But some houses escaped. The ones with the—blood on. Had there been any death in those houses? No, sir. Think. What had died? A little lamb. Yes; a little lamb had been killed and his blood put in—a basin. And then—suppose the basin had been set behind the door, would that have done? No, sir. The blood must be sprinkled on the—door, and it most be sprinkled by a bunch of—hyssop. Yes; it must all be done exactly as God had said. Then the door that had the blood upon it was passed over by the angel, was it? Yes, sir. And what was done to the house where there was no blood? What did the angel do? Went in. Yes, and—slew the first-born. [Mr. Wells then called a little boy up to the board, drew a rough sketch of three or four door-frames, on two of which he used the red chalk, making marks to represent blood. The boy was then asked, with the class, to point out which houses the angel would enter, and which pass over, thus drilling the fact impressively and perfectly into the scholars' minds, as also the reason for the angel's choice—the blood of the lamb.]
How do you think I got here? On the cars. What drew the cars? An engine. Did you ever see an engine? Yes, sir! (with emphasis). This summer, where I live, at Tarrytown, a gentleman said to me, "Don't you want to go down on the track and see the express train go by to-night?" I said yes: so we went. By-and-by I heard a rumble: it seemed to come nearer and nearer, and got louder and louder. What was coming? The express train. Yes, it was going to rush by us at thirty miles an hour. Could we have held out our hands and stopped it? No, sir! (emphatically, and incredulously). Suppose we had had you to help us, could we then? No, sir! Well, suppose all the people in this house had caught hold of the cars?—what then? It would have pulled them to pieces! toot! toot!—what was that? The whistle. Yes, and the man on the engine put his hand on a little iron bar and pushed it, and the cars began to go slower and slower and slower until they stopped. The man put his hand on the right place, the place of power, the place that made the engine go or stop. Now, what does Jesus say to us? "Behold, I stand at the door and knock." Can you tell me at what door Jesus knocks? Our hearts. "If any man," or child, "will hear my voice, and open—the door—I will come in and—sup with him." Yes, "and he with me;" and we shall be saved. But there must be something on the door, or we cannot be saved, any more than the Jews, if they forgot, or would not, put the blood on the doors of their houses. What must we have on the door? Blood. Yes. Well, will it do if you cut your finger, and sprinkle the blood on your house? No, sir. Suppose you kill a little lamb, and put the blood on your front door, will that save you? No, sir, no, sir! What must the blood be on? Our hearts! Yes, the blood must be put upon the right place, the place where Jesus knocks, the place of power. Our hearts then are—the door. And what must be sprinkled on the door? Blood.
Why did our soldiers go off to the war? To fight; yes, and to shed their—blood—for their country. And what does shedding their blood mean? They died—died; yes; how? On the cross. He hung there for you, did he? Yes, sir. And for me? Yes, sir; and for us all? A little girl in a mission-school, named Mary, sat on the front seat, and when the superintendent was telling about how they hanged Jesus on the cross, the tears came to her eyes, and when he got to where they took the hammer and the nails to nail him, little Mary could not stand it any longer, but she had to get up and go out. In the afternoon she came back smiling, and the superintendent asked her, "Mary, where did you go this morning?" and she said, "Oh, teacher, I could not stand it when you spoke to us about Jesus being nailed on the cross, for I felt just as if I helped to pound the nails in, and I went off a little piece from the school, and got down on my knees and told Jesus that my sins helped to hang him on the cross, and I asked him to please forgive me for helping to kill him—that I was so sorry; but now I feel so happy." Jesus forgave her, and to-day Mary is a little Christian girl.
I have something in my pocket (drawing out a roll) that I want you to see. Years ago I went thousands of miles away, and I sent on to Washington and got this paper, It is called a "passport." There is the great seal of the United States on it, and here is the Secretary's signature at the bottom. And when I was away, in strange countries, where I could not speak the language, all I had to do was to show this paper, and they said, "Let him pass," or something that meant that, and I was allowed to go on. If I had not had this passport, I could not have got through. The blood of Jesus must be our passport. When God sees this blood sprinkled on the door of our hearts, he will say, "Let him pass," and we will be allowed to go through this life in safety, and get to heaven when we die. But oh, how many times we have to use this passport! How often we sin and need to come to Jesus for forgiveness, and to point to his precious blood sprinkled on our hearts!
The teacher further continued the lesson, illustrating by pointed and affecting incidents, briefly recapitulating, and closing with a short prayer, in which the little ones feelingly joined. The above is all that need be quoted to give an idea of the style of this successful teacher of the children.
Example No. 2.
The following lesson was kindly forwarded to the author, in manuscript, from London, by the young lady teacher, "S. E. A.," who has been remarkably successful in public exercises of teaching very young children.
A Lesson upon Forgiveness.
