Section II.—Love of Learning Encouraged.
THERE are many young persons, who have an ardent thirst for knowledge, and a strong desire to obtain an education; but their circumstances in life seem to forbid the attempt. There are many examples, which afford them encouragement to make the attempt. A large proportion of the men who have risen to the highest distinction, have struggled against the same difficulties which they have to encounter; and, when they see what has been done by others, they will perceive that it can be done by themselves.
Sir Isaac Newton.
When Sir Isaac Newton was a boy he was employed in servile labor. Sometimes he was sent to open the gates for the men that were driving the cattle to market. At other times, he carried corn to market, or attended the sheep. One day his uncle found him in a hay-loft, working out a mathematical problem, and he was sent to school. There he discovered his great and various talents. At the age of eighteen he was sent to the University at Cambridge, England, where he soon distinguished himself.
Benjamin West.
West, the celebrated painter, early manifested a genius for this art. His first attempt was made with pens, and red and black ink, upon a portrait of his sister’s child, lying in the cradle. For a long time he had no pencil. Having been told that they were made of camel’s hair, he pulled hairs out of the tail of a cat, of which he made his first brush.
Other eminent Persons.
Dr. Franklin was the son of a tallow-chandler, and served an apprenticeship to a printer; Rev. Dr. Scott, author of the Commentary, was employed in the most laborious work on a farm; William Gifford, one of the most celebrated literary men of his age, was an apprentice to a shoemaker, and wrought out his problems in algebra on a piece of sole-leather, with the point of an awl.
Section III.—Dislike of Study.
latin and labor.
JOHN ADAMS, the second President of the United States, used to relate the following anecdote:
“When I was a boy, I had to study the Latin grammar; but it was dull, and I hated it. My father was anxious to send me to college, and therefore I studied the grammar, till I could bear it no longer; and going to my father, I told him I did not like study, and asked for some other employment. It was opposing his wishes, and he was quick in his answer. ‘Well, John, if Latin grammar does not suit you, you may try ditching; perhaps that will; my meadow yonder needs a ditch, and you may put by Latin and try that.’
“This seemed a delightful change, and to the meadow I went. But I soon found ditching harder than Latin, and the first forenoon was the longest I ever experienced. That day I ate the bread of Labor, and glad was I when night came on. That night I made some comparison between Latin grammar and ditching, but said not a word about it. I dug next forenoon, and wanted to return to Latin at dinner; but it was humiliating, and I could not do it. At night, toil conquered pride; and though it was one of the severest trials I ever had in my life, I told my father that, if he chose, I would go back to Latin grammar. He was glad of it; and if I have since gained any distinction it has been owing to the two days labor in that abominable ditch.”
Boys may learn several important lessons from this story. It shows how little they oftentimes appreciate their privileges. Those who are kept at study frequently think it a hardship needlessly imposed on them. But they must do something; and if set to ditching, would they like that any better? The opportunity of pursuing a liberal course of study is what few enjoy; and they are ungrateful who drag themselves to it as to an intolerable task. You may also learn from this anecdote, how much better your parents are qualified to judge of these things than yourselves. If John Adams had continued his ditching instead of his Latin, his name would not probably have been known to us. But, in following the path marked out by his judicious parent, he rose to the highest honors which the country affords.
CHAPTER IX.
MISCELLANEOUS SUBJECTS.
Section I.—Fickleness.
Hunting Squirrels.
JOHN ALSOP was about fifteen years old, when his father, who had just moved into a new settlement, was clearing land. One day the father and a neighbor were engaged in building a log fence; which was made of the trunks of the trees that were cleared off the lands. First, they laid the fence one log high, with the ends of each length passing a little way by each other. Notches were cut in the ends, and a block was laid crosswise, where the ends lapped, and then another tier was laid on the cross pieces, till the fence was high enough. To roll up the top logs, they would lay long poles, called skids, one end on the top of the logs, and the other on the ground, and roll up the logs on these. But, as the logs were very heavy, they were obliged to stop several times to rest, or to get a new hold; and it was John’s business, when they stopped, to put a block the under side of the log, above the skids, to keep it from rolling back. Having given a hard lift, and tugging with all his might, the father called out, “There, Johnny, put under your block quick.” John started nimbly, and snatched up his block, when suddenly the loud chirp of a squirrel struck his ear. Instantly, down went his block, and away he ran after the squirrel, leaving his father and the other man to hold the log till he came back.
