III.
The Modern Dorcas
"The night cometh when no man can work."--JOHN, ix.
Oh! my sister! my sister! What a lesson may we learn from the death ofour dear Amelia! She was but sixteen years old like myself, and onlytwo years older than you are, but how much had she done for the Lord. Isaw and heard her, when Jesus came to call her to himself; I was in thechurchyard when they placed her body in the grave! Oh! what a solemnwarning! and now I feel humbled before God, and I pray Him to pour intomy heart the same Spirit which He bestowed so abundantly upon ourfriend, as well as that lively faith, which although Amelia 'is dead,yet speaketh,' as it is said of Abel, and which shall speak through herfor many years to come!
I wrote to you less than a fortnight ago, that Amelia was unwell; buthow little I then thought it was her last illness! Oh! how uncertainour life is, dear Esther, and how much wiser we should be if we wouldonly believe so!
On the seventh day of her illness, her mother said to me, "Anna, yourfriend is going to leave us; the danger of her disorder increases everyhour, and we must give her up to God!"
I wept much and bitterly, and could not at first believe it; but when Iwas alone with Amelia, the next day, she said to me, with that calmpeacefulness which never left her, "I am going away from this world,Anna; yes, dear Anna, I am going to depart; I feel it, and ... I ampreparing myself for it!"
I tried to turn away her thoughts from this subject; I told her thatshe was mistaken, and that God would certainly restore her; but shestopped me with firmness of manner, and said, "Do you envy myhappiness, Anna? Do you wish to prevent me from going to my Heavenlyhome, to my Saviour, unto his light and glory?" The entrance of herfather and the Doctor prevented my reply, and I left the room in tears.
"You must not cry," said her mother to me. "We must pray, and aboveall, seek profit from the occasion. The time is short! Her end is athand! But," added this servant of Christ, "_that_ end is the beginningof a life which shall have no end!"
Three more days passed away. On the fourth, we had some faint hope, butthe following day, all had vanished, and towards evening, Ameliadeclared, that the Lord was about to take her.
"Yes, my dear parents, my excellent father and mother," she said, witha beam of heavenly joy on her countenance, "I am about to leave you;but I do not leave my God, for I am going to see Him, 'face to face.'"
"My dear parents," she continued, affectionately, "rejoice at mydeparture; I am going to Heaven a little before you, it is true, but itis _only before you_, and you know it; and the Apostle says, that, 'tobe with Christ is far better.'"
I was present, Esther, and was crying.
"Why do you cry, Anna?" she said, "Are you sorry to see me go to myFather's house?"
"But, Amelia, _I_ lose you; we all lose you; and ..."
"I do not like to hear you say that, Anna; do not repeat it, and do notthink of it. Our Saviour says that, 'He who believes on Him shall notsee death;' and I am certain, that my soul is about to join those ofHis saints who have already departed this life, for His grace has alsojustified _me._"
"Ah!" said her aunt, who had not left her bedside for two days, "youhave always done the will of God, dear Amelia; you are therefore sureof going to Him."
"Dear aunt," she replied, with sorrow on her countenance, "I assure youthat you grieve me. I have been during the whole of my life, but a poorsinner, and have by no means done what you say; but.... God Himself haspardoned me, and it is only, my dear aunt, because the blood of Jesushas washed away my sins, that I shall see God."
It was thus, my sister, that Amelia spoke at intervals almost the wholenight. Her voice at length became weaker; and towards morning, after aslight drowsiness, she said to her father, "Papa, embrace your childonce more." She then turned to her mother, and said, "My dear mamma,embrace me also, and ... may Jesus comfort you all!"
A few minutes after, our darling friend fell gradually asleep, and herlast breath died away like the expiring flame of a candle. Sheexperienced nothing of the agony of death. Truly, dear Esther, Ameliaknew not what death was!
But oh! how I have myself suffered! and how difficult it is to tearone's self thus forever here below, from such a friend as she was!
Nevertheless, my sister, God knows we have not dared to murmur. I wishyou had heard the prayer that Amelia's father offered up, when hisdaughter had ceased to breathe! Oh! it was the spirit of consolationitself which spoke! And since that solemn hour, what piety, whatstrength and peace of mind, Amelia's mother his displayed! I am sureyou would have said, that the Lord was present, and that He was tellingus with His own voice: "Amelia triumphs--she is in _My_ glory!"
I wished to be in the churchyard when our friend, or rather, when herbody of dust, was committed to the grave. There were many personspresent, but especially poor people; some old men, and severalchildren, came to take their last leave of her.
