"Self-knowledge only makes us miserable," exclaimed Lydia, whose pride had been deeply wounded.
"It would be so indeed, were it not united to knowledge of the blessed Redeemer; if the same Bible which shows us that our fancied righteousness is but as a moth-eaten rag, did not show us, also, the spotless robe washed white in the blood of the Lamb, prepared for the meek and lowly in heart who come to the banquet of heaven. Let this then, dear child, be our constant prayer to the Giver of good— 'Lord, show me myself—my nothingness, my sin. Lord, show me Thyself—Thy holiness, Thy love. Pour Thy Spirit into my heart; let it rule my lips and my life, and clothe me in the robe of righteousness, even the merits of my blessed Redeemer.'"
[The Captive]
It was with a thankful and joyous heart that Grace Milner wended her way through the crowded streets of London. She had just been granted her heart's desire; she had been accepted as a female teacher by a missionary society for the conversion of the Jews, and a life which few, perhaps, would covet, but which to her appeared one of delight, was opening before the clergyman's orphan. It was a life of independence, and Grace had an honest pleasure in earning her own bread, and having the means even to assist others; it was a life of usefulness, and Grace longed to be able to do some good in the world. And the teacher was young, and of an ardent spirit; to her the very journey offered great attractions: traveling gave her exquisite pleasure, all the greater, perhaps, because she had hitherto seldom enjoyed opportunities of traveling. Grace had not a single relative from whom it would be a pain to part—she stood alone in the world, except so far as she belonged to the family of God. She was full of hope that she might be made a blessing where she was going. Grace had a great talent for learning foreign languages, and what to many is a weary task, to her was only an amusement. She felt that she was peculiarly suited for the position in which Providence had placed her, and would not have exchanged her lot for that of any queen in the world.
"Oh! to think of visiting the land in which my Saviour lived and died!" was the reflection of the young teacher as she threaded her way, careless of all that was passing around her; "to think of gazing upon Jerusalem, the guilty, yet sacred city, of standing in the garden of Gethsemane, where the Holy One knelt and prayed! And then to be permitted to lead the little ones of Israel to the footstool of the Saviour! To be surrounded by young descendants of Abraham, to whom I can speak of their fathers' God! Oh! Sweet command of the risen Saviour, 'Feed my lambs!' With what delight shall I obey it, with what delight shall I seek out His jewels, to be my joy and crown of rejoicing when He comes in the clouds with glory! Blessed work to labor for Him! I thank God for the talents which He has given me; I thank Him for the opportunity of spending them all in His service; I thank Him for the hope that I—even I—may one day hear from my Saviour the transporting words, 'Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord.'"
Grace was startled from her dream of happiness by a sudden shock! Absorbed in thought, she had not taken sufficient precaution in crossing a road, and was struck down by a cab that had, unnoticed, turned sharply round the corner of a street.
The young teacher uttered no cry; she fell stunned and senseless to the ground. She saw not the pitying crowd who thronged around her. When raised from the ground, and carried on a shutter to the nearest hospital, she felt no pain from the motion. It was not for some hours that Grace had sufficiently recovered her senses to know what had happened, or to comprehend the nature of the injury which she had received.
Great indeed was the trial to the poor girl when she awoke to a sense of what was before her. Her spine had sustained an incurable injury, such as might not perhaps shorten life, but which might render her utterly helpless as long as that life should last. The once active, energetic young woman would never again be able even to sit up in bed, and all her hopes of usefulness as a teacher were crushed in a moment for ever!
Dark indeed were the prospects of the orphan, when this cloud of misfortune so suddenly swept over her sky! Where should she go—what should she do—when dismissed, as she soon must be, from the hospital which had received her? Her little savings as a governess had all been expended; she had no home to which to return, no friend wealthy enough to be burdened with the support of a helpless cripple. There was sympathy shown to Grace by the supporters of the charity which had so lately accepted her services. There was even a subscription raised for her; but the assistance thus given was far too small to render the lady independent. As she was unable, and would always be unable, to rise from a lying position, it would be hopeless to attempt to gain a miserable pittance by her needle. Drops of agony stood upon the brow of the poor young lady, as the terrible truth forced itself upon her mind, that, henceforth, the only home that she could look to on earth was the poorhouse.
Grace could not at first bend her spirit to submit to a fate which she looked upon as worse than death. She quitted the hospital for a lodging where the kindness of strangers enabled her to struggle on for a time. But she knew that this could not last; the evil day might be put off, but was certain at length to arrive. Grace thought that it was wrong to draw so heavily upon the charity of others, when so many of her fellow-creatures were in want of common necessaries. What was given to her lessened the power of the generous to assist them; and Grace was of too unselfish a spirit to bear to encroach on the kindness of the rich, or draw away relief from the poor. So she made up her mind at last she would go where she had a right to food and shelter; she would claim the support of her parish, now that she could not support herself.