This anecdote gives you John’s character. He was too fickle to follow any one object or pursuit long enough to accomplish any thing. Thirty years after this, a gentleman who had known him in his youthful days, inquired about him of one of his neighbors, who related this anecdote, and added, “he has been running after squirrels ever since.” He never was steady and persevering in pursuit of any thing. When he was a young man, he could never make up his mind decidedly what employment to follow. He would try one, and get tired of it, and take another; but followed no business long enough to get well acquainted with it. When he had a family, and found it necessary to make exertion, he was busy early and late, but to little purpose. He moved from one place to another; and “a rolling stone gathers no moss.” He very often changed his employment, and by that means lost all the advantage of past experience. Now, he was a farmer, then a trader, then a post-rider, then a deputy sheriff, then a mechanic, without having learned his trade. By the time he had got fairly started in a new business, he would hear or think of something else, and before any body thought of it, he would change his business. In this way he wasted his money, and kept his family poor, and neglected his children’s education. He was always hunting the squirrel.
Now, boys, don’t hunt the squirrel. Whatever you begin, stick to it till it is finished—done, and well done. If you always follow this rule faithfully, you cannot fail of being somebody and doing something. But, if you go through life hunting the squirrel, when you die, nobody can tell what you have done, and the world will be neither wiser nor better for your having lived in it.
Section II.—Independence of Character.
THERE is a certain kind of Independence of Character, which is indispensable to success in any undertaking. I do not mean a proud, self-confident spirit, which despises advice, and makes one self-willed and headstrong. This is obstinacy. But true independence is that sort of self-confidence and resolution which leads one to go forward in what he has to do, with decision and energy, without leaning upon others. Without this, a man will gain to himself that unenviable distinction described by the homely but expressive term shiftless. The following description, from Mrs. S. C. Hall’s “[Sketches of Irish Character],” furnishes an admirable illustration of the results of a want of independence of character:—
“Shane Thurlough, ‘as dacent a boy,’ and Shane’s wife, as ‘clane-skinned a girl,’ as any in the world. There is Shane, an active, handsome looking fellow, leaning over the half-door of his cottage, kicking a hole in the wall with his brogue, and picking up all the large gravel within his reach, to pelt the ducks with. Let us speak to him. ‘Good morning Shane.’ ‘Och! the bright bames of heaven on ye every day! and kindly welcome, my lady; and won’t ye step in and rest—its powerful hot, and a beautiful summer, sure,—the Lord be praised!’ ‘Thank you, Shane. I thought you were going to cut the hay-field to-day; if a heavy shower comes, it will be spoiled; it has been fit for the scythe these two days.’ ‘Sure, it’s all owing to that thief o’ the world, Tom Parrel, my lady. Didn’t he promise me the loan of his scythe; and by the same token I was to pay him for it; and depinding on that, I didn’t buy one, which I have been threatening to do for the last two years.’ ‘But why don’t you go to Carrick and purchase one?’ ‘To Carrick. Och, ’tis a good step to Carrick, and my toes are on the ground, (saving your presence,) for I depinded on Tim Jarvis to tell Andy Cappler, the brogue-maker, to do my shoes; and, bad luck to him, the spalpeen, he forgot it.’ ‘Where’s your pretty wife, Shane?’ ‘She’s in all the wo o’ the world, ma’am, dear. And she puts the blame of it on me, though I’m not in the fault this time, any how. The child’s taken the small pox, and she depinded on me to tell the doctor to cut it for the cow-pox, and I depinded on Kitty Cackle, the limmer, to tell the doctor’s own man, and thought she would not forget it, becase the boy’s her bachelor; but out o’ sight out o’ mind—the never a word she tould him about it, and the babby’s got it nataral, and the woman’s in heart trouble, (to say nothing o’ myself;) and its the first and all.’
“’I am very sorry, indeed, for you have got a much better wife than most men!’ ‘That’s a true word, my lady, only she’s fidgety-like sometimes, and says I don’t hit the nail on the head quick enough; and she takes a dale more trouble than she need about mony a thing.’