A grey-headed and feeble old man was standing near the grave, leaningwith his two hands on a staff, and with his head depressed. He weptaloud, when the clergyman mentioned Amelia's name, as he prayed, andgave thanks to God. He then stooped down, and taking a little earth inhis hand, said, as he scattered it over the coffin: "Sleep, sweetmessenger of consolation! Sleep, until He whom thy lips firstproclaimed to me, calls thee to arise!" And with this, he burst intotears, as they filled the grave.
When all was finished, and the funeral procession had departed, thepoor people who were present approached the grave, sobbing, andrepeating, "Sweet messenger of goodness! Our kind friend, our _true_mother!" And two or three of the children placed upon her gravenosegays of box and white flowers.
"Alas," said a young girl, "she will never hear me read the Bibleagain, nor instruct me how to live!"
Another cried loudly, "Who will now come to visit my sick mother, andread the Bible to her, and bring her comfort and assistance."
And there was a father, a poor workman, with two little boys, who,holding his children by the hand, came and placed himself near the spotwhere the head of Amelia was laid, saying to them, "Here, my poorchildren, under this sod, rests that sweet countenance which used tosmile upon you, as if she had been your mother! Her lips have oftentold you, that you were not orphans, and that God was better to youthan a parent.... Well, my dear children, let us remember what she usedto say: 'God has not forgotten us, and He will sustain us!'"
I was with my brother, who himself wept with all his heart, to see thesincere grief of these poor people. He whispered to me, "I have a greatmind to speak to them, and ask them what Amelia used to do for them." Ihad the same wish; so we approached a group which surrounded the grave,and asked them when they had become acquainted with Amelia.
"For my part," answered the old man, already spoken of, "this messengerof peace visited me two years ago, for the first time. I lived near afamily to whom she had brought some worsted stockings, for winter wasjust setting in, and so my neighbor mentioned me to her, as a poorinfirm old man. She desired to see me, and had she been my owndaughter, she could never have shown me more respect and kindness! Sheprocured me a warm quilt that same evening, and on the morrow, towardsthe middle of the day, she came with her excellent mother to pay me along visit.
"You must know, sir," continued the old man, to my brother, "I was thenvery ignorant, or rather my heart was hard and proud towards God. I hadno Bible, and did not care about one. Well, this dear young lady notonly brought me one, with her own hands, but came to read and explainit to me, with great patience, at least three times a week, during thefirst twelve months.
"God took pity on me," added the old man, in a low voice, "and lastyear I began better to understand the full pardon which is in ChristJesus, and was even able to pray with Miss Amelia.
"She used sometimes to call me, 'My old father,' but it was I who oughtto have called _her_ the _mother_, the true mother of my soul.
"Just one month ago, she came to me for the last time; she gave me witha sweet smile, these worsted gloves, which she had knitted herself,
andthen recommended me with much respect and kindness to thank our Lord,who sent them me! This was the last of that sweet lady's charities tome!"...
Upon this, the old man turned away weeping, and as he walked slowly on,he frequently looked back upon the newly-covered grave.
"The same thing happened to me," said the workman. "The mother of thesetwo little children died ten months ago; we were in want of everything,then, and I knew not even how to dress these children. Believe me,Miss," he added, addressing me with feeling, "when the mother is gone,all is gone!... but our gracious God did not forsake us, for He sent ushis angel; I say His angel, although she is at present much more thanan angel!... Is she not indeed a child of God in heaven? ... but, inshort, she clothed these two little ones, and I am sure she did notspare herself in working for them; the clothes they now wear were madechiefly by that dear young lady's hands. Then she used to come andvisit us; she often made my two children go to her house, and alwaysgave them good advice. She also sent them to school, and although itwas certainly her mother who paid for them, yet it was Miss Amelia whotaught them to read at home, and who, almost every Sunday, made themrepeat their Bible lessons.
"Ah, Miss," he continued, "all that that dear young lady did for us,for our souls as well as for our bodies, will only be known in heaven,and at the last day. For my part, and I say it here over her grave, andin the presence of God, I am certain, that when the Lord Jesus shallraise us all up again, the works of Miss Amelia will follow her, and weshall then see that while upon earth she served God with all her heart.
"No," he added, as he wiped away the tears from his children's eyes, "Iwould not wish her to return from the glory which she now enjoys, atthe same time I cannot conceal from you, that my heart mourns for her,and that I know we have lost our consolation, our benefactress, ourfaithful friend!"
