIEE. 

among her neighbors, there, by the bedside and the 
coffin, was I sure to meet her face of honest sympa- 
thy; and there, too, was her hand outstretched in 
such aid as even the poor can give each other. 

Once I was called to visit the sick-chamber of a 
young girl. I had been there often, for her decline 
was slow, had expounded to her the way of salva- 
tion, and she had listened with sorrowful, meek 
attention, but had not expressed a decided hope. 
And now her young life was wasting rapidly away. 
The time had come when she required the constant 
aid of those around her, for her strength was gone, 
and she lay as helpless as an infant. 

As my wife and I entered the house, one beauti- 
ful afternoon, we were met at the door by the hushed 

and tender greetings of our friend Mrs. G . 

"Are you here? " I said with some surprise. "Can 
you leave your work, and come so far at this time 
of day? " " Oh yes," said she, " I did up my wash- 
ing early this morning, and have been here all clay. 
The poor thing can do no more than a babe fcTr her- 
self now, and her mother is worn out with nursing." 

Ah, thought I, we call it benevolence when a 
wealthy lady selects from her ample stores a few 
delicacies, and riding in her easy carriage to some 
humble abode, spends half an hour beside some bed 
of languishing, and then, having made the inmates 
glad with her bounty, takes her leave. It is benevo- 
lence, and when offered from the heart, is a sacrifice 
well-pleasing to God; but how much greater the 
self-denial which the poor must practise when they 
would do a charity. "Of a truth I say unto you, 



THE PIOUS WASHERWOMAN. 355 

that this poor widow hath cast in more than they 
all ; for all these have of their abundance cast in 
unto the offerings of God, but she of her penury 
hath cast hi all the living that she had." Luke 21 : 
3, 4. In like maimer did our humble friend, for she 
lived by the labor of her hands. 

She then led us up to the chamber of suffering. 
How neat and pleasant had the hand of watchful 
kindness made the poor little room ! There was a 
clean white counterpane on the bed, and a window 
open beside it, through which the genial beams of 
the spring sunshine came in, and fondly strove to 
warm the slender frame upon which the chill dews of 
death were beginning to fall. Before the little look- 
ing-glass was a bouquet of simple flowers. 

The young girl was only sixteen. Her auburn 
hair was neatly combed back from her delicate 
brow, and rested softly on her cheek, where the 
tender bloom of youth still lingered, as feeling loath 
to fade so soon. Her mournful blue eyes were 
cast down. It was a sad sight, and at first we hard- 
ly knew what to say. But soon, taking the little 
transparent hand in mine, I talked to her of the ten- 
der mercies that are in Christ Jesus ; then opened 
the Bible, and read to her from its precious prom- 
ises. Mrs. G sat weeping, partly concealed by 

the bedpost. Presently she exclaimed, "Oh how 
tame, how sweet that is ! I have been trying to tell 
Julia about that in my poor way. I am so glad you 
have come." 

Some days before her departure the young girl 
expressed a timid trust in Christ ; but when the hour 



356 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

of darkest trial came, the glory that had been veiled 
with clouds suddenly Hashed out, 

•• And lit her raptured spirit up 
With joys unspeakable. " 

Her. faithful friend Mi's. G assisted in the 

last kind offices, and we stood together beside hex 
early grave, hoping one day to behold her rise, clad 
in garments of light. 

At length I was called to part with my beloved 
people, and in my farewell rounds I couM not forget 
this faithful servant of Christ, and loving friend of 
my own. It was moving to see her unspoken agony 
as she came out to meet me for the last time as her 
pastor. As I was closing a brief visit, she broke off 
a large branch from a beautiful oleander in full 
bloom, and said : "Give this to your wife, [then sick 
in bed,] with love and good-by from me." I re. 
monstrated with her for thus mutilating her only 
bush. " It does n't matter now," said she. " I do n't 
mind about it any more. I was only raising it for 
your wife, and now she 's going away, I wont love to 
look at it any more." She then wrung my hand, 
with tears and sobs and blessings on us all, and we 
parted. 

Some years after, a kind Providence gave me an 
opportunity of visiting that still cherished congrega- 
tion. Among those who called to greet me was Mrs. 

G , as hearty and loving, as ready with smiles 

and tears as ever. My heart overflowed into my 
eyes as I listened to her graphic account of the ob- 
Stacles that had threatened to interfere with her joy 



THE PROMISE THAT WAS KEPT. 357 

in hearing me preach on the Sabbath just passed. 
"I would not let anything trouble me," she said; "I 
was determined that should be a happy day. My 
poor husband got drunk, and railed against Chris- 
tianity: but I said to myself, 'It sha' n't trouble me 
to-day; I am determined this shall be a happy day.' 
This thing went wrong, and that thing went wrong, 
but I said to myself, 'I wont let it disturb me to-day, 
for I am going to hear my old pastor, and this must 
be a happy day.' And it was a happy day, oh, such 
a happy day ! It made me think of the time when 
you found me in our alley at the wash-tub, and spoke 
that word I can never forget to my dying day. I 
had gone to church for a wliile, and then dropped 
off. You looked so solemn at me, and said, 'No 
man having put his hand to the plough, and looking 
back, is fit for the khigdom of God.' Those words 
would ring in my ears." 

I parted from her with the assured hope that, if 
I see her honest face no more on earth, I shall one 
day behold it beaming with the reflected glories of 
the Lamb, before the Father's throne. u. T. s. 



THE PROjMJSE THAT WAS KEPT. 

In one of the churches of a neighboring city. 
which for nearly five years has steadily endeavored 
to impress the reality and the power of religion upon 
the district in which it is located, by monthly system- 
atic Christian visitation, a lady recently related an 
encouraging incident of her labors in the jail. AVe 



358 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

have seldom heard a more striking illustration of the 
importance and benefit of a strict fulfilment of a 
promise. 

In one of her visits to the jail a year ago, she 
found a wild young woman with a poor little babe, 
which had been intrusted to her care by its mother, 
who was imprisoned on Blackwell's island. The lit- 
tle sufferer, however, pined away and died, which 
had the effect of softening the heart of the young 
woman, and inclining her to listen to Christian 
advice. When she was about to leave the jail, she 
requested the lady to procure for her a much-needed 
article of dress. The lady expressed her fears that 
she should not be able, in so short time, but prom- 
ised to make the effort. Feeling deeply the impor- 
tance of doing it, she succeeded in obtaining it, and 
took it to her the evening before she left. The young 
woman was surprised, and said, " Oh, you have kept 
your promise with me. No one ever kept a promise 
with me be/ore. How shall I thank you ?" She was 
told to thank God, and to reform and lead a better 
life, which she promised to do. 

A short time since, on her accustomed visit to the 
jail, the lady again met the young woman, who was 
also visiting there. " Oh," said she, "how glad I am 
to see you. I have been wishing to see you so much. 
You remember the one you kept your promise with." 
She was entirely changed, her dress perfectly neat, 
her countenance, manner, and whole appearance 
altered to that of respectability. In conversation 
she said, " I have never drunk once' smce you kept 
your promise with me ; and my little boy, twelve years 



THE ORPHAN'S INDIAN MOTHER. 359 

old, whom I used to send for drink, and who used to 
drink too, has not touched a drop either." 

The lady spoke of her improved appearance. 
" And you think I have improved ?" " Yes, wonder- 
fully,"' was the reply. "Well, it is all because you 
kept your promise with me, and brought me clothing 
with your own hands." 

r A nice-looking woman at her side, who she said 
was her neighbor, remarked that she had told her a 
great many times about the promise that was kept. 
This was a small, unpretending act, but its results 
may be felt in eternity. 



THE ORPHAN'? INDIAN ^OTHEr^. 

Far away amid the western wilds lived and died 
a poor man and his wife, leaving six children help- 
less and homeless. Kind hearts provided for five of 
the orphans, but for the sixth, who was blind, no 
door stood open, no words of welcome cheered his 
sad heart. 

Colder and colder blew the winds of autumn, and 
thinner and more tattered grew the poor boy's gar- 
ments. At last, in sheer despair, he sought refuge 
with the red men of the forest. With a kindness 
that would put to shame many of more ample means, 
they in their poverty received the sad pale-faced 
stranger. 

Slowly the long cold winter passed away, and 
amid its sleet and snow the orphan trod, with no 
covering for his feet Wive some simple Indian moeca- 



3G0 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

sons. Often in bitter anguish did that young heart 
crave death as a welcome messenger, that should set 
him free from trouble ; and there was no one to tell 
him of the heavenly Friend who watches over his 
children in love, and lays on weak and weary shoul- 
ders no heavier burdens than he knows they can 
bear. 

One cold and bitter night, when close around the 
cabin fire were grouped his humble entertainers, the 
blind boy, too numb for words, too far gone for tears, 
fell into a troubled slumber, which must have ended 
in death, had not an old Indian woman clasped him 
in her arms, exclaiming in her native tongue, "My 
child !" and wrapping him in her own blanket, made 
room for him beside the fire. Through her exertions 
and kindness, his life was preserved. 

Years have come and gone, the blind boy has 
become a man, a noble, earnest man, whose life is 
beautiful, because daily brightened with goodness. 

Through hardships which would have crushed a 
less earnest, less trusting spirit than his, he bravely 
straggled on, bowing not beneath the iron heel of 
poverty, for, though his mortal eye was fast sealed, 
the eye of Faith yet gave him glimpses of a better 
country, even a heavenly, where he was certain there 
were treasures garnered for him; and so, girding his 
pilgrim garment close around him, he pressed for- 
ward, feeling the grasp of a strong hand, and the 
kind encouraging words of Him who "came as a 
fight into the world, that whosoever belie veth on 
him should not abide in darkness." 

Through the blessing of God on the skill of kind 



THE ORPHAN'S INDIAN MOTHER. 361 

friends, he was enabled to see somewhat, with the 
aid of a very powerful glass; and steadily plodding 

his way up the ladder of learning, he has gained a 
height unattained by many to whom God has kindly 
given every faculty, and ample means to obtain an 
education. 

A successful minister of the gospel of our Lord 

I Saviour Jesus Christ, he earnestly labors with 
voice and pen for Him who so kindly guided him 
from thick darkness and unbelief, into a saving 
knowledge of the light and joy of redeeming love. 

Could you hear from his own lips, as I have 
heard, the touching story of his eventful life, hear 
him tell of the noble Indian woman who, long years 
ago, listened to the summons of the great Spirit and 
crossed the solemn river of death, and while dwell- 
ing on her memory, hear him ask, "Have white 
women kinder hearts?" your heart could not fail of 
being touched. 

On the spot where stood that Indian wigwam now 
stands a Christian church; and there, standing in 
the sacred desk, has he, the once blind and friend- 
less orphan, in the vigor of his manhood, truthfully 
and faithfully expounded the richness of the gospel, 
and pointed listening souls to Jesus of Nazareth, 
who suffered and died for us, and has now passed 
into glory. 



1G 



362 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



HARRIET'? TAgK. 

" Dear me, if it was n't wrong, I should certainly 
wish these dreary storms would never come to keep 
one a prisoner in the house. No going to school, no 
taking a walk, no one even to have a game of battle- 
dore with, and my back aching so with sitting still at 
the piano. Nothing to do for exercise but to march 
up and down this long hall. Well, here goes then 
for a good brisk march." And with this reflection, 
Miss Harriet Preston, a tall school-girl of fourteen, 
proceeded to take as vigorous a march as she might 
indoors. 

In the midst of her rapid walk the drawing-room 
door opened, and a maid-servant with a broom in her 
hand looked out. " Oh, it 's you, is it, Miss Harriet," 
she exclaimed wonderingly ; " I could n't think who 
in the world it was marching up and down the hall." 

" Did you suppose it was a burglar ?" asked Har- 
riet, laughing. "I've no designs against overcoats 
or hats. I 'm only tired with sitting still." 

"Oh," said the girl, looking at her young lady 
almost bitterly; "and I'm tired with hard work. 
That 's the difference." 

The last words were uttered in an undertone as 
she went back into the room and commenced to 
sweep; but Harriet heard them, and they smote 
upon her ear with a strange sudden meaning. " Tired 
with hard work !" It had never occurred to her that 
servants could be "tired" in the performance of the 
daily duties, which seemed a mere matter of course ; 



HARRIET'S TASK. 363 

or that it could be part of her duty ever to lighten 
theirs. But now those few low words brought the 
thought, "I've no doubt Jane is tired. She has 
swept all this big house to-day; and I remember 
now her old mother is sick, and Jane stayed with 
her last night, and of course was broken of her rest. 
No wonder she feels it hard that I should be wasting 
time and strength marching up and down here for 
exercise, when I might get it just as well by giving 
her a rest. I shall go right in and finish her work 
for her." 

The kind thought no sooner came into the young 
girl's heart than she proceeded to execute it. She 
tied a handkerchief over her smooth braids, and 
pinned up her nice morning-dress, then she went into 
the drawing-room and said, taking hold of the broom, 
"Give it to me, Jane; I've a fancy for taking a 
sweeping-lesson myself this morning, and you go out 
in the hall and rest yourself. Here is a volume of 
beautiful engravings my father brought me last week 
as a birthday gift ; take those and look them over ; 
you '11 be careful of them, and I know you love pic- 
tures. I 've seen you look at these on the walls with 
all your soid in your eyes." 

The girl stood and stared at her young lady in 
dumb amazement; and when Harriet took hold of 
the broom, she stammered out, "Oh no, no, Miss 
Harriet, thank ye for the kindness, but you must n't. 
Ye '11 get all mussed and warm ; please do n't, Miss 
Harriet." 

But Harriet put her resolutely away, and began 
to ply the broom as vigorously, if not as skilfully as 



3(J4 



SKETCHES PROM LULL. 



Jane could have done herself; and the girl reluctant, 
yet touched and grateful, went out at her bidding, 




W 



and sat down on the staircase to enjoy the rare lux- 
ury of a half-hour's rest and companionship with the 
pictures, which appealed so deliciously to the love of 
the beautiful hidden away in her untaught soul. 

Harriet was well satisfied to have earned by hard 
labor a look of such beaming pleasure as the house- 
maid gave her when she came out, leaving the room 



"FEED MY LAMBS." 365 

in beautiful order. "The exercise has done me as 
much good as the rest has you, Jane," she said 
cheerily; "and hereafter, on sweeping days, remem- 
ber the parlor is to be my department." 

" Oh no, Miss Harriet, no indeed. Only to-day. 
Your mamma will be thinking, 'I'm sure it a'n't a 
hard place with her.' " 

" No, but the easiest place is hard enough for one 
that has to work all day all her life. It will be good 
for me to help you, and mamma will be glad ; she 
wants me to learn to be a housekeeper. And you 
can look at my pictures, Jane, whenever you have 
time. I know you will be careful with them." 

Harriet ran lightly up stairs, happy in the con- 
sciousness of having given pleasure, and with a new 
seed of good-will sprung-up in her heart that day. 
Jane took up the broom, and went her way with the 
bitter feeling giving place to a new estimate of hu- 
man kindness. 

Thus, in our simplest household paths, there is 
room for us all to "bear one another's burdens, and 
so fulfil the law of Christ." N. 



FEED JMY JLAMBg." 

A310XG the things a traveller would notice in pass- 
ing through our land would be the little white, red, 
and brown district school-houses; sometimes bare 
and unsightly by the roadside, sometimes surrounded 
by pleasant yards and spreading trees, but always 
found scattered at short distances. 



366 SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

Many years ago there might have been seen, 
nestling among the green hills of Northern Connect- 
icut, a modest dwelling surrounded by indications 
not only of thrift but of taste. Sons and daughters 
were growing up there, and it was the abode of con- 
tentment and happiness. The heart of the eldest 
daughter had been touched by the Spirit of God, 
and she had been led to ask in all sincerity, " Lord, 
what wilt thou have me to do ?" And his providence 
seemed to reply, "Feed my lambs;" and so, one 
bright May morning, with a brave and willing heart, 
she went out of her father's gate to obey the com- 
mand. The old school-house, with its disfigured 
benches, smoked walls, and dirty floor, was a striking 
contrast to her own well-ordered home, and she set 
herself to work to improve it. All that sand and 
water with broom and scrubbing-brush could do 
was done, and then the dingy walls were hung with 
the green branches of the hemlock, and festooned 
with the graceful running pine. Flowers, not in 
marble vases, but in broken pitchers, were placed on 
the window-seats and on the old desks, filling the 
room with their pleasant fragrance, and like a s\\ 
smile on a plain face, beautifying its homeliness. 
"When all was finished, the teacher and children 
rejoiced in the pleasant change wrought by the labor 
of their hands. 

In this improved school-house our young friend 
taught thoroughly and well the rudiments of a com- 
mon school education, thus laying a good foun- 
dation for future acquirements; and nowhere was 
Noah Webster better appreciated or more honored. 



"FEED MY LAMBS." 367 

Knowing how much the mind is affected by the 
body it dwells in, she cultivated habits of neatness 
and order. She remembered, also, that her scholars 
had hearts as well as heads, and taught them, both 
by precept and example, to love each other, and 
drew out and cherished all the gentle and kindly 
affections of their natures. She did not forget, 
either, that they had immortal natures, and told 
them of their relations to God, and pointed out to 
them the evidences of his skill found even in the 
stones of the street, and of his wdsdom and love in 
the springing grass, the opening flower, and the tall 
forest-tree. She read with them his blessed word, 
and commended them morning and evening to his 
paternal care. She told them of the Saviour, so 
precious to her own soul, who took little children in 
his arms and blessed them. 

But her influence for good was not confined to 
the school-house. As she went among the parents, 
making her home one week here and another there, 
her kindly sympathy won all hearts, and many a 
lowly roof and broken hearth-stone was gladdened 
by her presence. 

When the summer was ended, and she left the 
scene of her labors, she took with her not only the 
dollars and cents so faithfully earned, but the respect 
and gratitude of the whole community, and that 
sweetest of all rewards, the love of little children. 
Who of those now engaged in teaching, when her 
summer's work is done, and she goes back in autumn 
to her valley hill-side, or mountain home, will take 
such sheaves with her as the fruit of her labor ? 



368 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

THE DISCIPLINE OF TOIL. 

There are few who are satisfied with their condi- 
tion and circumstances in life, and there are many 
Christians who think they could serve God and 
their generation better if these circumstances were 
changed. But God appoints the lot of all his chil- 
dren, and gives them such work to do as he sees 
they are best fitted for, or as will best prepare them 
for future usefulness. 

A woman of much culture and education was, in 
in the providence of God, placed in circumstances 
where she was obliged to do the housework of her 
family, which often seemed quite unsuitable for one 
of her intellectual acquirements. She felt that the 
years she had spent in study were lost, yet there 
was a necessity laid upon her ; and though she some- 
times murmured and rebelled, yet, seeking divine 
aid, she went forward and did the work faithfully 
and well. Others besides herself felt that her life 
was a failure, and called it one of the mysteries of 
Providence that it was so ordered. 

But what were its results? The physical exer- 
cise required changed the complaining invalid into 
the strong and healthy woman. The constant doin" 
for others became a habit, and done cheerfully, pro- 
duced a self-sacrificing spirit, which supplanted her 
native selfishness, and ennobled her nature. The 
trials of her own condition created a feeling of sym- 
pathy with her fellow-men in their trials, and thus a 
fountain of benevolence sprung up in her heart, 
which purified and enlarged it, and was manifested 



THE TEACHER'S REWARD. 369 

in her daily life, and shone in her very face. The 
patience she was forced to practise, so foreign to her 
impetuous nature, became eventually easy, and, 
blended v% ith the humility her proud heart had 
learned in the school of self-denial, gave a charm to 
her mature life which no degree of mental culture 
could have imparted. 

Such were the effects upon her own character; 
but these were not all. The load borne by herself 
had given her husband opportunity so to improve 
his advantages that he became "known in the gates 
as he sat among the elders of the land." The hab- 
its of industry and self-reliance, fostered in a home 
where the merest household drudgery was made re- 
spectable and honorable, because performed by the 
respected and honored mother, produced their natu- 
ral results in the character of her children, and she 
saw them, one after another, filling places of honor 
and usefulness. 

In view of these results, are we not prepared to 
say that God leads his servants in a right way, and 
with good Samuel Rutherford, "When Christ draw 7 - 
eth "blood, he hath the skill to cut the right vein." 



THE T£y\CHEF('£ REVVED. 

" So you are coming into my class, are you ? ' 

said Miss L , with a welcoming smile, as Alice 

H took her seat in the form before her, one 

bright Sabbath morning. 

" Well, I suppose so," said Alice carelessly; "the 
superintendent told me to come." She noticed the 

16* 



370 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Bmile OD Miss L 's face, but she did not hear 

the sigh that escaped her lips. Alice had long been 
known as the wildest girl in the Sabbath-school. 
No one could manage her. She wandered about 
from one class to another; and, now, as a last re- 
sort, she had been placed under the care of Miss 

L , hoping that her self-denying piety and good 

judgment might win the wayward child to a better 
life. 

Here, then, she was, about fourteen years of age, 
with a bright actiye mind, a warm heart, intensely 
susceptible to impressions either good or evil, and 

determined not to be controlled. Miss L 's 

heart sank within her as she assumed this new re- 
sponsibility, but from that hour it was her untiring 
aim to lead Alice to the Sayiour. Many a morning 
and many a night witnessed her earnest prayers that 
God would saye that precious soul. 

She resolved to let no Sabbath pass without in- 
termingling with her teachings some word which 
might touch the hard heart. She took Alice with 
her to the Sabbath-evening meetings, hoping that 
she might there receive a blessing. She sought to 
gratify her insatiable thirst for reading by furnishing 
her with books which would elevate and purify, as 
well as interest her. She kindly but persevering! v 
corrected her faults, she encouraged her hi well-do- 
ing, till Alice loved, and even respected her teacher. 
This was a great point gained. 

Poor Alice had not the benefit of Christian ex- 
ample at home. Her father sported with serious 
things, and a smile of incredulity spread over his 



THE TEACHER'S REWARD. 371 

face as Miss L told him her desires for Alice's 

good. But at last, by her persevering kindness and 
affectionate interest in his daughter, she won his 
regard. 

One day he asked, "What makes you care so 
much for our Alice? She 's nothing to you." With 
a trembling voice the Sunday-school teacher told 
her earnest desire that Alice might accept Jesus 
Christ, and know the joy of forgiveness ; that God 
might be honored, and that his own dear child 
might sing the song of the redeemed for ever in 
heaven. The hard features relaxed, and the reply 
came, " Well, you 've done her more good than all 
the world besides ; no one else could ever have 
tamed her." How the faint heart was encouraged ; 
how her faith was strengthened ; and with what new 
fervor of hope did she plead that night, at the throne 
of grace,- for this precious soul. She could not be 
denied. The eye of the All-seeing rested upon her, 
mid his ear was open to her cry. Alice grew more 
attentive, loved her teacher more, and often, as Miss 

L pleaded with her class to leave their transient 

pleasures and turn to God, the tears would gather in 
her eye, and she would proudly toss them away. 

At length she told her teacher that she wanted 
to be a Christian ; and together they went to their 
pastor, who pointed out the way of life so simply 
that Alice exclaimed, "Is that all? I can do that." 
She was now really in earnest. Day after day she 
came witli burdened heart to the Saviour. He 
sends none away empty, and he filled her soul with 
holy joy and love. 



372 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Now old things passed away. All things became 
new. Every one around her noticed her altered ap- 
pearance. Her teacher saw a gentle light beaming 
in her eye, and a loving, childlike look upon her face, 
which spoke plainly of the change within. She felt 
that it was truly the Spirit's work. No human pow- 
er could thus turn the lion into the lamb ; the proud, 
bold, reckless girl of a year ago into the humble 
child before her. 

After a few months Alice united herself with the 
church of Christ, w T hose blood, we trust, has washed 
away her sins. e. 



THE OLD BLUE £Hy\WL. 

Many years ago Mrs. Fielding, through the divine 
mercy, became a humble follower of the blessed 
Saviour. Her husband was a pious and industrious 
man. A family of young children was growing up 
around them. At the time of her consecration to 
the service of Christ she resolved to save in some 
way every year ten dollars to give to the Missionary 
Society of the church of which she was a member. 
It required great self-denial and economy, but most 
gladly was it given. 

After a few years the family moved from their 
quiet village to a larger town, where the style of liv- 
ing and dress was much more expensive; and when 
Mrs. Fielding compared her plain and homely dress 
with that of her neighbors, she knew not what to do. 

" I must have a new cloak this winter, Mr. Field- 



THE OLD BLUE SHAWL. 373 

ing," said she, one day. "My blue plaid shawl, is 
sadly faded and thin. I have worn it six winters 
already.'' 

" There is very little money at my command at 
present," answered her husband. "If you get the 
cloak I think we shall have to give up our mission- 
ary offering this year. Our expenses have been very 
heavy in changing our home, and getting settled 
again. But here, my dear, is a ten-dollar bill. You 
can take it and do as you choose with it. I know 
that I can spare no more money, at present, beyond 
what is needed for family expenses." 

Mrs. Fielding sat for a while with the ten-dollar 
bill in her hand. "I really need a new cloak," said 
she to herself. "My old blue shawl is not fit to 
wear to church or anywhere else ; ladies here dress 
so nicely. But can I give up my missionary offer- 
ing ? AYhere would be the harm, just for one year? 
The money is mine. No, no, it is not mine. The 
money is the Lord's. I will do without a cloak; my 
shawl is thin and old, but I will fold it tight around 
me, and walk fast to keep myself warm ; and if my 
neighbors think less of me for wearing this old 
shawl, they must give me up ; the ten dollars are 
mine no longer." So the missionary offering was 
sent, the cloak given up, and the old blue shawl 
ready for another winter's wear. 

The next week a letter was received from a 
brothel of Mr. Fielding, who had recently lost his 
wife, saying that he had sent a box by a friend con- 
taining some articles of apparel that belonged to his 
wife, which he thought might be useful in the fam- 



374 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

ily; among other things, a handsome new broad- 
cloth cloak, which she had never worn. 

How wonderful did this gift from God, through 
her brother, seem to them. The box arrived, and 
many most useful articles were contained in it ; but 
the handsome broadcloth cloak, long, large, and full, 
was enough to make a half dozen cloaks of modem 
style. Mrs. Fielding, years after, said that she and 
all four of her children at one time had handsome 
and comfortable garments made from that one 
cloak. 

