The Little Gleaner Part 65

When young she was deprived of both father and mother, but by friends was introduced into a genteel family, where after some time she fell into shameful sin. Her friends abandoned her in her disgrace, but after she had endured much suffering, privation, and want, they were persuaded to receive her once more, and at length provided another eligible situation for her. Thus restored, she might have lived in respect, but a particular circ.u.mstance which should operate as a warning, especially to servants, led her into a more dreadful course of iniquity than ever she had been guilty of before.[12] On the Lord's Day, instead of going to any place of wors.h.i.+p, she contracted the habit of spending those sacred hours at the house of an acquaintance. Here she formed her most fatal connections, and to this sin of Sabbath-breaking she especially attributed her ruin. A bad man persuaded her to accompany him to London.

Here for some years she lived a most profligate life, the circ.u.mstances of which cannot be detailed here, further than that sin which brings its own reward found her deserted, and in the Lock Hospital. After a dreadful operation she somewhat recovered, and went out, but only to follow her old sinful course. She was scarcely known to be sober for six years together. Her wretched course of life was a continual burden to her. She often prayed, if such an one could be said to pray, that G.o.d would deliver her from it, and accompanied her prayers with resolves to forsake it; but all her resolutions were ineffectual till G.o.d's time of deliverance was come. At length she determined to return into the country again. She met with many distressing circ.u.mstances by the way, and upon her arrival, her friends would not receive her. She was therefore obliged to apply to the parish, being incapable of getting her living through her disordered state of body. The overseers provided her a room in a house with another woman, where, soon after she arrived, her complaint a.s.sumed an alarming nature, and threatened speedy dissolution.

In the awful prospect of death she was seized with the most distracting horrors. Calling to the woman with whom she lived, she cried, "I shall soon be gone, and h.e.l.l will be my doom!" The woman told her she was mad, but she replied, with earnestness, "I am not. I know it will, for I am not prepared to die"; and immediately asked her if she knew where any minister lived? She had heard some whom they called "Methodists" while in the hospital at London. Even then she could not laugh at them as many of her unfortunate companions did, but was often much affected by their prayers and sermons, and looked upon them as men living in the fear of G.o.d. The recollection of this suggested the eager inquiry after them now. But the woman said, "They cannot save your soul."

[12] Young readers, mark this dreadful example of sin, and may the Lord bless you with wisdom and strength to resist such temptations to evil.

If you would be spared suffering and shame, and spare your best friends much sorrow, be careful what company you keep, and remember that G.o.d's eye is upon you.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "SHE PROCURED A LODGING WITH A SERIOUS FEMALE." (_See page 230._)]

"I know they cannot," she replied, "but they can pray with me and for me to One who can. Go instantly and fetch one, for I am going to h.e.l.l."

The woman still continued to laugh at her, and told the neighbours she was deranged. One of them, however, more compa.s.sionate than the rest, coming in, said she knew a good man who lived near. He was not a minister, but she would go and fetch him.

"Make him promise to come," said the poor creature, "before you leave him, and then, if he be a good man, he will come." While the person was gone, she cried to the Lord to send him.

He came and found her in the greatest agonies of mind. She told him that she was the vilest sinner that ever lived, described the course of life she had led, and concluded by saying she saw h.e.l.l before her eyes, and that she should be lost for ever. He pointed out the way of salvation by Christ, told her it was free for the vilest, spoke of the encouragement there was for the chief of sinners who came to Him, prayed with her, and left her a little more composed. She made him promise to come the next day, which he did twice. In a short time after, her sorrow was turned into gladness, and she was enabled to rejoice in Christ as her Saviour, whilst the young man who visited her was reading the verse--

"Look as when Thy grace beheld The harlot in distress; Dried her tears, her pardon sealed, And bade her go in peace.

Foul like her, and self-abhorred, I at Thy feet for mercy groan; Turn and look upon me, Lord, And break my heart of stone."