"Who has not lost one?" exclaimed a poor woman, at whose side stood thelittle girls who had planted the flowers; "I know very well that MissAmelia's mother will take her place, she is so good and kind! but itwas no little joy to receive a visit from that sweet and amiable younglady, so good, so pious, and so full of joy. Oh! what should I havedone with my husband, so long confined to his bed, if this messenger ofgoodness had not procured work for me, and recommended me to the ladieswho now employ me. And then again, what were we, until Miss Ameliaspoke to us? How much she had to put up with when I refused to read theHoly Scriptures! and yet she was never weary of me. Oh! no; she cameday after day, to exhort and to teach me, and blessed be God, we beginnow to know something of what the Saviour has done for us.
"And," added she, drawing the little girl towards her, "I shall go onwith my dear children, reading and learning that word of God, which wasMiss Amelia's greatest joy.
"Come, come, my friends," she said, in a persuasive tone, "_we_ mustalso die, and be put each in his turn, under this ground; but as ourbenefactress is not dead ... (no, she is not dead, for the Lord hassaid it!)--so also shall not we die, if we follow in her steps."
The poor woman then wished us good day, and moved away with herchildren. We all walked on together, still speaking of Amelia. Mybrother took the names and addresses of many of the poor people, withwhom he had just been conversing, and spoke a few words to them ofcomfort and encouragement.
As soon as we were alone, he showed me the list of names, at the headof which was that of the old man, and he said, "Here is a blessedinheritance which Amelia has left us. She has done as Dorcas did: herhands have clothed the poor, and her lips have spoken comfort to them.Dear Anna, Amelia was not older than we are; let us remember this, forwe know not when the Lord shall call us."
How wise and pious this dear brother is! We have already been able topay together, two of Amelia's visits. Her mother, to whom we relatedall we had heard, gave us further particulars of what the pious andindefatigable Amelia used to do. Ah Esther, her religion was not mere"lip-service." The Spirit of the Lord Jesus Christ assisted her, andshe might have said with truth, I show "my faith by my works."
Let us take courage, then, my dear and kind sister! we lament our lossin Amelia's death, but on her own account I lament her not. I can onlycontemplate her in the presence of God, and of her Saviour, and Irejoice to think of her delight when she entered the region of heaven.How beautiful it must be, Esther, to behold the glory of that heaven!to hear the voices of saints and angels, and to know that God loves us,and will make us happy forever.
Think, sister, of the meaning of--_forever!_
Amelia's father, whom I saw a few hours ago with her excellent andpious mother, said to me, in speaking of their darling child, "For myown joy and comfort I should have wished to have kept her with us; but,my dear Anna, even if I could have done so, what would have been allour happiness, compared with that which she now possesses in thepresence of her God."
But do not suppose, my sister, that Amelia, with all her piety, wasless prudent with regard to the things of this world, than faithfulregarding those of heaven. Her mother has shown me her books, and herdifferent arrangements, all of which indicate that discretion spoken ofin Scripture, carried out in the most minute particulars.
First, as respects order and cleanliness in everything belonging toher: it would be impossible to imagine a more proper arrangement thanthe one she made of each article, both in her wardrobe, herwriting-table, her work-box, and her account-book.
She had not much money to devote to her works of charity, but herindustry made up for her limited means; for instance, in opening theBible which she generally made use of, I found in it, four or fivepages written with a great deal of care; and her journal informed hermother, who read it, of the reason of this circumstance. It runs thus:
"As old Margaret has but one Bible, some of the leaves of which havebeen lost, I have given her mine, which is quite complete, and havetaken hers, adding to it some sheets of paper, upon which I havewritten the passages which were deficient. Thus I have saved theexpense of a new Bible; and it is the same thing to me."
Amelia's diary is very remarkable; her mother has allowed me to readmany portions of it, and to copy out what relates to her usual mannerof employing each day. I send it to you, dear Esther, and you willfind, as I have done, that the Spirit of God always teaches those whotrust in Him, how precious _time_ is here below. The following is whatour dear friend wrote upon this subject.
"_January 1st_, 1844--Nearly eighteen centuries, and a half have passedaway, since our Saviour took upon himself the form of human flesh forour salvation. Those years seemed long as they succeeded each other,but now that they are gone, they appear as nothing.
"Families, and nations, and the mighty generations of mankind, which,in times gone by, peopled the earth, have all passed away. Nothingremains of them here below!
"But such is not the case in heaven,--I should rather say,--ineternity. There, all these nations still exist, no man can be absent,but must appear before the Sovereign Judge, to answer for the use whichhe has made of his time.
"How short that time is! Where are the years that David lived, andwhere are those which Methuselah passed in this world? their wholeduration seems, at this distance, in the words of St. James, 'Even as avapor that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away.'