Does it not seem as if God looked with kind and 
tender love on this self-denying Christian woman? 
Verily she had sought first the kingdom of God and 
his righteousness, and all other things were added. 

The old blue shawl is still kept in the family, and 
valued as a treasure. Need I add that God has 
indeed blessed them in every way? Freely have 
they poured their offerings into the Lord's treasury, 
and freely has he showered his good and perfect 
gifts on this most worthy and God-fearing family. 

c. E. R. p. 

QENTLE LUCRETly\. 

My mind often goes back with delight to the 
school-days of childhood. One sweet face in the 
circle of my mates 1 still remember, perhaps more 
frequently and vividly than any other. It carried 
sunshine and happiness wherever it went. All quar- 
rels ended, and words of forgiveness were won by 
that loving voice, and by that eye in whose soft light 



GENTLE LUCRETIA. 375 

anger had not often mingled. The most hardened 
would hie away from the scene of contention, or 
frankly confess and amend their faults, if Lucretia 
were near. She rarely uttered words of censure. It 
was her holy life, her deep, unspoken grief for sin, 
that moved their hearts. 

After a time a revival of religion commenced in 
the place, and many were heard inquiring, "What 
must I do to be saved? " Others scoffed. Religion, 
they said, was an empty name. They ridiculed the 
church, and railed at everything sacred. But when 
the name of Lucretia was mentioned, all voices 
were hushed. Her religion they knew to be a living 
reality. 

Was it easy for her to be so good? She had 
indeed a gentle mother, who, trained in the school 
of trial, had learned to cast all her care upon God, 
and had taught her children that " He doeth all 
things well." But her father was a rumseller, a pro- 
fane swearer, a Sabbath-breaker, and an infidel. He 
was a lawver of considerable talent, and with ample 
means at command; and guided by a cultivated 
taste, he made his house and grounds the home of 
beauty. 

But in the attractions of earth Lucretia did not 
find her chief joy. She never weaned of contem- 
plating God, the purity of heaven, the blessedness 
of its inhabitants. The Bible and the closet were 
her delight. She was often overheard in prayer by 
her mother, who learned many a lesson of humility 
and trust from this simple-hearted child. At work 
or play she found sources of enjoyment that gave a 



376 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

cheerfulness, a joyousness to her manner, which sel- 
dom knew interruption. 

But a day of trial came — a day that made older 
and stronger hearts tremble. Lucretia had for a 
long time loved the Saviour, and was now anxious 
to join the church. This her father peremptorily 
forbade her to do. When her minister came to talk 
with her, he was rudely thrust in the street. Never 
before did her father's words sound to her so heart- 
less and bitter ; so loud and angry were they, that 
the neighbors were made painfully aware of what 
was occurring; but not one ventured to interpose, or 
offer sympathy. Many tears were shed in pity for 
the mother, and froin every heart was wrung a sigh 
for the timid child. Her father sternly declared she 
should never be baptized, should never join the 
church. What could she do ? She earned her grief 
to God, and asked his guidance. In answer to her 
prayers her heart was comforted, her duty was made 
plain ; and as Daniel feared not the lions, she feared 
not to obey God. 

The next Sabbath was the day on which, with 
many others, she had hoped to make a public con- 
secration of herself to the service of Christ; and 
when the day arrived she went forward and enrolled 
herself with the people of God. Her countenance 
indicated that, buoyed by faith, she had well-nigh 
lost sight of her trials, and that in spirit she was 
mingling with the innumerable company before the 
throne, k ' who came out of great tribulation," whose 
tears are wiped away. To more than one soul it 
was the " gate of heaven." 



"INSTANT OUT OF SEASON." 377 

What persecution Lucretia suffered in conse- 
quence of taking this decisive step the world never 
knew; but judging from the serene face she after- 
wards wore, no one could doubt that the promise, 
" Surely the wrath of man shall praise thee : the re- 
mainder of wrath shalt thou restrain," was that day 
fulfilled. 

So long as I knew her she walked consistently 
with her profession, and I since have learned that 
she is highly esteemed, an ornament to society, and 
a bright and shining light in the church. 

Fear not, trembling one. Walk in the path of 
duty, and when the clouds darken, and life's storms 
burst upon thee, and the billows threaten, know that 
God in his own good time will say, "Peace, be still." 

E. d. c. 



" INSTANT OUT OF.gEAgON." 

Nearly twenty years ago, a pious lady accompa- 
nied by her little child, applied for a passage on 
board a vessel about sailing from Boston for New 
York. The captain refused to receive her on board, 
saying, " Ladies are only a trouble ; and mine is not 
a regular passenger vessel." " I think you had bet- 
ter try us, captain," said the lady pleasantly; "I do 
not believe you will find us such unpleasant passen- 
gers as you seem to apprehend." The captain at 
last consented reluctantly, and the lady passed on 
board. 

After making herself as comfortable as she could 
for the voyage, she went out to watch the sailors at 



378 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

their work. There was something in her appearance 
and manner which won their good will; and when 
she inquired pleasantly about their work, they seem- 
ed glad of the opportunity to give the information 
she asked. From such subjects she glided easily to 
questions about home and friends, or something of 
their own history. Soon there appeared a change 
in the crew; they showed a kind watchfulness to 
meet the lady's wishes, and gratefully received a 
few select tracts which she gave ihem. Seizing the 
favorable opportunity, she pointed them affection- 
ately to Christ as the only way of salvation, and 
met such a response as showed her that the appeal 
was not without its deep effect. 

When the vessel reached New York, captain and 
crew gathered around her, some with moistened 
eyes, and begged pardon for their incivility when 
she applied for a passage. "We want to thank 
you," said the captain, "for the good you have done 
us." "You aie the first 'one," added a weather- 
beaten tar, " who has said a word to me about my 
soul since I left my poor old mother years ago to 
follow the sea." 

The Christian who has cultivated his spiritual 
eye will be quick to detect, at home and abroad, 
" a prospect of doing good " to some soul, and the 
opportunities which he is enabled to discover will 
multiply as he grows in grace, and his spiritual sight 
continues to improve. M. R. L. 



"MAX AT WORK IN HIS MEADOW." 379 

THE "MAN AT WORK IN HIS MEADOW." 

Some years ago the bure of Pennsylvania 

made an appropriation bo rempve obstructions from 
the Ohio river. Two companies, each with a snag- 
boat, wore engaged in this is, when one of the 

men received a stroke on 1, which sunk him 

in the deep waters. His body was found sei 
days after, and one of the captains, the only pious 
man among a crew of seventy, inquired of a person 
living near if there was a minister in the neighbor- 
hood who would attend the funeral. He told the 
captain there was no minister, but there was a pious 
man at work in his meadow, who he thought would 
willingly attend it. 

. This man was sent for; and laying down his 
scythe, immediately went to the funeral. When the 
coffin was let down into the grave, he addressed the 
company of boatmen. They were very attentive, 
and seemed deeply impressed. Then followed an 
earnest, appropriate prayer. The captains, when 
leaving the grave, each took this layman by the arm, 
and he endeavored to impress upon their minds the 
necessity of being prepared for death and eternity. 

On the evening of the next day, which was the 
Sabbath, taking some tracts and a volume of Bur- 
der's Sermons, he visited the boats of these river- 
men, and proposed to hold religious exercises with 
them. The captain said he would be very glad to 
have him do so. The crew were all seated in one 
boat, and the layman, after singing and prayer, read 
a sermon from, "Be ye therefore ready also; for the 



380 SKETCHES FROM LIFK 

Son of man cometh at an hour when ye think not ;" 
adding appropriate and pointed remarks, and giving 
them tracts. They listened very attentively, and 
God was evidently moving upon their hearts by his 
Holy Spirit. As he started for home, a number of 
them followed him, asking what they must do to be 
saved. And every evening, as long as they remained 
there, they came to his house, and he read to them 
God's word, endeavoring to show them the way of 
salvation through the Lord Jesus Christ, and prayed 
with them. 

Some time afterwards he received a letter from 
the pious captain, stating that a number of the crew 
had been hopefully converted through the blessing 
of God on his truth presented in this humble, plain, 
and faithful manner. That pious layman has now 
been for sixteen years a devoted laborer in the ser- 
vice of the American Tract Society. J. p. 



THE QATHERJNQ CROWD. 

I was standing one day at the window of a store, 
when my attention was fastened upon a rapidly 
gathering crowd just opposite. There were market- 
women with then baskets, loafers with their hands 
in their pockets, and boys innumerable of every de- 
scription. My curiosity was excited, and I crossed 
the street to see what had brought them together. 
It was with difficulty that I could gain access, but I 
soon perceived that the chief object of interest was 
a little boy sitting on the steps, who held up a bare 



THE GATHERING CROWD. 381 

bleeding foot, while some were crying around him. 
Many were asking how it happened, and who was 
to blame, as if the foot would be cured as soon as 
they knew how it was hurt. 

It was quite impossible for me to get to the child, 
and I should hardly have known what to do if I 
could have reached him. Presently I saw a«young 
girl's face looking through the crowd. I heard a 
gentle yoice say, "Let me come through, please." 
They opened a way for her to pass, and she came 
quick to the boy. Quickly drawing off her gloyes, 
she knelt down on the payement, and took up with 
her own hand the bleeding foot. I could see the 
little shudder that went oyer her when she reached 
it, as the blood was clotted oyer it, and dripped 
upon the payement. But she summoned her cour- 
age, and faced it brayely. She searched her pocket 
for something to tie around it, and taking out her 
handkerchief, said, " Has any one a knife ?" Half 
a dozen men's pockets furnished as many jack-kniyes 
in a moment. Quickly cutting off narrow strips, she 
knelt again to her work. Carefully she wound a 
little bandage around each bleeding toe. A wider 
strip she put around the foot, bringing it up to the 
ankle. She then folded the rest of the handkerchief 
around the whole foot. " Where do you live ?" said 
she, as she helped the boy to rise. " Sullivan's- 
court," he answered, sullenly. " Will you go home 
with him?"' said she to the little boy beside him. 
"Oh, yees, ma'am,'* was the ready answer, "I liyes 
there too." "Have yon any mother *?" she contin- 
ued, addressing her patient. " Yes, I 'ye got a moth- 



382 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

er." " I am glad you have. Does it hurt you very 
much now?" "Yes, it docs,'" stoutly affirmed the 
boy. "Well, it will be better to-morrow," she cheer- 
ily answered. • 

The crowd was dispersing. The boy was limp- 
ing towards home. She walked beside him, inqui- 
ring if. he went to the mission-school, and so forth, 
and promising to come to Sullivan' s-court and see 
his mother before long, she left him. 

Now there are few of us who have the ability to 
become Florence Nightingales. Much as we long 
to imitate her example, we have not the gift to do 
so. We should be more hinderance than help in 
hospitals. But we can all act the "Good Samari- 
tan" on a small scale. We can at least do as much 
as this little girl did for the unfortunate ones who 
meet us every day. Let us walk the earth with eyes 
open to see the wants of others, and hands ready to 
minister to them, remembering the promise of our 
blessed Master, that the cup of cold water, given in 
his name, shall in no wise lose its reward. u. Y. u. 



3EIXINQ THE PET BIRD. 

Henry was a lame boy, who could not walk alone 
even with crutches. He was therefore cut off from 
almost all the pleasures which other children enjoy. 
Some kind person had given him a mocking-bird, 
which furnished him a great deal of amusement. 
He loved it dearly, and set the greatest value upon 
it. He knew that fine mocking-birds bring a great 



SELLING THE PET BIRD. 888 

price, and lie felt that he was worth a little fortune 
in it. His mother was a widow, and very poor; and 
though Henry loved his bird, he would many a time 
haw been willing to sell it to obtain money for her, 
could he have found a purchaser. 

Nearly opposite lived an old lady whose nerves 
were so diseased that she disliked all noise, even the 
singing of a bird. Henry's mocking-bird annoyed 
her so that she often wished it dead. At last she 
sent a young woman to buy it for her, that she might 
kill it. " AYho owns the noisy mocking-bird, here ?" 
asked the young woman. Henry answered that he 
did. "Will you sell it?" He answered that he 
would. "And what is your price?" He did not 
know its value. What would she give ? " Mrs. 
Crouse had bidden her offer twenty dollars for it." 
" Ah, it was Mrs. Crouse then who wanted it. AVhat 
good fortune," thought Henry; "it would be so near 
him." 

He turned to his mother. " Please sell the bird, 
and take the money, mother." "You can't spare 
it." she said. " Yes, mother, I have often wished to 
sell it for your sake." " I can't sell it, my son, you 
love it too well. I should feel as if I was selling 
away from you your own heart." "I love you a 
great deal the best, mother. The bird only sings 
for me; you work your life away for me. Please 
sell the bird, mother, and then you wont be so 
troubled." "I can't, Henry." " I shall hear it when 
it sings in Mrs. Crouse's window," urged the boy. 
The young woman smiled : " It 's little music you '11 
hear from it if Mrs. Crouse once gets it." "But it 



384 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

always sing*" said Henry. "That's why the old 
lady wo 1 ' 1 ' ou^ wring its neck, she hates it? 

noise » • 

Henry was amazed. He did not know what t 
do. "Tell Mrs. Grouse." said his mother, "that t y 
bird is the pet or . i>^; lllnlis - -- n we cannot p 
with it." ! lhe ' g ' woman departed. H< 
looked thougi . fj ter her. He wanted to 1; 
his moth, r, but how could he sell his bird to bt " 
killed ! 

As Henry watched the pale face and languid 
movements of his mother, he reproached himself for 
not having sold Ins bird. When dinner-time came, ' 
he felt worse than ever, for there was only a broi 
loaf upon the table. "Why, where is your tea 
mother?" he asked. "Never mind my tea, child. 
I am going to look for work, and perhaps I shall 
have a cup when I get back." And the poor woman 
turned away her head to hide her tears, for she was 
almost discouraged in her sore wrestle with poverty. 
Her heart was giving out, as the heart soon will 
when the body is only half nourished. Henry could 
not eat. The bread seemed to choke him. TLe 
mocking-bird sang merrily. "I'm sorry I didn't 
sell the bird," he said. "You couldn't live without 
it," said his mother. "I couldn't live without yc 
and you are growing sick v % c *erty." 

When Iris mother went c " . asked her 
send a friend of his to sit with 'iim. When tl- bov 
came, he asked him to carry his bird to Mrs. Crou 
and obtain the money she had offered in the nion. 
in". The old lady was very angry with the biro. 



THE HIDDEN GEM. gy- 

Meh had just been singing ' s ; ■ „ ^ 

-°% too glad to get it in her c,,. L ,e,;,i,l 

it, and gave it over to the maid, with order^to 

, ^8 neck wrung instantly. 

"When Hemr^' • - - "Uijviiifr, fj -, 

r ■,.,! f • I,"' •' • 3U ' S11(4 W »S BUT- 

to^ss the Linl, l,ut "? . v ,, 1Vu , (1 ,.„ m 
Ale as Henry handed her t .gold eagles 

ueartto^t^'"^ 00 ^^^ 

Henry monmed his bird, and was very lone- 
•ome tor want of it; but he knew that "the Lonl 
-vetha cheer ul give," and so he tried to be eheer- 
'• ?e heard no more the songs in which he had 
. "ehghted, but he heard his conscience approval 
^Vanse he had denied hhnsehf and d oT2 

THE HIDDEN QEM. 

ws^enng-places, yon come to the hamlet of G • 

«*4 passing up between two hedgerows, T0U a '' 

; he door and an ample garden in front, with 
-trees and fl~.,--,. s i „ . i n v M . „ t ,,. 

,i „„!] T b F ea ' and an old-fash- 

| ?T 7 "" a ■' home of Mrs. H a 

-^-'-Ivofg. mners, with mud, quick ore 

-£« the freshness of youth, though far L 

hx this sequestered hamlet there was no stafc 1 
-^-orevenapkceof^orehipjhntlie^ 

i n 



380 SKETCHES FBOM LITE. 

i'mm a neighboring church went there to preach the 
gospel, distribute tracts, and to support a Sunday 

school. f-lj 

For many rears Mrs. H *s house was tb 

centre of these o" Here were the tr;u 

depot, the Sunday- cUool, and the preaching-statioj 
As the preachers preached gratuitously, she free] 
furnished fuel and light, and did the dutii 
ton; and so this benevolent enterpri- never 

embarrassed with debt. Besides this, Mrs. H 

kepi Pilgrim's Tavern. At her table the preachers 
and teachers enjoyed their frugal repast; and all 
this was continued from year to year. 

When more than threescore and ten, Mrs. H 

was active in the Sunday-school, ant\ for years after 
this had a class of her own which she attended 
regularly. She was constant as the day. On Lord's- 
day morning, when the teachers arrived from a 
neighboring town, they would find her there, a 
mother in Israel, her face beaming with benevolence, 
to welcome and encourage them hi then* work of 
faith and labor of love. 

She magnified her office as a Sunday-school 
teacher, an office for which she was well qualified, 
by her kind and gentle manners, her strong conimon- 
sense, and her devoted piety. Two things charac- 
terized her teachings. One was the order and aft a- 
tion which she secured. The other her profound 
reverence for the book of God. She received and 
explained it as the only and sufficient guide to faith. 
Her quiet earnestness showed that there were no 
doubts in her mind as to the divine inspiration of 



THE HIDDEN GEM. 387 

the Holy Scriptures: she believe J, and therefore 
spoke. Oh that this were true of every class and 
BVi iv pulpit in the land. 

She and her colleagues thus labored on for many 
years, praying and working, steeping the good 
in prayer, «ving it morning and evening ; and at 
length, according to the promise, God gave the in- 
crease. A neat and substantial meeting-house was 
erected in this dark and benighted hamlet. 

Oh, what a gratification was the completion of 
this place of worship to this little band. What a 
day of holy pleasure was the dedication. In was in 
the month of June. That morning you might have 
seen the friends coming from every quarter. Some 
on foot, and some in vehicles of every description, 
but all with smiling faces. It was a day of jubilee, 
fine fruit of many years' toil. The aged pastor of 
the mother-church was to preach the morning ser- 
mon. This added to the pleasure of the day. They 
loved him, and loved to honor him as well as to hear 
him preach. 

In the afternoon, this good old Christian and her 
veteran companions had another source of joy. It 
seemed as though God would fill their cup to over- 
flowing on this hallowed occasion. One of the 
youth who came out in former years to teach in the 
Sunday-school, and was called to exercise his gifts 
in their meetings, had since pursued a college course, 
and been ordained pastor over a distant church. 
This good woman had all along watched his prog- 
ress, and when informed of his welfare, or receiving 
a message from him, how her countenance would 



388 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 

light up with pleasure, and liow big the tear of joy 
that would start in her eye. He was to preach the 
second sermon on the day of dedication. 

The Sunday-school the next Sabbath was re- 
moved to the new meeting-house. It had been 
feared that when this removal should take place, 

Mrs. H through age and infirmity could rarely 

be present. She was almost as constant for some 
years after the removal as before. It was affecting 
to see 'this devoted saint, at the advanced age of 
nearly eighty years, on Lord's-day morning wending 
her way to the house of God by the aid of a walk- 
ing-stick and her chair, assisted by one or two of 
her largest scholars, there to engage in the Sunday- 
school, and afterwards in the worship of God. Nor 
did she cease this good work until the pressure of 
infirmities confined her to the house. Thus did 
this worthv woman answer the character of the 
righteous given in Psa. 92 : 12-15, " They shall bring 
forth fruit in old age;" and she died as she had 
lived, in the faith and hope of the gospel. 

Who shall estimate the usefulness of such a ser- 
vant of Christ? How many she taught to read the 
Holy Scriptures ! How earnestly did she press home 
the great truths of the gospel to her scholars' hearts! 
How many of them received their first convictions 
of sin and their first glimpses of the Saviour through 
her instrumentality, during the many years she thus 
labored among them ! Who shall say what a bless- 
ing she was, both to her own hamlet and to the 
world? Her record is on hi-h, though her name 
probably was never in print. 



WHAT A YOUNG CHRISTIAN DID. 389 

"Full many a gem of purest ray serene 

The dark uni'athonied caws of ocean l>ear; 
Pull many a flower is born to blush unseen, 
Ami waste its sweetness on the desert air." 

Her body lies interred in a neighboring grave- 
yard, with a plain stone to mark her resting-place. 
There she sleeps in Jesus, until the morning of the 
resurrection. 

"Whatsoever thy hand fmdeth to do, do it with 
thy might" R. F. 



WHAT A YOUNQ CHRIgTIA^ DID fOF^ 
CHRIST. 

Seldom have I heard of a more unpromising 
field of labor than the western part of the town of 

C . The inhabitants were deplorably ignorant. 

No effort had ever been made to raise them from 
the depths of sin and misery into which they had 
fallen, and no one had offered to lead them to the 
"Lamb of God, who taketh away the sin of the 
world." Such was then condition when the family 
of Mr. H came to reside there. On being in- 
formed of their state, Helen, Mr. H 's eldest 

daughter, determined to make this the scene of her 
labors for the Master to whom she had early dedi- 
cated herself. 

Trusting in her Lord for assistance, she went out 
one morning to gather some of the children, for the 
purpose of establishing a' Sabbath-school among 
them. She was very successful, curiosity prompting 
many to send their little ones. Helen hired a room in 



390 SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

the neighborhood and at the appointed time had the 
satisfaction of seeing about fifty children assembled, 

with some of their parents. Witt a heart rilled with 
gratitude she began her labors, and was delighted to 
observe, at the close of the services, that they were 
anxious to stay longer. During the following week 
Helen visited many destitute families, and ministered 
not only to their spiritual but their bodily wants. 
The next Sabbath the number of scholars was in- 
creased to seventy, all of whom appeared pleased 
and interested with what they saw and heard. In 
this way Helen labored patiently for four years; her 
school continued to increase, but as yet, although 
she wrestled with God night and day, her chief 
object, an outpouring of the Holy Spirit, had not 
been obtained. One morning, however, alter a - 
son of unusually earnest prayer, she was told that 
some one wished to see her, and to her surprise she 
saw the mother of one of her scholars, who, bursting 

into tears, exclaimed, " O Miss H- , what shall 

I do? I am such a sinner." With a full heart, 
Helen directed her to the Saviour, and ere long the 
troubled sinner was sitting at the feet of her Re- 
deemer, clothed in his righteousness. The Spirits 
influence was now felt among the people, and before 
another year had passed, Helen had the unspeak- 
able joy to behold many lost and wandering sheep 
' safe in the fold of the good Shepherd. 

Eight years have now passed, and over that 
hitherto benighted district the "Sun of righteous- 
ness " lias arisen, and his blessed influence has been 
felt in almost every dwelling. Is there not cncour- 



MISS SALOME. 391 

agement here for despqrfBing Christians, who fear 
that they labor in vain? "In due season ye shall 
reap if ye faint not," said our blessed Lord; and 
who lias ever known his promises to fail? w. 



JVllJSg gALOME. 

The pleasant echo of a KSabbatli-bell was dying 
away in the valley, when two little sisters started 
for the village church. These little ones were dressed 
in pure white, with beautiful embroidery on their 
frocks, and long plumes in their straw hats; they 
carried dainty fans, and gay parasols. It must be 
confessed that these children enjoyed walking up the 
broad aisle, followed by their mamma, who looked 
very much like a lady in the last fashion-plate. 
They fancied that simple village children would look 
enviously at the strangers from the city who conde- 
scended to worship with them. 

Just before the service commenced, a very plain 
woman seated herself quietly in the same pew. Cora 
shrugged her little shoulders, and directed her sis- 
ter's attention to the old-fashioned dress, and black 
mitts through which fingers peeped, not white and 
soft like their mother's hands, but stained and worn 
with work. "When this woman raised her bowed 
he-id, the little girls looked into her face, and then 
glanced meaningly at each other. It was a wrinkled 
\;wi\ deformed by scars telling of some fearful acci- 
dent, and the scanty hair under the lace cap was 
very gray. 



392 SKETCHES PROM LITE. 

Cora looked at her mother complacently, as she 
gently fanned herself, a ring glittering with every 
motion of her hand: she liked to see the soft color 
on her rounded cheek, instead of ugly scars. After 
church, the children exclaimed, "O mamma, that 
was the homeliest woman we ever saw." 

There was a low-roofed cottage in this village, 
with honeysuckle climbing by the door, and sweet- 
brier near the porch, in the midst of a dear old gar- 
den, where damask roses grew and large berries 
ripened. The sitting-room looked cool and inviting, 
when the very plain woman opened the door after 
church, she was tared and warm, but did not think 
of stopping to rest. One road leading from the vil- 
lage was very sandy, unshaded by a single tree; 
along this burning path this woman hastened, carry- 
ing a covered basket. The door of a small brown 
house was open, there a poor young woman lay in 
the agony of fever. Most quietly the visitor entered 
the room, and set herself to comfort the sufferer. 
With gentle art she smoothed the pillows, and bathed 
her face; without a disturbing sound she gave the 
room a peaceful air, and then sat down with a fan, 
to quiet the fever by the sweetness of a hymn sung 
so tranquilly that it was lost in sleep. In tin' gray 
dusk of the early morning this watcher returned to 
her cottage, having made the night less dreary for 
the invalid. 

No one in the village thought that Miss Salome 
was homely; she had a beauty of the heart which 
made rich' and poor "rise up and call her 1 
From the garden went forth constant gifts of flov. 



MISS SALOME. 393 

and fruit; into the cottage came tlie homeless and 
friendless i'or consolation; in the kitchen continual 
dainties were made for the sick ; thence were carried 
loaves of bread for the hungry. In times of trouble 
Miss Salome was ever sent for; she closed many 
eves in death. 

It happened during the summer, that the mother 
of these little girls grew very ill : the children were 
banished from the room ; they sat on the cool piazza, 
with sober faces. "We must send for Miss Salome," 
said the physician; "she will do her good." AVhen 
Cora saw the woman with the scarred face enter her 
mother's room, she did not again look scornfully on 
her plain dress ; very gladly she heard how skilfully 
those worn fingers soothed her mother's pain. Daily 
Cora stood without the door and waited for that 
homely face to bring intelligence of her mother, until 
she learned to think it a very lovely sight, especially 
when the news grew brighter, and the children were 
allowed to enter the room softly. The mother too 
loved that wrinkled countenance : through those lips 
she heard new things about Jesus, until she resolved 
to go to him herself, and take her children to be 
blessed, like the mothers of old, who sought Christ 
with their little ones in then- arms. 