“’I do not think I ever saw Ellen’s wheel without flax before, Shane?’ ’Bad ’cess to the wheel!—I got it this morning about that too. I depinded on John Williams to bring the flax from O’Flaharty’s this day week, and he forgot it; and she says I ought to have brought it myself, and I close to the spot. But where’s the good? says I; sure, he’ll bring it next time.’
“‘I suppose, Shane, you will soon move into the new cottage at Churn Hill? I passed it to-day, and it looked so cheerful; and when you get there, you must take Ellen’s advice, and depind solely on yourself.’ ‘Och! ma’am dear, don’t mention it; sure it’s that makes me so down in the mouth this very minit. Sure I saw that born blackguard, Jack Waddy, and he comes in here, quite innocent-like—‘Shane, you’ve an eye to squire’s new lodge,’ says he. ‘Maybe I have,’ says I. ‘I’m yer man,’ says he. ‘How so,’ says I. ‘Sure I’m as good as married to my lady’s maid,’ said he; ‘and I’ll spake to the squire for you my own self.’ ‘The blessing be about you,’ says I, quite grateful—and we took a strong cup on the strength of it—and depinding on him, I thought all safe; and what d’ye think, my lady? Why, himself stalks into the place—talked the squire over, to be sure—and without so much as “by your lave,” sates himself and his new wife on the lase in the house; and I may go whistle.’ ‘It was a great pity, Shane, that you did not go yourself to Mr. Churn.’ ‘That’s a true word for you, ma’am dear; but it’s hard if a poor man can’t have a frind to depind on.’”
If you want any thing well done, you must see to it yourself. If you want it half done, leave it to servants. If you want it neglected, impose it upon your friend, to save yourself the trouble.
Section III.—Contentment.
THE true secret of happiness lies in a contented mind. If we would be happy, we must be satisfied with our lot as it is. There is no condition in which there is not something unpleasant. If we seek for perfection, we may roam the wide world over, and never find it; but, if we learn to bear patiently what we cannot help, almost any situation in life will be tolerable. Every one, however, is disposed to think his troubles the worst of all. The following story shows that no situation is exempt from trouble.
The old black sheep.
A gentleman in England was passing by where a large flock of sheep were feeding; and seeing the shepherd sitting by the road-side, preparing to eat his dinner, he stopped his horse, and began to converse with him. “Well, shepherd,” he said, “you look cheerful and contented, and I dare say, have very few cares to vex you. I, who am a man of large property, cannot but look at such men as you with a kind of envy.” “Why, sir,” replied the shepherd, “’tis true, I have not trouble like yours; and I could do well enough, was it not for that black ewe that you see yonder among my flock. I have often begged my master to kill or sell her; but he won’t, though she is the plague of my life; for no sooner do I sit down at my book or take up my wallet to get my dinner, but away she sets off over the down, and the rest follow her; so that I have many a weary step after them. There! you see she’s off, and they are all after her!” “Ah, my friend,” said the gentleman, “I see every man has a black ewe in his flock, to plague him, as well as I.”
Hunting after contentment.
A man had a number of houses, and would move from one to another, because he could be contented but a little while in a place. A person asked him why he moved so often, and he said he was hunting after contentment. But content is never found by seeking.
CHAPTER X.
RELIGION.
Section I.—Religious Knowledge.
the will.
KNOWLEDGE is acquired not only by reading, but by thinking of what we read.
A minister in Ireland met a boy going to school, and asked him what book it was which he had under his arm. “It is a will, sir,” said the boy. “What will?” inquired the minister. “The last will and testament that Jesus Christ left to me, and to all who desire to obtain a title in the property therein bequeathed.” “What did Christ leave you in that will?” “A kingdom, sir.” “Where does that kingdom lie?” “It is the kingdom of heaven, sir.” “And do you expect to reign as a king there?” “Yes, sir; as joint-heir with Christ.” “And will not every person get there as well as you?” “No, sir; none can get there but those who found their title to that kingdom upon the ground of the will.” This boy was not only a reader but a thinker. The minister told him to take care of a book of such value, and to mind the provisions of the will.
A Little Reasoner.