"It will therefore be the same with me. I know not how long I shalllive here below, perhaps I shall see but a portion of this year, andshall enter into glory before it is concluded; or perhaps I shall yetsee many more years. This the Lord knows, and I ought not to considerthat such knowledge would be of any importance to me, since that whichconstitutes my _life_, is not its length or duration, but the use whichis made of it.
"It is to Jesus, then, that all my life must be devoted, without him Ican do nothing. 'My life is hid with Christ in God.' He has 'bought mewith a price,' I ought, therefore, 'to glorify God in my body, and inmy spirit, which are God's.'
"Truly to live is to know, that my thoughts and actions are alldirected to the glory of Jesus, whether upon earth by faith and hope,or in heaven by t
he sight and by the glory of God.
"But here below, I have only time at my disposal; that is to say, dayscomposed of hours or rather, I have in reality but a single day to makeuse of. Yesterday is no longer mine, and to-morrow, where is it? I haveit not yet, and perhaps shall never see it.
"Lo my earthly life is 'to-day.' What must I do then with 'to-day,'that God may be honored and glorified in it? for after all, if I havethe happiness of counting the year 1844, as dating from a Christianera, and not from that of a false prophet with the Mahomedans, nor yetof a false God, with the poor Indians, it must be to Jesus Christ, fromwhose birth I count my years, that those years should be dedicated.
"Here I am, therefore, in the presence of my Saviour, of whom I implorethe Spirit of wisdom and prudence to guide me in the employment of thismy day, since in reality I have but one, and that is, 'To-day.'
"But I cannot do better than walk in the footsteps of my Redeemer, andin his conduct and conversation whilst on earth, I observe these threethings: Temperance, piety, and charity, to all of which he whollydevoted himself, and has thus left me an example to follow.
"I will therefore imitate him first in his temperance. He rose early inthe morning--he eat frugally--he worked diligently--he wearied himselfin well-doing: in a word, he exerted the whole strength of his mind andbody in the cause of truth, but never in the cause of evil.
"These, therefore, must be settled rules, moderate sleep, moderaterepasts, moderate care and attention to the body; active employment,always to a useful purpose, profitable to my neighbor, and neverinterfering with my duties at home.
"In the next place, I must imitate Jesus in His _piety_. His Father'swill was as His daily food. What a thought! To live wholly to God, andas He himself teaches us in His Holy Word. To do this, I must know HisWord; I must study it, meditate upon it, and learn it by heart. Besidesreading, I must pray, for prayer is the life both of my heart and soulwith God. What glory is thus permitted to me, a poor sinner, that I_ought_, and that I _can_, live to Him, love Him, and devote myself toHim! It is heaven already begun on earth; for in heaven my soul willenjoy no other happiness than that of knowing God, and living to Hisglory. This thought fills me with joy, and I am encouraged by it toconsecrate myself wholly to Him, as did my Lord and Saviour.
"Lastly, I will, by the grace of God, imitate Jesus in his _charity_.How many souls there are about me to love, to comfort, to enlighten andto assist. But I can only do it in the measure which God himself hasassigned to me. At my age, and but a girl, subject to the wishes of myparents, I ought only to desire to do good in proportion to the meanswith which the Lord has furnished me. But I must, in so doing, endeavorto overcome selfishness, idleness, the love of ease, avarice, hardnessof heart, pride, and indifference, and I must love my neighbor asmyself. Oh! what an important undertaking, and how many excuses anddeceits this kind of charity will encounter and overcome.
"But I will look to Jesus, and pray to him; I will implore the secretguidance of his Spirit; and since he is faithful, he will not leave mealone, but will lead me, and enable me to walk day by day, I mean'to-day,' in his sight, and in communion with him, who is so full oflove and gentleness."
This, my dear Esther, is what I have copied from Amelia's journal. Yousee the light in which our friend regarded her life on earth, and howmuch importance she attached to one _day_--a single day.
As I read what she had written, I felt my soul humbled before God, andI trembled to think of the useless way in which I had hitherto spent mytime.
You see in particular what Amelia felt on the subject of piety; whatlove her soul had for God! and this is what produced in her thatactive, sincere, and constant charity.
You cannot form the least idea of the work, of kindness and benevolencewhich she was enabled to accomplish. That passage, "The memory of thejust is blessed," is truly applicable to her.
Amelia was justified in her Saviour, for she trusted in him, and thuswas she also justified before God, by her faith in Jesus. The spirit ofJesus led her in "all her way," and in whatever family she appeared,her actions and words manifested a heavenly mind.
Her name is remembered with blessing in the hearts of all who knew her;her counsels, her instructions, her example, and her acts ofbenevolence, are continually spoken of by those who witnessed them, andit is thus that she left behind a sweet savor of holiness, like a rayof heavenly light.