Ere Cora and her sister left the village, they be- 
came very much at home in the cottage, and consid- 
ered Miss Salome a dear friend: forgetting now her 
homely face, they longed in any way to resemble the 
woman who, like our dear Lord, came "not to be 
ministered unto, but to minister." 



17* 



394 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



THE QOVERNEgg AND THE gLAVE. 

A youxg lady had gone from a northern home to 
teach in the sunny South. Her pupils were two 
nice little girls, and she found them good and docile 
scholars. She would have been very happy indeed, 
for all her surroundings were pleasant, and every 
one tried to add to her comfort, but all the seiwants 
in the house and on the plantation were slaves, and 
nobody taught them to read or write. Every Sab- 
bath when she went out to read the Bible to the 
slaves in their cabins, she could not help wishing 
very much that they could read the blessed book 
for themselves. 

One day, an old woman who was always erne of 
her most attentive listeners, said to her in a very 
entreating way, " O Miss Laura, if I could only read 
a little myself of the good words of Jesus." The 
young lady was as ready to teach her as Milly was 
to learn ; and fearing her employers would forbid it, 
she felt almost as if her heart would break. " Sure- 
ly," she thought, "it is not God's will to keep his 
word from those who wish to read it." 

At last she turned quietly and kindly to the old 
woman. " Aunt Milly,'" she said, "come to my room 
every night when your work is done, and I will teach 
you to read the Bible." She then went to the lady 
whose children were her pupils, and told her what 
she had promised to do. The lady said nothing, 
and Miss Laura went to her own room, where, fall- 
ing on her knees, she prayed that God would guide 



AN INVITATION TO CHTJRCH. 395 

all her footsteps, and teach her especially her duty 
to the poor slavi 

" Aunt Milly " went every night to Miss Laura's 
room ; neither her master nor mistress interfered, 
and in two months' time the old slave-woman could 
read the precious parables of our Saviour, and very 
glad and pleased were 4 both teacher and pupil at 
this rapid progress. 

When the hot season came, and Miss Laura 
must return home, before taking leave of her little 
pupils, she went to bid good-by to the slaves. Old 
Aunt Milly held her dress fast in both hands, while 
she fell on her knees and prayed God to bless the 
dear young lady who had taught her to read the 
good book. "And oji, Miss Laura;' she said, while 
the tears flowed over her dark face, " God icill bless 
you for making the Sabbath such a bright day to 
poor old Mil] 

Miss Laura went away with a glad heart, happy 
that in fulfilling her duties to God she had enabled 
one grateful old slave to read his holy word. c. 



AN -INVITATION TO CHURCH. 

One of the leaders of fashionable society in Phil- 
adelphia was Mr. D , a very gay and gifted man. 

His line personal appearance, rare social qualities, 
and great cultivation, made him sueh a general favor- 
ite, that no dinner-party seemed 'complete without 
his presence. • 

One evening, while dining at the house of a 



396 SKETCHES PROM LI I E. 

friend, the Holy Spirit put it into the heart ol a 
young married lady who was present, to invite him 
to accompany the family to hear a sermon by Rev. 

Mr. K , who was at that time preaching nightly 

to crowded houa 

It was not until after she had lifted up her heart 
in prayer that she could find courage to do what 
had been suggested to her; for in addition to his 
being much older than herself, it was well known 
that he never attended church, and his general 
ing was such that no one felt at liberty to introduce 
the subject of religion when he was present. 

On receiving the invitation, he said in his charac- 
teristic way that the ladies were all bo crazy after 

Dr. K , that he should be obliged to give up his 

seat to some of them if he went. 

Mrs. M at once proposed to take the head 

of the slip herself, and declared that n > one should 
dislodge him if he would only go. lie declined, 
however, but said he should be happy to accompany 
them as far as the church door. He did so, and 

when about to take his leave, Mrs. M besought 

him most earnestly to go in with them. 

Upon the spur of the moment he yielded, and as 
had been proposed, took the second seat in the slip. 
He was in a very gay mood, and at once began to 
joke with acquaintances sitting near him. He be- 
came quiet however, soon after the sermon began, 
and listened attentively until its cl 

On leaving the church, Mrs. M expres 

regret on his account that the services had been so 
long. But he replied that he was interested. 



AX INVITATION To CHURCH. ?, ( .)7 

Mrs. M was surprised, on looking into tko 

gallery the next evening, to see Mr. D sitting 

on one of the back seats, evidently wishing to attract 
as little attention as possible. On the third night 
she discovered him again, and at the close of the 
services saw him speak to the doctor as he was corn- 
ing out of church. 

He at once became as devoted to the cause of 
Christ as he had previously been to the gayeties of 
the world; and during the eight or nine years hi 
which he was permitted to labor, served his Master 
so faithfully, that in addition to his almost daily vis- 
itation among the poor, he conversed on the subject 
of personal religion with nearly all of his former 
associates. 

One Sabbath, after an absence of a few years 

from the city, Mrs. M took her seat again at 

the Lord's table in the old church. Presently Mr. 
D entered the slip, and sitting beside her, whis- 
pered that he was glad to commune with her once 
more. 

Xot long after, when about to go forth on an 
errand of mercy, he stopped at the door and re- 
marked that he believed he should not go, for he 
was not feeling quite well. His labors of love were 
over ; the Lord had called him ; and in five minutes 

he died. 

• 

What a source of constant joy it must be to that 
lady to think that God honored so simple an act as 
an invitation to church, in the conversion of one, 
and eternity may show many souls. 

Even if you are not a Christian yourself, will you 



398 8 K E T GHE S F R M L i 

not put forth a little effort to lead some friend into 
the way of everlasting bliss, though you may not 
enjoy it with them? But if you are a child of God, 

and accustomed to seek the daily guidance of the 
Holy Spirit, be persuaded by this example to follow 
out as far as possible every suggestion of your heart 
for the salvation of your fellow-men, and you too 
may be able to gather many stars for your crown. 



"ALWAYg A BRIQHT JSIDE." 

"It is too bad, Aunt Sarah,"' said Emily Ward; 
" I cannot bear it. Here I have lived with you and 
Uncle' William these fifteen yDars, until no other" 
spot in the world can seem like home to me. And 
now I must leave you, must give up the society 
which I prize, the privileges to which I have been 
accustomed, and the luxuries which have become 
necessaries to me,, and go back to Oldtown, where 
there is nothing to interest me, and no one for whom 
I care. I never can be happy tli< 

"There is always a blight side to every dark 
cloud, my dear girl, and I hope you will find it s«> in 
this present trial. I know it seems hard to you to 
exchange 4 the city for the country; but remember it 
is God wko has appointed this lot for you, and if 
you submit to it as his appointment, and seek to 
fulfil its duties, you cannot long remain unhappy." 

" Duties, Aunt Sarah ! Pray, what duties have 
I to do at Oldtown? I do not intend to meddle 
with the people there, I assure you. All I ask of 



''ALWAYS A BRIGHT SIDE." 399 

them is to let me alone. It seems the strangest 
provision in my father's will that lie should require 
me to reside there three years previous to my com- 
ing of age. I am sure that my twenty-first birthday 
will be hailed with joy that it releases me from such 
captivity." 

" You will understand your father and the duties 
which I spoke of better, dear girl, when you read 
the letter which he left for you." "A letter from 
my father, and for me! Where is it, dear auntie? 
when did he write it ? and why have I not seen it 
sooner?" " You were, as you know, little more than 
an infant when my dying sister gave you to my care ; 
and when, a year afterwards, your father left for the 
Mediterranean hi a hopeless effort to regain his rap- 
idly wasting health, he too desired that your moth- 
er's sister should bring up the child so soon to be 
an orphan. He knew that in the remote district 
where his paternal estate was situated you could not 
be properly educated, and therefore he directed your 
removal hither. But it was his express injunction 
that your school life should cease at eighteen, and 
that you should then return to Oldtown for at least 
a three years' residence, leaving to your own elec- 
tion after that the choice of a home. He hoped 
that his faithful housekeeper might live to welcome 
you. and to care for you as she did for your mother. 
If that hope was frustrated, he desired me to pro- 
vide a suitable person to fill her place. A sealed 
letter was left for you, to be first opened by yourself 
when you should arrive at Oldtown; and until the 
appointed time, you were to remain ignorant of its 



400 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

existence, and of the arrangements whicli he had 
thus made for your future. Your eighteenth birth- 
day has now been happily celebrated, and to-mor- 
row we start for the place of your birth, agreeably 
to your father's injunctions." "You will go with 
me, then, dear Aunt Sarah; you will not leave me 
alone with strangers?" "I shall certainly accom- 
pany you, dear child; but when I have seen you 
settled, I must return. The old housekeeper, Mrs. 
Goodwin, has happily survived, and is anxiously ex- 
pecting you." 

Emily Ward's heart was melted by her father's 
letter. It told of his own idle and wasted youth, of 
his late repentance, of the conviction which came 
from his knowledge of and union with her angel 
mother, that it was his duty to redeem the past by 
living among his tenants, and caring for then- wel- 
fare and elevation— of the early frustration of his 
dawning purposes to live for God and humanity. 
He besought the child whom he should never more 
see on earth to carry forward his unfulfilled design 
aMeast for three years, as she hoped for God's favor 
and a dying father's blessing. 

Ah, she needed not then to ask what duties 
awaited her. The faithful Goodwin, who had known 
and loved her parents— having been the foster-sister 
of her mother— was an able assistant, and Aimt 
Sarah proved a judicious counsellor. Emily first 
sought a personal knowledge of those whom she 
wished to benefit, and endeared herself to them by 
many acts of kindness performed with her own hands. 
Next sh.> gave them the means of physical and men- 



A NOBLE DEACON. 401 

tal improvement, to the diligent use of which hex 

favor was at once a stimulus and a reward. 

Then in the light of her own quickened conscience 
she saw and helped them to see their religious duties. 
She established weekly Sabbath instruction, and en- 
couraged it by her own punctual attendance. Soon 
the improvement in Oldtown and the steady devo- 
tion of its young mistress awakened the observation 
of other proprietors, and brought to Emily new ami 
desirable acquaintance. Her purest friendships 
were now formed, her best and highest powers de- 
veloped. 

And when her twenty-first birthday was celebra- 
ted in the midst of her grateful and loving tenantry, 
and she had declared her free choice to live and die 
among them, Aunt Sarah put the crowning stroke to 
her happiness, by the assurance that her uncle had 
that morning purchased the nearest vacant estate, 
so that the bitterness of a separation from those she 
loved was now removed. Thus was duty made hap- 
piness, and the dark cloud showed " its bright side." 

E. N. H. 



A ^OBLE DEACOJM. 

A sprightly writer, sketching the cnaracter'of 
the late excellent Hon. Daniel Safford of Boston, 
gives some pleasing illustrations : 

A widow and three daughters who lived by their 
needle, said they could not afford the time to attend 
evening meetings. He might have told them that 
their souls were much more important than their 



402 SKETCHES PKOM LIFE. 

bodies, but he did not, because he was as wise as lie 
was good. He just made up to them the time il 
spent at meeting. They were all converted. 

A young Irish girl came to his door with a sad 
story of a lost husband, a lost child, a cruel landlord, 
"a praste" that "had too many poor already." His 
family was sent to look after her, a bed was provided 
for her at the hospital, and after three weeks her 
happy face was at his door, "the nicest boy in the 
city" in her arms, and she begging leave to call him 
" Daniel Safford," and give him Mr. Safford's religion 
too, because he "tuk pity on me when my heart was 
bruk." Twenty-five years afterwards she came to 
his house to weep for his death. 

Mr. Safford would have a prayer somewhere in 
all his parties. People objected that it was incon- 
gruous. He wished, he answered, to, allow nothing 
in his own house which would not harmonize with 
religious worship. He hit a principle square on the 
head. An Irish Catholic woman forty years old 
wanted to be his cook, because she had heard that 
no dinners were cooked on Sunday. She was told 
that as the servants were considered members of the 
household, they were always expected to be present 
at family prayers, and if she could not conscientious- 
ly unite with them, it would be better for her not to 
come. She came, and was allowed to use her Douay 
version of the Bible — note the wisdom of this man — 
nobody interfered with her or tried to proselyte her. 
• In a few months she began to cry over the '-beauti- 
ful hymns." Then she wanted her eight-year old 
nephew to go to Mr. Safford's Sabbath-school; then 



"LOVE YE THE STRANGER. " 403 

she wanted a seat in his church, "for," said she, "I 
have been observing the religion of this family ever 
since T came into it, and it seems to me more like 
what I find in the Bible than that of the Catholics." 
So she became a Christian, and died in the faith of 
Christ. 



LOVE YE THE J3TRANQER." 

DEUT. 10 : 19. 

The Scriptures abound with instructions to re- 
member the stranger. The multitude who land on 
our shores have a peculiar call upon our sympathy 
and Christian attention, whether we take in view the 
pivciousness of their immortal souls, or the influence 
they may exert on the future of our nation. Many of 
them are far from being attractive, but may be influ- 
enced for good by instruction and kindness. Some 
have left the happy influences of a pious home and 
the very bosom of a Christian church ; but having 
parted with the little they possessed of worldly goods, 
in their poverty they shrink from observation, fail to 
attend the means of grace, and gradually .become 
indifferent to religion, if they do not join its open 
enemies. Can we not, by greater personal effort, 
seek out and save souls? 

In one instance I found my way into a garret, 
and saw an interesting female sitting with an infant 
on a low bench, surrounded by several little ones, 
apparently destitute of every comfort. There were 
no chairs, no furniture; a little closet opened from 



lnf SKETCfHES FROM LI PE. 

the room, in which there was something she called a 

bed on the floor, the only place of earthly rest for 
their stricken ones. Complete dejection marked all 
her movements. To the question, "How long have 
you lived here ?" she replied : 

"A few weeks, if it maybe called living. My 
husband is a carpenter, but can get no work. He 
came to this country before I did, but lost « 
thing on his passage. I followed with the children, 
not knowing his loss. He goes out every day to try 
and get work, but God has forsaken us, and I know 
not what will become of us."' 

"Has God forsaken you, or have you forsaken 
God ?" I asked. 

"We are from Scotland; we both belonged to the 
kirk there ; Ave were comfortably off, but times grew 
hard, and we were induced to try this country, and 
here we have nothing." 

" Have you been to the house of God since you 
came here ?" 

"Never once. We had no decent clothes. We 
knew not where to go. I have not seen a Christian 
since I came to this country. Once we prayed in 
our family, and taught our little ones to pray and 
say the catechism. I was taught it when I was 
young; but we have no heart to pray now — God has 
forsaken us." 

Deeply interested in her case, I referred her to 
the words of Isaiah 49 : 14, 15 : " Can a woman for- 
get her sucking child? Yea, they may forget, yet 
will I not forget thee."' " Do you doubt the faithful- 
ness of God? Have you not restrained prayer, and 



SUMMER TBAVELLING 405 

grieved his Spirit? 'If you seek him, he will be 
found of you; hut if you forsake him, he will forsake 
you.' Return to him, and try his fatherly kindness. 
Persuade your husband to build again the family 
altar — commence this very night." 

"We had a long and affecting interview. The vow 
she had taken to instruct her children in the duties 
of religion seemed almost to overcome her. "I have 
been unfaithful; and if God should take them away, 
and they should be lost, I should be the guilty one." 
I gave her suitable tracts, and commended her to 
Him who has a father's heart, urging her to attend 
the house of God, and pointing her to one where 
she could obtain a seat without pay. 

A few months afterwards, in a neat, comfortable 
dwelling, she met me with a heart full of gratitude 
and praise. The day I left her she renewed her con- 
secration to God, and that evening her husband re- 
commenced family worship. They attended church, 
and found fellowship there. She could now testify 
to the faithfulness of her covenant-keeping God. 

M. H. 



JSUMMJEF^ TRAVELXINQ. 

" I AM so disappointed," said Mrs. Mellen to her 
husband, as they left the crowded drawing-room of 
the Moore House, on a sultry evening of last sum- 
mer, and retired to their private parlor. 

••And what is the matter now? Is not this a 
most delightful summer retreat ? Have you not just 
what you wished when Ave planned the recreation of 



406 SKETCHES PROM I^IEE. 

the season— a boarding-place in a qtriet village, where 

von could enjoy the country ail and rural scenery, 
and fresh fruits and vegetables, without being de- 
prived of your accustomed city comforts, or exiling 
yourself from society'? What would you have 

more i 

"Oh, Mr. Mellen, it is not that; I do not com- 
plain of any lack of comforts or luxuries ; but there 
seem to be no Christians here, and I meant to (jet so 
much good this summer from Christian example and 
converse. Why, I have thought of it every day for 
weeks. You know we have been so unsettled at 
home since our pastor was dismissed, and meetings 
and everything so irregular; and I counted upon 
finding some congenial spirits, some eminently pious 
souls among our fellow -boarders, and under the stim- 
ulus of such society making real progress in my reli- 
gious course. But I cannot discover a single profes- 
sor of religion in the house." 

Mr. Mellen for a time was silent and thoughtful ; 
then looking kindly at his troubled companion, he 
said very gently, " There is one consolation, dear ; "if 
you cannot get good, perhaps you can do good:' 

"I!" said the young wife blushingly ; "what 
could I do to be of any use here ?" 

' k Mary, do you remember our Saviour s commen- 
dation of one of your sex, 'She hath done what she 
could'? Now here is a fair field for you— a. house 
full of boarders, and none of them Christians. Try 
to live as a child of God among them, my dear wife, 
and see if you cannot win some of them to the 
Saviour." 



SUMMEIi TRAVELLING. 407 

The nightly devotions of this pious couple fol- 
lowed their evening talk, and they retired to rest. 
The early morning train bore the husband back to 
his business in the city, and left Mrs. Mellen to 
think upon her situation and its duties. Her com- 
panion's brief appeal the night before had deeply 
impressed her; and wondering whether she had not 
possibly mistaken truth and duty, in always seeking 
to receive spiritual blessings instead of striving to 
impart them, she sought divine direction and guid- 
ance; nor sought in vain; for her sympathies were 
quickened in behalf of .Jesus' mission to a world of 
sinners, and her heart yearned to bring new trophies 
to his feet. The opportunities for successful effort 
in her Redeemer's cause were not wanting, even to 
one so timid and distrustful as Mrs. Mellen. 

Seated next to her at the table was a Mrs. Berto- 
die, the young wife of a physician from a city in the 
sunny South. She had been very gay the evening 
before, and Mrs. Mellen had caught a glimpse of 
her as she was tripping in the dance with a select 
party of the boarders. But she looked sad while 
eating, and in answer to Mrs. Mellen s inquiry if she 
were ill, replied that her husband had been recalled 
to their home. An epidemic had broken out in their 
<nty, valued friends were sick, and the doctor could 
nc-1 refuse the summon* to return to his post The 
gentle sympathy of Mrs. Mellen soothed the flutter- 
ing heart of Mrs. Bertodie, and a quick friendship 
sprang up between them. The quiet of Mrs Mel- 
ons room was more congenial to her feelings now 
than the lively circle in the ladies' parlor; and when 



408 SKETCHES PBOM LIFE. 

the Sabbath came she was easily persuaded to go 

with her new friend to the house of God. 

When twilight had deepened the Sabbath hush, 
Mrs. Bertodie's timid knock was heard at Mrs. Mel- 
len's door. "All the ladies are out," was her apol- 
ogy for coming, "and somehow I didn't care to go, 
and I Ve come to see how yon amuse yourself alone 
here: may I come in?" She entered. Mrs. Mellen 
was a little confused, but a glance at the open Bible 
beside her recalled her Christian courage. " I was 
reading," she said; "this chapter contains the text 
of the sermon we heard to-day. Will yon sit beside 
me, dear Mrs. Bertodie, and we will look at it to- 
gether." Mrs. Bertodie readily took the offered seat, 
and for a half hour read with, her new friend the 
sacred page. Then carelessly opening. a hymn-book 
which lay upon the stand, she said, "Oh, here is a 
verse which my father used to sing to my brother 
Edward and me, when we were children. He died 
when I was quite young. I have never seen the 
hymn before." Mrs. Mellen looked at the page 
under her companion's hand, and sang to the plaint- 
ive air of Boylston the touching words : 

"My son, know thou the Lord, 
Thy father"* God obey : 
Seek his protecting care by night, 
His guardian hanclby day.*' 

The song was finished. Mary Mellen glanced 
from the open book to the tearful face of Mrs. Ber- 
todie, and seizing her hand, she drew her gently be- 
side her upon her knees. Humbly but with all her 
heart she craved for her friend the blessing of her 



SUMMER TRAVELLING 109 

father's God; and when they rose from prayer the 
of Mrs. Bertodie glistened with penitence and 
hope. 

Manv were the precious subsequent interviews 
between these now deeply interested friends. Often 
they read and sang and prayed together; often they 
walked or rode with loving, grateful hearts, enjoying 
the beauties of nature and the blessings of grace. 
When the cool October mornings bade them return 
from their country sojourn, and Mr. Mellen came for 
his wife, the parting words of Mrs. Bertodie fell like 
music upon his ear : "I shall never forget you, 'dear, 
dear Mrs. Mellen — you have (lone me so much <j< 

Which is best, doiny or getting good? Try the 
first, and vou will know the bliss of both. E. N. n. 



18 



410 SKETCHES FROM LIFE, 



THE EFFICACY OF PRAYER 



THE PUJ.PIT AJ^D THE BEECH-TREE. 

Nearly a score of years ago a pioneer sought a 
home in one of the western states. He selected a 
" quarter section "in a dense wilderness, and soon 
entered upon the arduous work of clearing a farm. 
He was a man of athletic constitution, # and well 
adapted to cope with the trials on the frontier. He 
was then in the prime of life, and in those days " a 
man was famous according as he had lifted up axes 
upon the thick trees." This man soon ranked 
among the leading characters in that region. He 
could bear up with fortitude under all trials and pri- 
vations except those of a religious kind. 

Before his removal to the West, he had enjoyed 
the privileges of a large and well-regulated church, 
in which he had for years been a prominent mem- 
ber. To be thus suddenly deprived of those blessed 
means of grace caused him many painful feelings, 
and, at times, almost incapacitated him for ordinary 
duties. This subject pressed so heavily upon his 
mind that he often sought relief in laying his wants 
before God in prayer. One day he enjoyed near ac- 
cess to the throne while on his knees in a secluded 
part of the forest. He prayed earnestly that God 



THE PULPIT Ax\D BEECH-TREE. 411 

would make that wilderness and solitary place glad 
with the sound of the gospel. He asked for the 
church privileges to which he had been accustomed, 
and he felt assured that God could grant them. So 




much was he engaged in pleading for this blessing 
that he forgot his work. His family looked for his 
return to dinner, but he came not. They were 
alarmed. They made search, and found him on his 
knees. 



412 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

To this man of God there was something pleas- 
ant in the memory of that approach to the mercy- 
seat. He loved the spot on which he had knelt. 
He determined to mark it. It was by the side of a 
beech-tree. He blazed it, so that in after-years it 
might remind him of the incident that I have related. 

The prayer was speedily answered. God put it 
into the hearts of the people of that region to build 
Him a sanctuary in the desert. They have now the 
stated means of grace. That pioneer is one of the 
officers of the church. The membership is near 
eighty. The cause of religion seems to be flourish- 
ing among them. 

Not long since it was my privilege to preach in 
their house of worship. It was filled with an intelli- 
gent congregation. 

At the close of the services the old man gave me 
a history of his praying under the beech-tree, and, 
with tears in his eyes, closed by saying, " That tree 
stood only about five feet from the very spot where 
you stood while preaching for us to-night." E. b.e. 



THE VOICE Of PRAYER. 

In the winter of 1849-50, a young clergyman, 
worn by toil and by the anxieties consequent on a 
special outpouring of the Spirit of God on the peo- 
ple of his charge, was compelled to discontinue for 
a time his accustomed labors. Having provided for 
his family as he best might, he went to one of our 
seaboard cities, and put himself in the hands of an 
eminent physician for medical treatment. 



THE VOICE OE PKAYER. 413 

He took lodgings in a private boarding-house ac- 
commodating some forty boarders. His sister, Miss 

C , joined him, for the purpose of watching over 

him and ministering to his necessities. They spent 
then' days together in a private parlor, connecting 
by folding-doors with another parlor which was oc- 
cupied by a woman who was a scoffer. 

Morning and evening, and at other hours of the 
day, the brother and sister lifted their voices in 
prayer. Then: tones were subdued, and the burden 
of then- petitions was probably known only to them- 
selves and to God ; but their neighbor beyond the 
folding-doors gathered that prayer was offered, and 
that was quite enough to arouse her. She was very 
angry. She collected gay companions in her room, 
and told them that in the adjoining apartment a 
minister and his sister spent no small part of their 
time in prayer; and their mocking laughter rang 
out, peal on peal. The tidings ran through all the 
house. 

In making all this stir, however, as is often the 
case, the adversary overshot himself, and the Spirit 
of God took the matter in hand. A manifest solem- 
nity settled down on the whole company. Their 
mirth was hushed. Conversation flagged. A little 
later, a daughter of the host threw herself in the way 
of Miss C , bathed in tears. She gave a partic- 
ular acoount of the occurrences of the last two or 
three days, and then unburdened her heart. She 
had been a Universalist, but feared she had been 
deluded, and was now anxious to know the way of 
life. Miss C gave her appropriate counsel. A 



414 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

few hours elapsed, and another daughter of the host 
was foiind weeping under a sense of sin. Miss 

C had frequent interviews with the sisters, and 

pointed them to the Lamb of God, who alone has 
power to save. 

Three weeks rolled away, when the clergyman, 
much improved in health, returned to his charge, 

and Miss C removed to another part of the 

city. But she kept up an acquaintance with the two 
sisters, and in a few weeks had satisfactory evidence 
that they both had given then* hearts to the Saviour. 

What a lesson is tins on the value of prayer. 
"What an encouragement to professed Christians to 
testify for Christ amid the whirl and emptiness of 
city life. 

Again, what unexpected, and, ofttimes, mysteri- 
ous ways God employs in accomplishing his pur- 
poses. That minister thought it a tryiug dispensa- 
tion that he should be torn from his family, and 
separated from his flock in a season of religious 
awakening ; but God saw that he had a testimony to 
give in a distant city. Two of his elect were to be 
gathered in, and the first link in the visible chain of 
influences by which they were to be drawn to Christ 
was that minister's voice of prayer. Then the influ- 
ence of woman was called in to carry on the work. 

