Sowers and Reapers: A School Girl's Story
Caroline J. Ladd
Table of Contents
Chapter 1: A Perilous Playground
“SHALL we ask Aunt Ella to tell us a story, Maudie, about the time when she was a little girl? for mother told me only last evening that auntie was not born blind, but used to go to day-school and run about and play games just as we do and I cannot remember quite all mother said about it, but (Flora's voice grew low, and sounded as if she was just ready to cry) when she was eight years old she met with such a dreadful accident and was so badly hurt that she has been blind nearly ever since.
“Would not you like to hear all about it, Maudie?”
Maud, who is two years older than her sister, thought for a moment, then said “Yes, I should like to hear the whole story, though I think I know little bits of it, but perhaps it might hurt auntie to tell it, and you know, Flora, we both love her dearly, and mother always tells us we can show our love to her in two ways—by doing things that we know will please her, and by being careful not to do or say things that might give her pain.”
But the children's voices had reached the ear of their aunt, who had not been so far off during their conversation as they thought.
Calling them to her, she said, pleasantly, "Yes, dear ones, you shall have the story you wish so much to hear. It will not hurt me to tell it, for though I remember quite well how long and bitterly I cried when I heard the doctors tell my mother that though I had lain for many weeks in a little white bed in M— Hospital, and they had done all that lay in their power to preserve the little sight that remained after the accident of which Flora was talking just now, my eyes had been so badly injured that nothing lay before me but a darkened life, as in less than two years I should be quite blind, and they thought the very best thing would be for me to be admitted to a school where, in company with other blind children, I should be taught to read and work.
“But the trial has lost all its bitterness now, and my life is not a sad or dark one, for light—the light of another world—is shining brightly in my soul, and I own in my blindness a Father's loving hand in closing my eyes to the things of earth that He might attract my wayward heart to Himself. But Flora is getting impatient for my promised story.
“When I was a little girl, your grandpapa's hair was not gray, but quite black; he walked with a quick firm step and looked, I believe, taller than he does now. He was, as I think you know, a soldier, and his duties were always at headquarters, so my childhood was spent in several garrison towns.
“I loved my father dearly, and would, even when a tiny child, watch for his return, and scamper across the castle yard to meet him. My sight was good, and I liked going to day-school, for as I learned quickly, lessons were not any trouble to me. But perhaps my greatest delight was in play, and when, as was sometimes the case, my father was stationed at a sea-port town nothing gave me more pleasure than on half-holidays, or when school was over, to run down to the beach with my playmates, where we found never-failing amusement till lengthening shadows and sharpened appetites reminded us it was time to go home.
“But all our plays were not safe ones, and I think at the time of which I am telling you our favorite playground was one of the quays, or wharves, not far from the harbor, on which was a very large and powerful steam crane worked by machinery.
“We never seemed to tire of watching as it dipped into the holds of the different vessels, which were brought to the side of the quay to be unloaded, bringing up enormous bales and packages of great weight with as much ease as if they had only weighed a few pounds.
“We were not, however, content to be merely onlookers.
“The man who had charge of the engine, when the crane was not in actual use, spent much of his time in a small wooden house on the quay, and we children were not long in finding out that at certain hours the house was empty, the caretaker having, we supposed, gone home to his meals.
“Then we used to climb on to the platform of the crane and take turns in jumping off. I do not now think that it could have been so very amusing, but we thought it great fun.
“We had been warned that our play-place was far from being a safe one, but I do not remember that we had ever been forbidden to amuse ourselves there.” It was a lovely afternoon in the early summer of 18—when we started, a merry little party of five or six, for the shore.
“The sea shone and glittered like a polished mirror as the sunbeams danced upon its surface, and my eyes drank in a scene of such beauty as I have never since beheld, nor do I expect to see upon earth again.
“We were in high spirits, and quite intended having a good time. How little we thought that that bright day would end in tears for all, in weeks of suffering to be followed by a life-long affliction for one of those happy children.
“We played for some time on the pebbly beach, then went off to the quay. The crane was not in motion, and one of my brothers, after peeping through the window of the wooden house, reported it tenantless, so we were soon in high glee, jumping off the platform of the crane.
“I do not know how long our play continued, but I was upon the crane, and it was my turn to jump, when without a moment's warning, the machinery was set going, and the crane began to work." All was so sudden and unlooked-for that I had not time to jump. The handle of the crane struck me violently on the head, the force of the blow throwing me, I' was afterward told, to a considerable distance.
“I do not remember feeling any pain at the time, for I had been stunned, and it was some time before I regained consciousness; when at last I did so, it was to find my head and face covered with bandages. I tried to remember what had happened, but could not do so. I asked feebly, 'Where am I?'