A little boy asked his mother how many gods there were. A younger brother answered, “Why, one to be sure.” “But how do you know that?” inquired the other. “Because,” answered the younger, “God fills every place so that there is no room for any other.”
A Wise Answer.
A boy six years old was offered an orange, if he would tell where God was. “Tell me,” said the boy, “where he is not, and I will give you two.”
A Bad Bargain.
A Sabbath School teacher was talking to his class about that passage in Proverbs, which says, “Buy the truth and sell it not.” “He who buys the truth,” said he, “makes a good bargain. Can any of you recollect any instance of a bad bargain, mentioned in Scripture?” “I do,” replied one of his scholars:—“Esau made a bad bargain, when he sold his birth-right for a mess of pottage.” Another said, “Judas made a bad bargain, when he sold his Lord for thirty pieces of silver.” A third observed, “Our Lord tells us that he makes a bad bargain, who, to gain the whole world, loses his own soul.” Alas! how many such bad bargains are made every day!
Simple Faith.
A missionary in Africa asked a little boy if he was a sinner. The boy replied by asking if he knew any one who was not. The missionary then asked him who could save him from his sins. He replied, “Christ.” “What has Christ done to save sinners?” “He has died on the cross.” “Do you believe Jesus Christ will save you?” “Yes.” “Why do you believe it?” “I feel it; and not only so, but I consider that, since he has died, and sent his servants the missionaries from such a far country to publish salvation, it would be very strange if, after all, he should reject a sinner.” It would be so indeed, with respect to all that come to Him; for he has said, “Him that cometh to me, I will in no wise cast out.”
Proof that there is a God.
A converted Greenlander, conversing with a missionary concerning his former state, said that, before he had ever heard about God or Jesus Christ, he used to have such reflections as these: A boat does not grow into existence of itself, but must be made by the labor and ingenuity of man. But the meanest bird has far more skill displayed in its structure than the best boat, and no man can make a bird. But there is far more art shown in the formation of man than in any other creature. Who was it that made him? I thought perhaps he proceeded from his parents, and they from their parents; but some must have been the first parents—whence did they come? Common report informs me that they grew out of the earth; but if so, why do not men now grow out of the earth? And from whence did this same earth, the sea, the sun, the moon, and the stars, arise into existence? Certainly, there must be some Being, who made all these things—a Being that always was, and can never cease to be. He must be inexpressibly more mighty, knowing, and wise, than the wisest man. He must be very good too; for every thing that is made is good, useful, and necessary for us. Ah! did I but know him, how would I love him and honor him! But who has seen him? Who has conversed with him?
This poor heathen, groping in the dark, was led to the same train of reasoning to prove the existence of God that is used by the learned Christian philosopher; thus proving the truth of that passage in Rom. i. 20:—“The invisible things of God, from the creation of the world are clearly seen, being understood by the things that are made, even his eternal power and Godhead.”
How to prove the Bible true.
At one of the South Sea Islands, which had been converted from heathenism by the labors of the English Missionaries, they were holding the annual meeting of their Missionary Society. A British vessel arrived, and the officers and crew attended the meeting. A native took the chair, and native speakers addressed the meeting, with great effect. Every thing was done in good order; and the speeches were interpreted by the missionaries to the Englishmen present from the ship. But some of them said the natives were mere parrots, and only repeated what the missionaries had taught them. Others said that was impossible. After a warm dispute, they agreed to submit it to Mr. Williams, the missionary; who declined deciding the question, but told them if they would visit him in the afternoon, he would collect ten or twelve natives, whom they might ask any questions they pleased. They came, and about fifteen natives were present, but without knowing the object of the meeting.
The first question asked was, “Do you believe the Bible to be the word of God?” They were startled. They had never heard such a question stated before. A doubt had never entered their minds. After a moment’s pause, one of them replied, “Most certainly we do; undoubtedly we do.” “Why do you believe it?” they were again asked. “Can you give any reason for believing the Bible to be the word of God?” He answered: “Why, look at the power with which it has been attended, in the utter overthrow of all that we have been addicted to from time immemorial. What else could have abolished that system of idolatry, which had so long prevailed among us? No human arguments could have induced us to abandon that false system.”