Miss C was in the right place at the right time. 

God did not mistake. He never mistakes. Trials 
are mercies in disguise. In sickness and in health, 
at home and among strangers, the Christian may let 
his light shine. While we live we may, if we will, 
honor Christ. A. d. 



THE DEACON'S PRAYER MEETING. 415 



THE DEACON'g Pr^VYER MEETIJMQ. 

In a retired neighborhood among the green hills 
of Vermont there lived, many years since, a good 

man, Deacon D . He was one of those meek 

and lowly ones whose " strength is the munition of 
rocks " — humble, unpretending, illiterate, yet strong 
in the Lord. He was skilled in no ancient language 
but that of prayer ; but he so understood the dialect 
of faith that his voice was not uttered in vain. His 
simple prayers moved the arm of God. 

He was in an irreligious neighborhood. There 
was scarcely a family altar there save his own. The 
gay, the worldly were upon every side. 

A prayer-meeting was for a long time kept up. 
It was indeed very thinly attended, sometimes only 
by a few pious females and the good deacon, who 
never failed to be there. Darkness and storms and 
weariness had no power to keep him at home. 
Often he went up to the little red schoolhouse alone ; 
but still, nothing disheartened, he persevered. He 
met God there. That dark and dingy schoolroom 
became to him as the "very gate of heaven." There 
he pleaded for the outpouring of the Spirit of God 
upon the ungodly about him, assured that his pray- 
ers would be answered. 

After years had gone by the good time came. The 
Spirit was poured out upon that neighborhood with 
mighty power, and every family shared in the bless- 
ing. In every house in that long street the family 
altar was erected, and that old red schoolhouse, 



410 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

where Deacon D had for so many years knelt 

to plead with God, was filled with willing worship- 
pers. The whole community around him were 
moved by the influences of the Spirit. 

This work of grace, brought about, not by any 
special extraneous means, but by the silent ye 
tain and powerful influence of the fervent, effectual 
prayer of faith, produced a great and permanent 
change in that quiet neighborhood. It was emphat- 
ically God's work. Deacon D was permitted to 

see the answer to his prayers, and to rejoice in the 
faithfulness of God. H. D. B. 



UJNITED PRyVY£F{ OF FOUR JV10THERS. 

In the ancient town of S , in Massachusetts, 

within twenty miles of Boston, are four sisters, all 
professors of religion, and all sustaining the endeared 
relation of mother. 

Surrounded by their increasing families, and 
feeling a great degree of solicitude for the spiritual 
welfare of their children, and a deep sense of their 
responsibility as mothers, they concluded to set 
apart a season each week for special prayer to God 
for the early conversion of those dear ones cooimit- 
ted to their watch and care. 

Although inhabitants of the same town, yet their 
houses were in remote sections, and so far distant 
from each other as to render it almost impracticable 
for them to meet for this purpose. They, therefore, 
set apart a little season each Sabbath evening, at 



UNITED PRAYER. . 417 

sunset, to wrestle in prayer with God, that he would 
appear for them, and bring their dear children out of 
natures darkness into his marvellous light in the 
davs of their youth. 

These mothers had strong faith in prayer. They 
believed that God meant what he said in that prom- 
ise, "Ask, and ye shall receive." At the appointed 
hour, SabJoath after Sabbath, and year alter year, 
each retired alone to pray. Though the answer was 
delayed, they were not discouraged. They had con- 
secrated their children to God, and they believed 
that in his own good time he would visit them with 
his converting grace. 

During a season of religious interest in that 
town, five of the older children in those families 
were gathered into the fold of Christ. The mothers 
prayed on, still trusting in God; nor have they be- 
lieved and prayed in vain. One of them was called 
to experience the sorrows and desolations of widow- 
hood, but the fire on the family altar was not suf- 
fered to go out after the death of the husband and 
father; and as a reward of her faithfulness and 
prayers, she has the great joy of seeing her entire 
family of six children numbered among the follow- 
ers of Christ, and of listening to the voice of each 
one in prayer, as they hold their little family meet- 
ings for this purpose. 

Of twenty-nine children hi those four families, 
twenty-two are now professors of religion, and adorn- 
ing that profession by a consistent Christian life. 
These mothers still pray, and one of them, with deep 
emotion, recently said to the writer of this article, 



418 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

" My faith is strong that we shall yet see every one 
brought into the kingdom." 

Truly, "praying breath is not spent in vain." 
God is faithful to his promise, and will surely visit 
in rich mercy all those who sincerely seek him by 
prayer. " Open thy mouth wide and I will fill it." 

E. 



THE CJLERQYMAN'g gON. 

Walter B was the only son of a clergyman 

in New England. He was a young man of fine per- 
son and polished manners ; a student at college. 

Though he was a child of many prayers, was 
brought up to bow at the family altar, and a member 
of the Sabbath-school and Bible-class, he had never 
humbled himself at the foot of the cross. 

During Iris last year at college, the Spirit of God 
was poured out, and many of the students became 
hopefully pious. Weeks passed by without any 
apparent change in Walter. The pious professors 
were deeply anxious at heart to lead hhn to the 
waters of life ; and as often as they thought it dis- 
creet to do so, inculcated the necessity of that true 
spirituality so far beyond the round of common reli- 
gious observances. 

Like the young man who went to Christ and 
turned away sorrowful, he could look back upon his 
life and say, "All these have I kept from my youth 
up;" yet he lacked one thing: he lacked grace in the 
heart, which alone will save the soul. The chapel 
appointments he regularly attended, and his room- 



THE CLERGYMAN'S SON. 419 

mate was among the converts. No student was 
more ready to converse upon the Bible than Walter, 
jet he made no application to his own soul. He had 
never been guilty of outbreaking sins, and did not 
seem to realize his own individual danger. 

Walter's parents were praying for him at home ; 
and at eight o'clock every evening a number of stu- 
dents were praying for him in concert. At length he 
manifested more thought upon the subject. He evi- 
dently read his Bible with more eagerness; and when 
his room-mate cautiously conversed with him upon 
his prospects for eternity, he was affected even to 
tears, and requested the young man to pray for him. 
He applied' himself to the Scriptures with a new pur- 
pose. He began to see that, with all his morality as 
a young man, he had no hope of final acceptance. 
He began to see himself in a new light. He found 
the secret workings of his heart were at enmity with 
divine things. He began to wish to become better ; 
but the more he tried to be Christ-like, the more sin- 
ful his own heart looked to him. He was in earnest, 
for his eyes were opened; and he saw himself lost 
without Christ. Day after day passed without any 
relief to his feelings, till he was led to cry out in 
agony, " What shall I do to be saved ?" 

"Come to the feet of Jesus, Walter," were the 
words of a pious friend ; " come, humble and child- 
like, and throw yourself upon his mercy entirely." 

"Come to Christ — how?*' was the young man's 
inquiry. " I have prayed once a day as long 
can remember, and have always read the Bible ever 
since I could read anything." 



1'H) SKETCH I >M LIFE. 

" You feel that yon are a sinner, do you not, Wal- 
ter?" was the friendly inquiry of his counsellor. 

"Oh, yes, indeed I do; but I cannot see thai I 
get any better by all my efforts." 

" No, my young friend, we can none of us make 
ourselves better. God has so ordered it, that we must 
come to Christ in just the way he has marked out for 
us. ' He that entereth not in at the door of the shee] »- 
fold, but climbeth up some other way, the same is a 
thief and a robber.' The Master has said, 'Come 
unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and 
I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and 
learn of me ; for I am meek and lowly in heart ; and 
ye shall rind rest unto your souls: for my yoke i- 
easy, and my burden is light.' " A few moments 
were spent in explaining the spiritual import of these 
passages, and then the young man was left alone. 

The words of the blessed Jesus came home to 
him. He saw himself lost, and at the same time 
saw the promises of God. He made a last and final 
resolve. Throwing himself upon his knees, he begged 
for mercy through the blood of Christ, hiving all at 
the feet of Jesus. He arose, feeling his burden gone. 
A light broke in upon his soul — a joy and peace he 
had never felt before. He was indeed a new crea- 
ture — a new man in Christ Jesus. 

From that time forth he was a changed man. 
Though tried with temptations and moments of dark- 
ness, yet by-and-by the light returned, and Walter 
became an active, faithful, and persevering Chris- 
tian. 

A few years afterwards, 1 heard of him a^ain — 



"I DARE NOT PliAY." 421 

heard of him in the capacity of a devoted pastor 
over a western church. The earnest prayers that 
went up for him were answered. Walter was a min- 
ister of Christ. L. 



I DARE.JNOT PRAY." 

Henry E was the son of pious parents in 

P , and so consistent in his external deportment 

that his parents hoped he was truly pious. At the 
age of nineteen he was summoned from college to 
his father's funeral. Having followed the husband 
and father to the tomb, at evening the family were 
gathered in the room where so many pleasant hours 
had been passed in times gone by. There was the 
empty chair, and there were the slippers at its foot ; 
there also was the large family Bible from which the 
father had always read a chapter before retiring, and< 
after which he was wont to offer up the evening 
prayer. 

The clock struck ten ; Henry's mother looked at 
him, and then pushing the Bible across the table, 
said, "My son, read a chapter." He colored slightly, 
and did so. She then rose and looked at him as if 
expecting him to lead in prayer. He understood 
that glance, and in an instant the full reality of his 
position rushed upon him; and he felt, oh how keen- 
ly, how totally unprepared he was for it. He hesi- 
tated one moment, then plunging his face into his 
hands, broke forth with, "Mother, I dare not pray." 
One moment more she gazed at him, seeming to 



422 SKETCHES FROM LIFK. 

divine it all, and then falling upon her knees, raised 
her tearful eyes to heaven, and poured forth a deep 
and heartfelt prayer thai God, in his unutterable 
mercy, would look down upon the child of her heart, 
and imbuing him with the light of divine love, would 
guide him safely on the pathway of life, until his feet 
should tread the everlasting hills, and he should be 
received by his Eedeemer at the golden portals of 
the new Jerusalem. 

Long ere she had ended he knelt beside her ; and 
when he arose, it was as a changed man. 

She has passed away, but he still lives, walking 
daily before the Lord, and praising Him for that 
night when through sorrow and trouble, and by a 
mMers prayer, lie came to the feet of Jesus. w. 



THE TWO WJVEg. 

• 

In a pleasant town in Massachusetts, were the 
homes of Mr. G and Mr. E . 

Mr. G was an enterprising mechanic, ambi- 
tious for worldly gain, but neglecting to lay up treas- 
ure where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt. He 
loved to see and magnify faults in the disciples of 
Jesus, forgetting that they were sanctified but in 
part, and as he once said, " was glad to see the church 
whittled." He could speak lightly of religion, and 
revile the Saviour's name. His wife was a follower 
of Jesus, and adorned her profession by a humble 
and consistent life. She mourned over the careless 
life of her husband, and wept iu secret places on 



THE TWO WIVES. 423 

account of his indifference to the welfare of his un- 
living soul. 

Mr. R , his neighbor, was a man of fine busi- 
ness talents, and was extensively engaged in a lucra- 
tive employment. His possessions increased rap- 
idly, and money, for which he toiled with so much 
ardor, flowed into his hands, until he had an abun- 
dance of that which shall "perish with the using." 
He too neglected to lay up treasure hi heaven, and 
lived in fo.rgetfulness of God, but like his friend Mr. 

G , he had a wife who knew the way to the 

mercy-seat, and was often there. 

Mrs. G and Mrs. R — — sympathized deeply 

together. They were anxious for the conversion of 
their husbands. They felt that nothing but an 
almighty arm could move their hearts, and they 
resolved to seek by prayer the blessing they so ear- 
nestly desired. They met and talked together, and 
agreed to set apart an hour every day, each at her 
own home, to pray especially for them ; and also to 

communicate their feelings to Mrs. X , a lady of 

then* acquaintance in the same town who was emi- 
nent for her piety, and ask her to spend the same 
hour also in prayer for the same object. This was 
accordingly done, and three o'clock each afternoon 
was tUe hour chosen. This season of prayer was 
observed for some time. 

At length one day Mr. G had occasion to 

go from his shop to his house at the very hour of 
prayer. His curiosity was awakened by a low voice 
in an adjoining apartment. He listened for a mo- 
ment. It was the voice of his wife pleading with 



424 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

God for his conversion. He was agitated. His 

spirit was stirred within him, and although he re- 
turned to his shop, he could not work. That low, 
sweet, earnest voice followed him, and its pleading 
tones he could not forget. Conscience, which had 
slumbered so long, was aroused, and he became an 
earnest inquirer after the way of life, and in a short 
time a humble learner at the feet of Jesus. He was 
a new man. No more did he speak reproachfully of 
Christians. Old things had passed away, and all 
thiugs had become new. It could now be said, 
" Behold, he prayeth." 

About the same time his friend Mr. E was 

led to inquire what he must do to be saved. The 
struggle was not long. The Saviour met him and 
spoke peace to his troubled soul. The blessings he 
had received he longed to see others possess. "What 
shall I do?" said he to a 'Christian friend; "money 
has rained upon me. Shall I give up my busin. 
and devote myself to the great work of the conver- 
sion of souls?" "No," said the Mend ; "keep about 
your business, make all the money you can, and give 
your property to the Lord." So he has done. While 
he has been diligent in business, he lias been "fer- 
vent in spirit," serving the Lord. He lives to do 
good, giving liberally, not by tens, but by fifties, to 
those objects which tend to the advancement of 
Christ's kingdom. 

" If two of you shall agree on earth, as touching 
anything that they shall ask, it shall be done for 
them of my Father which is in heaven." E. 



THE NEW PRAYER. 425 



THE JNEW PRAYEF(. 

Many years ago, in the north of Ireland, the lit- 
tle boys from seven years of age to twelve or thir- 
teen were in the habit of holding regular prayer- 
meetings, and conducting them in nearly the same 
order as was observed by their parents in their meet- 
ings. In the summer they were accustomed to resort 
to the woody groves or to shady gardens. There 
they would read the Bible, sing their hymns, and 
kneeling down repeat the prayers then parents had 
taught them, or such parts of their minister's prayers 
as they could repeat from memory. 

One of these boys became deeply convicted of 
sin while at work with his father in a field. His dis- 
tress was so great that he could not work, and his 
father took lrim to a secluded place, and there 
prayed earnestly for deliverance for the soul of his 
son. In a day or two the boy was made happy by 
belief in the Saviour. On joining his companions at 
then usual prayer-meeting, when his turn came, he 
poured out his love to Jesus in his own earnest 
words, never thinking of the prayers he had been 
taught and accustomed to repeat. On rising from 
his knees, the boys crowded around him, saying, ■ 
"Robert, where did you learn that new prayer ? We 
want to learn it too." Robert told them the story 
and how Jesus had died to save him, and had taught 
him to pray. This was the beginning of a revival 
and a great work of conversion among the boys. 
From those prayer-meetings went out good and faith- 



426 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

ful ministers of the gospel, some of whom remained 
in their own country, others came to America, lived 
usefully, and died lamented. This anecdote was 
related to the writer by a grandson of the Eobert 
who prayed, long after his aged relative had gone to 
glory. 

In writing this anecdote, one cannot but ask, 
"Where are the boys of America? Will they go 
and do likewise?" Many perils threaten our coun- 
try, and all good men and women are praying day 
and night that God. will take care of the right, 
and keep our country for his own kingdom ; will not 
the little boys and girls pray also? Jesus, who 
blessed children who came to him while on earth, 
will bless children who go to him now, who pray to 
him now he is hi heaven. ethel. 



JK PlOUg jVlOTHER'g PRAYERg. 

Some few years since an East Indian trader was 
attacked while cruising in the Indian Ocean by a 
piratical schooner, and the attack being sudden and 
unlooked for, the merchantman fell an easy prey 
into the hands of the pirates. The captain and 
several of the crew were slain during the conflict, 
and the rest being gagged and heavily ironed, were 
laid in the pirates' boats for removal to their own 
vessel, and then the murderous gang proceeded to 
the ship's cabin, intending there to complete the 
work of destruction, and see of what treasures they 
could possess themselves. 



A PIOUS MOTHEB'S PIIAYERS. 427 

As they descended the companion-way they heard 
a soft voice, evidently engaged in supplication; and 
the chief, directing his followers to halt at the en- 
trance, went noiselessly forward to ascertain whence 
the voice proceeded. Bending low to avoid observ- 
ance, he peeped into "a door that stood ajar, and 
there knelt a fair young woman, with a beautiful 
boy at her side, one arm clasped caressingly around 
the child, and the other raised in earnest supplica- 
tion. " O God of all mercy," said the beseeching 
voice, as the face of tearful agony met the pirate's 
view, "save the life of my child, if such be thy holy 
will ; but rather let him perish now by the assassin's 
knife, than fall a lining prey into such hands, to be 
trained up to a life of sin and infamy. Let him die 
now, if such be thy decree ; but oh, let him not live 
to dishonor thee, and perish at last eternally." The 
voice ceased, choked with tears of agony; and there 
stood the pirate transfixed to the spot by the tumult 
of his own emotions. In imagination he was again 
a child ; his own pious mother's prayers and instruc- 
tions, for long years forgotten, rose before him, and 
God's Spirit sent such an arrow of conviction to his 
heart, that instead of carrying out his murderous 
designs, he sank upon his knees, and cried out for 
mercy. After assuring the lady that no harm should 
be done her, he hastened to the deck, unbound the 
captive crew, and restoring them to their ship, re- 
turned with his men to then- own. 

Shortly afterwards he surrendered himself to the 
British East India government; but so great was 
the remorse he suffered for his past crimes, that 



428 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

before his trial came on, he was attacked with fever 
that in a few days proved fatal. Before his death 
he made a full confession of the crimes of his past 
life, manifesting the deepest penitence in view of his 
guilt, and he expired humbly trusting in Jesus for 
mercy and acceptance with* him. Thus were his 
pious mother's prayers answered at last, and her 
erring child saved, as we may trust, even at the 
eleventh hour. What a heritage for good are the 
prayers of a Christian mother. ' F. E. F. 



THE TWO HUgBANDg. 

Two young wives were deeply anxious about the 
souls of their impenitent husbands. They were 
intimate Mends, and often conversed together on 
the subject so near their hearts. At length they 
resolved to spend an hour each day in prayer for 
them. Months rolled on, yet there seemed no change 
in the careless worldlings. They could still laugh 
lightly at their wives' concern for their souls. They 
could still turn carelessly from all their entreaties. 
Thus seven years rolled on, and still these Christian 
women prayed and labored. At that time they met, 
with spirits much depressed, and asked each other 
the question, "Must we give up all hope; must we 
see those so dear to us go down to eternal destruc- 
tion?" Then- resolution was formed never to give 
up that hour of prayer while life should last, but 
henceforth to redouble their earnestness. 

Three more years had rolled away, when on a 



THE TWO HUSBANDS. 429 

never to be forgotten evening one of the praying 
friends was awakened by the agonized groans which 
burst from the bosom of her husband. He was on 
his knees praying for mercy, and entreated her also 
to pray for him. 

"The day of grace," said he, "is almost oyer, 
and the door of mercy will be shut against me for 
ever." 

His distress in view of his sins continued to in- 
crease, and his devoted wife felt that God was about 
to answer the prayers she had offered for ten years 
in his behalf. With the nioming hght she sought 
her Mend to communicate the glad tidings; and 
what was her surprise to find that she was prepar- 
ing to come to her with the same joyful intelligence. 

In the same day were these two men brought to 
see their condition as sinners, and at about the same 
time they were led to accept of the mercy so freely 
offered in Christ Jesus. 

Christian wife, do not be discouraged though a 
season of revival passes by and your husband is still 
without the fold. Still labor and pray for his con- 
version as long as you live, or until you see him at 
the feet of Jesus. "For what knowest thou, O wife, 
whether thou shalt save thy husband ?" 

Is an hour a day too much to spend in prayer 
for such an end ? You will not think so in eternity. 

E. L. M. 



430 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



PRAYJEFi y\ POW.EF}. 

A servant of the Lord in Northern Indiana 
bowed the knee again and. again before his Father 
in heaven. His quarterly allowance had been with- 
held, and want stared him in the face. Constrained 
by urgent need, and shut up to God for help, he 
pleaded repeatedly for a supply of his temporal 
wants. 

In one of the lovely homes of Massachusetts, 
while the snow was falling and the winds were howl- 
ing without, a lady sat on one side of the oheerful 
fire, knitting a little stocking for her oldest grandson, 
and her husband opposite to her was reading aloud 
a missionary paper, when the following passage 
arrested the attention of the lady and fastened itself 
in her memory. 

"In consequence of failure to obtain my salary 
when due, I have been so oppressed with care and 
want, as to make it painfully difficult to perform my 
duties as a minister. There is very little prospect, 
seemingly, of improvement in this respect for some 
time to come. What I say of my own painfully 
inadequate support, is substantially true of nearly 
all your missionaries in this state. You of course 
cannot be blamed for this. You are but the almo- 
ners of the churches, and can be expected to appro- 
priate only what they furnish. This, however, the 
Master will charge to somebody as a grevious fault ; 
for it is not his will that his ministers should labor 
unrequited. The missionaries in this western coun- 



PRAYER A POWER. 431 

try are placed by the churches in a condition, rela- 
tive to their work, similar to that in which Pharaoh 
placed the Jews in Egypt, when he commanded the 
taskmasters to compel them to deliver their full 
"tale" of brick, and not to furnish them the neces- 
sary straw. The home missionaries as a class, it 
will, I think, be admitted, are not wanting in self- 
denial, and it is not hard to deny one's self for 
Christ and his cause." 

This extract was without name or date. It was 
simply headed, "From a missionary in Northern 
Indiana." Scores of readers probably gave it only 
a passing glance. Not so the lady who sat knitting 
by the fire and heard her husband read it. The 
words sank into her mind and dwelt in her thoughts. 
The clause, "This, however, the Master will charge 
to somebody as a grievous fault," especially seemed 
to follow her wherever she went. The case, she said, 
haunted her. She seemed to be herself that very 
"somebody" who was to answer at the bar of God 
for the curtailed supplies and straitened means of 
this humble minister. 

Impelled by an unseen, but, as she believes, a 
divine presence and power, after asking counsel and 
guidance of the Lord, she took twenty-five dollars 
which were at her own disposal, and requested her 

husband to give it to the Rev. Dr. H for the 

writer of the above communication, if he could de- 
vise any way to obtain the writer's address. 

Dr. H is a prompt man, who does not let 

gold destined to such an end rest in his pocket. 
Familiar with the various organizations of the benev- 



432 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

olent societies, and only too happy to have an agency 
in supplying the wants of a laborer in Christ's vine- 
yard, he soon started the money on its appointed 
errand. Early in April, the lady in her rural home 
had the happiness of receiving the following note, of 
which we omit nothing save the names of persons 
and places : 

li Dear Madam : I have just received a draft for twenty- 
five dollars, as a special donation from you. This I do with 
profound gratitude to you for this unselfish and Christ-like 
deed, and to Him who put it into your heart to do it. How 
you, a lady a thousand miles away, coidd know that I was, 
and had been for some time, urged by unusual need to pray 
for succor and worldly support with unwonted fervency, is a 
matter of more than curious inquiry. I regard it as an an- 
swer to my prayer ; but then the Lord employs the instru- 
mentality of his children to answer prayer, and when it is 
necessarv, he moves them to it. This is not the first nor 
second time that I have been laid under special obligation by 
Christian sympathy and timely aid. May He who ha$ said, 
'He that giveth a cup of cold water to a disciple in the name 
of a disciple shall not lose his reward,' repay you a thousand- 
fold for this favor. I may not have it in my power to make 
you other recompense in this world, but when we meet in 
the presence of the Master, I shall take pleasure in acknowl- 
edging it to him." 

Does not this little incident illustrate the power 
of prayer ? The man of God weary and heavy-laden, 
in his closet in Indiana, spread his case before the 
Lord. A disciple in Eastern Massachusetts, a thou- 
sand miles away from the spot where the prayer was 
offered, is touched with his wants, and moved to 
send him immediate aid. 

The servant of Christ was happy in receiving this 



TELL THE LORD. 433 

aid directly, as it were, from his heavenly Father. 

It was to him a delightful token of the faithfulness 
of the living God. The donation was but an earnest 
of the rich inheritance in reserve for him. There 
was no mortifying sense of dependence, for it came 
as his honest wages, as an answer to his prayer, as 
the gift of his God. But the lady, who now saw 
plainly what was before matter of faith, that the 
Lord had made her his willing instrument for an- 
swering the prayers of a brother in the Lord whose 
face she had never seen, and whose name she knew 
only by his note, was the happier of the two. Did 
not the Lord Jesus himself say, "It is more bit 
to give than to receive"? Eyangeiine. 



TEJLJL TH£ JLORD. 

Uncle PniLir was in debt He was a good man, 
and honest, but at this time he owed the sum of fifty 
dollars. His creditor was a merchant, who had often 
trusted him, and always been faithfully paid; but it 
was a time of political excitement, the creditor was 
'interested in the party against which the debtor 
voted, and an abrupt demand was made for a set- 
tlement. Uncle was very willing to settle, but was 
now quite unable; it was a season when money was 
very scarce ; those who owed him had nothing where- 
with to pay, and those who would gladly lend him 
were also without funds. He hoped the merchant, 
who knew his integrity, would deal leniently with 
him; but not bo, a suit was brought, 'Judgment ob- 
tained, and an execution laid upon Ins furniture, 

iy 



4:34 SKETCHES PBOM LIFE. 

It was a sad day when the sheriff entered Uncle 
Philip's house. Such a thing hand ever occurred in 
the family before. Respectable and respected they 

had ever lived, and the disgrace and inconvenience 
of a sheriff's sale, at a time too when money was so 
scarce in the neighborhood, that the furniture would 
not bring ten per cent, of its value, was a cruelty and 
injustice that wrung the good man's heart. 

The family sat grief-stricken for some time in a 
room to which they had retired when the blow came ; 
at last uncle rose : " Come, wife, come, children," he 
said, "let us tell the Lord;" and kneeling down, he 
laul the case before his heavenly Father, committing 
the affair to him. 

When the little group rose from their knees, tin- 
load had passed from each heart, and the tears they 
wiped from their eyes were tears of trustful submis- 
sion. 