Soon after this, G.o.d removed the violence of her complaint, and thereby gave her an opportunity of proving the reality of her conversion. As soon as possible she went to the meeting, but oh, the persecution she now met with from her former companions! She was obliged to remove from place to place to escape their violence. They pelted her with stones, broke her windows, &c., because, as they said, she was a hypocrite. But she was enabled to endure it with patience, and after a time procured a lodging with a serious female. Now she seemed almost in heaven. She could now go in and out, none daring to make her afraid, and could meditate in peace on the gracious dealings of G.o.d with her soul. She became a member of the Church in which she continued as long as she lived. She seemed to grow daily in an affecting discovery of the evil of sin and of her own vileness, and was often quite overwhelmed with a sense of the goodness of G.o.d, both with respect to her temporal and spiritual concerns. She was frequently enabled to rejoice in the Lord with exceeding joy, though labouring under the most dreadful pain, being literally full of wounds, the sad fruit of her former life. She occasionally experienced great conflicts with Satan, but the Lord graciously interposed, and brought her off more than conqueror. Several months before her death she was grievously afflicted, but in general very comfortable. On the Sat.u.r.day preceding her dissolution, a friend called to see her, and inquired after the state of her mind. She said she was happy in G.o.d, longed to depart, and could scarcely contain herself. She was so filled with love to her blessed Lord, for His unbounded goodness to her. On the Monday, the person with whom she lodged said she was very comfortable in her mind. Her spirit soared beyond the fear of death; but through extreme weakness she could not speak much, and on Tuesday she departed, we trust, to sing the praises of that miraculous grace which s.n.a.t.c.hed her as a brand from the burning.

CONDUCT is the great profession. What a man does tells us what he is.

ADMIRAL PYE AND THE INQUISITORS.

Admiral Pye having been on a visit to Southampton, and the gentleman under whose roof he resided observing an unusual intimacy between him and his secretary, inquired into the degree of their relations.h.i.+p. The admiral informed him that they were not related, but their intimacy arose from a singular circ.u.mstance, which, by his permission, he would relate.

The admiral said, when he was a captain he was cruising in the Mediterranean. While on that station he received a letter from sh.o.r.e, stating that the unhappy author of the letter was by birth an Englishman; that, having been on a voyage to Spain, he was enticed while there to become a Papist, and, in process of time, was made a member of the Inquisition; that there he beheld the abominable wickedness and barbarities of the inquisitors.

His heart recoiled at having embraced a religion so horribly cruel and so repugnant to the nature of G.o.d, that he was stung with remorse to think that, if his parents knew _what_ and _where_ he was, their hearts would break with grief; that he was resolved to escape, if he (the captain) would send a boat on sh.o.r.e at such a time and place, but begged secrecy, since, if his intentions were discovered, he should be immediately a.s.sa.s.sinated.

The captain returned for answer that he could not with propriety send a boat, but if he could devise any means to come on board, he would receive him as a British subject, and protect him. He did so; but being missed, there was soon raised a hue and cry, and he was followed to the s.h.i.+p.

A holy inquisitor demanded him, but he was refused; another, in the name of his Holiness the Pope, claimed him, but the captain did not know him, or any other master, but his own sovereign, King George. At length a third holy brother approached. The young man recognized him at a distance, and, in terror, ran to the captain, entreating him not to be deceived by him, for he was the most false, wicked, and cruel monster in all the Inquisition. He was introduced, the young man being present, and, to obtain his object, began with the bitterest accusations against him; then he turned to the most fulsome flatteries of the captain; and, lastly, offered him a sum of money to resign him. The captain treated him with apparent attention, said his offer was very handsome, and, if what he affirmed were true, the person in question was unworthy of the English name or of his protection.

The holy brother was elated; he thought his errand was accomplished.

While drawing his purse-strings, the captain inquired what punishment would be inflicted upon him. He replied that it was uncertain; but as his offences were atrocious, it was likely that his punishment would be exemplary. The captain asked if he thought he would be burned in a dry pan. He replied, that must be determined by the Holy Inquisition, but it was not improbable.

The captain then ordered the great copper to be heated, but no water to be put in. All this while the young man stood trembling, his cheeks resembling death; he expected to become an unhappy victim to avarice and superst.i.tion.

The cook soon announced that the orders were executed. "Then I command you to take this fellow," pointing to the inquisitor, "and fry him alive in the copper." This unexpected command thunderstruck the holy father.

