IT was a heavy fall of snow; I had watched it from the window for some time, as it shrouded the earth, and mantled the trees and shrubs in the garden; everything outside seemed to make me thankful for the comforts within, and I gladly drew my chair very close to the blazing fire to enjoy its cheering warmth.
My thoughts turned to the many who knew no such comfort, and who could see no attraction in the fast falling snow, or the feathery, fantastic outlines it was giving to everything outside. My reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door, and, "Someone wishes to see you in the kitchen.”
I went at once, and found there a girl from the village I had known for some time. She had come to ask my husband to go and see a poor woman who was dying, and refused to let any of her neighbors go in to see her; " And you could not go, “said the girl," for her room is never cleaned, and never has any air in it. She is a poacher's wife, and her husband is a drunkard, and neglects her.”
“I will see her tomorrow," I said, "if my husband has not returned home.”
But I was restless and uneasy; the burden of that soul was upon me. I repeated again and again, "Tomorrow she might be in hell.”
In a few minutes I had drawn my waterproof closely round me, and was making my way through the storm, praying all the way that the Lord would indeed give me a message from Himself, and also that I might be guided to the right door, as it was getting dark, and the snow falling faster each step I took. It was a poor place I had been directed to, a dirty court surrounded by very poor houses. At the last house on the left side I stood before a closed door, and, asking the Lord to open it for me, I gently knocked, and waited. Slowly the heavy wooden bolt was drawn back, and I found myself inside, and the bolt replaced.
I had to lean upon the wall for a few moments in silence, to recover the overpowering pressure of bad air that met me; and by the feeble light of a small lamp, I saw the emaciated form of a young woman, crouching on a low wooden stool by a few embers of a fire just dying out, which she was vainly endeavoring to stir into life.
Poor woman, I longed after her soul; in poverty, and sickness, and sorrow, and "without Christ.”
How terrible! And yet the moment seemed not to have come for me to give God's message. I drew my stool near her, and taking one of her wasted hands in mine, I asked a few questions as to "How long she had been ill? etc." And as I pointed to little Johnnie, I said, "You can trust me, can't you? Tell me all your trouble, for I want to help you.”
"Well," she said, "you're kind to face the storm in sic a nicht, and sit down here to speak to me, and there's no mono y cares for Mary B—, the poacher's wife.”
“Your husband is a poacher?" I said; "tell me how you came to marry him.”
“Ah, well, I was but a bairn when I married, and I thought as trade was as guid as anither, and he promised I should want for naething; but he and his mither drink all he makes by the game; and it's seldom a feather o' it I see, or a penny that it brings me. And then I daurna let as body into the house, for fear they take the dog and guns, or catch himself; and many a day the bairn and me never sees food or fire, and I'm that weak that I'm ill.”
I saw by the dim lamp light it was a bed of shaving-s, with nothing ox er it but a cotton patch quilt and a piece crf old carpet. "Well," I said, "and what of your child who died?”
I had touched a chord in that weary mother's tearless heart; a few great tears rolled down her sallow cheeks, and she tried to steady her feeble voice and answer my question. "It is five month syne she was born; I was very ill. After the doctor and women that was with me had left, nave came to see after me, and John was out all day, and often all nicht, after the game; and I lo'ed the wean, but I'd naething to gie her,.and I saw her dwine and dwine by my side, till as day she geed a wee short breath and deed, and sync I couldna look after, or care for anything, for my bairn deed o' want, and I kent it weel, and it gid se sair to my heart that I didna greet, and I didna sleep, and I didna eat, and then the cough came, and John brought the doctor, and he said it was the decline, and I wouldna mend; and it was true, forever) day I seem waur and waur, and some days I canna rise ava.”
And then the fragile form was racked by a terrible fit of coughing. I silently prayed that the Lord would now give me the right word. As the paroxysm of coughing a little subsided I took her hand, and said: "Mary, the message I bring you tonight is from the Son of God, the One who died to save sinners like you and me; and His message to you is this, Come unto Me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.' (Matt. 11:2828Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. (Matthew 11:28).) Dear soul, you are in great need of rest. Will you come to Him tonight?”
“I would fain have the rest," she said, "but I'm no fit to come; and I've no strength left to gae to the kirk or the meeting, so I canna come.”
“Well, Mary, you're very weak and very sinful, but Christ has made provision for just such as you! Have you strength to look at me, Mary?”
“Yes," she said, raising her heavy, sad eyes to mine.
“Well, Mary," I said, "the Lord bids you look unto Him, and live.”
“Does He? Oh, but I'm a poor, weak thing; and I know I'm a sinner, for I was taught that years ago at the school, and I feel it every day. But, there's none to care for me now, and I'm dying, and going I don't know where! Oh, what will become of poor Mary B—, the poacher's wife? “And in an agony of soul she rocked herself to and fro, and tears rolled down her cheeks.
I wept too; for I saw she had judged herself a-sinner, and that the Lord's time for blessing had come. I opened my Bible, and read from Num. 21:99And Moses made a serpent of brass, and put it upon a pole, and it came to pass, that if a serpent had bitten any man, when he beheld the serpent of brass, he lived. (Numbers 21:9): "And Moses made a serpent of brass, and put it upon a pole, and it came to pass, if a serpent had bitten any man, when he beheld the serpent of brass, he lived." After reading this I said nothing, but waited upon God to apply His own would to that sin-stricken one, so near the end of her wilderness journey. A faint smile stole over her lips, and she whispered, "I'm just like one o' them. I've spoken against God, and said hard things of Him many a day when I was starving here and when my baby died; but there's nae serpent o' brass for me to look to now and there's naething but hell for me"; and again she wept.
“Oh!" she said, clasping her hands together in intense relief, "is it true, is it true? Then I can die happy. He gave His Son for me, and I shall never perish! I know I am a sinner, but Jesus died just for the like o' me! Oh, thank ye, thank ye, for coming to me wi’ sic a message! “and 'she clasped my hand, and kissed it again and again.
Reader, I know not who you are, old or young, rich or poor; but this I know: if you have not accepted Christ you are a lost sinner going to endless woe, but there is salvation for you now, if you will have it, and, like poor Mary, take God at His word. You, too, can be saved this minute, if you rest upon the finished work of Him who gave His life for you.
K.