Uncle Philip's house had long afforded lodging 
to the circuit preacher, and that day the reverend 
guest was expected ; so aunt went to prepare the din- 
ner, glad that the servant of God could once more 
be entertained before table and bed should be sold. ■ 

The family were cheerful as usual when the 
preacher came; why trouble him with distress that 
he could not alleviate ? But as uncle and aunt sat 
talking with him after dinner, somehow the story 
came out. They felt that the good man's sympathy 
.•old prayers would be a comfort; besides, he would 
soon learn it from the public, so they told him all. 
How strange flid it seem, however, when the preach- 
er, instead of expressing the expected sympathy, 



A MOTHER'S PKAYER. 435 

abruptly rose, exclaiming " Now I know what that 
letter came for;" and left the room, while uncle and 
aunt looked at each other in astonishment. 

In a few minutes he returned with a letter hi his 
hand. "I should have explained, dear friends," he 
said, " but the joy of being chosen as the instrument 
to deliver yen from this perplexity caused me to for- 
get even good manners. To-day I received this let- 
ter, and wondered why it was sent to me. It is from 
a benevolent old lady in New York, and contains a 
fifty-dollar check, which she requests me to present 
to the first good man I find in difficulty, only requir- 
ing that, if ever he is able, he shall repay it to the 
Lord. It is the exact sum you need, my brother ; 
take it, and give God thanks." 

Uncle Philip afterwards repaid that fifty dollars 
into the Lord's treasury with double interest ; and to 
this day, every trial or difficulty that visits his house, 
whether great or small, is told to the Lord. 

SHEELAH. 



A /40THER'g PRAYER. 

At the present day there are many believers in 
the efficacy of prayer ; and we read in the Scripture 
that the effectual fervent prayer of the righteous 
availeth much. True, prayer is not always answered 
in the particular way which we expect, or have marked 
out for ourselves, but in God's own way, so as to 
convey a greater blessing. Rich showers of mercy 
often descend upon the humble suppliant. 

A few years since, a friend, a lady, who had fol- 



436 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

lowed her husband to the grave, travelled over (and 

and water to visit a son who had been long absent 
He was amiable and excellent, surrounded by a lovely 

family of his own, and the world spoke well of him. 
Oh, how that mother loved him ! She folded him to 
her bosom as in the days of his childhood, and both 
wept tears of mingled emotions. 

It was a beautiful sight that happy family so 
strongly united by the cords of affection. But it 
was not long ere a mother's searching eye and ear- 
nest love made a discovery that grieved her heart : 
her noble son was in danger from the wine-cup. 
How should she act? for she must act to remedy the 
evil and save him. Turning and tossing upon her 
pillow, she passed a sleepless night, without coming 
to any fixed resolution. 

The day dawned; all were pleasant and happy, 
and the burden was partially lifted from her heart. 
But in the dark, still hour of night it returned with 
increased power. How could she save him? She 
could not rest : in tearful agony she arose, knelt 1 >y 
her couch, and earnestly implored direction and 
divine aid. Several nights were mostly spent in this 
way, weeping and praying for him who was so dear 
to her. 

That mother's prayer was heard, and in a few 
months she was permitted joyfully to hope that he 
was snatched as a brand from the burning. 

How many mothers have children or friends who 
are thus in danger! Let them pray earnestly, faith- 
fully, and humbly, and they may thus be made the 
means of saving immortal souls. E. p. 



THE INFIDEL'S PRAYER. 437 



THE INFIDEL'? PRAYER. 

Far away from the home of his childhood, in ono 
of the states of the great West, a native of New 
England was wandering. Yet however far he might 
wander from those whom he called friends, he still 
kept in mind that there was one Friend who is ever 
near. 

No matter whether one bends the knee on the 
prairies of the West, or amid the rice swamps of the 
South, up amid the eternal snows of the North, or 
where the pagoda lifts its head beneath the shadowy 
palm— anywhere, everywhere may the pleading soul 
find the pardoning welcome, " Come unto me, and 
be ye saved, all the ends of the earth." 

Our wanderer did not forget to pray. It so hap- 
pened that he was thrown into intimate companion- 
ship with one who boldly expressed his belief that 
God was a myth, a mere fable, and the story of the 
1 )ut a fable of the imagination ; that the world 
with its beautiful adornings was but the result of 
chance ; while man, like the beasts of the field, had 
no life beyond the grave. And when, at the hour of 
>ur traveller bent the knee in prayer — for they 
shared one room — this scoffer would kneel also, and 
in mocking tones repeat a formula of prayer, evi- 
dently to annoy. But the Christian prayed on, often 
remembering at his Father's throne the case of this 
spiritual blind man. 

Ere long there came a time when the windows of 
mercy were opened, and rich and abundant were the 



438 SKETCB ES PROM LIFE. 

drops that fell on sin-sick souls. Meeting after 
meeting was held; and one evening, amid words of 
prayer and songs of praise, the infidel arose, and 
begged of those who loved the Lord to pray for //////. 
if pardon could be granted one so guilty. 

And prayers went up borne by faith to heaven ; 
and soon, like a white-winged dove, peace nestled in 
the heart of the contrite sinner. A living monument 
of the grace of God, he rejoicingly told to others 
the story of his forgiveness, and how, under God, 
the prayers of his Christian room-mate had been the 
means of showing him his lost condition out of 
Christ. A. M. L. 



'PRAY WITHOUT CEAgiNQ." 

A number of ministers were assembled for the 
discussion of difficult questions, and among others it 
was asked how the command, " Pray without & 
ing," could be complied with. Various suppositions 
were started, and at length one of the number was 
appointed to write an essay upon it, to be read at 
their next monthly meeting. 

A plain, sensible servant-girl hearing this, said, 
" What, a whole month wanted to tell the mean- 
ing of that text? It is one of the easiest in the 
Bible." 

" Well, well, Mary," said an old minister, " what 
can you say about it? Let us know how you under- 
stand it. Can you pray all the time when you have 
so many things to do?" 



"PRAY WITHOUT CEASING." 439 

" Why, sir, the more I have to do, the more \ can 
pray." 

"Indeed! Well, Mary, do Id us know how it is, 
for most people think otherwise." 

"When I first open my eyes in the* morning," 
said the girl, " I pray, ' Lord, open the eyes of my 
understanding; 1 and while I am dressing I pray that 
I may he clothed with the robe of righteousness; 
and when I have washed me, I ask for the washing 
of regeneration ; and as I begin to work, I pray that 
I may have strength equal to my day. When I 
begin to kindle the fire, I pray that God's work may 
revive in my heart ; and as I sweep out the house, I 
pray that my heart may be cleansed by the Holy 
Spirit. While preparing and eating breakfast, I 
desire to be fed with the hidden manna and the sin- 
cere milk of the word ; and as I am busy -with the 
little children, I look up to God as my Father, and 
pray for the spirit of adoption, that I may be his 
child. And so on all day ; everything I do furnishes 
me with a thought for prayer." 

"Enough, enough," cried the old divine; "these 
things are revealed to babes, and often hid from 
the wise and prudent. Go on, Mary, 'pray without 
ceasing.' And as for us, my brethren, let us bless 
the Lord for this exposition, and remember he hath 
said, ' The meek will he guide in judgment, the meek 
will he teach his way.' " 

I need hardly say the essay was not written. 

H. B. G. 



I 10 SKETCHES PROM 1J FE. 



"RETIRE HOIIF}." 

When I was a child I had the blessed privileges 
of a boarding-school where every influence was ex- 
erted to save the souls of the pupils. There was 
nothing austere about the establishment. A limited 
number of young girls formed the family, and it was 
in all respects a Christian home. The wives of mis- 
sionaries and ministers scattered over this and other 
lands look back to that spot as the birthplace of 
their souls, and bless the memory of our dear pre* 
ceptress, now in heaven. 

One custom which was then observed I recall 
with deep interest, as a powerful means of grace to 
my soul. The time preceding school, which was 
observed as a study hour, was divided into four parts 
by the ringing of bells. This was called retiring 
hour, and was so arranged to give each pupil, where 
four occupied one sleeping apartment, an opportu- 
nity to retire and spend fifteen minutes in private 
devotions. 

I well remember its effect upon me. Being reli- 
giously trained, I had always said my prayers, but 
did it in a hurried way by my bedside on arising in 
the morning. I hardly knew how to while away the 
fifteen minutes of retirement. My active tempera- 
ment made it almost insupportable, and I longed to 
divert myself from the crowd of serious thoughts 
that pressed upon me. 

At last I whispered my troubles to a school-mate 
who had been brought up in a godless manner, and 



"RETIRING HOUR.." 441 

had no conscientious scruples on the subject. Sho 
advised for my relief a novel, kept in some conveni- 
ent hiding-place, and perused each morning, and lent 
me "Thaddeus of Warsaw," as she said, "to begin 
with" It was smuggled into my trunk under cover 
of darkness, and I hastened eagerly to my room at 
the first sound of the bell the next morning to feast 
upon its contents. I opened it, and to my dismay 
could not read a line. The solemn stillness over- 
powered me, and I trembled with fear. I tried again 
the next day, with the door carefully locked, and an 
apron hung over the keyhole; and though I loved 
novels dearly, an unseen power held possession of 
me, and I could not read a page. That book re- 
mained concealed in my room for many weeks, but 
to this day I am ignorant of its contents. The eye 
of God seemed on me, and I could not employ those 
sacred moments in novel-reading. That fifteen min- 
utes in which I had to sit and think proved a blessing 
to me, and before long I began, though in a formal 
manner, to read my Bible and pray. 

I know not the effect of the " retiring hour" upon 
my companions, but I have every reason to think it 
exerted a powerful influence. For many years, each 
winter was marked by the special influences of the 
Holy Spirit in the school, and a large majority of 
the pupils arc wives of ministers or missionaries or 
influential private members of churches, while some 
have joined our dear teacher in the mansions above. 

I often hear young girls say that they have no 
opportunity to pray at boarding-school. I know of 
more than one diffident but conscientious child, who 



442 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 

has been gradually led to give up her morning pra; 
for want of a chance to kneel down quietly alone. 
In some cases, bold irreligious companions will 
thoughtlessly persecute the praying school-girl until 
it requires the moral courage of a mature saint to 
kneel down to pray. Where one Arthur will kneel 
amid the scoffs of companions, in the manner so 
graphically pictured in " School-days at Rugby," a 
large number of boys will, like Tom, fear and quake 
before the ridicule of companions. 

We must not trust too much to the influence of 
pious training, unless sealed by the converting power 
of God, but provide the youth under our care with 
a place and time for prayer. " Retiring hour " 
should never go out of fashion until something bet- 
ter is substituted in its place. The good effect upon 
an active, thoughtless child of that fifteen minutes of 
solitude may be felt throughout eternity. In that 
brief interval of thought, the recollections of a 
Christian home, praying parents, or dear ones in 
heaven, may shed a softenmg influence upon the 
whole day. Then the advice of a pious teacher or 
Christian companion, scarce heeded at the moment, 
will be remembered and -liTive its desired effect. 
Better let study hour, practising hour, or hour for 
gymnastics suffer, than neglect the " retiring h 

M. E. W. 



A CHRISTIAN MOTHER. 443 

JK CHRIgTI/N JMOTHEF(. 

Some sixty years ago, on the eastern end of Long 
Island, in one of the most secluded and beautiful 
spots on the island, lived a Christian mother, who 

one dav made in her diary the following record : 

" This day I rose very early to pray for my chil- 
dren, and especially that my sons may all be minis- 
tors and missionaries of Jesus Christ."' 

Many a similar observance she afterwards noted, 
from time to time, in the same record, and many 
that she never entered on her earthly journal were 
doubtless noted in the book of God's remembrance ; 
for she was known to all her acquaintance as emi- 
nently a praying woman, and as feeling a deep and 
constant solicitude for the spiritual welfare of her 
children, and especially as desiring that her sons 
might all be faithful ministers of the cross. 

Years have passed away, and that mother is on 
her dying bed. Her soul is filled with joy and 
peace. She reminds her husband and children of 
all that God has done for them ; tells the latter of 
her many prayers for them, and again solemnly con- 
secrates them afresh to the Saviour ; and then asks 
the former to lead them all in one parting prayer 
before she goes to her rest. 

Tenderly, earnestly, and amid sobs and tears, 
that Christian husband and father fulfils her request. 
He thanks Clod most fervently that he has given 
them that wife and mother, and so long spared her 
to be a blessing to them ; and now. as she is called 



Ill SKETCH ES PROM LI II 

to go, he solemnly and touchingly give- her Lack to 
her Saviour, renews the dedication of their children 
to God, commends her departing spirit to Him, and 
prays that they may all at last meet in heaven. 
And scarcely is that prayer finished, when, without a 
struggle, she passes away, her features settling into 
a holy serenity of joy, as if the last sight beheld on 
earth had been of the opening glories at God's right 
hand. 

Still other years have passed, and that mother's 
prayers have been answered. All her eight children, 
who have been trained up for God, have professed 
themselves liis followers by uniting with his church ; 
and all her rive sons have become ministers, and 
some of them missionaries of the cross of Christ 

What strong, what wonderful encouragement does 
God in his providence hold out to pra} ing mothers. 
The prayers of the faithful Monica w< re blessed to 
the conversion of her once profligate, but afterwards 
penitent and eminently devoted son Augustine. The 
intercessions which the mother of Doddridge min- 
gled with the Scripture lessons taught him in his 
childhood from the pictures on the tiles by the fire- 
place, were heard and answered in his eminent piety 
and usefulness. And the pious mother of John New- 
ton, "who," he tells ns, ' k made it the chief business 
and pleasure 1 of her life to instruct him, and bring 
him up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord," 
and "who from his birth devoted him with many 
rs to the ministry," though she did not live to 
. found in the end that her supplications were 
answered, and doubtless rejoiced with the angels in 



A MORNING CALL. 1 If, 

heaven over his return to the Saviour, and his life of 
distinguished piety and usefulness. 

Christian mothers, faint uot in your prayers; for 

God will hear, and in duo season will answer. Con- 
secrate your children without wavering to Christ ; for 
he will accept the gift, and make them useful in his 
service. Not only point, but lead them in the way 
of heaven, and in a little while you shall meet them 
there. n. s. 



A /40F{jmijsiq cyui 

A clergyman, journeying in Pennsylvania, called 
on a brother minister who had been an intimate- 
friend. They were delighted to meet; the family 
had just gathered for morning worship, and were in- 
troduced to the visitor in turn. He inquired after 
the spiritual state of each one, and found all were 
members of the church excepting one daughter, an 
interesting young lady of eighteen. The fact im- 
> d his mind with unusual sadness, and he ad- 
dressed her a few earnest questions. 

Being requested to lead in prayer, all other sub- 
jects seemed to fade from his mind, and the one idea 
of that young lady's unconverted state bore on his 
spirit with a weight he could not shake off. He 
prayed for her as for one standing between life and 
death, and pleaded so earnestly that the family circle 
might not be broken, that all were in tears when 
they rose. A very few words were spoken, the 
wells were exchanged, and the visitor went his way. 

One or two years after, the visitor received a let- 



416 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

fcer from his friend and brother minister. It \ 
replete with happiness and thanksgiving; for, added 
to his other blessings, was the joy of his danghi 
conversion. From the morning on which that prayei 
was offered for her by her father's friend, she had 
not ceased to feel that she was hourly in danger of 
lu ing eternally lost. It had so impressed her mind 
that she seemed to hear the words he poured forth 
continually, and she found no rest till she found it 
by believing in Jesus, and going to him for salvation 
and righteousness. 

The letter added, "I felt impelled to write you, 
and to tell you that I bless God he directed you to 
make us that morning call, and led you to pray for 
my dear child the prayer of faith, for such I have no 
doubt it was. She will be another star in your 
crown of rejoicing. Let this encourage yon, dear 
brother, to be faithful wherever you go." 

How much do ministers lose, both here and 
hereafter, when they visit in families where are tin- 
converted, souls without realizing their danger and 
being faithful in conversation and prayer. Let ] 
tors ask themselves, " Is this being about my Fa- 
ther's business etiif.l. 



y\ YOUNQ D/.JNE AND HEF( EgPOUgED. 

The Rev. I\ E. Ryding, a devoted missionary 

colporteur in Denmark, records, among other evi- 
s of the Divine blessing, the following hid- 
den! 

"Some tracts were given fco E. W- , a young 



THE TWO YOUNG DANES. 447 

girl, which were the moans of her conversion. She 

eame to our meetings, soon obtained peace, and was 
baptized. She was engaged to a sailor who was 
away on a long voyage. Having herself tasted how 
good the Lord is, it was her first desire that her 
betrothed might also find grace before the Lord; 
but how could her voice reach him who was away at 
sea ? She could not even write him, for the ship had 
no certain destination, but was going on a voyage to 
obtain freight. Still one thing she conld do : namely, 
wrestle with the Lord in prayer that he would have 
mercy upon her betrothed and herself. 

" AYhile this happened in Copenhagen, the Spirit 
of the Lord arrested E. P , to whom she was en- 
gaged, in the Atlantic. Li his vessel was a shipmate 

who spoke to E. P and gave him tracts. The 

forecastle became a temple of the Lord, and E. P 

found remission of his sins in the precious blood of 
Christ His thoughts were now directed towards E. 

AY , and he thought of breaking his engagement 

with her, and made up his mind to write her to that 
effect when he arrived at some port, as he thought 
it would be displeasing to God if he married her, an 
unbelieving girl. But the letter was not written, for 
whenever he came to a port he had great fear that 
such a sudden dissolution of the engagement might, 
as in some other cases, lead her to make way with 
hersell He therefore resolved, when he should re- 
turn, to give E. AY the same tracts which had 

been such a blessing to his own soul. 

11 At last the vessel arrived at Copenhagen, and he 
hunted up E. AY to give her the tracts and to 



448 SKETCHES FROM LIFJ:. 

taik with her about how gracious the Loni had b 
to liim ; hut on meeting her, she gave him the tracts 

she intended for him. For a moment they stood 
and looked at one another, when he inquired, 'Do 
you love these tracts ? ' ' Yes,' she replied. An i 
planation now ensued, when both with broken hearts 
spoke of the great things which the Lord had done 
for their souls, and praised God for his mercy. He 
it is that doeth great and wondrous things to the 
children of men. Now they are walking happily to- 
gether before the Lord." 



1HE WAjNDEREFj yVND FAMILY PF;AYEF(. 
i 
FINANCIAL reverses led my father to the South- 
western states for the support of his family. During 
his protracted absence, my mother took some young 
men as boarders. One who came to her on an ap- 
pointed day was Edward B , a native of an 

inland town of Pennsylvania. The evening was 
spent in pleasant conversation, and our new boarder 
seemed quite intelligent. 

As bedtime approached, my mother requ< 
my oldest brother to conduct family worship. This 
was her custom in the absence of our father, who, 
when ai home, loved to call the family around him, 
to unite in the evening sacrifice of prayer and prai 
My brother had been some time a Christian. A pas- 
of Scripture was read, the new-comer listen- 
ing with fixed attention ; and prayer was offered, in 
which the absent father, and lie also who then 



THE WANDEREK RECLAIMED. 449 

bowed with us for the first time, were earnestly 
remembered. 

As we rose from our knees I noticed that the 
stranger was in tears. Approaching my brother, ho 
took his hand and said, "Words will not express my 
joy at finding my new home among those who love 
the Lord Jesus. My parents are pious, and the 
paternal roof, ivom which I have been long al 
daily witnessed scenes like this ; but my lot lias be< n 
east among those who regarded only worldly things, 
so that I have been a stranger to the sweet influ- 
ences and restraints of family religion. In conse- 
quence of this, I have neglected the closet and the 
house of God. I have gone with my new-found com- 
panions to scenes of pleasure. Oh, how far have I 
wandered from the path my parents trod. But your 
prayer to-night has recalled a mother's faith, a 
father's prayer, and revived my own sense of respon- 
sibility to God. Please to remember me always in 
your supplications." 

My dear mother, whose heart was never closed 
to an appeal of a child away from home, wept tears 
of thankfulness, that her simple act of duty in main- 
taining the worship of God in the absence of my 
father had resulted in so much good to a wandering 

soul. During Mr. B 's residence with us for 

many months, he was punctual in attending family 
worship, often himself leading our devotions. He 
immediately connected himself with a church in the 
city, became active in the Sunday-school, and was, 
as long as we knew him, an earnest, useful Christian. 

We see here the power of f armly religion follow- 



•150 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

ing the young long after they have left the parental 
roof. Principles arc instilled, pleasant associations 
established, and habits formed, which, though they 

may long lie dormant, when awakened will exhibit 
fruit in reselling the heart from the evil influence of 
sinful companions. The family gatherings for prayer 

in the home of Edward B , had this effect upon 

his mind. If there are circumstances under which 
religion becomes more attractive than under any 
oilier, they are found in the potent spells that per- 
vade the family circle ; for there duty to God is 
enforced by the power of domestic affection. 

We perceive too the importance of maintaining 
family worship even under unfavorable drcumstm 
Intermitting it for trivial causes weakens its happy 
influence on the minds of the young, and often fails 
to produce effects upon visitors which might tend 
to their eternal salvation. As in the above-related 
case, the seed implanted at home may be warmed 
into life by the genial atmosphere of another family 
circle. JEROME. 



"if TWO OF YOU SHALl,*AqR£E. ,? 

Last spring, a young couple, who were followers 
of Christ, found it necessary to hire some one to 
help them on their farm. They hired a brother of 
the wife, a very wild, profane young man. So bold 
A\as he in sin, that many were afraid of him. 

One day just before he came to live with them, 
the wife, with a sister's love, proposed to her hus- 
band that they should pray for him. They agreed 



MANTUA-MAKER AND ACTRESS. 451 

to pray, and keep on praying until God should hi ar 
and answer. They did so. 

About a week after he came, he was one day 
ploughing. And, as lie afterwards told the writer of 
this, he "be^an to feel strangely." He saw himself 
a sinner, " lost and ruined by the fall." He hardly 
knew what to do; he stopped his oxen in the fur- 
row, and fell down on his knees and cried for mercy. 

Before a great while he found mercy; and oh, 
how changed was he! As he had once been 
bold for Satan, now he is bold for Christ. He is 
now preparing for the ministry, and whenever he 
has an opportunity, he point his friends to Christ, 
who came into the world to save sinners, even the 
chief. J. h. d. 



THE JMANTUA-JVlAKEFi AND THE/CTR£jS$. 

In one of the large cities on our Atlantic sea- 
board, lived a young mantua-maker. She trod the 
humbler walks of society, barely earning by her 
needle the necessaries of life. 

As she arose one morning, not knowing where 
to look for food, she fell on her knees and prayed 
to her heavenly Father that he would give her her 
daily bread — that he would put it into the heart of 
some one to send her work, which would place her 
once more beyond the pinchings of want. 

She had not waited long when a gayly dressed 
lady, an actress, stood before her, and offered her 
high wages if she would prepare for her some arti- 



152 BE ETCH ES FROM LI II.. 

»f dress suited to her appearance on the stage 
in another city. 

The mantua-maker hesitated. Had slie not as 
God for employment; and was it not in answer to 
her prayer that this offer of work was now before 
her? But was it right for her to aid the act). 
her preparation for the theatre? TVhat should she 
do? 

She paused a moment, and replied, "I must ask 
my heavenly Father." As if unconscious of the 
presence of any one, she dropped on her knees and 
poured out her petition, earnest, sincere, truthful, in 
the ear of God, that she might know what was 
right — that she might have some distinct impn 
what was her duty. The stranger stood by, awed 
and overcome. 

The voice of prayer ceased. The young ad 
exclaimed, "I must withdraw my offer. I cannot 
fulfil my engagement. Pray for me too, that God 
may forgive my sins. I cannot live on in- this way; 
tell me about your Saviour, for henceforth I must 
love him and devote my life to his service." - 

The purpose of that hour was fulfilled. She 
gave up her appointment, and relinquished her place 
on tin 1 stage. She joined herself to God's people, 
and by a consistent Christian life showed the reality 
of her religion. In that lowly room we may believe 
a soul was new-born into the kingdom of heaven. 

Thus this humble Christian, retiring from public 
notice, distrustful of herself, was blessed in winning 
for her Saviour's crown a gem which shall shine in 
brightness for ever and ever. 



DO NT BREAK THE SABBATH. 453 



THE SABBATH, 



DON'T BREAK THE SABBATH. 

The Sabbath was given to be a day of rest and 
hallowed peace, and is a delight to God's people. 
But by many it is desecrated to the worst of pur- 
poses. Instead of worshipping God among his peo- 
ple, or reading and meditating upon his word, they 
are found hunting in the woods, fishing in the waters, 
or loitering about the taverns or other places of 
a >rt, regardless of the command, " Eemember the 
Sabbath-day to keep it holy/' 

John S r was a young man who had been 

raised in Philadelphia. In early life he was de- 
prived of a father's care, and as he grew up he be- 
came impatient of his mother's restraint. He began 
to loiter about the t; engine-houses," and run with 
the companies to fires. He gradually acquired hab- 
its which were leading him to ruin. All this his 
mother saw, and saw with pain. She was not a 
Christian; yet the strong affection of a moth 
.heart led her to look with intense anxiety on the 
downward progress of her son. She remonstrated 
and entreated, but it was in vain. He seemed to 
become more and more reckless, and was spending 
much of the time in idleness, which ought to have 
been usefully occupied. 



•1.71 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

As a last resort, she obtained a situation for him 
in the country, hoping that by being removed from 

the influence of his companions he might reform. 
But it is a truth that "one sinner destroyeth much 
good." He came to the village where I was labor- 
ing in the ministry. Very soon he had gathered 
around him all the idle and abandoned in the com- 
munity, and became a leader in all kinds of frolick- 
ing. The Sabbath-day especially was devoted to 
dissipation. 

One Sabbath he and two others went out with 
their dogs and guns a hunting, and were arrested 
the following day on complaint of a law-abiding 
citizen, and fined. 

When the next Sabbath came, he went out fish- 
ing alone. He supplied himself with rum, and taking 
a boat, went out upon the millpond. He was seen 
by those returning from the house of prayer sitting 
in the boat fishing. He did not return in the even- 
ing to his boarding-house, but as that was nothing 
unusual, no anxiety was felt. On Monday morning 
early, one of the villagers was driving by, and ob- 
served the boat in the middle of the pond capsized. 
He at once gave the alarm, and search was made, 
when he was found with one arm thrown across the 
bottom of the boat, as though he had thus supported 
himself till he perished. It is believed that he 
drank till he was intoxicated, and in that condition 
fell overboard. Thus he was called to the judg- 
ment in the very act of transgression. It is a solemn 
thing to die under any circumstances, but to appear 
in the presence of God with a life's guilt upon our 



THE CLOAK TRIMMINGS. 455 

conscience must be dreadful indeed. Thus died a dis- 
obedient and daring Sabbath-breaker, John S r. 