Dear Esther, here is an example placed before us; it has been the willof God that we should know her, that we might be charmed with herexcellence, and that the happiness both of her life and death, mighttempt us to imitate her.
No, no, my sister, she is not dead; she is rather, as the poor workmansaid, at her grave, "a child of God in heaven." As _she_ followedJesus, let us also follow her, and let her memory be thus a blessing tous both.
God be with you, my dear sister. I long to see you, that we may praythe Lord together, to make us like his faithful, holy servant, the dearand pious Amelia.
Yours, &c.,
ANNA.
IV.
The Tract found by the Way-Side.
"Take away the dross from the silver, and there shall come forth avessel for the finer." --Prov. XXV. 4.
Every one knows in these days what is meant by a _religious tract_. Itis a little printed pamphlet, which is sold at a very low price, or isstill oftener given away, or dropped in the streets and lanes, thatthose who either purchase, or accept, or find them, may read the truthsof the Gospel, and the good advice which they contain.
This is an old-fashioned way of imparting instruction, both to high andlow. It was in use, for instance, as early as the first days of theReformation, when some faithful Christians of Picardy, in France,assembled together to read the Holy Scriptures, on which account theywere exposed to persecution, death, and above all, to be burnt alive.
These true disciples of the Lord Jesus composed and distributed, withconsiderable difficulty, some little pamphlets, in which were taughtthe doctrines of salvation by Christ alone, and in a form which enabledthe poor and ignorant to read and understand; for it was impossible forthem at that time to procure a Bible, which was not only a scarce book,but cost a large sum of money: indeed, almost as much as a thousandBibles would cost in the present day, and which, besides, they couldnot carry home and read quietly to themselves, as they were able to dowith a simple tract.
At a later period, and chiefly for the last fifty years, this methodhas been adopted in almost all countries where true Christian churchesand societies have been established; and even now, millions of thesetracts, adapted to all ages and conditions of men, are published anddistributed every year.
It is, however, but too true, that many tracts thus distributed are not_religious tracts_; that is to say, the substance of them is not inconformity with the truth of scripture. Many are published for thepurpose of upholding false religion and wicked principles, and which,consequently, do great mischief to those who read them.
And if it be asked, "How can a good tract be distinguished from a badone?" we thus reply to this very natural question.
A _good tract_ is that which leads us to the Bible; which speaks of thelove of God in Christ; and which encourages the reader to be holy froma motive of love to God.
A _bad tract_ is therefore that which does not speak of the Bible;which tells us that salvation may be obtained by human merit, and whichconsequently would persuade us to be religious from interested motives:that is to say, to obtain pardon by means of our own good works.
Those tracts, too, which speak of man's happiness as if it came fromman alone, and not from God, and which consequently deny the truth ofGod's word: these must also be called _bad tracts_, and must thereforebe carefully avoided.
The good that is done by the distribution of good tracts, can scarcelybe believed. There are many families, even in prosperity, who nevertasted real happiness until some of these evangelical writings foundtheir way amongst them. The following anecdote is an interesting proofof this:
&
nbsp; The family of a vinedresser, in the Canton of Vaud, in Switzerland,was, unhappily, as well known in the village in which he lived, for hisbad conduct, as for his impiety. The father, whose name we will notmention, was a proud and hard-hearted man, both intemperate anddissolute; and his wife, who thought as little of the fear of God asher husband did, was what might be called a _noisy babbler_.
The pastor of the village had often, but vainly, endeavored to leadthese unhappy people to a sense of religion, but he was always receivedby them with scoffing and ridicule.
The family was composed of the vinedresser's three children. Theeldest, Mark, was as haughty as his father, and although he was onlyfourteen years of age, he was already able to join in the disorders ofhis drunken and gaming companions. He was entirely devoid of any senseof religion. His sister, Josephine, who was rather more than twelveyears old, possessed a more amiable disposition. The pastor's wife tookmuch interest in this child, who could not help seeing that her parentswere not guided by the Spirit of God. Peter, the youngest, was but tenyears of age, but his brother's wicked example counteracted all thegood which he might have received from that of his more amiable sister.
About the end of May, there was to be, in a village not far distant, amatch at rifle-shooting. It was a public fete, at which all the peoplein the neighborhood assembled.
On the morning of this day, Mark had answered his father with greatinsolence, at which he was so much enraged, that he punished himseverely, and forbad him, besides, to go to the fete. The father wentthither himself, and Mark, after a moment's indecision, determined notto heed the command he had received, but to follow him to theshooting-match.
