THE late Mr. J. Russell, of Bradford, England, in the prime of his manhood was a capital open-air speaker. He had a fine commanding presence, and a full, round, musical voice, which could be heard on a quiet evening upwards of half a mile distant.
In the neighborhood of Mr. Russell’s early labors lived Joe Braley, a rough man of unenviable notoriety; often in prison for poaching, wife-beating, house-breaking, etc.; nearly always “wanted” by the police.
Having “spotted” a likely house for his midnight work, at some distance from town, he bent his steps along a river-bank, with his bag of burglaring tools. Suddenly a distant voice fell distinctly on his ears. Curiosity prompted him to follow the sound for half a mile along the river-side until he found himself on the outskirts of a crowd, listening to earnest words of Gospel appeal.
An hour later, as the preacher was sitting at his evening meal, a knock was heard at the front door, and the servant announced that Joe Braley wanted to see Mr. Russell. At once he went to the door, whilst Mrs. Russell, naturally timid and knowing Joe’s character, crept quietly behind her husband in the darkness.
There at the open doorway stood the sturdy figure, and a gruff voice asked, “Are you Mr. Russell?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Do you know me?”
“Yes, Joe, I do.”
“I want you to come for a walk with me.”
Then Mrs. Russell made known her presence by laying hold of her husband and beseeching him not to venture at that late hour into the dark night. Remonstrance was in vain.
Together the preacher and poacher walked in silence, Mr. Russell wondering meantime what could be Joe’s errand. On, on, until out of the town and up a lonely lane between two high hedge-rows. Then Joe came to a sudden halt, and said: “You know what my life has been. I started out on an errand of burglary this evening. As I crept along the river-bank a voice fell on my ears. Scarcely knowing what I did, I walked on until I came to a crowd and heard you preaching. I afterwards inquired your name and address, that I might see you. I want to know whether all you said is true.”
“Yes, Joe, every word.”
Then do you think there is any hope for me? Can Jesus save such a sinner as I am?”
“Yes, Joe; I have no doubt about it whatever, seeing He can save to the uttermost.”
“But though you know much of my life, you don’t know all. There is hardly a sin under the sun I have not committed; I should not like to swear that these hands have not been stained with blood. Can there be mercy for such a deep-dyed sinner?”
“Yes, Joe; the blood of Jesus Christ, God’s Son, cleanseth us from all sin.”
“Then I want you to see me bury these things, and kneel with me upon their grave.”
Cutting the turf carefully he dug a little grave, and deposited there his revolver, jemmy, skeleton-keys, and sundry house-breaking appliances. Then treading the earth down, he re-laid the turf, and he and the preacher knelt in the darkness, crying to God for mercy. As they rose, Joe left Mr. Russell, and was heard of in the neighborhood no more. What had befallen him was a secret; if living, it was evident he had put distance between himself and his old associates as his only chance of a better life. To his children growing up around him the preacher often told the tale of his midnight adventure, though now far removed from the scene, and wondered what had become of Joe.
Thirty years passed by, and the United Kingdom was en fete with the Sunday-school Centenary celebrations. Of these the gathering in Peel Park, Bradford, was by far the largest; some thirty thousand scholars, besides many thousands of parents and friends, meeting on that occasion.
Mr. Russell, now in “the sere and yellow leaf,” was present with his family. A well-built and neatly dressed gentleman gripped his hand. “Why, Mr. Russell, I am delighted to see you.”
“You have the advantage of me,” said Mr. Russell.
“Don’t you know me? I know you, and have reason to know you. I should have known you a hundred years hence. Don’t you remember Joe Braley?”
“You are not Joe Braley, are you?”
“I am; but, praise God, I am not Joe Braley as you knew him. I love the Lord, and have been preaching His gospel for years; and (turning to a lady at his side) this is Mrs. Braley. She also loves the Lord; and my three daughters here are all believers. Forget you, never! We must forever praise God that we knew you.”
Among the many glad hearts that returned from that immense gathering, we venture to believe not one thrilled with truer joy than did that of this dear old servant of God as he told the tale of the long lost found, and testified once more to the truth of the divine promise, “Cast thy bread upon the waters; for thou shalt find it after many days.”
W. W. C.