THE incident which we are about to relate took place on a Lord’s Day morning towards the end of the year. The cold was intense, and a damp, misty rain was beginning to fall, as a crowd of well-dressed persons hurried up the steps of a chapel situated in the neighborhood of Regent Street. Among the rest was a tall, delicate youth, who gazed around him with a bewildered look. Notwithstanding the inclemency of the weather, it was observed that he had neither overcoat nor umbrella. It was no wonder that he coughed; and what a hollow, cough it was! Those who once have heard such never forget it. A member of the congregation turned his head at the sound, and perceiving that the lad was a stranger, beckoned him into his own pew, which was near the center of the gallery. We are particular in mentioning these things, because it is a true story which we are relating; and it may be that these pages may meet the eyes of those who were actually present at the time to which we refer. The youth was indeed a stranger. He had arrived in our great metropolis only the day before, and wandered out, tired and weary as he was, in search of a place where he might worship God even as he had loved to do in the quiet village church of his far-off home. He was sad and cast down, and wanted comfort; he was weary, and sought for rest, rest where it can alone be found—rest in Christ, “the shadow of a great rock in a weary land.” He longed to experience with others as he had done many and many a time before, the truth of those beautiful lines:—
“How sweet the name of Jesus sounds
In a believer’s ear!
It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds,
And drives away his fear.
It makes the wounded spirit whole,
And calms the troubled breast;
‘Tis manna to the hungry soul,
And to the weary rest.”
His heart yearned for some tidings of that loving Saviour. He missed Him in the prayers, eloquent as they were; in the hymns, notwithstanding their melody; in the sermon, so hard to understand. His thoughts had just begun to wander, when they were suddenly recalled and fixed upon the minister. Yes, he was speaking of Him now. The boy bent eagerly forward; he could scarcely believe his own ears. What! taking the glory from our blessed Lord! denying His divinity! explaining away His atonement! trampling upon the cross! robbing the sinner of his only hope, his only plea! speaking of the Lord Jesus Christ as a mere man! holding Him up for an example, but rejecting Him as a Saviour! No; it could not be possible. Poor boy, he did not know that ministers preach, and people sit and listen to these fearful and dangerous doctrines, Sunday after Sunday, and God hears, and yet they are not consumed.
The gentleman who had so kindly invited him into his pew, and whose sympathy had been aroused by the youth’s pale face and hollow cough, could not avoid noticing his agitation. He marked the flushed cheek, the tearful eye, the trembling lips, the bewildered gaze of astonishment and horror. Presently, as the minister proceeded with his discourse, he saw him rise suddenly up from his place, moved by an irresistible impulse, and stretched forth his thin hands, as if in deprecation of what he heard, while his clear young voice was distinctly audible throughout the chapel, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, for there is none ether name given under heaven whereby we must be saved.”
A profound silence followed. Every eye was turned towards the gallery, while a few among the congregation trembled, they knew not why. The minister alone remained unmoved. The youth hastened to leave the chapel, followed by the gentleman in whose pew he had sat. Just as he reached the door, and stood looking out into the cold, wet street, a detaining hand was laid upon his arm. The poor boy turned round, flushed and trembling.
“Oh, sir!” exclaimed he, “I could not help it—indeed I could not; you heard what he said.”
“I heard nothing more than usual,” replied the gentleman, coldly; “certainly nothing to warrant your disturbing a whole congregation in the way which, you have done. But you are ill and excited,” added he, in a kinder tone: “where do you live?”
The youth took a slip of paper from his pocket, containing a written name and address, and handed it to him.
“Is this the name of your parents?”
“I have no parents. They died when I was a child.”
“Your friends, then?”
“I trust they may prove such. I arrived only last night from H—.”
“Poor boy. And so you are a stranger in London, and came in by accident, I suppose?”
“Yes, sir; I thought it looked like a church.”
The gentleman smiled.
“We call it a chapel,” said he; “but it is all the same thing.” A troubled expression passed over the boy’s face, and he remained silent.
As they stood talking thus, the organ commenced playing, and the gentleman (whom we shall call Mr. A.,) knew that the sermon was ended. As the distance was not great, and the rain still continued to fall, he proposed walking with his young companion as far as his new home, and the offer was gratefully accepted. Before they separated, he had given the boy his card, and invited him to dine with him on the following Sunday.
Mr. A. was as rich as he was generous and kind-hearted; he delighted in doing good to his neighbor, and felt interested in the orphan, notwithstanding the peculiar circumstances under which they had first met, and an intimacy commenced between them, which eventually proved a lasting blessing to Mr. A., though there was no real change till the youth’s death. Lewis G. had never been very strong, and after a few months of close. sedentary occupation, his health completely failed him. Little hopes were entertained of his ultimate recovery, and his employer, at a loss what to do with him, and requiring the small attic chamber which he occupied for his successor began to talk of sending him to a hospital. Then it was that Mr. A. came forward and offered to take him to his own home, where he remained during the remaining brief period of his earthly pilgrimage. We have already mentioned that Mr. A. was a kind-hearted and benevolent man. He would have said, just the same of himself; he looked to these good works to save him. Like the Pharisee of old, he used to thank God that he was not as other men.
Brighter and brighter grew the boy’s faith as he saw death before him and the Lord standing ready to comfort, and be with him unto the end. When the believer can keep the eye of faith fixed upon Jesus, he does not see the darkness and the shadow, but passes away as many a triumphant saint has done and will do even unto the end, exclaiming, “All is bright.”
ML 12/11/1904