Dear young reader, avoid the company of those 
who speak disparagingly of God, religion, or the 
Sabbath; depend upon it, "Evil communications 
corrupt good manners." Israel of old was com- 
manded to "stone the Sabbath-breaker till he died."' 
And it becomes the transgressor to reflect that tho 
Sabbath is as sacred now as then. Do you remember 
live Sabbath-day to "keep it holy ! J. t. 



THE CJ-OAK TFflMMINQg. 

" Oh, Aunt Mary, I saw such a lovely cloak be- 
fore us to-day," said Fanny Dayton, as she returned 
from church with an aunt she was visiting; "did 
you take notice of it?" 

" No, my dear ; I was interested in the services, 
and did not observe it." 

"I know now just how I shall have my new 
cloak trimmed, and I think I can do it very easily, 
as I took particular notice of that one." 

"You have all the material up-stairs, I believe," 
said her aunt, gently; "would you not like to run 
up for it, and bring down your needle and thimble, 
and just arrange it now, before you forget?" 

Fanny was quite shocked : " Why, Aunt Mary, 
it is the Sabbath. Do you think I would do such a 
wicked thing as to sew on the Sabbath?" 

"Why not, my dear; have you not sewed it over 
many times in your mind to-day?" 



456 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Fanny Looked abashed, but presently inquired, 

"Is it as bad to think about such a thing on the 
Sabbath as to do it?" 

" God looks on the heart, Fanny. In his sight 
you have broken his holy commandment by sewing 
on your cloak to-day.*' 

" But I would not really sew on the Sabbath for 
anything." 

" You remind me, Fanny, of a poor woman who 
took out the parts of a garment and began arrang- 
ing them together with pins on Sabbath morning, 
aid to her, 'You are not going to sew to-day?' 
'Oh no,' she replied; 'I am only fitting these pieces 

ther nicely, to sew on Monday/ 

"I see by your smile, Fanny, that you perc 
her inconsistency. Is there really any difference in 
the cases? My dear, God's 'commandment i 
ceeding broad.' It forbids us not only to 'do our 
own works/ but to 'think our own thoughts' on the 
Lord's day. Heart sins are the worst of all, tor they 
produce. all the others. We can never keep our- 
hearts right unless Jesus gives us the strength ; but 
this need be no excuse for us, for he has promised 
to help all that ask him. Pray to him, dear Fanny, 
to help you keep next Sabbath better than you have 
this. We must 'remember the Sabbath-day' on the 

ling days, and prepare for it, if we would 
it holy." E. L. N. 



THE SABBATH HUNTER. 457 



THE SABBATH HUNTEF}. 

Mrs. B was a lovely Christian. Eminently 

a servant of God, it was as her meat and drink to 
do the will of her heavenly Father. But her soul 
was filled with deep sorrow for her husband. He 
had a large, powerful, well-developed frame, such as 
the eye delights to look upon, with a strong and 
vigorous intellect ; but he was a profane, irreligious 
man. 

One fine Sabbath morning, he was preparing to 
go on a hunting expedition with some of his compan- 
ions in sin. His wife remonstrated ; in her kindest 
and most persuasive manner she entreated him to 
desist from thus desecrating God's day and tramp- 
ling on his commands. She urged him to accom-, 
pany her to the house of God. Finding she could 
not change his pmpose, she told him, on leaving the 
house, that she should not go to church, but remain 
in her room and spend the time of his absence in 
prayer for him. 

He joined his companions with a troubled spirit 
Hour after hour passed in the pursuit of game and 
pleasure, but the Spirit of God had touched his 
heart. The thought that his wife; whom he idolized, 
was troubled for him, and engaged in prayer for him, 
was as a sword piercing his heart. His eyes were 
opened to see something of the exceeding sinfulness 
of sinning against such a holy God, and of the jus- 
tice of God's requirements. 

At length he could bear it no longer, and apolo- 

Bkatcbea. 'J( I 



458 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

gizing to his companions, lie returned to his house. 
Not finding his wile, he went to her room. Uncon- 
scious of his presence, she was still on her knees, 
wrestling with the "Angel of the covenant." He 
saw her anguish, heard her importunate supplica- 
tions. 

Crossing the room, he fell on Iris knees by her 
side, crying for mercy. Together now did they plead 
that He who had shown him his sins would also 
show him the way of escape. 

While they were speaking their cry was heard. 
Christ revealed himself as the " Saviour of sinners," 
mighty to save all who put their trust in him. Sub- 
dued, humbled, penitent, he received Christ in his 
heart as " the chiefest among ten thousand, and alto- 
gether lovely." 

For years after he walked by the side of this 
devoted wife, testifying to the world the genuineness 
of the change wrought in him by the Spirit of God. 
He became a pillar in the clmrch, eminent for his 
earnest piety, his consistent Christian walk, and his 
activity in his Master's work. Thus was " the unbe- 
lieving husband sanctified by the wife." Such is the 
power of intercession. " The effectual fervent prayer 
of a righteous man availeth much." B. 



1 REjVlEJvlBEFt THE gABBATH-DAY." 

"Work six days, and rest the seventh." This is 
the command of God ; and many a man falls a vic- 
tim to disobeying it. 



"REMEMBEK THE SABBATH-DAY." l- ( t 

Mr. L was the president of a large company, 

the business of which engrossed him all the week; 

and on Saturday, as lie went to his home, you might 
almost always have seen him go to his carriage with 

a large bundle of papers, which lie spent Sunday in 
examining carefully, that he might bring them back 
on Monday to the office. 

One day a Christian friend with whom he was 
intimate said to him, as he was going to his carriage. 
" Mr. L , why do you labor and toil so incessant- 
ly? Six days is enough for any one to work, eyen 
for health's sake. You will kill yourself by working 
se\ en. And besides, my dear friend, you are taking 
no time for eternity, or to prepare yourself or train 
up your family for he ay en." 

Hesitating for a moment, as though touched by 
the kind expostulation, the other replied, " I must do 
it, or my work would soon oyerwhelm me. By-and- 
by I hope to get some one who can help me. and 
then I will think of better things." And he went on 
in his course of Sabbath work till his mind was oyer- 
tasked and his brain softened, and he died a victim 
to his violation of the fourth commandment. 

For the body's sake, "remember the Sabbath- 
day," and keep it as a rest from all business. For 
sake, remember it, and keep it as a rest to 
the spirit and a day of preparation for the rest of 
heaven. *** 



< 
• 



460 SKETCHES PBOM LIFE 



gABBATH-BREAKINQ y\JND JTg FF(UIT£. 

"Your notions about keeping the Sabbath," said 

a farmer to a Christian friend, " are all superstition. 
The idea that it is not profitable or safe to work on 
the Sabbath as on other days is false, and / will prow. 
it .so." So he attempted to prove it, and went on 
and ploughed his field and sowed his grain on the 
Sabbath, and it came up and grew finely ; and often 
through, the season he pointed to it as proving that 
Sabbath labor is safe and profitable. And so he 
reaped it and stacked it in the field, and then thought 
his argument was complete. But his boys, catching 
the spirit of their father, took their guns on the Sab- 
bath and went out hunting in the woods. It was a 
very dry time, and the wadding from their guns set 
the leaves on fire, and the wind swept the flames 
over the field, and soon all that remained of his noble 
harvest was the blackness and ashes that the fire 
had left. 

Another man, also a farmer, thought he had suc- 
ceeded better, and even boasted that he had proved 
by experiment that it was more profitable to work 
on the Sabbath than to rest or attend divine wor- 
ship. And on the Sabbath on which he finished 
gathering in his crops, he told some of his Christian 
neighbors how much wiser he had been than they ; 
and that by working on all the Sabbaths of the year, 
he had saved some fifty days which they had lost by 
then superstition. But that very day the lightning 
struck his bam and consumed everything in it, leav- 



SABBATH-BREAKING. 461 

ing his neighbors more satisfied than ever that it is 
safe "to remember the Sabbath-day, and keep it 
holy." 

Another case confirming the same great truth 
has lately met the eye of the writer. It is the case 
of a wealthy merchant, doing business in one of our 
large cities some years ago, who seemed to take de- 
light in violating the sanctity of God's holy day. As 
he did business on a large scale, he at one time gath- 
ered together a million and a half of Spanish dollars 
to send to China ; and as several vessels would be 
needed to bring home the cargoes he intended to 
purchase, he divided the money into seven parts, 
putting it into seven different ships.; and to show Ins 
contempt for God and his law, he sent these ships to 
sea on seven consecutive Sabbaths. The ships went 
out safely, and returned safely, and he doubtless 
congratulated himself on his successful violation of 
the fourth commandment; but when their voyages 
were settled up, he found that five hundred thou- 
sand dollars had been sunk in the enterprise. This 
shook his credit, and loss after loss succeeded, till in 
about four years the rich merchant died bankrupt. 

In all these cases was it chance, or was it divine 
providence ? Was it or was it not God's testimony 
to the Sabbath? x. 



462 SKETCHES FROM LIFE 



THE SOLDIER 



THE TWO UEUTENANT3. 

It was a calm, mild niglit in April, and the moon 
shone peacefully on the western rivers and woods. 
Strange sights the stars looked down upon that 
night : the sky was blue and still, the forest-ti • 
full leaf hi the beauty of spring; but the green earth 
was crimsoned with blood, blackened with the bodies 
of the dead, and for miles around desolation and hor- 
ror covered the land. There, at Pittsburgh Landing, 
the fierce battle had raged. There was busy work, 
as the labors of thousands of hands raised upon the 
trampled sod more than four thousand graves ; and 
there was yet busy work to search woods and fields, 
and find the suffering and the wounded. A steam- 
boat with its band of willing helpers lay by the shore 
almost ready to start, crowded with its precious bur- 
den, when the command came to prepare for fifty 
move. Hastily the guards of the boat were arranged 
with beds, and tarpaulins spread around to screen 
from the dews and chilly air of night. 

In a deep ravine, fifty living men had been found 

who for three days had lain, some in delirium, some 

in a sleep of exhaustion, all in hunger and thirst; 

who were « luscious having given up all hope 



THE TWO LIEUTENANTS. 463 

of being found, and almost envying the quiet rest of 
the dead around them. 

The second night came after the boat had start- 
ed for one of our western cities. Among these last 
fifty men were two lieutenants, both of whom the 
surgeons pronounced fatally wounded. 

It was evident to the kind ladies who sat by 

Lieut. M , that he could scarcely liye through the 

night. He talked of his home, of his childhood, and 
of his mother. " I have been a Universalist," said 
he ; but in terror he added, " I feel God's wrath upon 
me now ; it is burning me ; throw me from this bed ; 
oh my tortures of soul and body ! Can it help my 
wretched soul that I have died for my country?*' 
Then he began to rave of the wicked men who forced 
this war upon the land, and pronounced the most 
fearful curses upon their heads. The lady who 

watched by him said, " Lieut. M , your soul will 

soon be in the presence of your God ; do not go with 
oaths upon your* lips." "With a look of despair he 
turned his face from her, and gave one piercing sigh. 
Tenderly she talked of Jesus and the thief upon the 
cross; there was no reply. She looked again, but 
the cursing lips were fixed in the last bitter expres- 
sion of woe, and the offers of mercy had fallen upon 
the ear of death. 

In the silence of the scene there arose the voice 
of prayer. It was from a bed at the upper end of 
the guards on the same side of the boat, where lay 

Lieut D . With strength and earnestness he 

prayed for his young wife and little children, and 
intrusted them to the tender care of Him who has 



404 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

promised to be a Father to the fatherless arid sup- 
port to the widow. He needed not the light to read 
the Scriptures, for they were printed on Ins heart. 
He repeated precious promises, verse after verse ; then 
prayed again; and thus continued, with a strength 
which seemed given him, that in a few hours of dying 
grace he could speak for his Master words which 
will influence the future lives of many who heard 
him. 

How he begged for mercy and forgiveness for the 
wounded, sin-sick souls around him ! and many of 
the sufferers near hid their faces, while their pillows 
were wet with tears of penitence. Nurses and sur- 
geons gathered around the death-bed. Men who had 
looked unmoved upon the horrors of the battle-field 
turned away into the darkness, lest they might exhibit 
the emotions they could not conceal. 

" Oh, my sufferings," he said ; " but my Saviour 
suffered far more for me. Oh that God woidd send 
to every wounded soul the joy and bliss he has 
granted to me!" Again and again he begged those 
around him to love his precious Saviour, and com- 
mended them all to God. 

AYhile his face was pale from loss of blood, it was 
serene and smiling, his eyes beaming with love and 
peace. The deck of that floating hospital was indeed 
the gate of heaven. At last he spoke clearer and 
louder: "The grave is conquered: thanks be to God, 
who giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus 
Christ." 

The Christian soldier had "fought the good fight 
of faith," and with his whole armor on, had gone to 



TRY CHRIST. 465 

the great Captain of our salvation to receive his glo- 
rious crown. 

Answer honestly to your own heart, Like which 
of the two lieutenants do you wish to die ? M. 



TRY CHRI3T. 



In a ward of the hospital of Scutari, a conversa- 
tion arose one day on the subject of religion. A 
convalescent had crawled with his crutch to the bed- 
side of a comrade, anxious to know how it fared with 
one who had stood shoulder to shoulder with him in 
more than one affray. 

"Well, Barry, how are you to-day?" inquired 
the visitor in a cheerful tone. 

"I cannot say, 'All's well,' indeed, Stanton, 
either outwardly or inwardly; but you are the man 
I was so wishing to see." 

" And what can I do for you, my good fellow ?" 

" Well, the chaplain was here yesterday, and I 
told him that I was miserable. I told him that I 
had tried pleasure, drink, everything ; and that now 
my wretched mind was harder to bear than my 
wounds. What do you think he said ? In the most 
solemn and earnest manner he said, ' Try Christ.' 
All night long those two words have been in my ears, 
1 Try Christ' But what can they mean ?" 

" A glorious meaning they have, Barry. The Son 
of God is willing to save you, if you are willing to 
believe on him and be saved. Be in earnest; he will 
save you from sin and hell. Trust in him, and he 

20* 



4:66 SKETCHES FROM LIFK 

will nut let you perish. Ask him to forgive your sins. 
Com*' to him, and you shall not be cast out." 

"But, Stanton, are you certain all this is tun? 
Y< )u know the life I led ; too bad almost to be for- 
given." 

"As true as God himself," answered the pious 
soldier reverently; and taking a Bible, he read the 
words : " For God so loved the world, that he gave 
his only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in 
him should not perish, but have everlasting life." 
John 3 : 16. " Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and 
thou shalt be saved." Acts 16 : 31. " Come unto 
me, all ye that labor and are heavy-laden, and I will 
give you rest." Matt. 11 : 28. 

This good news was eagerly listened to by Barry, 
and the words were as cold water to a thirsty soul. 
He was induced to seek with earnestness and perse- 
verance an interest in that salvation which Christ 
purchased by the shedding of his own precious blood, 
and which he so freely bestows on all who believe on 
him. And he did not seek in vain. By the teach- 
ing of the Holy Spirit, he found, to the peace and 
joy of his soul, that Christ "is able to save them to 
the uttermost that come unto God by him." Hrb. 
7 : 25. 

Will the reader follow the example of the poor 
wounded soldier ? Will you " try Christ ?" May the 
Holy Spirit help you to accept without delay this 
loving invitation, and induce you at once to make 
trial of Him who has said, " Him that cometh unto 
me I will in no wise cast out." John 6 : 37. 



"TAKE YOUB MOTHERS SAVIOUB." 467 

U TAKE YOUF( MOTHER gAVIOUFJ fOR 
YOUF( $AVIOUR. n 

The arrival of a mail in the army ! "Who can 
toll the emotions it awakens? That is the signal 
thaff brings at once to the view home and all its 
loved ones. For the moment, the camp, its fatigues, 
its discomforts, its duties, are all forgotten. The 
soldier is transported back to the scenes he has left, 
and his heart throbs in unison with those who are 
praying for him at the family altar. 

The mail came to the army in Eich mountain. 
The soldiers eagerly gathered around. Many re- 
ceived the thrice-welcome letter. One young soldier 
took his, opened it, and began to read ; but the tears 
started and tilled his eyes, so that he strove in vain 
to make out the words. Turning to his comrade, he 
said, " I cannot read this letter. You take it, and 
read it to me." 

He commenced, but so affecting was the letter, so 
deeply was it imbued with a mother's heart, so touch- 
ing and so earnest were its appeals, that he too sobbed 
and wept, and stopped. Long was it before the weep- 
ing warriors could reach the end of that letter. The 
last sentence was, " My son, take your mother's Sav- 
iour for your Saviour." 

That night the trumpet sounded, and there was 
a fearful battle on Eich mountain. In the morning 
his comrade sought all over the field for this sol- 
dier. At last he found him. His eye was closed in 



468 



SKETCHES PROM LIFE 




death. Firmly clenched in his hand was his mot) 
letter. 

Whether in that last hour he had listened to this 
earnest appeal, and taken his mother's Saviour for 
his Saviour, eternity alone will disclose. The inci- 
dent, however, is deeply affecting, and speaks to 
thousands. 

Soldier on the tented field, liable at any moment 
to be called to the presence of your Judge, at home 
you have a mother whom yon love and trust Whose 
name is oftenest upon her lips? What is the arm on 
which she leans? On whom does she rest all her 



THE SOLDIER'S MOTHER. 469 

hopes for time and for eternity? She knows the 
Redeemer whom she commends to you. "Will you 
not take her Saviour for your Saviour, that you may 
share her confidence and her joys? that in the great 
day with her you may shave the crown of eternal 
life? 

Soldier in life's battle, young man away from 
home, removed from a mother's eye and a sister's 
care, amid the temptations and the perils of the 
world, threading your way to eternity, an eternity of 
bliss or an eternity of woe, will you not take Him 
who has saved your mother to be your Saviour? H. 



THE gOLDIER'g MOTHER. 

" My mother died," said a youthful soldier, rising 
at a prayer-meeting in the camp, " when I was but 
eight years old. Well do I remember the scene. 
Knowing that her end was nigh, she called her chil- 
dren around her. We came weeping. Laying her 
soft hand upon our heads, she charged us to meet 
her in heaven, and then we were left motherless. Yet 
I was not entirely so, for my eldest sister became to 
me a mother, and I soon learned to respect and con- 
tide in her as such. But alas ! in a few years she 
too pressed her dying pillow. In that painful hour, 
calling me to her as my mother had done before, she 
asked me to promise that I would meet her in heaven. 
I did promise. 

" To-day I have been in great distress. These 
promi solemnly given, have pressed upon my 



470 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

conscience. My sainted mother and sister appeal- 
before me. Their sweet and earnest tones sound in 
my ears. Long have I lived in neglect of my prom- 
ise, without preparation for heaven. To-day I have 
been overwhelmed with a sense of my guilt. I can- 
not live any longer in sin : I want now to enter upon 
that narrow way in which my mother and sister 
walked. Christian Mends, to you I look for your 
prayers, for your sympathy. Henceforth I wish to 
live for Christ alone." 

A chord was touched in every Christian heart. 
All joined in the earnest supplication that was offered 
up in his behalf. The thought that a mother's 
prayers were already laid up before God strength- 
ened our faith. Voices trembled and tears flowed 
down the cheeks of strong men. 

How mysterious, how strong is a mother's influ- 
ence. For sixteen years her body had slumbered in 
the silent grave. Her son had grown up exposed to 
temptation in various forms, yet a mother's influence 
followed him. The camp is not the place to which 
we look for religious impressions. Its scenes are not 
usually calculated to awaken serious thought. Yet 
even here a mother's prayers follow him, a mother's 
counsels awaken him to a sense of guilt and danger. 
The Holy Spirit makes use of these to lead him to 
the Saviour. w. 



FRANCIS MARION. 471 



f^ANCIg MARION. 

In one of those beautiful homes overlooking a 
broad bay on the coast of South Carolina, Francis 
Marion passed his childhood. 

- He loved the sparkling waters that played near 
his father's house, and early longed to rove on the 
dark blue sea, of which he had heard so many won- 
derful stories. It was a long time before his mother 
could consent that her youngest and most delicate 
child should be exposed to the hardships of a sailor's 
life ; but at length she yielded, and at sixteen Francis 
set sail from Charleston for the West Indies. Before 
he reached the end of his voyage, however, he most 
heartily wished, himself at home; for a monstrous 
whale so injured the little vessel in which he sailed, 
that her crew had only time to escape to the small 
boat before the schooner sunk. For twelve days they 
tossed on the rough sea beneath a burning sun, their 
only food the captain's pet dog, that swam to them 
from the sinking vessel. 

The captain and mate, crazed by hunger and 
thirst, leaped overboard and were drowned; three 
others died in the boat ; but God had a great work 
for our young sailor yet to do, and in his mercy sent 
a ship to his rescue. 

When Francis Marion once more felt his moth- 
er's kiss upon his cheek, he resolved to give up the 
sea, and become an earnest, hard-working farmer. 

For ten years he quietly followed his chosen 
occupation, making the home of his widowed mother 



472 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

happy by his presence, until in 1759, when the French 
and Indian war extended to the Southern states, and 
for two years he was called to fight the battles of his 
country. When the fierce spirit of the Indians was 
broken, he returned to his farm to work and study in 
peace and quiet for fourteen years, till he had be- 
come a strong, wise, noble-hearted Christian man. 

It was the middle of May, 1775, when the story 
of the battle of Lexington reached South Carolina, 
and the cry, "To arms!" rang through the land. 
Among the brave spirits of the South, Francis Mari- 
on was one of the first to stand up for the defence of 
the right, and almost immediately he was appointed 
captain ; not long afterwards he receiyed the title of 
major, and then general, and nobly did he bear the 
honor. 

Fastening in his leather cap a silyer crescent with 
the motto, " Liberty or death !" he soon gathered 
together a band of men, who stood around their chief 
at midnight, and pointing their swords to heaven, 
took a solemn vow that they would never be the 
slaves of Britain. He formed his camp in the centre 
of one of those great swamps that abound in the 
Southern states, and giving up the comforts of his 
pleasant home, taught his men to become faithful, 
hardy soldiers. 

Many times when the British generals were rejoi- 
cing in the thought that the spirit of the American 
people was broken, and the power of their king would 
soon be restored. Marion, with his handful of brave 
followers, would pounce upon them, bringing terror, 
defeat, and death to their ranks. 



FHANCIS MARION. 473 

"A moment in the British camp, 
A moentm and away. 
Back to the pathless forest 
Before the peep of day." 

" That swamp-fox," the British called him ; and 
©ageriy they sought to trap him, but he always 
proved too quick for them in flight, and in battle vic- 
tory was almost always on his side. Yet he never 
grew proud or self-confident, but put his trust in 
God, and battled for the right. 

In one respect he was a model for ever}' soldier ; 
nothing could induce him to taste a drop of intoxi- 
cating drink. At one time, early in the war, a din- 
ner-party was given him at Charleston, and he was 
urged to take wine. He refused, but his friends 
were determined to make him take at least one glass, 
and seeing no other means of escape, he raised the 
window and sprang to the street. The distance was 
greater than he supposed, and his ankle was broken 
in the fall. He was earned on a bed to his distant 
home, and for many weeks was confined to his room, 
unable to step. 

Every one who knew him considered this a great 
misfortune, yet it proved a blessing, for Charleston, 
with all its citizens and soldiers, was soon captured 
by the enemy, and if it had not been for this acci- 
dent, Marion would probably have been a prisoner 
too. 

One little incident will show the privations that 
he endured for the cause that was so dear to his 
heart. 

A vouug: British officer was sent to him on busi- 



474 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

ness. After they had completed their arrangements, 

Marion invited the young man to dine with him, and 
he accepted. The dinner consisted of roasted pota- 
toes, with pieces of bark as plates, and a log for a 
table. 

"Surely, general," exclaimed the astonished 
youth, "this is not your usual fare?" 

"It certainly is," replied Marion; "and it is weU 
for us that to-day we have a sufficient quantity to 
entertain company." 

When the young officer returned to the British 
camp, he resigned his commission, declaring that 
such men could not and ought not to be conquered. 

And so it proved ; for peace, an honorable peace, 
was soon proclaimed, and America was free. 

At that glorious news no heart beat lighter than 
did that of Francis Marion. With sadness, yet with 
joy, he bade good-by to his faithful brigade, and 
once more returned to his farm. War had made the 
country desolate, and laid waste the home he loved, 
rendering him, at more than fifty years of age, a 
poor man ; but he cheerfully bore his losses for free- 
dom's sake, and resolutely commenced again to build 
his ruined fortune. 

For twelve years he nobly sustained his part in 
public and in private life, and then, at the age of 
sixty-three, lay calmly down to die. 

"Some," said he, "have spoken of death as a 
'leap in the dark,' but I regard it only as a short 
passage to a welcome resting-place." 

Thus Francis Marion, the Christian soldier, lived 
without fear, and died without reproach. E. A. H. 



A CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM. 475 i 

"/< LITTLE CHILD gH^LL LE^D THLJ^.» 

M Chaplain," said a weather-beaten soldier on a 
lovely Sabbath morning, while a tear -listened in his 
eye and earnestness brightened every feature, "I 

am in great trouble. My anguish is so keen that I 
have had no rest, and I come to you for help. I 
feel that I am a very great sinner, I received a let- 
ter from my wife telling me that God had called 
home our darling little daughter. She was only 
eight years old, but ripe for heaven. I have had no 
rest since I heard of her triumphant death. I 
cannot continue to live as I have. I must be a 
changed man. I must meet her in heaven." 

" Do you feel that yon are a sinner? " " I do ; a 
very great sinner. I received a religious education., 
I have known my duty well enough. The common 
vices of the camp I have not fallen into ; but I have 
been led away by light company. I have lived 
only for myself and the world, now I would live for 
something else." 