“It was my mother's voice that answered, 'At home, my precious child, my darling Ella. Thank God! you are still spared to us, but you must be very quiet now, and we hope you will soon be quite well.' But I did not get well quickly; it was quite a long time before I was able to walk, and many weeks before I was strong enough to run about, and then to my great surprise and sorrow I found that I could not see clearly. When I tried to read my favorite story-books the letters seemed to dance about upon the white paper, or floated away in a mist. Father brought me home a new doll with flaxen hair and blue eyes, almost as large as a real baby. I wanted to help mother to dress it, but could not thread my needle, and after taking a few not very neat stitches my eyes became so red and painful that I was obliged to give it up.
“That night I cried myself to sleep. I often heard the neighbors speak of me as ‘poor little Ella.' I sometimes wondered why they pitied me; the thought that I was losing my sight never for a moment crossed my mind.
“For a long, long time, my mother too refused to believe the truth about her much-loved child. She took me from doctor to doctor, and to every hospital within her reach. Doctors told her as gently as they could that the injuries to my eyes were such as must end in total blindness, but she clung to the hope that time and a change of air and treatment might still do my eyes some good.
“A doctor who had been very kind, and taken a great interest in my case, offered to write to a gentleman whose influence would, he thought, be sufficient to secure my admission to a school for blind children, but the proposal distressed my dear mother so deeply, that my father, after a time, ceased to urge it. I was not, the doctor said, to be sent to a day-school, so for a year or so I was allowed to do pretty much as I pleased, my sight getting slowly worse all the time.
“You must have wondered as you listened to my story, dear little girls, why I have not said anything about the Lord in it. I did not know Him then as my own trusted Savior. I liked to listen to Bible stories. I knelt every night by my little bed and repeated a form of words, but it was not prayer at all, for all true prayer is telling out some need to God, and as I did not even know myself to be a lost and sinful child, I did not desire or ask for salvation.
“It was not till some years after that I was through grace enabled rejoicingly to say: ‘For God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.’" (2 Cor. 4:6.)
Chapter 2: Dover Castle
“How I wish I could give you a peep at Dover, for though I looked with fast-failing sight at the high cliffs at the foot of which the old town seems to nestle, almost lovingly, their grandeur made an impression upon my mind that years of blindness have not been able to efface.
“I loved the town near which I lived for several years so well that when I began to learn English history I was almost disappointed to find that so little worthy of note had happened there, though I have thought sometimes that when that weak monarch John was on the throne, Englishmen and women must have been ashamed of their king when they saw him kneeling at the feet of the haughty Pandulph, who had been sent from Rome by the Pope to demand the submission of King John, receiving his crown from his hands, and promising always and in all things to obey the Pope.
“My father was stationed at Dover Castle, and we had quarters within its enclosure. I cannot tell you half the delight and amusement that grand old castle was to us children. We never seemed to get tired of climbing the steep flights of stone steps that led to its ancient keep. I wanted very much to know why its walls were so thick, and why it had been built with such care in the very center of the castle.
“I was also puzzled to know why it was not lighted by windows, but by long narrow slits in its walls. I do not think it was all at once, but little by little that my questions were answered, as I learned how hundreds of years ago, in the times of the Norman and Plantagenet kings, there were many castles in England, some of which always belonged to the king, while others were the homes of the barons, or nobles, who were often very rich and had great power. Every castle had its keep, and very strong and safe these keeps were.
“‘What was their use,' did you say, Maud?
“When war raged, as was often the case in those days, round the castle, the women and children and all the jewels belonging to the baron or his wife, all the weak things and all the precious things were taken into the keep, and though outside all might be strife and confusion, the walls of the castle must fall before harm could come to those who had fled for refuge to its keep.
“Arrows, too, were shot upon the foe beneath from the narrow slits, the use of which had been such a puzzle to me.
“I had not many books when I was first converted, but I think the Lord used the memory of that old keep to teach me some precious lessons. It helped me to understand how it was that I had not only shelter from the wrath of God through the precious blood of Christ, but a refuge, a hiding-place in the Lord Himself. I often, very often say to my own heart, in moments of difficulty and danger—
“‘The Lord is thy keeper: the Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand.' (Psa. 121:5.)
“But our talk about Dover Castle and its keep has led us quite a long way from our story. I had not done any lessons since the injury to my eyes, and was beginning to get almost tired of all play, and sometimes wished I could go to school like other children, when one afternoon, as I was at play with the others, a gentleman came into the castle yard. He called us to him and gave us text-cards and little books, which we thought very pretty, as they were printed on red and blue paper. He had such a kind, pleasant way with us, that we soon found ourselves talking to him as if he had been an old friend.
“He asked me if I went to school, and when I said, ‘No, sir; the doctor will not let me,' he seemed greatly interested, and drew from me the story of my accident.
“He then told me that not being able to attend a day-school was not a reason for my not learning to read. He had, he said, quite a number of friends who, though quite blind, had been taught to read by the use of a system invented or improved by a Dr. Moon, who, though himself blind, had been used in doing good and useful work among his fellow sufferers.
“I was at once interested, and asked how any one without eyes could be taught to read?