He therefore took advantage of his mother's absence, who, according toher usual custom, was gone to gossip with some of her neighbors, andnotwithstanding the remonstrances of Josephine, he hastened over fieldsand hedges, to the scene of the match.
"What is this?" cried he, picking up a little pamphlet, with a cover ofcolored paper, which was lying on the path near the opening in thehedge. "Oh! it is one of those tracts they leave about everywhere; itwill do very well to load my gun;" and so saying, he put the tract intohis pocket, and ran on as before.
But when he approached the village where they were shooting, dancing,playing, and making a great noise, he suddenly stopped, for herecollected that if he should meet with his father, who was there, hewould certainly beat him, and send him home again, in presence of allthe people who might be assembled; besides, his brother Peter was therealso, and he might see him, and tell his father. He therefore kept at adistance, behind a hedge, not daring to advance any farther.
"Supposing I read this book!" said he, at last, after having vainlyracked his brain to find out how he could be at the fete without beingdiscovered. "There is nothing in it but nonsense, I know beforehand;however, it will occupy me for a while."
This tract was called "The Happy Family," and Mark became so muchinterested in it, that he not only read the whole, but many parts of ittwice over.
"How odd it is," said he, when he had finished reading; "I should neverhave thought it could be thus; this Andrew and Julia, after all, weremuch happier than we are, and than I am, in particular. Ah!" added he,as he walked on by the hedge-side, looking on the ground, "possiblyJosephine may have spoken the truth, and that, after all, the right wayis the one which this lady points out."
As he thought over the little story he had been reading, he retracedhis steps towards his own village, at first rather slowly, but soon ata quicker pace, and he entered his father's house very quietly, andwithout either whistling or making a noise, as he generally did.
"You have not then been to the fete," said Josephine.
_Mark_.--(A little ashamed.)--"I dared not go, I was afraid my fatherwould beat me."
_Josephine_.--"It would have been better, Mark, if you had been equallyafraid of offending God."
Mark was on the point of ridiculing her, as he always did, but herecollected Andrew and Julia, and was silent.
_Josephine_.--(Kindly.)--"But is it not true, Mark? would it not bebetter to fear God, than to be always offending him?"
_Mark_.--(Knitting his brow.)--"Yes, as Andrew and Julia did! would itnot?"
_Josephine_.--(surprised.)--"Of whom do you speak, Mark? Is it of "TheHappy Family," in which an Andrew and a Julia are mentioned. Have youever read that beautiful story?"
"Here it is," said Mark, drawing the tract from his pocket, and givingit to his sister.
_Josephine_.--"Yes, this is it, exactly! But brother, where did you getit, for it is quite new; did you buy it of a _Scripture Reader_."
"Did I _buy_ it?" said Mark, sullenly. "Do you suppose I should spendmy money in such nonsense as _that?_"
_Josephine_.--"Then how did you get it? Did any one give it you?"
_Mark_.--(Slyly.)--"Ah! they have often tried to give me some, but Itore them to pieces, and threw them away, before their faces!"
_Josephine_.--"So much the worse, Mark! for the truth of God is writtenin them, and it is very sinful to tear the truth of God in pieces."
_Mark_.--(Rudely.)--"But you see I have not torn this, for it is quitewhole! And as you are so anxious to know how I came by it, I found iton the ground, near the road, and just beyond the brushwood."
_Josephine_.--"Ah! then I know where it came from. The Pastor's son,and the two sons of the schoolmaster, have got up a Religious TractSociety, who distribute them in all directions."
_Mark_.--(Reproachfully.)--"And pray why do they scatter them about inthis way? Can't they leave people alone, without cramming every body'shead with their own fancies. Let them keep their religion tothemselves, and leave other people to do the same."
_Josephine_.--"Do you think, Mark, that Andrew and Julia did wrong tolisten to their father and grandmamma, and to follow the precepts ofthe Bible in preference to the ridicule of scoffers."
_Mark_.--(Softened.)--"I did not say _that_.... I think Andrew andJulia were right; but ... come give me back the Tract; I want to lookat something in it again."
Mark then went away, carrying the Tract with him; and shortly after,Josephine saw him sitting in the garden, behind a hedge of sweet-briar,reading it attentively.
"Where's that good-for-nothing Mark?" demanded the vinedresser, when hereturned home at night half tipsy. "Did he dare to venture to theshooting-match? I was told that he was seen sneaking about theoutskirts of the village! where is he now?"
"He went to bed more than an hour ago," answered his mother, "and wasno more at the shooting-match than I was, for I saw him reading in thegarden."
"Mark, _reading_!" replied his father. "What could he be reading? Itwould be a miracle to see him with a book in his hand. An idle fellowlike him, who never did learn any thing, and never will!"