The same questions were put to another, who replied, “I believe the Bible to be the word of God, on account of the pure system of religion which it contains. We had a system of religion before; but look how dark and black that system was compared with the bright system of salvation revealed in the word of God! Here we learn that we are sinners, and that God gave Jesus Christ to die for us; and by that goodness salvation is given to us. Now, what but the wisdom of God could have produced such a system as this presented to us in the word of God? And this doctrine leads to purity.”
Another made the following singular reply, which is worthy of a learned philosopher: “When I look at myself, I find I have got hinges all over my body. I have hinges to my legs, hinges to my jaws, hinges to my feet. If I want to take hold of any thing, there are hinges to my hands to do it with. If my heart thinks, and I want to speak, I have got hinges to my jaws. If I want to walk, I have hinges to my feet. Now here is wisdom, in adapting my body to the various functions which it has to discharge. And I find that the wisdom which made the Bible exactly fits with this wisdom which has made my body; consequently I believe the Bible to be the word of God.”
The argument, in this last answer, is the same as that which proves the existence of God: the perfect adaptation of all the works of nature to their design, shows them to have been the work of a Supreme Intelligence. The perfect adaptation of the Bible to the condition, wants, and necessities of man, proves it to be of divine origin. The Bible just suits the design for which it professes to have been given. It gives us just that information and instruction, which we should expect a revelation from heaven to give. It gives a rational account of the origin of all things; of the object of man’s existence, and of his relations and duties to God. It explains how man came to be in his present fallen, wretched condition, and makes provision for his restoration to the favor of God. It provides for a radical reformation of character; gives a perfect code of morals, and takes hold on the heart, and inspires a devotional spirit. Human wisdom could not have produced such a book; but if it could, good men would not have been guilty of imposing a work of their own upon mankind, as a revelation from heaven; and bad men would not have made a book to condemn themselves, as the Bible condemns all wickedness. We must, then, conclude, that the Bible is a divine book.
Section II.—The Sabbath.
Nothing lost by keeping the Sabbath.
A PIOUS sailor, on board the steamboat Helen McGreggor, in 1830, was ordered by the Captain to assist in handling freight on the Sabbath; which he objected to do, because he wished to keep the Sabbath. “We have no Sabbaths here at the West,” the Captain replied. “Very well,” said the sailor, “wherever I am, I am determined to keep the Sabbath.” After a few more words, the Captain settled with him, and he left the boat. He was soon offered higher wages, if he would come back; but he refused. In a few days, he shipped at New Orleans for Europe. The first newspaper he took up on his arrival contained an account of the terrible disaster which happened to this boat soon after he left it. On the morning of the 24th of February, 1830, she burst her boiler at Memphis, Tenn., and nearly one hundred lives were lost. This dreadful disaster he had escaped, by adhering, at all hazards, to his determination, wherever he was, to keep the Sabbath.
When George III. was repairing his palace, he found among the workmen a pious man, with whom he often held serious conversations. One Monday morning, when the king went to view the works, this man was missing. He inquired the reason. At first, the other workmen were unwilling to tell. But the king insisted on knowing; when they confessed that they had returned Sabbath morning, to complete a piece of work which they could not finish on Saturday, and that this man had been turned out of his employment because he refused to come. “Call him back immediately,” said the king. “The man who refused doing his ordinary work on the Lord’s day is the man for me. Let him be sent for.” He was restored to his place; and always afterwards, the king showed him particular favor. Here was a strong temptation to break the Sabbath, for the man’s employment depended on it. But he found it both safe and profitable to keep the Sabbath.
A wise answer.
A wicked man said to his son, who attended the Sabbath School, “carry this parcel to such a place.” “It is the Sabbath,” said the boy. “Put it in your pocket,” said the father. “God can see into my pocket,” the little boy answered.
Danger of breaking the Sabbath.
It is believed that more sad accidents happen to young persons, while seeking their pleasure on God’s Holy Day, than by any other means. A great proportion of the cases of drowning, among boys, occur on the Sabbath. One fine summer’s morning, two sprightly young lads started for the Sabbath School; but they were met on the way by some rude boys, who persuaded them to go and play with them by the side of the river. They hesitated for some time, instead of resolutely saying “No,” to the first temptation. When they yielded, it was with troubled consciences, for they were well instructed at home. They played about the river for some time, when one of them, venturing too near, fell into the water, which was deep. His companions were too much frightened to give him any assistance, and he was carried away by the rapid current and drowned. Thus were these two boys punished for their disobedience to God and their parents.