“He smiled, and explained that different signs, which stood for letters, were raised or embossed upon very stout paper, and by passing the tips of their fingers over these they were able to distinguish them one from another, and after a little practice to read almost as quickly as sighted persons can from printed books. He asked me if I would not like to learn to read in this way, and when I said I thought I should, he was pleased and offered to go at once and see my mother, in order to allow him to send a lady, who had, he said, quite a number of pupils, some of whom were grown-up people, others children like myself, whom she was teaching to read at their own homes.
“My mother gave her consent, and two days later my new teacher came. How well I remember her first visit? She gave me a card on which the letters of the alphabet were embossed. I learned several letters in the first lesson; my teacher was pleased, and said I had a good memory, and had been attentive.
“In great delight I ran to my mother thinking that she would be as much pleased as myself, but to my surprise, she sank into a chair, covered her face with her hands, and cried so long and bitterly that I was almost frightened.
“I learned to understand those tears better when I grew older.
“Dear, patient mother The hope to which she had clung for quite three years, that after all the doctors had told her, my sight might still be spared, seemed at that moment to slip from her grasp.
“But good I am sure came out of it, as from that day her unwillingness to allow me to be educated with blind companions and schoolfellows seemed little by little to melt away, and my home-teacher still continued to come always once, and sometimes twice, every week till I was able to read any book embossed in Dr. Moon's type with ease and correctness. I soon grew fond of reading, and was always greatly pleased when my kind teacher brought me a book I had not read before.
“But a great change was coming into my life. It was at last decided that I should be sent to school, and as beyond Miss M—'s work as home-teacher nothing was at that time done for the blind living in or near Dover, arrangements were made for my admission into a school at Brighton, which was under the personal superintendence of Dr. Moon.
“Though I liked the idea of going to school, the parting with my mother was a very sad one on both sides. Miss M—was so kind as to offer to travel with me, and she talked so pleasantly that after we had been for a little while in the train I dried my tears, and began to wonder if all the teachers would be as kind to me as she had been.
“It took some weeks to get used to school-life. Everything was so new to me. The large airy schoolroom, where during lessons we took our places in our classes, and there was the buzz of many voices. How strange it all seemed, and yet I liked it.
“The dormitories, with their long rows of white beds, were bright and cheerful. On half-holidays, when the weather was fine, we were taken to the sea-front, where those of our number who could see a little would search for seaweed on the pebbly beach. Still I do not think there was a spot we loved better than our own school playground. We had swings and skipping-ropes, and many a merry game we enjoyed within its walls.
“We had scripture and history as well as reading and spelling lessons. A good deal of time was spent and pains taken with our singing, and most of the elder girls learned music. We were also expected to help in such light household work as dusting, making beds, etc., while some of the girls did really beautiful knitting, or wove willow and straw plait into dainty baskets.
“My schooldays were on the whole happy ones; our teachers were kind, and work and play kept us so fully occupied, that though sometimes I used to long for home and mother, it was always a comfort to count the weeks and then the days till the next holidays were due.
“'Will I tell you about my school friends?' Yes, Flora; but as this will bring me to another and it always seems to me more interesting part of my story, it will have to stand over for our next talk.”
Chapter 3: School Days
“I WAS nearly thirteen years of age at the beginning of my second school year, so took my place among the elder girls." New-corners were, on their arrival at B—, always placed under the care of an old scholar, who was expected to give all the help she could, until the ways of the house and school were thoroughly understood.
“I felt quite grown-up on being told that a new girl would, it was expected, arrive in a few days, and that I had been chosen to be her mother, as the caretaker was always called.
“Where did she live? How old was she? Had she been to school before? were questions I asked of the teacher with great interest.
“Dear Marion! The little I heard even then of her story ought to have filled my heart with tenderness and compassion for the lonely orphan, but I think now that we school-mothers were a little too fond of displaying our authority, and while no actual unkindness or injustice would have been allowed, we missed many golden opportunities for winning the affection of the younger children committed to our care, and so helping to make their schooldays bright and happy ones.
“Marion was, I have already told you, an orphan, her father and mother having died within a few weeks of each other, only a short time before.
“Her father, a civil engineer, had held a good appointment under the Austrian Government, and soon after his death it was decided by sympathizing friends that Marion, who at that time was about ten years old, and had been blind from birth, should be sent to England for education.
“Her sister Helen, who was a few years older than herself, declined a home that had been offered to her in Trieste, and decided to accompany her sister. A situation as junior teacher in a school near Bath having been found for her, the two lonely girls said a tearful ‘Goodbye' to the land of their birth, and sailed for England.
“Poor girls! I think the Lord may have allowed their youth and apparent friendlessness to touch many hearts, for Marion had often told me of the kindness they received not only from the captain of the ship during the whole of the voyage, but from their fellow passengers and sailors on board.