"You believe that Jesus Christ came into the 
world to save sinners?" "Ido" There was an 
emphasis in his tone that no words can give. " Do 
you believe that if you truly come to Jesus he will 
be tme to his promises and save you ? " " He must 
be true to his promises. He cannot deny himself." 
""Will you then humbly, unreservedly come to him, 
and trust in him as your Saviour? " "I hope I can 
Bay, in his strength, I will." "The blood of Jesus 
Christ cleanseth from all sin." 



47G SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Here lie handed me the letter of his wife. From 
this I learned that this little girl of eight years had 
comforted her mother, and even cheered her when 
she felt that she could not part with her in the 
absence of her husband. " The Lord will provide," 
said the little one with simple faith. In her dying 
hour she had no terror. "Mother," said she, "do 
not mourn ; It is better to go and dwell with God 
than to live in this world of sin and trouble. I am 
going to rest on Christ's bosom." 

In the afternoon the bereaved father again called 
on me, and told me how often this child pleaded 
with him not to break the Sabbath, not to do this 
and that that would be displeasing to God. "Fa- 
ther, wont you go to church to day ? "Wont you try 
to be a Christian? " Once she came to him with a 
full heart and pleaded with liim to pray. 

" All these things," said the veteran soldier, as 
the tears coursed down his cheek, "now come up 
afresh, and appeal to my heart. Her voice is all the 
time sounding in my ears. I feel that it is to me a 
call from God, my last call, and that if I neglect it I 
am lost for ever." 

I took the Bible, and for an hour preached to 
him Christ and him crucified. Every word he 
seemed to drink in eagerly. As he left I felt that 
God had indeed, through his own child, give him an 
effectual call. 

Thus may children lead even grown persons to 
the Saviour. Would that precious child give up the 
joy of winning back her dear father to God for all 
the pleasures of earth? As she sits and sings in 



THE VERMONT SENTINEL. 477 

glory in hope of welcoming him there, does she 
regret that she thought more of eternity than of 
time ? How delightful it is that children may be 
Christians. Christ gives special encouragement and 
special promises to such. The efforts of this child 
at the time did not have all the influence she 
wished ; but when she had sunk into an early 
grave, every word and every look came back and 
came home to the heart of that father, bringing him 
as a little child to the feet of the Saviour. H. 



gCOTT, THE V£F{MOJNT JSENTIJNEJ.. 

Many will recollect William Scott of the Third 
Vermont volunteers, who was once sentenced to 
be shot for sleeping at his post in the army of the 
Potomac. Two nights, in one of which he volunta- 
rily filled the place of a feeble comrade, he had been 
on duty, and in the third sleep overcame him. He 
was court-rnartialled and found guilty ; the finding 
was approved by General M'Clellan, and he was 
sentenced to be shot. He was a true man, a time 
soldier, and had committed an offence which by mil- 
itary law is punishable with death ; so he asked not 
for pardon, but calmly awaited his fate. The day 
for the execution arrived and with a firm step, keep- 
ing time with the music, he walked to the appointed 
place and kneeled down upon his coffin. The exe- 
cutioners, who had been drawn from his own com- 
pany, stood ready with loaded muskets ; but instead 
of the order, "Fire," the prisoner's pardon was read. 



478 SKETCHES FROM LIFE 

A petition for this Lad been drawn up sc\ 
davs before by his regiment and presented to the 
President. He saw lit to grant it, and telegraphed 
to the proper officer to stop the execution. Not re- 
ceiving a reply, he feared that something was wrong, 
and after the arduous labors of the day he rode ten 
miles out to camp to make the matter sure. Neither 
Scott nor any of the thousands present, except a few 
officers, knew that he had received a pardon until it 
was read. Immediately he was released, and re- 
ceived into the ranks with the greatest enthusiasm. 

At the engagement at Lee's Mills, before York- 
town, on the 16th of April, young Scott rushed 
boldly forward, and was the first man who fell. A - 
his life-blood ebbed away, lie said to the comrade 
who was supporting him, " I have proved myself not 
a coward, and not afraid to die," and shortly after 
he breathed his last, praying for the President. 

There is one fact respecting him that reporters 
have failed to mention, namely, that, in Groton his 
native town, a short time before he enlisted, he ob- 
tained a saving knowledge of Christ, and while in 
camp led a consistent Christian life. It was that 
hope which is " as an anchor to the soul, sure and 
steadfast," that made him willing to suffer the pen- 
alty of the law he had violated ; it was that which 
made him remember with gratitude the President in 
his dying moments, and it was that which made him 
"not afraid to die." L. E. w. 



HE IS MY CHRIST." 179 



" HE 15 MY CHF{lgT." 

On a very hot day in July, I visited, as usual, 
one of the hospitals in Baltimore, where among fifty 
wounded soldiers recently exchanged and sent on 
from Richmond, I found one young man who inter- 
ested me deeply. He was only nineteen, and had a 
father and mother living on a farm in one of the val- 
leys of Pennsylvania. He was free to converse — an 
expression of patient resignation lighting up his soft 
brown eyes, as he answered- my inquiries and lis- 
tened to my expressions of sympathy. 

At the battle of Gaines' Mills he was wounded, 
and taken as a prisoner to a rude building used as a 
hospital, where his right arm was amputated. While 
this was done he was perfectly conscious, the sur- 
geon's supply of chloroform having failed. When I 
asked him how he was able to bear this, he said 
with a sweet smile, "When I saw others suffering so 
much more, I could not think of myself." His food 
at this hospital was simply flour and water boiled 
together. Soon after, they were removed to an old 
tobacco warehouse in Richmond, where they suffered 
greatly until exchanged. 

I gave him a little book, and that beautiful tract, 
"A True Story of Lucknow." A smile passed over 
his face as he said, " I have read that," but he lent 
it to his comrade on the next cot. When I bade 
him good-by he said, "I shall see you soon, wont 
I? You'll be in every day almost?" He hoped 
soon to walk round and sec our city. He spoke of 



480 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

writing home, and I promised to write for him, and 
left him. 

The next day lie said lie had not slept well, 
which he attributed to a fever he had had before he 
left Richmond. 

Two days after, I visited him the third time, and 
a kind friend having brought some ice-cream for the 
wounded, a fellow soldier raised liini in the bed, and 
I fed him very slowly, for he seemed weaker, and I 
noticed how pale and sunken his cheeks were. The 
next few days were fearfully hot, and circumstances 
prevented my seeing him. I thought him in no dan- 
ger ; but on my next visit, to my surprise I found he 
was not living — his little cot was already tenanted 
by another. 

"S is dead," said the next patient; "he sank 

very fast, but he died happy. Many a time I've 
seen his lips move in prayer when he was not able 
to speak ; and he was a good Christian too, you may 
be sure all is well with him. His brother came to 
take him home, and when informed that he could 
not live, you never saw a more distressed man than 
that brother. They were all expecting him home, 
and he himself had expected to go ; but he said he 
was happy and resigned." 

He had asked the chaplain to pray with him — 
which he did, asking him how he felt. " Happy," he 
said ; " God is near me, and when I pray I feel that 
he blesses me ; I feel it in my heart." 

"How thankful you ought to be to have Christ 
near you, and with you." 

"A smile of heavenly radiance lighted up the 



' ; HE IS MY CHUIST." 481 

wan face, lending unearthly brightness to those 
beautiful eyes which neither I nor his mother and 
loved ones at home were ever to see again; and 
from those last closing lips came precious words— 
to those who had loved him from his infancy and 
childish years more precious now than anything 
that earth can give them: 'He is MY Christ! He 
is my Chuist; praise Him ! ' That," said the chap- 
lain, " was all he seemed able to say ; but it was 
enough." 

* About a year before the war, he had united 
with the church in his native place. He was among 
the first to respond to the call of his country, and 
left a happy home to join the ranks as a private 
soldier. He went as a Christian. AYherevcr he 
was, Christ was with him. Many are led astray 
by the influences of camp life, and neglect prayer ; 
but it was not so with him. The testimony of 
tbftse who knew him was, that "he lived up to 
all he professed." And when he felt that death 
was approaching, he said to those around him, " I 
am going to a better world." 

From his wounded comrades, who had been with 
him in all his sufferings, I learned many little partic- 
ulars concerning his consistent life. In the Libby 
warehouse at Richmond he often talked of his home, 
and his great desire was to see his friends once more. 
I found that in every place where he had been, he 
had prayed openly and fearlessly. In the hospital, 
surrounded by hundreds of older and irreligious 
companions, he was not afraid, but lifted up his 
voice in prayer to God as his reconciled Father in 

ea thmi Life. % 2t\ 



482 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

Christ, not merely night and morning, but often 
through the day. One who was with him the night 
before his death, told me that through its long and 
lonely hours, when he was unable to speak, his lips 
constantly moved in silent prayer. This was his 
comfort in a dying hour: God was with him; "he 
felt in his heart that Christ blessed him, and that he 
was Ms Christ."' Precious words, thrice precious 
possession ! 



THE gOLDIER'g CONVERSION. 

A S0TJNG man named Hugh, " the only son of his 
mother, and she a widow," went forth at the call of 
his country to defend the constitution and the union. 
He was a careless youth, and often grieved the heart 
of his pious mother by his total disregard of religion. 
She made him the subject of special prayer, and alter 
his departure from home her pastor and other Chris- 
tian friends were requested to unite with her in ask- 
ing God to save her loved boy. Many loving epistles 
were sent to him, breathing the spirit of prayer that 
he might become a Christian. 

Shortly after receiving one of those affectionate 
letters, his company with others was ordered out, 
with the design of surprising a body of troops who 
were trying to force their pickets. They pursued 
their way silently in the darkness of the night, and 
while his company were acting as skirmishers, they 
were fired on by a part of their own regiment through 
mistake. They were then ordered to throw them- 



t 

THE SOLDIER'S GONVEBSION. 483 

solves on the ground, and while thus lying in the 
grass, the thought suddenly struck him, "If I should 
be killed, what would become of my soul?" He 
could not shake off the impression made upon him. 
He began to recall the instructions of his dear moth- 
er, the lessons of the Sabbath-school, and the words 
of his pastor. His mind became deeply impressed, 
and he silently prayed that he might find pardon and 
peace in the Redeemer. The bullets were whistling 
over his head, but they disturbed him not. 

Morning broke at length, and with the returning 
light his impressions seemed to wear away. He 
wished to light his pipe, and for this purpose pulled 
from his pocket a piece of paper. As he was about 
applying the match, something seemed to arrest his 
hand; he looked at the paper, and it was a tract, 
entitled, " God be Merciful to Me a Sinner." The 
little winged messenger was read with interest and 
with moistened eyes. For the first time in his life 
he truly felt that he was a sinner in the sight of God, 
and that he needed his mercy. He endeavored to 
hide his emotions from his companions, and partially 
succeeded for a time. Shortly after, hearing a ser- 
mon of the chaplain* from the words, "If we believe 
that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also 
which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him," every 
word of which seemed to be directed to himself, he 
was filled with dee}) distress. He called upon God 
for mercy as a poor lost sinner, and soon was enabled 
to rejoice in the sweet sense of pardoning love. 

In writing to his pastor, he said, "I feel happy 
that I have found Christ Jesus precious to my soul. 



184 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

He has answered my prayers, and given the weary 

sinner rest. After wrestling for many days, I gave 
myself up to the Lord, and immediately I felt that I 
was a new creature. Then I wept for joy that I had 
found the blessed Jesus. I have many opportunities 
to offer up my prayers to God, unmolested by any 
one. It is sweet to hold communion with God in 
that manner; there I can lay before him all my 
hopes and fears, and I am extremely happy when I 
can offer up my petitions before my God." 

So confident was Hugh of his regeneration, and 
so strong were the -terms employed in writing to his 
friends at home on the subject, that his mother cau- 
tioned him, lest he might have deceived himself. 
He replied humbly but firmly, " I can as easily doubt 
my own consciousness, as to doubt the work of grace 
in my soul. I am as well satisfied that I have pass, ■•] 
from death unto life, as that I live. If I doubt the 
reality of my change, I must first ignore all my own 
experience, both past and present.'* 

Truly may we say, as we consider the means 
blessed to the conversion of this young soldier, 
" God's ways are unsearchable, and his judgments 
past finding out." 

Christians, sow the good seed broadcast over the 
land; parents, write loving letters to your children 
absent from home, and beseech them to be recon- 
ciled to God. DAVIES. 



A POBT DONELSON HERO. 



JK FORT DONELgOJN HEFfO. 

Among the troops engaged in the battle at Fort 
Donelson, was a soldier who had been remarkable 
for his boldness and wickedness in camp. For years 
previous to enlisting, he was a ringleader in drinking, 
gambling, and almost every other vice. Removed 
from restraints in the army, he often shocked his 
comrades by his wickedness and profanity. In the 
battle on- that sad morning of strife and death, he 
distinguished himself by courage and daring. In 
one of the charges of the battle, he received a terri- 
ble wound from a minie-ball in the thigh. As he lay 
bleeding on the battle-field, his life-blood mingling 
with the snow, he thought of death and eternity. 
His sins arose before him like a mountain, and filled 
him with dismay. 

He was removed to a well-furnished city hospital, 
where everything which kindness and medical skill 
could suggest was done for his relief. There he lay 
on his cot, suffering intense pain for long weary 
weeks. He was visited by Christian ladies and min- 
isters, who sought to lead him to the fountain opened 
for sin and uncleanness, and their labors were not in 
vain in the Lord. The heart which for years had 
been stout against God, began to relent. Penitence, 
that sweet emotion of the mind, was often seen in 
Iris eyes and heard in his voice. One Sabbath after- 
noon, while the writer was in the room, he requested 
some ladies present to join him in singing, 
'•There is a fountain filled with blood," etc. 



48(i SKETCHES PROM LIFE. 

The wounded soldier em emed to drink in the spirit of 
that hymn. After reading a few verse s concerning 
the dying thief, earnest prayer was offered for his 
salvation. AVhile all were kneeling thus before the 
Lord, he was pleased to hear and answer. The 
afflicted man burst into tears, and sobbed aloud, " O 
Lord, have mercy! O Jesus, save a guilty sinner!' 
He continued weeping and praying for some time ; 
then the friends sung that precious hymn, 

"Just as I am, without one plea. 
But that thy blood was shed for me." 

There was not one dry eye in that room — all wept 
and sung together. As the writer took the soldi' 

hand in his, he said, " Now, M , will you not give 

yourself to Christ, 'just as you are'?" He said with 
tears, "I will, I will." His whole soul was filled with 
a sense of his guiltiness and Christ's mercy. As the 
friends who witnessed this affecting scene left him, 
they expressed the hope that he would soon find 
pardon and peace in believing. They were not dis- 
appointed. He laid hold on Christ, touched the hem 
of Iris garment, and was made clean. He gave him- 
self to Jesus, and found, what every soul finds who 
receives Christ, peace in believing. He continued in 
this happy frame of mind until four months after he 
received the wound, when he slept in Jesus. Though 
his sufferings were severe, he bore them with resig- 
nation, and was comforted in "looking unto Jesu-." 
He often expressed wonder that God should have 
spared his life amid all his wickedness. " Is not this 
a brand plucked out of the fire?" J E. 



THE SOLDIER'S FUNERAL. 487 



THE $OLDIER'$ FUNERAL. 

A coffin covered with the soldier's shroud, in 
front of the pulpit in the old church, contained all 
that remained on earth of one whom we Lad known 
and loved. Dear young man ! but two years before 
lie had stood in this very aisle, making a public pro- 
fession of the religion of Jesus. 

A Christian can best afford to be a fearless sol- 
dier, for he can look danger and death in the face. 
William did so. He was in many battles. He always 
stood his ground like a true hero. 

But there was one thing of which William was 
afraid. He was afraid he should disgrace his Chris- 
tian profession by yielding to temptation in an un- 
happy moment ; so he writes to his father, " Dear- 
father, pray for me ; my temptations are many. Pray 
for me that I may overcome." 

But William's days were numbered. He was 
attacked by . a fatal disease, and borne as far as 

R , where his father, from the adjoining state, 

was summoned to come to him. 

" Where is William ?" said the father as he looked 
round on a company of sick and wounded soldiers, 
who were obliged to halt on their homeward way. 
" That 's my name," answered a feeble voice. Who 
shall attempt to describe that last fond meeting be- 
tween father and son? At length the father found 
voice to say, " How is it about the temptations of 
which you wrote to me? Have you been able to 
overcome ?" The dying eyes brightened, and the 



488 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

faint voice replied eagerly, "Oh, yes, father, I haven't 
tasted a single drop, or fallen into any open sin since 
I left home." As he sleeps among the graves of 
kindred and friends, wo seem to hear a voice from 
heaven saying, "Blessed arc the dead who die in the 
Lord ; for the}' rest from their labors, and their works 
do follow them." il a. W. c. 



THE gOJLDJER'g PRAYER.' 

It was the evening after a great battle. All day 
long the din of strife had echoed far, and thickly 
strewn lay the shattered forms of those so lately 
erect and exultant in the flush and strength of man- 
hood. Among the many who bowed to the con- 
queror Death that night, was a youth in the first 
freshness of mature life. The strong limbs lay list- 
less, and the dark hair was matted with gore on the 
pale broad forehead. His eyes were closed. As one 
who ministered to the sufferer bent over him, he at 
first thought him dead ; but the white lips moved, 
and slowly in weak tones he repeated, 

"Now I lay me down to Bleep, 
I pray the Lord my soul to keep ; 
If I should die before I wake, 
I pray the Lord my soul to take ; 
Aud this I ask for Jesus' sake."' 

As he finished he opened his eyes, and meeting 
the pitying gaze of a brother soldier, he exclaimed, 
" My mother taught me that when I was a little boy, 
and I have said it every night since I can remember. 



THE SAVAGE SOLDIER. 489 

Before the morning dawns, I believe God will take 
my soul ' for Jesus' sake ;' but before I die, I want to 
Bend a message to my mother." 

He was carried to a temporary hospital, and a 
letter was written to his mother, which he dictated, 
full of Christian faith and filial love. He was calm 
and peaceful. Just as the sun arose, his spirit went 
home, his last articulate words being, 

• ' I pray the Lord my soul to take ; 
And this I ask for Jesus' sake." 

So died William B of the — regiment of vol- 
unteers. The prayer of childhood was the prayer of 
manhood. He learned it at his mother's knee in his 
far distant peaceful home, and he whispered it in 
dying, when his young life ebbed away on a stormy 
battle-field. It was his- nightly petition in life, and 
the angel who bore his spirit home to heaven, bore 
the sweet prayer his soul loved so well. 

God bless the saintly words, alike loved and re- 
peated by high and low, rich and poor, wise and igno- 
rant, old and young, only second to our Lord's prayer 
in beauty and simplicity. Happy the soul that can 
repeat it with the holy fervor of our dying soldier. 

A. M. L. 



THE gAVAQE gO^DIER. 

"While the armies of the first Napoleon were 
marching through Germany, one of the regiments 
was quartered on the inhabitants of a village. Among 
the soldiers was one of a fierce aspect, his face cov- 

21* 



490 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

ered by his long black beard, who I in his 

whole demeanor to personify the savage. The far- 
mer upon whom he happened to be "billeted" 
terrified at the sight of him, and proposed io the 

commanding officer that he would take two men in 
the place of one of such ferocious appearance. The 
offer was accepted, and the soldier taken to other 
houses; but the officer perceiving that evcryl 
was afraid to take the frightful-looking man, told 
him to find a lodging for himself. 

Having been refused admittance everywhere, he 
arrived at the house of one of the few members of 
the Moravian Society who resided in the vilL 
This occurred on the evening of their prayer-meet- 
ing. The leader of this pious little band was stand- 
ing in his door as the soldier passed more than once. 
At length he asked him on whom he was quartered. 
The soldier replied that no one would take him in. 
The brother, though somewhat alarmed by his fierce 
looks, showed him into his house. 

At the appointed time the company assembled, 
a hymn was snug, a portion ui' Scripture read, and 
prayer offered. The poor man wa jso d< ply affected 
that he exclaimed, b " You are a happy people ; would 
God I were like you; but I hear none of t! 
things. I am a poor wretch, and may be shot down 
in the next battle."' The brethren spoke kindly to 
him, and directed him to that Saviour who will a 
none out, not even the w< 

By the kindness of his host, he was well cared 
for during the evening and night. In the morning 
early, he w< the farmer who first refused to 



THE SAVAGE SOLDIER. 491 

receive him, and told him how and where he had 
found comfortable quarters. The farmer laughed 
at him ; and on hearing the soldier's account of the 
meeting, said he was "very welcome to join those 
wretched pietists," hut as for himself he would never 
enter that house. 

"But you shall though," said the rough soldier, 
feeling hurt by hearing his hospitable friend abused ; 
"you shall attend this very evening at their worship, 
and I will come and fetch you." He was as good 
as his word. At the proper time he appeared at 
the farmer's door, who, terrified by his determined 
manner, accompanied him, and, to the surprise of 
all present, was soon seated next to his conductor, 
who fairly mounted guard over him. 

And now the Lord's time had come. The wrath 
and fright of the poor farmer vanished, and touched 
by divine power, the gospel of a crucified Saviour 
entered his heart. On arriving again at his home 
he sought and found forgiveness *of sin through the 
atoning blood of Christ; and by his testimony his 
wife was awakened to a sense of her lost state by 
nature, and with prayer sought and obtained mercy. 
The change hi this man and his wife created a 
great sensation in the village, and proved the means, 
under the influence of the Holy Spirit, of the con- 
version of many souls. LatrobCs Letters. 



402 SKETCHES PBOM LI II.. 



CONVERSION ON THE BATTLE-FIELD. 

While visiting a regiment from my native state, 

in camp near F , a young soldier ran up to me, 

and inquired "whether I belonged to the Christian 
Commission. I replied that I did. "I saw some of 
your men at Stoneman's Station," said he, "and got 
some papers of them." 

Without further introduction, he began . to tell 
me about his life in the army. He said he "came 
out as rough and as bad as any of them," but left a 

praying mother at home. While in camp at P , 

he learned that she was dead. Her form now 
appeared before him as in a mirror, and always 
wrestling in prayer for her wayward son. Wherever 
he went he saw his mother as she was accustomed 
to kneel in her faithful petitions, and not even the 
roar of battle could drown the soft tones of her 
prayer. 

After the terrible fight at Fair Oaks, he sat down 
exhausted upon a log by the roadside, and then, to 
use his own words, he "thought over the matter." 
Heaps of dead men lay* on every side of him ; they 
had fallen, but he was still unharmed. The melting 
words of his mother's prayer for him now came with 
new power to his mind; and he thought of her 
happy home, so far removed from the strife and 
agony of war. 

A pious member of his company observing his 
thoughtful mood, inquired the cause. Our young 
friend frankly told him how he felt. They soon 



"NEVEK MENTION IT AGAIN." 493 

found a place for prayer; and then, while upon their 
knees in supplication, the soldier who had been so 

"rough and bad/' became a soldier in the army of 
the meek and lowly Jesus. That sainted mother's 
petitions received an answer; and while news of a 
great battle and victory was spreading through the 
land, messengers from her blissful abode were re- 
turning with tidings of another victory, a triumph 
which caused joy among all the shining hosts of 
heaven. 

Seldom have I found a happier man than this 
young soldier; he was happy in the service of his 
Master, and happy in the discharge of his duty. 
Almost all of his company were profane men, and 
ridiculed him and his religion; but in the midst of 
it all, he could rejoice. He was an active Christian, 
ever trying to do something to save his comrades. 
He told me that his friend and himself had been 
accustomed to go down into the woods and have a 
precious prayer-meeting there, though they were but 
two. 

Mothers, pray in faith for your children, and let 
them know that you pray for them. It may be that 
God will make your prayer also the means of its 
own answer. j. o. B. 



"jMEVEFv MENTION IT TO ME AQAIN." 

As Miss A passed through the wards of the 

soldier's hospital on B street, speaking words 

of comfort and encouragement, a stern middle-aged 
man told her of a night of extreme pain. She ex- 



494 SKETCHES FROM Lll'< 

pressed tender sympathy, and added, "I hope you 
felt, though absent from loved ones, that you had 
the presence of a loving Saviour with you." He 

replied, "Miss A , you have spoken to me on 

that subject once before, and I want to say to you, 
never mention it to me again. If I want to be reli- 
gious, I will send for a minister, and let him do the 
work," Sorrowfully she bade him good-morning, 
and passed on. 

One morning as she passed his bed, and he was 
sleeping, she laid some fresh flowers on his pillow, 
and noiselessly withdrew. After the fever left him 
he was disposed to sleep much, and every day his 
eyes were greeted with these fragrant remembran- 
cers. At length he inquired of some of the lad 
who there could be in the hospital that cared so 
much for him, but no one told him. 

A few days after, when he was getting stronger, 
he awoke one morning and found not the accus- 
tomed bouquet, but a neat copy of the New Testa- 
ment on his pillow. "Is Miss A in the hos- 
pital?"' he inquired; "I know it must be she; will 
you please send for her?" He took her hand be- 
tween his, and with a voice choked with emotion 
exclaimed," Can you forgive my rude, ungentlemanly 
conduct towards you? How could you be so kind?" 
" I only want you to know how kind Jesus is, and 
how he loves you," was her gentle reply. 

Months after, a person met him in one of our 
suburb hospitals. He was still an invalid, though 
acting as a nurse and taking a deep interest in the 
religious welfare of his comrades. He spoke of be- 



A SOLDIER OF THE CROSS. 495 

fog in the hospital on 13 street, and was asked 

if he ever saw Miss A there. "Miss A ," 

he replied— "the angel of the hospital- she was the 
means of bringing me to the Saviour." j. h. 



/RE YOU A gOLDIER OF THE CROgg ?" 

In the quiet village of D a little band 

Mas gathered some twelve mouths ago, for prayer. 
Tears filled many eyes, and voices were sometimes 
almost choked with sobs as petitions went up to the 
throne of grace for God's blessing to rest on the 
dear ones so far away on the tented field. Brave 
young hearts had gone — and alas, some were not 
clad in the armor of the Lord. With more than 
usual fervor were the prayers offered that evening, 
and at its close the faithful waiting ones went to 
their homes refreshed and strengthened. 

Present at the meeting was Ellen M , a resi- 
dent of a distant city, but then on a visit to D . 