Harry and Fred went to school. They had to cross a road to get to it. A boy used to stand at the crossing with a broom in his hand to sweep it with; this boy was very rude to Harry and Fred: he used to try and keep them from crossing the road. Once he took away Fred's books and splashed him with mud. When the boy saw Harry and Fred running and making haste, lest they should be late at school, he would be sure to stop them. In the winter-time he made them walk upon the snow. Sometimes he held up his broom before their faces and cried out, "Can't come across, can't come across; you'll be late, you'll have the stick." Then, again, when they were very early, he would tell them they were late, and so make them run. At last, one day all the children of the school to which Harry and Fred went were going to take flowers to their teacher, as it was her birthday. Henry said that he would bring a beautiful nosegay, for his papa's gardener was going to cut him a large one from the green-house for him to take to school. Well, the morning of the birthday came: the school-children brought a great many beautiful flowers; Harry and Fred did not come with the rest; the children wondered where they could be. At last though, in they came, but no nosegay: they made a bow, said "Good-morning," and then both looked down on the ground. "Where's your nosegay?" said a little girl to Harry. "I have not got one," he answered. How could that have happened? The gardener had cut them a beautiful large nosegay, and when they left home in the morning for school they had it with them—what had become of it? Had the boy taken it away? I will tell you all about it. As they were running along very fast to get to school in time, all at once they left off running and began to walk slowly. They were near the crossing, and they felt afraid of the boy; they need not have been frightened, for the boy was sitting down on a doorstep crying, with his head resting upon his knees, and took no notice of them. As they were going past him, Harry said, "Oh, he will not hurt us; let us stop; I wonder what he is crying for?" "What is the matter?" said Fred to him. "Mind your own business," answered the boy; "go on to school." So on they went, but as they turned away the boy saw the nosegay, and called after them to come back. "Don't go." said Fred: "he's a wicked boy; we can't help him." Well, they were going on when Harry looked again and saw him crying; so he and Fred turned back: then the boy told them that he was very hungry, that his mother and grandmother were both at home very hungry and ill, that a policeman had turned him away from his crossing, and he had not earned any money for three days. Harry said, "Poor fellow!" and he wished he had a penny to give the poor boy. Then Harry and Fred looked at their flowers; the boy looked too. "He can't have our flowers, you know," said Fred; "we want them for our teacher, she is so kind, and I want to show how much I love her." So they walked off slowly, and the boy looked after them and the nosegay as if he would like very much to have it. "I say he does not deserve to be helped," said Fred. "So do I," said Harry; "and then these flowers are too good to give to him." However, they did not feel quite comfortable, and then they remembered a text they had learned at school the day before—"If ye forgive not men their trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses." That is, dear children, if we do not forgive others, God will not forgive us. So Harry said, "Here, Fred! take the flowers to him." Fred took the flowers, went up to the boy, put them in his hand, and then ran away. A gentleman soon after gave the boy a shilling for the nosegay, and I dare say you can guess what he did with it. When Harry and Fred gave the nosegay to the boy, it made them feel very happy—more happy than if they had given it to their teacher; and it did the boy good too: their kindness made all his rudeness go away, and always after this day he did all he could to please Harry and Fred.
Tell me the names of the boys I have spoken to you about? How did the crossing-sweeper behave to them? What were they going to take to school one day? Why? Did Harry and Fred take their nosegay to school? What did they do with it? Did the boy deserve to have it? Why did they give it to him then? Yes, they gave it to him to show that they had forgiven him. Sometimes people are unkind to you; perhaps one day a boy went up to you James, and stole your marbles; perhaps your big sister one day gave you a slap, Mary. Now, if she ever slaps you again, or if the boy takes away James's marbles again, are you to hit them and call them hard names, or to forgive them? Why? Yes, you should forgive them because God wishes you to do so; because it will be acting like Jesus to do so; because God will not forgive you if you do not forgive. Let us think a little about Jesus. You know that one evening when he was praying in a quiet garden, some wicked men came and dragged him away; you remember how the soldiers mocked him, took off his clothes, put on him an old robe, a make-believe crown made of thorns—dared to be so filthy as to spit in his face, beat him; and then they put great nails through his hands and through his feet, and nailed him to a cross of wood, put it up and let him hang there. How the nails most have torn his hands!—what great pain they must have given him! You know if a pin were put through your flesh how the pain would make you cry out; what then must have been the pain of the nails! And then he did not deserve this cruel treatment: he had gone about doing good. If any persons deserved to be punished, those who put Jesus, the kind, loving Saviour, to death, deserved to be; and Jesus could have punished them if he had chosen, for he was God's dear Son; but no, he did not punish them. Instead of that, he prayed for them: he said, "Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do!" Let us ask God, the Holy Spirit, to give us a forgiving spirit, and so make as like Jesus.