“I shall never forget the day of Marion's arrival at school, a shy, silent girl, dressed in deep mourning, who cried a great deal, and could scarcely speak a word of English. I was a lively, fun-loving girl, and at once made up my mind that I did not like my charge: she was too dull. However, I determined to teach her all I could, in the hope that she would, as I expressed it, ‘soon be off my hands.'
“Ah! I little thought how dearly I should learn to love her before my task ended!
“Helen was to stay with us for a few days, so that Marion might get used to school-life and companions before the real parting with her sister. I liked Helen, though I should have found it difficult to explain why.
“Perhaps I should have said, ‘Oh, she is bright and pleasant.'
“I think now that she tried to hide the sorrow she must have felt at the loss of both parents, that she might comfort and encourage her afflicted sister. Something about Helen had interested me greatly; she seemed altogether different from any one I had ever known. I learned after, that she had been truly converted during a time of awakening among the boarders in a school she had attended before quitting her native land.
“One thing puzzled me greatly. When we were in the playground, or round the schoolroom fire, Helen would join our group, and after a few pleasant words to all, say something in their own language to Marion, draw her gently away, and lead her into her own room. Then the door was closed, and the sisters would remain alone for some time.
“I wanted very much to know the reason of these mysterious disappearances, but had to wait till Marion had made some progress in English speaking before my curiosity was gratified.
“The parting came all too soon, and though I am sure Marion felt it deeply, she was comforted by a promise that her sister should pay her a three weeks' visit during the holidays.
“Little by little my unreasonable dislike to Marion began to melt away: she was so gentle and patient that it would have been hard not to love her, and as she learned to speak English, she felt herself less a stranger in our midst, and her cheerfulness gradually increased.
“A warm friendship now sprang up between us, and we both looked forward to Helen's visit with pleasure: I because it would, I knew, make Marion very happy, and Marion because she loved her sister dearly. She came at last looking a little pale and worn with the burden of her new duties, but spoke brightly, and told us many interesting things about her class of deaf and dumb children, or, as they are called, deaf mutes.
“Marion was again often drawn away to her sister's room, and I soon learned, what I had for some time suspected, that it was for daily Bible reading and prayer.
“I went to church, knelt every night by my white bed, and repeated a form of words called a prayer (it being one of the rules of the school that we should do so); but I had no love for ‘unseen things,' and I could not understand why any one should read the Bible, or pray when not required to do so. Still, I could not help wishing I had a sister who would read and pray with me.
“I should very much have liked to be admitted to these Bible readings, but though I could talk freely enough on other subjects, a feeling of false shame kept me from saying so, even to Marion.
“Marion had been at school about a year, when I received a visit from my mother, who told me that as my father's duties made it necessary that he should leave Dover and live at Plymouth, she could not be happy at the thought of leaving me at so great a distance, so that I must say 'Adieu' to my teachers and school friends, as I should not return to Brighton after the holidays, arrangements for my transfer into a small School and Home for Blind Children having already been completed.
“I was very, very sorry, for the two years I had spent at Brighton had been very happy ones; but when told by my mother that as the school into which I was to be admitted was only a short distance from P—, and that she hoped I should not only spend my summer holidays, but now and then a week-end at home, I became more reconciled to the thought of leaving B—, though I must tell you before I go on with my story that the hope of being a frequent visitor at home ended only in disappointment to both my mother and myself. Within a few months my father was again removed, this time to Wales, and as the distance was thought too great for me to take the journey alone, I was obliged to remain at school during the holidays for the two or three years that followed.
“Poor Marion cried a great deal when she heard the sad news, to her, of my intended removal, and for some days quite refused to be comforted, But though our good-byes were said by both with tears, we promised always to be true friends, and to write to each other very often.
“But Flora is saying, ‘Oh, auntie! how could you write to each other when neither you nor Marion could see?'
“Well, dear, I do not wonder at your surprise. The Braille or dotted system now so largely used not only by the blind but by seeing friends who take an interest in them and their needs had not come into use in our schooldays, but we had been taught to write in what we called an 'Alstone frame,' the letters of the alphabet being formed by tiny points of strong wire being fixed into blocks of hard wood, and placed in the frame something in the same way as that in which a printer sets his type.
“It took me some time to get used to life at D—. I had known every nook and corner of our schoolroom and play-ground at Brighton so well, and I did not feel myself at home in my new surroundings. I missed my teachers, too, and Marion, more than I can find words to tell. Sometimes I would picture her in my mind, and almost seem to hear her crying very quietly in a corner of the playground, and at such times used to feel that I wanted to cry too.
“I did not know or even think of it at the time, but I believe now that God was working in my soul, leading me by a way I knew not, giving me to feel that real joy and rest of heart is not to be found in anything this poor world can give.
“I was often very unhappy, and when I heard of any one being ill or dying, the thought that I might die too would fill me with fear, for I knew that I was not fit to meet a holy God.
