"My history is a very singular one—abounding with incidents that illustrate the workings of the special providence of God. You know, my dear, in what a gay circle I moved. The concert, the drama, the ball-room, card-parties, and novels absorbed my whole soul. I lived in a perpetual whirl of excitement and gaiety. But I was not happy, and often felt disgusted with my own frivolous pursuits. At length, I had a severe and dangerous illness, brought on by imprudently exposing myself to the cold damp air, in returning from a ball. For some weeks my life was despaired of, and these were weeks of terror. I was brought to the verge of the dark world, and felt appalled at the thought of entering it. I was rebellious, too, and murmured against God for depriving me of life at such an early period."
"It was by a cold, caught at a ball, that your old friend, Miss Denham, lost her life."[34]
"Yes; I recollect you alluded to her death in a letter I received from you. Were you intimate with her?"
"I was with her when she died."
"Indeed! I know she was a gay devotee to the world; and, therefore, it may be painful to hear how she died. What myriads are offered as victims to the Moloch of fashion!"
"No, my dear, not painful. Her head was reclining on the bosom of a pious friend, who was present with me at the interview; and her last words were—'I am dying, but not without hope of attaining eternal life, through faith in the Lord Jesus Christ.'"
"How thankful I am to hear that. It is like the rescue of a friend from shipwreck. But to resume my story. I was gradually restored to health, and re-entered the gay world, amidst the warm congratulations of my friends. At the close of the season we came to Malvern to spend a few months. Here the mystic roll of Providence began to unfold itself. One day, when rambling by myself over the common, I saw a neat little cottage, which I entered. It was occupied by an old woman, who sat reading her Bible. I apologized for my act of intrusion; when she requested me to take a seat.
"'I hope,' she added, looking at me benignantly as she spoke, 'you love your Bible. It tells us about Jesus Christ; about his love for poor sinners; and about his dying for them, to save them from perishing; and it tells us that if we come to him He will never forsake us. There is no book like God's Book.'
"I felt confused, and soon left her; but her words followed me. They were perpetually sounding in my ears; and yet I could not draw out of them any intelligible meaning. A few days after this I met an old school-fellow, looking very ill; and having promised to call on her, I did so the following week. I found her confined to her bed, and evidently with but a short time to live. She said to me, when taking leave of her, 'You see, my dear Miss Rawlins, that I am now going into another world: and I go in peace, because I look by faith to Jesus Christ, who died to save sinners. He has assured me, in the Bible, that if I come to him, and trust in him, He will save me. You have been near death, but your life is spared; let me entreat you to leave the gay and thoughtless crowd, and come by faith to Jesus Christ to save you, and to make you happy.'
"These last words made a deep impression on my heart, and gave rise to some painful reflections. Must I then, I said to myself, withdraw from the gay world to be happy? Can Jesus Christ make me happy? How is this possible, when he is dead, and gone to heaven? These references to Jesus Christ reminded me of your letter, which, as it happened still to be in my writing desk, I again perused. I was struck with the harmony of sentiment and testimony between your letter, the observations of the old woman, and the appeal of my dying friend; and I felt its influence, even though it appeared to me, in a great measure, unintelligible."