But one Sabbath in the week.
A person being invited to go on an excursion for pleasure, on the Holy Sabbath, replied, “I should like an excursion very well; but I have but one Sabbath in the week, and I can’t spare that.” This expresses an important truth in an impressive manner. When we have but one day in the week exclusively devoted to the concerns of eternity, while six are devoted to the affairs of time, can we spare that one day for pleasure? It is the best of the seven. It is worth more than all the rest. If rightly employed, it will bring us a richer return. What we can earn in the six days is perishable; but the fruits of a well-spent Sabbath will endure for ever. The Sabbath, when properly spent, is the day for the highest kind of enjoyment. If, therefore, you would seek pleasure, you can better afford to take any other day in the week for it, than to take the holy Sabbath.
Section III.—Early piety recommended.
A MAN eighty-seven years of age, meeting another aged man not quite as old as himself, the other inquired of him how long he had been interested in religion. “Fifty years,” was the old man’s reply. “Well, have you ever regretted that you began so young to devote yourself to God?” “O no,” said he; and the tears trickled down his cheeks. “I weep when I think of the sins of my youth.”
Another man between sixty and seventy years of age, said, “I hope I became a disciple of the Lord when I was seventeen;” and he burst into a flood of tears as he added, “and there is nothing which causes me so much distress as to think of those seventeen years—some of the very best portion of my life,—which I devoted to sin and the world.”
This was the experience of David, who, in his old age, prayed, “Remember not, O Lord the sins of my youth.” And it will be the reader’s experience, should he ever be brought to a knowledge of the truth, after giving the flower of his days to the service of sin and Satan.
Danger of delay.
A—— M—— was an impenitent youth. His friend, who had just embraced the Saviour, in the ardor of his first love, besought him to turn to the Lord. He acknowledged the great importance of the things which were urged upon his attention; and said that, long before, the Spirit of God had called upon him, and he was “almost persuaded to be a Christian.” Once he stood almost on the threshhold of heaven. “But now,” said he, “I am fallen, fallen—O how far! I know that I am not a Christian now. I am a great sinner. I have quenched the Holy Spirit. If I should die as I am, I know I shall be eternally lost, for I believe the Bible. You may think, because I am so careless now, I shall die unconverted. But no, I have more thoughts about death than many suppose. I mean to repent before I die, and become a Christian. I cannot think of dying as I now am; but you need not be concerned about me, for I mean to repent yet.” Not many days afterwards, he was crossing a river, with a number of others, for the purpose of spending the day in amusement. The skiff upset, and they were plunged into the water. All the rest of the company but A—— (who was the best swimmer among them), reached the shore. He was heard, as he struggled towards the bank, to utter a fearful oath, calling upon God to damn his soul. God took him at his word. He sunk to rise no more—a fearful warning on those who presume on future repentance!
Section IV.—Uncertainty of Life.
“Go to now, ye that say, To-day or to-morrow we will go into such a city, and continue there a year, and buy, and sell, and get gain:
“Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time and then vanisheth away.
“For that ye ought to say, if the Lord will, we shall live, and do this, or that.”—James iv. 13, 14, 15.
ON Friday, the Editor of the New-York Commercial Advertiser, met a Mr. Storrs in the street and requested from him an account of an Indian adventure which he had heard him relate. Mr. Storrs replied, “I am going to New Haven in the morning. I will write it there and bring it down for you on Monday. You shall have it on Monday.” These were his last words. On Monday he was buried. Such is the uncertainty of all human calculations! Let the business of the day be done to-day; for no one is sure of to-morrow. Especially let the great business of life always be done, and then sudden death need not be dreaded.
Sudden death of an impenitent sinner.
On a cold day in the middle of winter, a carriage drove up to a minister’s house and he was summoned to attend the death-bed of a young man, who, in the midst of life and health had been just struck down by a violent kick from a horse, and was not expected to live more than a few hours. The blow had broken his skull bone, and cut out a piece as large as the palm of his hand, presenting a ghastly and horrible sight.