“Sometimes I would make up my mind to be what I called good, to read a chapter in the Bible every day, and not forget to say my prayers; but I was in the dark. I did not know the Lord Jesus as my own Savior, and all my trying only made me more unhappy.”
Chapter 4: An Old Friend With a New History
“IF the letters that passed between Marion and myself were not such long ones as might have been the case had we been able to use pen and ink, still they were pretty frequent, and in this way we contrived not only to assure each other of unabated affection, but to keep in touch about changes in the teaching staff, the departure of old, and arrival of new pupils, as well as many other matters of schoolgirl interest.
“It was, I think, during the last year of my stay at D—that I received a letter from my friend so unlike anything she had ever written to me before, that its contents filled me with wonder and surprise.
“It was not less loving than many of her former ones, but as I read I felt there was something in it I did not understand: something so strange and new, that while I was attracted by it, I felt as if the old friendship was mine no longer.
“Marion had a new joy in which I did not share, a ‘better hope' (in which I had no part) threw a ray of sunshine across her darkened life.
“Marion had been converted. Very simply she told me the story of how, after years of earnest prayer and patient waiting, her sister Helen had been the instrument of leading her to Christ.
“Very loving and tender were her pleadings with me to trust myself to her Savior, so that the old friendship might have a new and more enduring link, that rejoicing together in the knowledge of sins forgiven, we should enjoy a new relationship, ‘Children of God by faith in Christ Jesus ' (Gal. 3:26), and so be not only friends, but sisters in Christ.
“She tried in her own loving way, too, to show me the way of salvation in as nearly as I can remember some such words as—
“' We often tried to be good, as we called it, but we never could, and it often seemed as if the harder we tried, the more we failed, till at last we got quite discouraged.
“I am glad, now that I see clearly that all my trying could not help me, for if I had thought myself good, I might never have known that I was a lost sinner, needing to be washed from all my sins in the precious blood of Christ, blood which cleanseth from all sin.' (1 John 1:7.) We thought, too, that if we prayed, or said our prayers very often, and read our Bibles, God would be pleased with us.
“' If we do not pray, we shall not have strength to keep in the right way. If we do not read or hear the word of God, we shall not know what it is; but praying and reading will not save our souls, it must be the finished work of the Lord Jesus Christ, what He has done for God and for sinners, in which we trust.'
“It was quite a long time before I answered Marion's letter. I hardly knew what to say. I do not think that I loved my friend less than I had done. Sometimes I was almost glad because she was so happy, while at others the contrast between her joy and my own restless unhappiness only served to make me more miserable.
“I had no Christian friend to whom I could speak freely of my desire to be saved, so I kept it to myself and passed among my schoolfellows as a merry light-hearted girl, full of fun and frolic, and an acknowledged leader in all our games.
“At last I wrote; but as I had been at school for seven years, it was thought by my parents high time that I should return home. I was looking forward with great interest to the approaching holidays, as I was then to leave school for good.
“Our correspondence was kept up for a few years after my return home. Marion's letters were always sweet and loving, often telling of her joy in the Lord, or asking me to read her favorite hymns or portions of scripture.
“Some of her later letters told me that she had not felt well for quite a long time, that her cough was troublesome, and that the doctor thought it might be well for her to go into the hospital. Still the tone of every letter was so bright and cheerful, I did not realize that she was seriously ill.
“At last there came a silence on her part so long that I grew quite anxious and wrote a second time; several weeks passed before I received an answer, then a letter, the envelope of which had a deep black border, was left at our house. It was addressed to me, so I asked my mother to open it and read its contents.
“It was a pen-and-ink letter from Helen, telling me that my much-loved friend had fallen asleep in Jesus nearly a fortnight before its date.
“The writer went on to tell how brightly the grace of Christ had shone out in dear Marion during the whole of her illness, which had lasted some months, and how happy she had been in the thought of being forever with the One who had loved her, and given Himself for her. The letter closed with an appeal to me to decide for Christ. Helen wrote: “You were Marion's dearest friend, she often spoke of you during her illness, and I know she prayed much for you.
“I shall miss my sister greatly, but am comforted for her loss by knowing that it is well with her; for her the darkness has forever passed away, and now she sees! Sees the precious Savior in whom she had trusted, for some time before any one thought her illness was more than a cold, or at all likely to end in her removal from us.
“Would it be as well with you, dear Ella, if you were called to die?’
“I knew it would not, and became more unhappy than before. My mother noticed that I was quieter than usual, but thought the change in my manner was caused by my sorrow for the loss of a friend, to whom she knew I had been greatly attached.
“It was not till some years later that I heard a fuller account of dear Marion's illness and death. When she was about seventeen, symptoms of consumption, the disease from which her mother had died, began to show themselves in her; but as she did not complain, and always seemed so cheerful and anxious not to give unnecessary trouble, it was only a short time before her death, that any of her friends thought her really ill.
