THE seven years I had spent at "St. George's" lay behind me and I was a schoolgirl no longer. During the last half-year or so very bright visions filled my mind. My home had always been a humble and not always a very happy one, still the hope of once more living with my parents was very pleasant. How little I then thought that in less than two years from the time of my leaving school both would be taken from me by death, and I should weep bitter tears as I drank the cup of sorrow and felt that I was indeed an orphan.
All my sisters were married and the room that during the school-holidays I had shared was to be all my own. I was beginning to get just a little tired of the large dormitories with their long rows of beds, and thought the change would be a delightful one. Tea would, I thought, taste much nicer and prove more refreshing if drank out of a real cup than from the thick mugs we used at school. But I should be sorry to lead you to think that such childish longings and desires were the only reasons that made leaving the school where I had been treated with so much kindness hardly a matter of regret to me. I was nineteen years of age, and life, with all its possibilities of useful, happy work, seemed just opening up before me. I was perhaps impatient too to enter upon the profession I had decided to follow. If I expected to succeed as a public singer I must, I knew, devote from two to three years to further voice training, study and practice. I had several friends who encouraged me to do my very best, and a lady well known in the musical world kindly offered to give me singing lessons.
I was often restless and unhappy, for though my early desire to be of use to others was still strong within me, in a sort of vague, uncertain way, I had resolved to lead what I then called "a good life," as I thought God would be pleased with me; but though Sunday after Sunday I had joined with others in calling myself "a miserable sinner," and asking God to have mercy upon me, I had not taken my true place as a sinner needing a Savior, and so I had no real peace, no lasting joy. I almost envied any one I heard speak of having been converted, and often wondered if I should ever be really sure that my sins were forgiven. Sometimes I almost made up my mind to tell some Christian the real state of my feelings, and ask for advice and help. But a secret misgiving held me back. I knew that what I longed for was not so much the favor of God and the joy of having the Lord Jesus Christ as my Master as the praise and approval of my fellow creatures. I wanted, as you know, to be a public singer, and I thought, if I decide for Christ, I must not go to concerts and the worldly parties at which I expected to be asked to sing. So 1 kept putting off coming to Jesus. I have often wondered since at the wonderful patience the Lord had with me. "The longsuffering of our Lord is salvation." (2 Peter 3:1515And account that the longsuffering of our Lord is salvation; even as our beloved brother Paul also according to the wisdom given unto him hath written unto you; (2 Peter 3:15))
Only a few months after my return home I was surprised one morning not to hear my mother moving about as usual, and on going downstairs, was shocked to find her lying on the floor in an insensible condition. I called my father, who lost no time in fetching a doctor, who said it was a fit, and he did not think she would recover. He was right, for she died within a few hours, without one word or sign of consciousness. I felt her death greatly, as, since leaving school, we had been a great deal to each other. The shock of her death seemed to have completely unnerved my father, who fell into a low way, and died about a year later. The death of both parents broke up my home, and for a time I went to live with one of my married sisters. I must, I knew, earn my living, and already I had booked several engagements to sing at private and other concerts.
My life for the next few years was a very hard one. My new home was the reverse of comfortable. I often went out to sing so hungry that I should have been glad of the plainest and coarsest food, and after singing (if I might judge by the applause and praise they gave me), to the satisfaction of my hearers, return, tired and heart-sick, to my cheerless home, to go cold and often supperless to bed, all my earnings being claimed toward the cost of my support. Perhaps I should not have written so much about my early womanhood, were it not in the hope that this simple story will be read by some who are leaving or have left school, and I want to press upon them, that no heart is truly happy till it finds in Christ One who can really and truly meet its need and satisfy its longings.
About this time, a very earnest and faithful clergyman came to preach at the church I attended. Mr. S— , having found for himself joy and peace in believing, longed that those who Lord's day after Lord's day listened to his voice should know Christ as a living, personal Savior; his preaching seemed altogether different from anything I had ever listened to before. He spoke of the holiness of God, and showed from His word that even if it were possible for an unforgiven sinner to go to heaven, he could not be happy there, because he would be unfit for the presence of that holy God. Like Felix of old, I trembled. But it was the story of the love of God, in the gift of His Son, that won my heart. It was some time before I spoke to any one of what had passed between God and my soul, but one day, finding myself alone with Mr. S— , I summoned up resolution to tell him. He was greatly pleased, and several quiet talks with him were both at the time and afterward a great help and blessing to me.
On one occasion he said, “It is always a grief to me when I hear that you are singing the world's songs. God has lent you a fine voice, it is a talent to be used for His glory. Why not keep it to sing His praises with? " These words made a deep impression upon me, and from that time I gave up, almost entirely, singing at concerts, as I found the society into which such engagements took me was not such as would help me to please and follow Christ. I still sang in public, but nearly always hymns and gospel songs. I did not see till some years later that the path to which the Lord was calling me was a narrow one, and meant a thorough break with the world in its religious, as well as its giddy, pleasure-loving aspect.
I still longed to be useful, and often prayed that some soul might be won for Christ through hearing me sing the gospel. Years passed and then in a way I little expected the Lord gave me the joy of knowing that my prayer had been answered. But as I do not wish to make this chapter so long that perhaps you might not care to read to the end of it, and after all, it was not my singing, but the written word of God that won Mrs. A— for Christ, her story, which always seems to me a remarkable one, shall stand over till next chapter.