When the minister arrived, he found him just recovering his senses. The physician came soon after, and decided that there was no hope of saving his life. The minister, after saying a few words, and engaging in prayer, proposed to retire for a short time, to give the young man a little rest. “No, no,” he exclaimed, “do not leave me for a moment. I have but a short time to live, and I dare not die as I am. O what shall I do? Tell me quickly before the light of reason forsakes me.”
“James,” said the minister, “there is but one way in which a sinner can be saved, and that is, by faith in the Lord Jesus Christ;—whether an hour only, or years be allowed you, the only way for you to secure salvation is, by casting yourself unreservedly into the Saviour’s hand. Only his blood can save you; and you are welcome now, this moment. All things are ready—come now.”
The young man, with a look of anguish, replied, “Do you remember, sir, when I was putting up some shelves in your study, eight months ago, that you asked me to stop, while you talked with me about religion, and prayed for me? It was then that I felt that I was a sinner, and after going home, I endeavored to pray for myself, and determined that I would seek religion. Two or three days, these feelings continued; when, unhappily for me, I took up a book, which I had commenced reading before our conversation, and though conscience remonstrated, I went on and finished it. My feelings were much enlisted in the story, but when I got through I had no disposition to pray; and my anxiety about religion was gone. I resumed novel-reading, of which I had been very fond, and compromised with my conscience, by resolving that at the end of one year I would throw all such books aside, and seek the salvation of my soul. Only two thirds of that year are gone, and here I am dying! Fool, fool that I was, to sell my soul for a novel—to prefer the excitement of an idle tale to the joys of religion.”
The minister begged him, whatever had been his past folly and guilt, to look to Christ for the forgiveness of all. But while he was speaking, the young man’s reason began to fail. In a short time he was delirious. “Fool, fool!” he would exclaim, at intervals, and this was all he said. In this state of mind, death overtook him, four months before the period arrived, to which he had put off attention to the concerns of his soul—a sad warning to those who defer this first and great concern!
Sudden Death of a Christian.
William G. was a young man in vigorous health and of ardent temperament, with great energy of character. His office was that of a brakeman upon the Railroad. A long line of freight cars had been delayed a few minutes behind the time, and must hasten to reach the turnout in season for the passenger train, which was expected to pass in a few moments. Two cars were to be detached; which, by a dexterous movement, could be done without entirely stopping the train. The moment the engine is slackened, the cars behind will gain a little upon those in front, when the connecting pin can be removed, and the hinder cars detached. This the young man had often done before, and he sprang forward with alacrity to perform it now. But, in the path lay a pebble, so small as to escape notice, and yet large enough, as he stepped rapidly backwards, to throw him prostrate on the track, while the heavy-laden cars passed on over his body. It was the work of an instant, but it was done. There lay, mangled and writhing, the young man, who, not one moment before, was buoyant, healthful, full of enterprise and hope. There was no hope of his life. With one arm extended, the only unbroken limb in his body, he speaks: “I must die—I know it—I must die, but thank God I am ready to die. Yes, I am willing to die, if it is God’s will. And yet, I should like to live. My poor mother—who will take care of her? My poor sisters—and oh, my poor dear Mary! Send for them—send for them. Send now. I must see them once more. I have much to say to them. Oh, my God, thy will be done!” They came, and there was such a burst of grief as is seldom witnessed. Yet, amid all this, he was calm. Not a groan, not a murmur had escaped him through the long hours of bodily suffering which he had endured, and not a murmur nor a groan did he suffer now, when the heart-strings were broken. He spoke calmly and clearly to them all, gave them counsel, bade each a tender farewell; then closed his eyes, and sunk into the sleep of death. What would this scene have been without the Christian hope? This young man had anchored his hope firm upon the Rock of Ages. It had supported him in the busy scenes of life. It now sustained him in the sudden hour of trial, when the pains of death seized upon him without warning. “Let me die the death of the righteous, and let my last end be like his!”
Transcriber’s Note:
Variations in chapter and section heads between the Contents and the body of the text have been retained as they appear in the original publication.