“She received great kindness, and was sent away for a change, but getting rapidly worse returned to school, from there being sent as an in-patient to B— Hospital, but after a stay of some weeks, on being told she could not recover, begged that she might be allowed to return to school, saying, ‘If it be the will of God, I should so like to finish my journey where as a child of light I began it. I was converted at school, and it would be a great joy to be allowed to go to heaven surrounded by those I have learned to love so well.'
“Her desire was gratified, and though she never again took her old place in the schoolroom, her sick-room was a spot all the girls loved to visit, and many of her schoolfellows still remember how faithfully she urged them not to ‘neglect so great salvation.' (Heb. 2:3.)
“When asked to choose some little treat or pleasure for her birthday, which was only a few days before her death, she said that, if allowed to do so, she should very much like to invite all the girls to tea on that day.
“One or two of the teachers entered warmly into her plan, and as her room was far too small for the proposed party, she was warmly wrapped in a dressing-gown and carried into the dining-hall, where she sat, looking very happy, till weakness compelled her to return to bed.
“After that she grew weaker, and soon after the Lord put her gently to sleep.
“I have told you a great deal about Marion, but to me she ‘being dead yet speaketh.' I love to think of her where she now is, ‘With Christ; which is far better.' (Phil. 1:23.)”
“She Is Not Dead, but Sleepeth.”
SHE is not dead, though o'er her early grave
White roses purely bloom, and tall trees wave;
Or though an empty place in home and heart
At times still bids the tear-drops start.
“She is not dead," the living Savior said,
Then gently bent Him o'er the lowly bed,
Where she, the ruler's fair young daughter lay,
Whose spirit had so lately passed away.
Death's reign was brief-the mighty God was there,
His heart responsive answered sorrow's prayer:
The words were full of tenderness and grace
That called her back to life a little space.
And shall we say that Jesus hath no power
To aid or comfort in each trying hour?
Shall we thus wrong His heart of changeless love;
Can He forget us in His home above?
Chapter 5: A Medical Mission
“FOR some time my general health had not been good, and though my mother had given up the hope to which, as I told you, she had clung so fondly, that something might be done for my sight, it would, she thought, be good for me to have medical advice, and as she had heard that a very clever doctor might be consulted almost daily at a small hospital belonging to a Medical Mission at T—, she decided upon taking me there.
“It was the first time I had heard of Medical Missions, but as I have taken a great interest in the subject ever since, perhaps I had better tell you a little about them before going on with my story.
“You remember, do you not, how when the Lord was on earth, He not only preached the gospel of the kingdom, but made sick persons well.
“Flora says, ‘Yes, He healed Peter's wife's mother when she had been ill with fever, made her quite well all at once and so strong that she was able to rise from her bed and wait upon the Lord and His disciples.' (Matt. 8:14, 15.) And Maudie reminds us of the poor woman of whom we read in Luke 8, who had been ill for twelve long weary years, but who touched His garment and was made whole.
“When the Lord sent forth seventy of His disciples (Luke 10:1), He gave them a twofold commission: to heal the sick, and to say to all who would hear the message, ‘The kingdom of God is come nigh unto you' (Lukw 10:9); and though we have no reason to believe that the wonderful gifts of healing, of which we read in the Acts, remained in the christian company long after the days of the apostles, yet in many lands preaching and healing go on together, and the records of recent missions in China, India and Japan tell of converts who came with sick bodies to the Mission Hospital, but to whom the gospel they for the first time heard there has proved the power of God unto salvation.
“But as my little nieces would rather have a story than a lecture, they will, I know, be pleased to hear of a letter a friend of mine had not very long ago from a lady worker in a lonely place not far from the banks of the great African river the Congo. She writes—
“‘My life here is a very busy one, for as of course there is no such thing as a servant to be had, my own hands have to do so many things, that what with teaching school, trying to tell a few native women about the love of Christ, helping to make bandages, salve, etc. for the dispensary, doing a little, though as yet it is only a very little, in the work of translating a few hymns into the language of the people among whom we live and work, I have not much time for writing letters, but I wish you could see all the poor sick people who come every morning to get medicine or to have their wounds dressed.
“‘Sometimes a little child will get a deep cut, perhaps from falling upon a stone, and as no care is taken to keep the wound clean, or to prevent the dirt from getting into it, it often becomes a frightful sore and gives a great deal of trouble.
“‘Our own breakfast is an early one, and after we have had it and our household reading and prayer the patients begin to arrive.
“‘What a strange crowd: men, women and children; sometimes even tiny babies, all sick or suffering. And we who know that their souls have needs far deeper than those of their bodies, long to speak to them of the Lord Jesus and His love.
“‘A short gospel service is held, a passage of scripture read, a short prayer offered, and they are told in a few simple words about the one true God, who so loved the world that He gave His only Son to be a Savior. The next two hours are taken up with seeing patients, after which any of the women who care to stay, come to me to learn hymns and texts, or to ask questions about what they could not understand in the address already given.