Moved by the influence of that meeting, she returned 
to her home determined to do all in her power for 
the spiritual interests of the soldiers. One favorite 
method was giving good books and papers. As she 
was riding m the cars, she noticed near her a young 
man in the garb of a soldier. Entering into conver- 
sation with him, she found he belonged to the 

regiment of X. H., to which he was returning, just 
having been discharged from the hospital. After 
chatting some time, she asked, "Are you a soldier of 
the Cross, as well as of the Union ?" The question 



496 SKETCHES PBOM LITE. 

evidently did not please the young soldier, who 
declined answering; and after a few kind words on 
the great* need of a Saviour's presence at all tin 
and his pardoning mercy to insure the soul's safety, 
she left him, giving him at parting a copy of that 
delightful little book, "Soldier's Hymns." 

Again the little praying circle is gathered in the 

vestry of the church in D . A year has fled 

since we met with them before. Again Ellen M 

is present. Holy exultation seems to breathe in the 
opening prayer. Then a chapter is read, a hymn 
sung, and the pastor rises, holding an open letter in 
his hand, which he says he wishes to read. " This 

letter," he continued, "is from John E , whom 

you all know. You remember how anxious his poor 
mother was when he left home some eighteen months 
ago to join the army ; you remember how wild and 
reckless he was, and how he seemed to spurn all 
reproof. Many prayers have been offered for him, 
and our other dear ones who have gone forth, we 
fear, unguarded by religion. His mother yesterday 
received joyful tidings, and as she was unable froni 
illness to come here herself to-night, she sent this, 
that it might be read, so that you could rejoice with 
her." 

After leaving home, the young man stated, he 
had cut loose from all restraint, and had trod boldly 
the broad and downward pathway. The passages 
in his mother's letters which in such loving words 
pointed out his need of a Saviour and the depth of 
his love, were scarcely glanced at. Persistently he 
strove to harden his heart. At last he was taken 



A SOLDIER OF THE CROSS. 407 

ill, ami was sent some distance to a hospital. When 
returning to his regiment, a young lady, a Btranger, 
Bpoke to him in the most earnest manner as regards 
his soul's welfare, commencing her remarks on the 
subject by the question, "Are you a soldier of the 
Cross, as well as one of the Union?" In parting 
she gave him a tiny hymn-book, which he took, hah 
angry with himself at allowing his feelings to be so 
touched by her remarks and question. Carelessly 
lie opened the book, and the first words his eyes 
fell on were, "Am I a soldier of the Cross?" With a 
half-muttered oath he closed the book and thrust it 
into his pocket. Buying a paper of a newsboy, he 
tried to read, but the troublesome question would 
keep coming up, " Are you a soldier of the Cross 
as well as one of the Union?" He could not forget 
it. 

In the first engagement his regiment was in after 
his return, he was wounded, and again in the hospi- 
tal the question haunted him. He remembered the 
despised hymn-book. Asking for his coat, he found 
the little volume uninjured. Not now scornfully did- 
he open its leaves. How he wished the peace por- 
trayed in the sweet hymns it contained might be the 
language of his soul. The billows of a great anguish 
well-nigh overwhelmed him. He had wandered so 
far from God he almost despaired of salvation, but 
still lie strove to find the way out of the thick dark- 
ness. The Bible, the gift of his mother, and his 
little hymn-book grew very precious to his heart. 
For days he could only read and pray; lie dared 
not hope. At last the great plan of salvation seemed 



498 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

to dawn upon his mind. He had been a great sin- 
ner, but God's mercy was greater, and he could 
trust all in his hands. Jesus was willing and mighty 
to save. He felt his pardon was complete : now he 
was happy as he had never been before. He so 
wished he could see that young lady ; he could an- 
swer her question now. He felt sure he should be 
a better soldier for his country, now he had put 
God's armor on also. He trusted the rest of his 
life should be spent in God's service. 

There was hardly a dry eye in the room as the 
pastor finished. And how rejoiced was the soul of 

Ellen M as the recital of the soldier's spiritual 

birth went on. She had cast her bread on the 
waters, and here, in an unexpected moment, it had 
come back to her " after many days." Silently her 
heart sent up its tribute of praise to Him who had 
thus blessed her simple deed done for his honor. 

There is a broad field, and the laborers are few ; 

why not imitate Ellen M , and scatter the good 

seed ? It may, with the Master's blessing, yield an 
abundant harvest. A. M. L. 



THE CHyVPLyVIJTS WIFE. 

"Peace I leave with you." Beautiful benedic- 
tion of the blessed One, falling on the sad heart like 
dew on the thirsty flowers. 

I had been passing through sore trials. War, 
which we fondly trusted would never desolate our 
fair heritage, burst suddenly upon us, and my near- 



THE CHAPLAIN'S WIFE. 499 

est and dearest, listening to the call of duty, had 
gone to minister to the sick, the wounded, and the 
dying, to persuade the brave soldiers of our country 
to become valiant soldiers of the cross. I hade him 
God-speed, bnt it was with an aching, almost break- 
ing heart. I turned for comfort in my loneliness to 
the word of God, and when I read these words of 
the dear Saviour, "Let not your hearts be trou- 
bled;" "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give 
unto you," how could I any longer be "troubled" 
or " afraid" ? Then as I applied the benediction to 
my own soul, my spirit realized something of the 
preciousness of the promised peace. 

Ever since, during all the vicissitudes of this dread- 
ful war, the marchings and coimtermarchings, the 
campings on the cold ground under the pitiless sky 
of winter, the perils by shells and bullets, or the 
more dreaded wasting by disease in a crowded anil 
comfortless hospital, far from home and friends— 
in all these dangers to which the dear one is 
posed, and realizing them all with a ceaseless anx- 
iety, I can still find comfort in these blessed words, 
and here my soul is at rest. 

So too I had been passing through a season of 
spiritual darkness and doubt. The ardor of my 
first love was gone ; my approaches to God in prayer 
were cold and formal. I walked on sorrowing man}' 
days. But I could not give up all hope. Had I not 
given myself unreservedly to the Lord ? was I not 
willing to consecrate all I had to him ? Surely he 
had redeemed me, he had called me by his name, I 
was his. Again with increased earnestness I re- 



500 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

ne wed the consecration, and the Lord in m< 
heard me, and gave me an answer of "peace/ 1 Not 

often, save in the blissful moments granted me as an 
earnest of the blessed inheritance, does my soul 
to the clear heights of "joy in believing." But 
"peace like a river," "the peace of God which pas- 
seth understanding," even the "peace" promised by 
the dear Saviour to his children, is sometimes mine. 

That this peace may never leave my heart is 
now my constant prayer. This peace from Christ 
granted me, then, though trials and toils, char, 
and separations be sent by my Father's hand, I 
can still walk calmly on with faith undimmed and 
brow unclouded. High above all, clear and sweet,, 
I can hear these precious words, "Peace I leave 
with you, my peace I give unto you : let not your 
hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid." 

Alas, how many hearts in every land are to-day 
sad, anxious, troubled. , How many are trembling 
for the safety of loved ones far away; how many 
eyes are dim with weeping for those who have gone, 
to return no more for ever. "Would that the same 
voice that comforted the mourning disciples with 
such tender, pitying words, might speak to all such 
hearts. Would that all they might know the power 
of the promised "peace." A. F. E. 



THE liETUHX. 501 



THE F(ETUF(JN. 

The regiment had been gone nine months. Their 
term of service had expired, and the surviving sol- 
diers were on their way back. Then* homes were 

among the mountains of ; thence they had 

gone in quick response to their country's call. 

Having endured many hardships and served 
faithfully at every point, then faces were turned 
homeward. 

Word came to us when to expect them, and the 
town was all astir with preparation. It was meet 
that our boys should have a hearty welcome. Some 
hearts were very full, for God had been better than 
we feared ; some had fallen, and their graves were 
far away from then native hills; but sons and broth- 
ers were spared, and their homes were sunny and 
warm. So the preparations went on, softened by 
kind breathings- for those homes from which soldier- 
bo vs had gone never to return. 

And now all was done, and we had only to wait. 
ntly tidings ran along the wires that the com- 
ing train was only twenty miles away. What listen- 
ing! Soon there swept through the gorge of the 
hills the roll and clatter of iron wheels. The cry, 
"They are coming." was raised. Instantly the win- 
dows blazed with light, and the bells rang out in 
the midnight air the jubilant peals. The tram came, 
stopped, and oh, what greetings were exchanged. 
I thought . of that corning day when " the redeemed 



502 SKETCHES FBOM LIFE. 

of the Lord shall return with songs and everlasting 

joy upon their heads." 

Fellow-Christians, we are all soldiers serving un- 
der the great Captain of our salvation. The con- 
flict is no easy one ; hardships must be borne ; there 
are fightings without and fightings within. 

But the battle is not for ever. The campaign 
will soon be over; then comes the triumph. Oh, 
what welcomes await the faithful soldier of Christ ! 
The courts of heaven shall ring with them. With 
royal mien and kingly tread, these scarred and war- 
worn veterans of the cross, shall sweep, a triumph- 
ant host, through those gates of pearl, along those 
streets of gold, and the King of glory shall lead 
them. The angels shall look and be glad. 

There conies to my eye even now a faint glimpse 
of that glory, to my ears something of those jubilant 
strains. In hope to have part in that great rejoicing, 
let us fight the good fight of faith. f. b. w. 



THE CABIN-BOY'S FIUST SABBATH. 503 



MEN OF THE SEA. 



THE CyVBIjN-BOY'g flRJST $ABBy\TH /VT 
£EA. 

Man y years since I was a passenger (with Kev. 
Samuel J. Miller of precious memory) in the old 
ship Mary from London to Sierra Leone, West 
Africa. The captain was morose, the mate was 
placid, the seamen rude. 

We sailed from the Downs on the last Thursday 
in the boisterous month of January. Buffeted by 
contrary winds, our progress was slow. The anchors 
and chain-cables were kept ready for immediate use, 
in ease of danger from rocks or headlands. 

When the Sabbath dawned, we were near the 
mouth of the English channel. The captain availed 
himself of this day of rest to lash up the anchors, 
to pack away the cables, to put in the dead-lights, 
and to rig the ship in trim for the open sea. Bustle 
and loud shouts filled up the silent hours. In the 
novelty and confusion of a new mode of life, sea-sick 
by day, and dreaming of home by night, my charm- 
ing little friend the cabin-boy had lost his reckoning. 
Under much agitation, and nearly moved to tears, 
he came down into the cabin. "Is this the Sabbath, 
sir? One of the men lias just told me so. They are 



504 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 

all hard at work, and swearing too. My mother 

would never have let me come on board this ship, if 
she had known what works I should see and what 
words I should hear." 

In the eye of my memory this ingenuous and 
lovely boy yet stands before me, with auburn hair, 
genteel figure, and attractive deportment. Mature 
beyond his age, tender in conscience, and unblem- 
ished in moral habits, he might well be anions the 
jewels of his mother. He remembered the peaceful 
Sabbath at home, the domestic fireside, and his 
mother's piety. I parted with him on the banks of 
the Gambia, among the palm-trees and the wild men 
of the Jaloof and Mandingo tribes, where too I had 
an interview with Capt. Laing, the last English friend 
of Mungo Park. 

Often have I wished to know the subsequent his- 
tory of this dear boy. Does he survive? Did he 
enter the navy of his country, in the hope of honor 
and liberal compensation? Has his course in life 
fulfilled the rich promise of his childhood ? 

Marvellous is the woik of grace among seamen. 
Many of them are servants of our Lord. Their pro- 
fessional employment is raised in reputation and hi 
conrfort. Let the Bethel-flag wave in the air, the 
home be made attractive, the chaplain be sustained 
in the principal ports of the world, every ship be 
supplied with a small library, and the cabin-boy 
remembered on his first voyage. 

Ye fathers whose sons are destined to plough the 
sea rather than the solid land, think of the hardships 
and temptations which will attend them. No Sab- 



THE REFORMED CREW. 505 

bath dawns on tliem, no song of Zion falls on their 
ear, no preacher declares the gospel of mercy, and 
invites them by repentance and faith to lay hold on 
the anchor of immortal hope. 

Ye mothers, whose sons will soon go ont beyond 
yonr reach, be sleepless now to do your blessed work ; 
bind their hearts by a thousand silken cords to a vir- 
tuous Christian home ; establish then- principles, form 
their habits, and inspire them with firmness, integ- 
rity, patriotism, and a reverence for God. 

A Pastor in Massachusetts 



THE REFORMED CREW. 

Many years ago, as a vessel left Liverpool witn 
a very hardened crew on board, a Mend presented 
the steward a small parcel of tracts. For a long 
time he gave them no serious attention; but one 
sunset, as he leaned over the ship's side, tender 
thoughts of his far-off home came over his heart, 
subduing and softening it. Just then he put his 
hand in his jacket pocket and took out a tract. It 
was called " The Swearer's Prayer." It so interest- 
ed him that he read it aloud to the sailors, and his 
softened feelings made his voice tremulous. When 
he was through no one spoke, but all seemed con- 
victed, for they were a shockingly profane company. 
They gave sidelong glances at each other, and at 
last one said : 

" Mr. William, I never heard or thought of this 
before ; this kind of reading has made me feel strange. 

Sketches. 22 



506 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

I am all over of a tremble. I don't think I shall like 
to swear again ; shall you, Jack ?" Poor Jack looked 
him full in the face and burst into tears. It seemed 
contagious, and soon all heads were bowed on the 
hard brown hands, and sobs broke from almost every 
breast. 

"Oh," said one in great distress, "hadn't we 
better hand up a prayer for forgiveness? Mr. Will- 
iam, you have the most learning ; can't you make a 
prayer i 

At length one cried out, with his arms across his 
breast and tears pouring down his face, "O God, 
who made our souls, have mercy, and pardon the 
miserable, lost crew on this deck." Every heart 
seemed to respond, " O Lord, hear this prayer, and 
forgive us." 

In short, it became a praying company; and 
even the captain, who at first thought his men " be- 
witched," told a friend, on his return, that he was 
obliged to stop swearing himself, it began "to seem 
so singular on board." 

Oh that every vessel which leaves our ports might 
witness such scenes. e. l. bl 



THE PASTORS DAUQHTEF} AND QERJM/.N 
gAIEOR. 

In one of our New England villages on the sea- 
coast, a few months ago, a German sailor, being de- 
sirous of acquiring the English language, entered his 



THE PASTOR'S DAUGHTER. 507 

name as a scholar in the district school, and secured 
board in the same family with his teacher. He was 
a bronzed, weather-beaten man of twenty-six years, 
of fine benevolent countenance, and though of rough 
exterior, gave indications of a cultivated mind. But 
he had no hope, and was, like too many sailors, 
without God in the world. 

His outward deportment was generally correct, 
and his attendance on the house of God regular; 
hence he very soon attracted the attention of the 
villagers. Among those who became interested in 

the stranger was little Mary B , the pastor's 

daughter, and she soon learned enough to know that 
he was accessible by one channel at least, and that 
was his mother tongue. After some effort, she found 
a couple of tracts in the German language, one of 
which, "Bob the Cabin-Boy," she handed to him on 
the Sabbath, as he was leaving the church. 

The kind tones of the little missionary's voice, as 
she asked him to accept and read it, fell pleasantly 
on the sailor's ear. He took it home and laid it on 
his table, with the view of reading it. His room- 
mate, the school-teacher, attracted by the type, 
picked up the tract, but finding it religious, threw it 
down again, saying, as he did so, " Pshaw! You are 
not going to read that, are you?" The sailor said, 
" Oh, yes, I will read it : Mary, the minister's daugh- 
ter, gave it to me;" and suiting the action to the 
word, he began to read. As he read, his interest 
increased, and he laid it down with regret when fin- 
ished. It had touched his heart, and he read it 
again and again. 



508 SKETCHES FROM LLEE. 

Before he retired, lie took it up again — the only 
thing in that place that spoke to him in his mother- 
tongue, and called up the remembrance of his moth- 
er's prayers. His life passed in review ; he saw him- 
self a sinner. In the absence of the Bible, he turned 
again to his tract, and in an agony of grief imitated 
"Bob the Cabin-Boy," and poured out his soul be- 
fore God, with strong crying and tears, till He who 
givetb liberally to all men, and "upbraideth not," as- 
sured him that his sins were laid on Jesus, the Lamb 
of God ; and his soul rejoiced in God his Saviour. 

It was now his turn to act the missionary; and 
he became the teacher, while the teacher, his room- 
mate, sat at his feet and listened to the wondrous 
story as it flowed in loving accents from the loosened 
tongue of his changed pupil. The result showed the 
power of truth and the efficacy of prayer. The 
teacher became a child of God, gave up his school at 
the end of the term, and entered Bowdoin College 
to fit himself for future usefulness, if God shall 
accept him in the ministry. 

This man of the sea speaks and reads in many 
languages. The writer requested him to enumerate 
them. They are as follows : German, Polish, Lithu- 
anian, Russian, Holland, Flemish, Portuguese, and 
English. In most of the above, including the Eng- 
lish, he now reads and writes intelligibly. In answer 
to the inquiry, " Now, what can you do in all these 
languages?" he replied, while the tear of joy gath- 
ered in his eyes, "I can tell in all these languages 
what Christ has done for my soul, and by the grace 
of God I will do so as long as I live." 



THE PASTOR'S DAUGHTER. 

He has gone forth again upon the waters, not 
any longe¥ as a careless blasphemer, but as a mis- 
sionary of the cross of Christ, a "living epistle," to 

be "known and read of all men." 

Are you doing anything for the sons of the - 
Imitate little Mary. Drop a tract in the hard hand, 
and a soft word of kindness and sympathy in the 
ear, and by God's grace you shall save a soul from 
death, and hide a multitude of sins. c. J. J. 



I "JACK, WE J3HAU. PRAY foR YOU." 

It was the last day of the year, and a ship lay 
at anchor off a large city. Weekly and sometimes 
nightly a few of the men met for prayer, and of late 
they had prayed earnestly for one of their numbei 
who carried his dissipation and recklessness beyond 
all limits. He never ceased deriding the " canting 
Methodists," as he called his godly companions, and 
his influence threatened to defeat their efforts for the 
spiritual good of the crew. Just before the sailor's 
watch on the last night of the year, one of his com- 
rades said to him kindly, " Jack, we meet to-night to 
pray the old year out, and we shall pray far 
Jack turned around perfectly enraged. " Make me 
your subject, if you dare, and I '11 knock your brains 
out," was his answer. 

All alone he kept his watch. Overhead shone the 
pure stars, and far away gleamed the lights of the 



510 SKETCHES FKOM LIFE. 

city, and still the parting words of Lis comrade rang 
in his ear. " I wonder what they '11 say," he thought 
at length, after his anger had died away. " Well, if 
they mention all my sins, they '11 have enough to keep 
them busy," and one after another scenes of sin 
came up before him— scenes from which many of the 
participants had been called away. Rousing him- 
self, he tried to shake off their memories, but in 
vain. " We *U pray for you " rang in his ear. All at 
once the texts learned at his mother's knee from his 
almost forgotten Bible came up before him. Vainly 
he whistled and sang and tried to think of anything, 
everything elsg. God's Spirit will accomplish its 
work. " The soul that sinneth, it shall die," said 
memory. "The wrath of God abideth on him;" and 
passage after passage came up before him. He saw 
himself a sinner before an avenging, slighted God; 
and despairing, trembling, he threw himself upon his 
knees. " Oh, what a long list of sins I 've got scored 
up against me," he groaned; "I can't ever get it 
chalked out." He saw himself undone and helpless : 
but, as once of old appeared to Peter, walking on the 
sea, the blessed " Son of man," so across the wild 
waves of doubt, of anguish, and despair, came the 
heavenly Comforter into the heart of this poor sailor, 
saying, " Be not afraid ; only believe ;" and like the 
disciple Thomas, his heart responded, " My Lord 
and my God." Alone upon his knees he heard the 
far-off city bells toll out the dying of the year, and 
merrily chime in the advent of the new, and a " new 
creature" Jack arose from his knees; and grasping 
the hand of the comrade who came to relieve his 



JACK, WE SHALL PBAY FOB YOU.' 511 




watch, said with a tearful voice, " Ned, I 'm a new 
man in Christ Jesus." 

His conversation was indeed sincere. God's 
Spirit perfected the good work begun in him ; and 
as he contemplated the abyss from which he had 
been snatched, he could not sufficiently admire 
divine goodness. Jack was unwearied in his efforts 
to show his late companions the folly of then* ways ; 
and more than one had reason to hold in grateful 
memory Jack's new year. ''He that sitteth upon the 
throne saith, Behold, I make all things new" 



512 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 



THE WIDOW'g £OJt 

Me. and Mrs. lived in one of our large cities, 

and were people of eminent piety and devotion to 
the cause of Christ. They had one son, a well- 
beloved child, but a neglecter and despiser of reli- 
gion. They gave him such advantages as the best 
schools of the city afforded, and he graduated at 
one of the colleges in New England with honor. 

The father died, and the mother was left in 
widowhood, but she did not suffer the fire long ago 
kindled upon the family altar to go out. Morning 
and evening the family devotions were attended to. 
One thing she desired, namely the conversion of her 
son. She talked with him, and prayed with and for 
him ; still he remained a " lover of pleasure, more 
than a lover of God." 

This hatred of sacred things was so great, that 

hearing his mother speak of street church one 

day, he said, "Mother, I wish street church 

was burned to the ground." 

He expressed a determination to go to sea. She 
thought it not wise to oppose him in his plans, but 
the idea of his going from home influences into the 
midst of temptation and sin so unprepared to resist 
evil, almost overwhelmed her heart. His passage 
was engaged, and the vessel was to sail upon the 
Sabbath, which was an additional trial to this godly 
mother. She assisted him, however, as she was 
able, in his preparations, and as he was packing his 
trunk, she brought a Bible and a few small books or 



THE WIDOW'S SOX. 513 

tracts for hini to take, when be said, " Mother, you 
needn't put those in my trunk; I shall never read 
them, if you do." Supposing from her appearance 
she was about to place them there, he repeated with 
emphasis, "Mother, you needn't put those in my trunk; 
I shall never read them" His faithful mother could 
not endure the idea of her son going to a foreign 
land destitute of a Bible, and before he left, suc- 
ceeded in placing one in his trunk without his knowl- 
edge; hoping that when far from home his eyes 
should fall upon it, he might be inclined to open its 
sacred pages, and that the truths therein contained 
might have a salutary and abiding influence upon 
his heart. 

The Sabbath came. She* prayed with him once 
more ; gave him her parting counsels, " and accom- 
panied him to the ship." Its sails were spread, and 
he was borne from her view, but in her heart his 
best interests were remembered. 

The next morning she sought the place of prayer 

in the chapel of the street church, having first 

written the following note: "A mother asks your 
prayers for the conversion of an absent son." She 
entered the place of prayer, hesitating what to do. 

At length, beckoning to Deacon , she handed 

him the note, which was read, and fervent prayer 
was offered. 

In about six weeks a letter came from her wan- 
dering son, bringing the glad intelligence that he 
had consecrated himself to God, and was resolved 
henceforth to live a Christian life. "O mother," 
said he, " the first step I took from the wharf to the 



514 SKETCHES FROM LIFE. 

vessel, a strange feeling came over me, such as I 
never before experienced, and it followed me until T 
gave my heart to Christ. Those books you put in 
my trunk were the very books I needed, just suited 
to my case." 

With a heart overflowing with gratitude, she 

went again to chapel prayer-meeting with 

another note, which read as follows: "A mother 
desires to return thanks to God for the conversion 
of her absent son." 

" Be not weary in well-doing ; for in due season 
ye shall reap, if ye faint not." E. 



THE FJECKiLEJSg BAILOR. 

The days of miracles are past, but the blessed 
promises of the Bible are a living truth to-day. In 
a seaport town of New England there lived a pious 
woman, a widow T with one son. He was a sailor ; 
and at the early age of nineteen, seemed to be hope- 
lessly hardened in vice. His mother had prayed for 
him earnestly and unceasingly, as only a mother can 
pray for an erring and beloved child ; but after years 
of supplication and tearful waiting, she could see no 
change for the better. 

She attended a prayer-meeting, where a sailor, in 
his homely phrase, told what a wicked life he had 
led, what God had done for his soul, and begged the 
praying men and women of that audience to pray 
for the sailors. 

The mother's heart was full, thinking of her own 



THE KECKLEiSS SAILOR. 515 

son. She went home, resolved to spend that day 
and night in prayer for her boy. She did so ; and 
at midnight it seemed to her that a great weight was 
lifted from her soul. She felt a strong assurance that 
her prayer was heard. The next letter that mother 
received from her wanderer brought the glad tidings 
of his conversion. 

He wrote her, that on a certain day he felt a new 
and strange concern about his soul. His mother ap- 
peared to be present with him, urging him, as she 
had so often done, to forsake his evil courses. He 
read his Bible ; he tried to pray ; he sought the aid 
of a Christian sailor on board the ship, and four 
days after wrote to his mother in a new spirit, and 
with a new hope. May not this true story carry en- 
couragement to many despairing hearts ? s. 



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reliable Biblical critics of this or any age. This treatise gives a 
pleasing account of his discovery of the famous Sinai manuscript ; 
and proves the authenticity of the gospels in a popular style. It 
has had a large sale and great influence in Germany. 132 pages, 
18mo. 30 cents. 

The Cinnamon-Isle Boy. By Mrs. E. C. Hutchings, Newark, 
N J The story of a missionary boy, Charles L. Window, re-told-; 
with fresh glimpses at life in Ceylon. A true and charmmg nar- 
rative. 169 pages, 18mo. Three Cute. 60 cents. 

George Wavland; The Little Medicine Carrier. A capital 
book for young boys, showing how they can insure success in life- 
Three Engravings. 104 pages, 18mo. 35 cents. 

In the World, Not of the World. By Kev. Dr Adams, New 
York How far a Christian may engage in prevalent fashionable 
and fascinating amusements. Preeminently a -Tract for the 
times." 64 pages, 18mo ; extra, 40 eents ; paper, 10 cents. 

Pastoral Reminiscences. By the late Kev. M. Moore of Bos- 
ton Mass. Instructive lessons from life, drawn from the full 
records of a long ministry. 84 pages, 18mo ; 25 cents. 

Leaves of Life. A collection of striking facts in prose and 
verse. 18mo ; 40 cents. 

Twenty Years among Colporteurs. By Kev C Peabody, 
St Louis, Mo. Full of striking and impressive incidents, lbmo , 

25 cents. 

Bible Prayers. Selected by Kev. Jonas King, D. D , mis- 
sion^ to GrTce A useful help for all who would learn how to 
pray. 182 pages, large 32mo. 30 cents. 




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