Alarmed for himself, he rose to be gone. The cook began to bundle him away. "Oh, good captain! good captain! spare me, spare me!" "Have him away," replied the captain. "Oh, no, my good captain!" "Have him away.

I'll teach him to attempt to bribe a British commander to sacrifice the life of an Englishman to gratify a herd of b.l.o.o.d.y men." Down the inquisitor fell upon his knees, offering him all his money, and promising never to return if he would let him begone. When the captain had sufficiently alarmed him, he dismissed him, warning him never to come again on such an errand.

What must have been the reverse of feelings in the young man to find himself thus happily delivered. He fell upon his knees, in a flood of tears, before the captain, and poured a thousand blessings upon his brave and n.o.ble deliverer.

"This," said the admiral to the gentleman, "is the circ.u.mstance that began our acquaintance. I took him to be my servant; he served me from affection; mutual attachment ensued, and it has inviolably subsisted and increased to this day."--_From Cyclopaedia of Moral and Religious Anecdotes, with Introductory Essay by Dr. Cheever._

CHILD HEROISM.

"Mother, just look what I've come upon! I found the small board at the back loose, and beneath it, this."

Thus spoke Julia White, who was engaged in scrubbing out the single cupboard of their one room, and as she uttered the words she held up a paper with two sovereigns wrapped in it.

"Why are you so prying, child?" said the mother. "You would have been so much better without the knowledge of my secret. Now, if your father should come home tipsy to-night, you will be forced to tell him where the money is, and I shall lose the whole of it. Wherever to hide it away from you, I don't know."

Poor Julia looked frightened enough, for she was only eleven years of age, and her dread of her father, who frequently showed himself a ferocious ruffian, was extreme; but there was no help for the case now.

The mother had to leave in little more than an hour to watch a patient to whom she was night nurse, and there was no time to find another hiding-place. To carry the money with her where she was going would scarcely have been safe, so, after seeing little Nancy, with the baby, safely returned, and giving the latter its meal at her breast, the good, hard-working woman departed to fulfil her engagement.

The children left alone, the terror of the elder one could not escape the notice of the younger, although she was only a little over seven; and she at length said--

"What can be the matter with you, Julia?"

"I know where mother's money is, and am afraid father will come home and want it."

"Tell him you know nothing about it. He always believes you."

"Nancy!"

She had been rightly taught by a good mother, and young as she was, realized that this was not the course to take, so, kneeling by the side of her child sister, she offered the following simple, but heartfelt, prayer--

"Dear Jesus, please don't let father come home to-night and want mother's money; but if he should do so, please help me not to tell him where it is."

The strength she had thus gained was soon put to a cruel test, for into the neat, cleanly room there quickly rushed the brute who represented all that she had ever known of father. The scene that ensued was of a character not unfrequent in low London districts, but none the less worthy of record. Poor little Nancy, dreading what might follow, caught up the baby, and fled with it into a corner of the room, as the safest place of refuge, for we ought to have stated that the ruffian had locked the door upon his entrance. Catching his eldest daughter's arm, he said, in not an over loud voice--

"Get me your mother's money."

Meeting with no reply from the white-faced girl, he next said--

"Do you know where it is?"

But still there was no answer. What followed seems dreadful to relate, suiting better with the nature of South Sea or African cannibals than with the natives of Christian England. First twisting the girl's arm round, and causing her dreadful pain, he next bestowed upon her with his brute strength a succession of awful blows; but, though she could not keep back her cries, she did not yield to him in the least.

Wearied at length, he flung her from him on to the wall, and during the ensuing five minutes, with bursts of terrible oaths, threatened that, if she did not acquaint him with her secret, he would kill her; but, mercifully, the neighbours were enabled at the end of this time to break into the room, or there is no telling what mischief might have followed.

But we cannot finish without describing the heroism of poor little Nancy, which almost equalled that of her sister. Dodging from side to side during the struggle, now in this corner and now in that, and s.h.i.+elding the baby with her youthful person, she, with wonderful activity and courage, kept it from harm.

It seems something like divine retribution that this dreadful father this very evening received a terrible beating in the public-house, and his system being unhealthy, as the result of drinking habits, he died in hospital of his injuries.