“‘My room, which has to serve for many purposes besides school and sitting room, is always full at these times, the women sitting so closely together, that in the dim light (for we have no glass windows, and are glad to use blinds to keep out the rays of the sun) they look almost like one black mass.
“‘But they have souls, and we do so long to see many of them really brought to Christ.
“‘When the women first began to come it was very difficult to keep them quiet, but there has been a great improvement in this respect, and we are encouraged to hope that a real work of God has begun in the souls of a few at least of the numbers who come.'
“But I must not talk any longer about work on the Congo or I shall not have time to tell you about my own visit to the hospital.
“When the patients had all assembled, a lady entered the waiting-room, and taking her seat at a small table, began to read in a soft, low, but very distinct voice, part of the ninth chapter of John's Gospel; the story of how the man who had been born blind received sight.
“I knew it almost by heart, I had so often read it when at school, but on this occasion I listened with great interest.
“Something in the voice and manner of the reader had reminded me of Marion, and every word seemed to sink into my heart. A few very simple earnest words followed; I cannot remember all that was said, only one sentence that seemed to take hold of me. It was ‘When the Lord Jesus was on earth, He loved to open blind eyes; now He is in the glory of God, He loves to give light to dark souls.'
“Oh how I wished I had this light; I longed to ask, What I must do to be saved? but it was my turn to see the doctor, and I had no opportunity of getting even a word with the lady whom I never met there again.
“I continued to attend for many weeks, always taking care to be in time for the reading, to which I listened very attentively. I often wished someone would speak to me about my soul. I wanted to be a Christian, and though I often tried to remember all dear Marion had written to me, I did not understand what it meant to trust myself simply to Christ.
“The more I read my Bible and tried to pray, the more unhappy I grew. I began to tell the Lord that I did not understand the way of salvation, and asked Him to send someone to teach me.
“The answer came, though I do not think it was quite in the way I expected. A lady, who was quite a stranger to us, called at our cottage one day (my father having served his full time in the army had retired with a small pension, and we were no longer in military quarters, but lived in a pretty cottage with a long garden in the front),
“I was out on the day of her first visit, but she told my mother that having not very long before come a stranger to the place in which we were then living, it had been impressed upon her to visit the houses with gospel books and tracts suitable for lending.
“She had at first shrunk from doing so, but after much prayer had made a beginning that day, and ours was almost the first door at which she had knocked.
“How I wished I could have talked to her, I would I thought have told all my trouble, but if this could not be I might I hoped find a message in the book she had left, so I begged my mother to read it aloud. She did so. How eagerly I drank in every word!
“I do not remember the title of the little book, but it told how on the night of the passover, when the righteous judgment of God was upon guilty Egypt, there was a shelter provided: a bright, crimson stain on the lintel and doorposts of many houses told that a lamb had been slain, and its blood sprinkled in obedience to the word of God. He had said, ‘And the blood shall be to you for a token upon the houses where ye are: and when I see the blood, I will pass over you.' (Ex. 12:13.) The little book went on to tell how the lamb was a shadow-picture or type of the Lord Jesus, ‘the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world.' (John 1:29.)
“I began to see a little more clearly that my own tears and prayers and good resolutions could not save me. I often said, as I was busy about my work, part of a hymn Marion had loved—
‘None but Jesus, none but Jesus,
Can do helpless sinners good.'
“Still I could not have said that I was saved; I had not given up my own struggles to merit or earn salvation instead of taking it as the gift of God.
“How I hoped our unknown visitor would come again. I said, ‘Oh, mother, if the lady who left that little book calls next week you will ask her in, will you not, please? I think perhaps she might be able to tell me something that I very much want to know.'”
Chapter 6: Light After Darkness
“WILL you please step into our cottage for a few minutes? I have a blind daughter, and ever since I read her the little book you left last week, she has been wanting quite badly to speak to you. If you could give her a word of comfort I should take it very kind of you, for something, though I cannot rightly understand what it is, seems to be troubling her, poor thing!'
“Thus invited and encouraged, our visitor, Mrs. S—, entered our sitting-room, which, though small, was cheerful and neatly furnished. At first I felt too shy and nervous to speak freely, but she soon drew from me the story of my soul-trouble, as I confessed with tears how much I desired to be saved, and to know it.
“Her heart seemed too full for many words, but when she said, 'I am so glad, shall we thank the Lord?' I was surprised. It seemed strange, almost unkind, I thought, that she should be glad, or thank God because I was so unhappy.
“But I began to understand something of her meaning, as very simply she gave thanks that I had been aroused to feel my need of salvation, and prayed that she might be guided to the right scriptures, and speak the suited words, that the eyes of my heart might be opened to see the love of God to me, a poor lost sinner.
“I can never forget that afternoon. For more than an hour Mrs. S—sat by my side, holding my hand in hers, as she read or repeated passages of scripture, showing how God was not only satisfied with the finished work of His Son upon the cross, but so glorified by it, that for His sake He could not only forgive, but receive as His much-loved children, any sinners who came to God by Him.
