IN the city of Minneapolis, in America, stood a large six-storied building, occupied by the Minneapolis Tribune, the leading newspaper of the place.
There was a serious defect in its construction. The stairway ran round the lift or elevator, so that if a fire occurred in the elevator shaft it would cut off escape by both elevator and staircase.
That very thing happened. But the elevator boy was a brave young fellow, and be rescued a number out of the burning building, running his elevator through fire and smoke.
In the sixth story was the reporter of the Associated Press, the great news-gathering agency of America. When told of the fire, instead of seeking to escape, with characteristic newspaper sensationalism, he said, “No, I am not going out. I am going to stay here, and telegraph all over the country how near the fire has got.”
It was just after the Johnstown flood, when a lady operator had sat in her telegraph office under the dam, saw it give way, yet stayed on, telegraphing down the valley that the dam had broken. By her brave, self-sacrificing efforts she was the means of saving thousands of lives, but perished herself as the price of her heroism.
No such desire as the salvation of others filled the breast of the newspaper reporter. He was actuated by foolish vainglory―his object being to produce a sensation, and gain notoriety.
In one of his dispatches he telegraphed, “The Tribune buildings are on fire. The fire is in the third story, I am on the sixth.” Then after as interval came the message, “The fire has reached the fifth story. I am on the sixth.”
He thought it was time to clear out. Now there was an outside fire escape that went down from the sixth story. He had reckoned on escape by this means. Some had promptly availed themselves of this, and had made good their escape.
But when he opened the office door he found the fire had reached the sixth floor. He was met by smoke and flame. He shut the door, and was penned in. He could hear the fire crackling outside. The smoke was coming in through the cracks of the door.
He hurried to the window, threw it up, and stepped on to the window-sill.
Below was a vast crowd, who saw his danger. No ladder could reach him. No net could be spread beneath him. He was so situated that no help could reach him from the crowd. There he stood, the fire getting nearer and nearer.
The man, though foolhardy, was brave. He looked up. Across his head was a wire guy rope stretched across a wide chasm sir stories deep to another building.
He lifted up his hands, and the crowd gazed, speechless and horror-stricken. He commenced to go hand over hand. After a little bit he stopped. The crowd was aghast. It held its breath. “Is he tired out? Is the wire cutting his hands? Will he let go?” were the questions passing through every mind.
At last, he let go with one hand, and there he hung, six stories high, by one hand. He can hold on no longer. He relinquished his hold. He fell. There he lay on the ground, a crushed and helpless mass― dead! Dead!! dead!!!
The whole scene lives before your mind, reader. You blame the man. You pity him. You can see the terrible mistake he made, and how he paid for it with the penalty of his life.
How this illustrates folly of a far worse kind, with far more terrible consequences attending it, if persisted in. I allude to the widespread neglect of God’s warnings.
God tells you, “The soul that sinneth, it shall die.” He warns you, “It is appointed unto men once to die, but after this THE JUDGMENT.” He bids you, “Flee from the wrath to come.” He tells you, “Behold, NOW is the accepted time; behold, NOW is the day of salvation.”
Just as surely as the fire ascended story by story till it cut off the retreat of the foolish journalist, so surely are death and judgment drawing nearer and nearer to you, my unsaved friend, till they reach and engulf you in destruction.
Suppose you live to old age. Your house may be seven, eight, or even nine stories high-you may live to be seventy, eighty, or even ninety years old. The chances are you will not, but suppose you do.
Imagine your life to be like a building seven stories high. At ten years old the fire lit by the torch of time has reached the second story; at twenty it has reached the third; at thirty it has reached the fourth. It is only a question of time, and all escape will be cut off.
And yet, up to now you have sat unconcerned, with the knowledge that the fire of time is consuming the building of your life. Is it not time to take action? Procrastination is like a creeping palsy. It is a habit that grows to be a master-a tyrant.
Wake up! Wake up! Take action! Else the folly of the Tribune reporter will be wisdom compared to the folly that will be yours. His folly destroyed his body a few years before death would otherwise have claimed him.
But your folly! It affects your soul, it decides eternity, it will mean not only death, but JUDGMENT; and that means everlasting punishment in the lake of fire.
Be warned by this printed page. Oh! the folly of procrastination. Persisted in, it will become in the words of our title,
A FATAL DELAY.
Delay not a single moment. The matter is urgent. Death is busy: The present moment alone you can call your own. Here and now we call for decision. “Behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation” (2 Cor. 6:22(For he saith, I have heard thee in a time accepted, and in the day of salvation have I succored thee: behold, now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation.) (2 Corinthians 6:2)).
A. J. P.