The vinedresser's wife was silent, and after putting poor little Peterto bed, who was quite tired and weary, she managed to get the father tobed also, and peace reigned for a season in this miserable abode.
Mark, however, who was not asleep when his father returned, had heardhimself called a good-for-nothing idle fellow, and he trembled fromhead to foot, when he found he had been seen in the neighborhood of thevillage.
"What a good thing it was," said he to himself, "that I did not go on!It was certainly God who prevented me!" added he, half ashamed of thethought because it was so new to him; but he determined no longer toresist it.
On the morrow, to the great surprise of his father and mother, Mark gotup in good humor; he answered his father without grumbling, and when hewas desired to go and work in the field, Mark hastened to take his hoeand spade, and set off, singing merrily.
"What has happened to him?" asked the father. "One would scarcelybelieve it was he! Wife, what did you say to him yesterday, to make himso good-humored this morning?"
"I never even spoke to him," said his wife, dryly. "You know howwhimsical he is."
"I wish he may remain in his present mind!" said the vinedresser; andthereupon he went off to the ale-house
, to talk with his neighbors ofthe best shots of the preceding day.
Josephine related the history of the little tract to the good pastor'swife, who advised her to meet Mark on his return from the field, and tospeak to him again of what he had read.
"Is it _you_, sister?" said Mark, in a happy tone of voice, as soon ashe saw her. "It is very good of you to meet me."
Josephine, who never received such a welcome from him before, was quitedelighted, and going up to him, she said, affectionately, "I want verymuch to talk with you again about Andrew and Julia."
_Mark_.--(Seriously.)--"And so do I. I should like very much toresemble them."
_Josephine_.--(Quickly.)--"Do you mean what you say, Mark? Have youthought of it again since yesterday?"
_Mark_.--(Still serious.)--"I have thought so much about it, that I amdetermined to change my habits. Yes, Josephine, I think you are right,and that, after all, religion is better than ridicule."
The conversation continued as it had commenced, and when Mark returnedhome, he went up and kissed his mother, who was just laying the tablefor dinner.
"What's the matter?" said she, with some surprise; "you seem in verygood spirits, today."
"Nothing is the matter, good mother, but that I wish to alter myconduct," replied Mark, seriously.
"To alter your conduct," cried little Peter, as he looked up in hisbrother's face, and began to titter.
"And you, too, little Peter," said Mark, "you must become good, also."
"What a funny idea," cried the child, laughing. "_What_ has made youturn schoolmaster, all at once? and, pray, when am I to begin?"
"We shall see by-and-bye," said Mark, kindly. "In the meantime, comeand help me to tend the cow."
"There is something behind all this!" said the mother and she blushedto think that this change had not been occasioned by anything she hadsaid or done to him, herself.
When the father returned from the ale-house, they all sat down todinner, and as usual, without saying "_grace_." Josephine said hers toherself, and Mark, who recollected Andrew and Julia, blushed when hetook his spoon to eat his soup.
After dinner, when they were out of the house, Josephine said to Mark,"What a pity it is, brother, that papa does not pray before each meal."
"All _that_ will come in time, Josephine," said Mark; "I never prayedmyself, and yet ... I must now begin directly. But what shall I do?Papa will be very angry if he sees me religious."
"I do not think he will," said Josephine, "for I heard him say tomumma, this morning, that he should be very glad if your conductimproved."
Mark blushed, but did not reply. He returned to his work without beingdesired to do so, and his father, who was quite astonished, said to hiswife, "There is something very extraordinary about Mark. I wish it maylast."
"You wish it may last!" said his wife; "how can you wish that, when youdo not care to improve yourself."
"And you, my poor wife," said the vinedresser, "do you care to changeany more than I do? I think as to that matter, we cannot say muchagainst each other."
"Well, at all events," said his wife, "I am not a drunkard."
"Nor am I a tattler," replied the husband. "And for this reason let useach think of our own fault, and if Mark is disposed to reform, do notlet us prevent him; for, my poor wife, _our_ example is not a very goodone for him."
Josephine, who was working at her needle, in the adjoining room, couldnot help overhearing this confession of her father, and she felt themore encouraged to uphold Mark in his good intention.
She therefore went again to meet him, and repeated to him all she hadheard. "I think," added she, "you will do well to relate what hashappened to our father and mother, and read them the little tract."
"Not yet," said Mark, "for my principles are not sufficiently strong.It is but an hour since the ale-house keeper's son laughed at me,because I told him I would not play at nine-pins with him, duringworking hours. He asked me if I was becoming a Methodist, and I did notknow what answer to make. However, I trust I am already improving, andI have read the little tract again for the third time."