“Mrs. S—'s words were, I thought, very much like Marion's letters, but in some way which I could not explain even to myself, the way in which she told me of God's way of peace, seemed to make it clearer and simpler than it had ever appeared to me before. Yet I felt afraid to say that I was saved, though in my heart I knew that I really did believe on the Lord Jesus, and was longing to trust Him as my own precious Savior.
“I remember saying that I thought it must have been very easy for the people who lived in Egypt on the night of the Passover to know that they were safe, for if the lamb had been killed and the blood sprinkled in God's appointed way, the destroying angel could not enter.
“Her answer was, ‘But suppose among those blood sheltered people there had been just one who did not believe that what God had said was quite true, who thought that perhaps, after all, God may not be quite so good as His word. Would that one, if inside the house, have been less safe than the rest of the family?'
“‘Yes, quite as safe,' I said, ‘for it was God who had said, "When I see the blood, I will pass over you.”
“She answered, ‘Yes, safe, quite safe! but would such an one have been happy?'
“I replied, ‘No; for doubting what God had said would have kept them out of all the joy of knowing that they were safe.'
“As I spoke, I saw in the doubting, trembling Israelite a picture of myself. I, too, had dared to doubt the word of God, ‘who cannot lie.' Tears of shame and sorrow filled my eyes.
“There was silence for a few moments, then Mrs. S said, very gently “'But God commendeth his love to ward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us' (Rom. 5:8), and added, ‘Won't you let Him commend His love to you, Ella?'
“I could not answer; I only bowed my head, as, with a full heart, I took salvation as the free gift of God, through Jesus Christ our Lord.
“Again we knelt in prayer; this time my heart overflowed in thanksgiving. I was saved, and I could and did rejoice in the knowledge of it.
“Very few even of the better educated blind possess a whole Bible. One in Dr. Moon's embossed type requires to be bound in sixty-four volumes, and costs between six and seven pounds.
“I had several portions of the New Testament, some of which I had obtained as prizes, others had been presented to me on leaving school. I began to read the gospels in a way that I had never done before. The Bible had indeed become a new book to me. But when I had finished the gospels, and began to read the Acts of the Apostles, then my real difficulties began.
“I saw from many passages that the early disciples came together very simply to remember the Lord's death in the breaking of bread. They did not assemble in costly buildings, or use beautiful music in their meetings. I often wished that I had lived in the days of the apostles, or as that could not be, that I could find some ‘upper room' where a few poor (I did not mind how few, or how poor) believers were seeking to worship God in spirit and in truth.
“Mrs. S—was still my weekly, and I need hardly say always welcome visitor. Noticing one day that I seemed less cheerful than usual, she kindly inquired into the cause of my depression.
“When I confided my feelings to my sympathizing friend, she said, ‘Ever since the Lord, dear Ella, spoke peace to your soul I have been praying that He would so attract your heart to Himself that you might be content to leave all, and follow Him.'
“She then told me that Christians in many places had passed through what she called the same kind of exercises. They had seen from the teaching of scripture that Christ and Christ alone must be the gathering-point of the Christian company. The Holy Ghost would, where His presence and power were owned, lead the worship of saints thus gathered.
“I hardly know which was the greatest, my surprise or delight, at finding that though few in number, and weak in all outward things, a part of that company with whom Mrs. S— had for some years been in happy fellowship was to be found in the place in which I was then living.
“The next Lord's-day morning found me at the meeting, and though some weeks passed before I was admitted to the full privileges of the gathered company and allowed to unite with them in the breaking of bread, I do not think I felt impatient.
“I had passed at school as having a good knowledge of scripture. I could answer questions on the leading events of Old and New Testament history, as well as repeat several psalms and chapters from memory, but I was beginning to find how little I had understood the true spirit and meaning of the written word; and as I now desired to take my true place as a learner, the Bible readings were a great source of help and strength to me, as was also the weekly gathering for prayer.
“Waiting time came to an end at last, and one bright morning in the early part of the year 18-I for the first time in my life remembered the Lord in the simple way so dear to His heart, that He not only said on the night of His betrayal to ‘his own,’ ‘this do in remembrance of me’ (Luke 22:19), but from the glory He spoke of it to the Apostle Paul. (1 Cor. 11:23)
“A praise song was making very sweet music in my heart that morning, and though I have to own with shame and sorrow how often the sigh of weariness, or the murmur of discontent have made their discordant notes in that song, it has never died out, and counting upon the grace that can alone keep me from falling, I desire to go on till faith shall be changed to sight, and I have seen Him whom ‘having not seen we love’; ‘The Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me,’ and on the way to that glad moment, I often sing -
‘E’en now let my ways, Lord,
Be bright with Thy praise, Lord,
For brief are the days e’er Thy coming again.’”
-C.J.L.
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