He put his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a tract, and said, as the big tear dropped upon his cheek, "This is the blessed book that made known to me a blessed Saviour; and I would not part with it for all the world."
Feeling anxious to hold in my hand the instrument which had been employed by the "Eternal Spirit" in turning this aged man from darkness to light, I asked him to let me see the tract. It bore the following title, which had become nearly obliterated by frequent use:—"The Good Old Way; or the Religion of our Forefathers, as explained in the Articles, Liturgy, and Homilies of the Church of England." I said to him, "How did you get this tract?"
"A lady gave it me one day, about three years ago; I don't know her; but I hope she will be recompensed at the resurrection of the just."
"How do you spend your leisure time now?"
"In reading my Bible, which tells me so much about that dear Saviour, in whom, through grace, I have believed, and who is able to keep that which I have committed to him against the great day."
"I suppose you are much more happy now than you were before you knew him?"
This question brought over his countenance one of the finest expressions of delight I ever beheld; and, after a short pause, he said, "More happy, Sir! I never was happy till I obtained mercy; but now I am happy, and expect before long to join that blessed company we read of in the Revelation, who serve God day and night in his temple."
Having made a few unimportant inquiries about his family, the state of agriculture, and the population of the district, I wished him a good night, and left him. As I passed along, I said to myself, I should like to watch the countenance, and listen to the remarks of this converted shepherd, while some philosophic sceptic, in flippant style, or in graver tone and sarcastic sneer, says to him, "Why, shepherd, you have been long living amidst visible and splendid realities; but now, in your old age, you are living under the spell of legendary delusions. The Deity whom you now adore is nothing but the idol of your own creation. The reported facts and doctrines of the Bible, which have had such an effect on your imagination, are either fabulous tales or superstitious dogmas; and, notwithstanding your airy flights into another world, you, like your sheep, will cease to be, when death comes to release you from your labours, for there is no other world."
With what indignant astonishment, blended with pity, would the old shepherd look on such a man; doubting, for a few moments, whether he was not some infernal spirit in the human form. I can easily imagine he would reply: "It is odd, Sir, that such a poor ignorant old man as I be, that has lived for more than sixty years without thinking about God at all, should all at once, and without intending to do it, create by the force of my fancy such a pure, benevolent, and glorious Being, as I now believe God to be; who stoops from his high and lofty throne to listen to my poor prayers, and to answer them too. And it is mainly odd, Sir, methinks, that these tales of the Bible, if they be fabulous, and these doctrines of the Bible, if they be nothing but superstitious dogmas, as you call them, should all at once, and without my thinking of such a thing being done, work such a great and blessed change in my hard and wicked heart, and should make me so happy as I now be. It is, methinks, a main pity that they have not worked on your heart as they have on mine, and then you would be about as unable and as unwilling to doubt their truth as I be. You say, Sir, there is no other world; I should like to know how you happen to know this? have you been to the sun, and the moon, and all the stars, and every where else to see? If you have not, according to my plain way of thinking, I think it is a main act of presumption for you to say so. You tell me that I shall cease to be at death, just as these sheep will cease to be. I should like to know how you happen to know this. Has our Maker spoken to you out of heaven, and told you so: or is it mere guess-work with you? No, no, Sir; I am not going to take your random guess-work sayings as true gospel; I like Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John too well for that; and now, to let you know my mind, I tell you plainly, you come too late to make a poor man disbelieve his Bible, if you don't come before he has felt the enlightening and renewing and refreshing power of its blessed truths on his soul; he has then the Witness within, and that's a witness that can't lie. I won't give up the truthful testimony of this living Witness for your random guess-work sayings, which you yourself can't know to be true. I don't want, Sir, to offend you; but I look upon you as a false prophet, who may deceive the wicked, but can't deceive a man who fears God and loves Jesus Christ as I do, and shall do for ever."
Perfect stillness prevailed around; no sounds were heard but my own footsteps, and the occasional notes of the nightingale, until I came to a brake, when I heard the following verses of a favourite hymn, though the singer was concealed:—