"Oh!" said Josephine, "we ought to read the Bible, and we do notpossess one."
"True," said Mark, somewhat surprised. "I never thought of _that_. Wehave really no Bible in the house! Indeed, this must not be," he added,looking on the ground, and striking it with his spade.
"What shall we do, then?" said Josephine, "for it would be very nice tohave one."
Mark became thoughtful, but said nothing. From that day his conduct wasalways regular, and his habits industrious, so much so, that hisfather, who was never in the habit of showing him much kindness, saidto him, at the dinner table, and before all the rest of the family,"Well, my good Mark, tell us what has happened to you; for it is verypleasant to us to see how well you now behave. Tell us, my boy, whathas been the cause of this improvement."
"It was from this book," said Mark, drawing it out of his pocket, wherehe always kept it.
"What book is it?" said his mother, scornfully. "Is it not some of thathorrid trash, that"...
"Be silent," cried the father. "If this book has done good, how can itbe horrid trash? Do sour grapes produce good wine?"
"But," replied the mother, bitterly, "I will not have any of thosebooks and tracts in this house."
"Well, for my part," said the vinedresser, "I will encourage all thatteach my children to do what is right. Mark has worked well for thelast eight days; he has not occasioned me a moment's vexation duringthe whole of that time, and as he says that this book has been themeans of his improvement, I shall also immediately read it myself.Come, Mark, let us hear it. You can read fluently; come, we will alllisten. Wife, do you be quiet, and you too, Peter; as for Josephine sheis quite ready."
Mark began to read, but he could not proceed far; his father got up andwent out, without saying a word, and his mother began to remove thedinner-things.
But as soon as the family re-assembled in the evening, the father saidto Mark, "Go on with your reading, Mark, I want to hear the end, for Ilike the story."
Mark read, and when he came to that part of the tract, in which theBible is mentioned, the vinedresser looked up to a high shelf on thewall, where were some old books, and said, "wife, had we not once aBible?"
"Fifteen years ago," she answered, "you exchanged it for a pistol."
The vinedresser blushed, and listened with out farther interruptionuntil Mark had done reading. When the tract was finished, he remainedsilent, his head leaning on his hands, and his elbows on his knees.Josephine thought this was the time to speak about the Bible, which shehad so long wished to possess, and she went up to her father, and stoodfor some time by his side without speaking.
Her father perceived her, and raising his head, he said to her, "Whatdo you want, Josephine, tell me, my child, what do you want to ask me?"
"Dear papa," said the child, "I have long desired to read the Bible,would you be so kind as to buy me one?"
"A Bible," cried her mother, "what can _you_ want with a Bible, at_your_ age?"
"Oh! wife, wife," said the vinedresser, much vexed, "when will you helpme to do what is right?" "Yes, my child," he added, kissing Josephine'scheek, "I will buy you one to-morrow. Do you think there are any to behad at the pastor's house?"
"Oh! yes, plenty," cried Josephine, "and very large ones too!"
"Very well then," said the father, as he got up, and went out of thehouse, "you shall have a very large one."
"But," said his wife, calling after him, "you don't know how much itwill cost."
"It will not cost so much as the wine I mean no longer to drink!"replied the father, firmly.
He kept his word. The Bible was purchased on the morrow, and the sameevening the father desired Mark to read him a whole chapter. Theale-house saw him no more the whole of that week, and still less thefollowing Sunday. His friends laughed at him, and wanted to get himback. He was at first tempted and almost overcome, but the thought ofthe Bible restrained him, an
d he determined to refuse.
"Are you gone mad, then?" said they.
"No," replied he, "but I read the Bible now, and as it says, thatdrunkards shall not 'inherit the kingdom of God,' I listen to what itsays, and I desire to cease to be a drunkard."
"You see," said Josephine to Mark, as they accompanied each other tochurch, "how good God has been to us. We have now a Bible, and it isread by all at home."
_Mark_.--"Have you been able to tell the pastor's son how much good histract has done us?"
_Josephine_.--"I told his mother."
_Mark_.--"And what did she say?"
_Josephine_.--"She said, 'God is wonderful in all his ways,' and that,'He which hath begun the good work in us, will perform it until the dayof Jesus Christ.'"
_Mark_.--(Feelingly.)--"Who could have thought that when I went as arebel to that Fete, that God was there waiting to draw me to himself.But, dear Josephine, there is yet much to be done."
"But," said Josephine, "where God has promised he is also able toperform. He has told us to pray in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.Let us do so, and you will see that God will renew our hearts, and makeus wise and good."
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