I HAD taken the box-seat on the coach which left E —, rather early in the morning, and the coachman was just about to start, when he was told that there was an inside passenger who had not yet arrived. At this, he threw himself into a terrible rage, and began to swear in a most fearful manner, nor did he cease until the passenger made his appearance; and then giving a most cruel and unnecessary lash to the poor unoffending horses, he rattled us over the stones at a rapid pace.
I had more than twenty miles to ride with this coachman, and had I not witnessed this burst of passion on his part, I should probably at once have begun a conversation with him upon general subjects; but so shocked was I at his blasphemy and violence, that I felt no inclination to open my lips to him. At length, after riding some miles in silence, I called to mind the promise, “In the morning sow thy seed, and in the evening withhold not thine hand; for thou knowest not whether shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good.” I therefore resolved to talk with this swearer upon the concerns of his soul. His face still retained a ferocious and angry expression, and did not give me much encouragement to address him; but earnestly lifting up my heart in prayer to God for the assistance of the Holy Spirit, I quietly said,
“Coachman.”
“Sir, to you,” he gruffly answered.
“Do you ever pray?”
He was much astonished by the question, and seemed in no humor to answer it, — for again whipping the horses severely, and drawing the box-apron closely round his knees, he settled himself firmly down in his seat, as if he wished to have no more to say to me.
“Coachman,” I repeated, “do you ever pray?”
“It doesn’t much matter to you, sir, whether I do or not; but if you want to know, why then, I go to church sometimes on a Sunday; and when the clergyman says — ‘let’s pray,’ I suppose I pray, don’t I?”
“Not unless with your heart you sincerely follow the words he utters. Do you ever pray out of the church? Did you pray this morning, for instance, that God would keep you from blaspheming His holy name?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Then, I am afraid you never pray at all; indeed, no man can swear as you are in the habit of swearing, and yet keep up the habit of praying to God. I fear if any accident were to happen to this coach today, and you were to die, that you would be forever lost.”
Some months after this, however, I was traveling in another part of the country, and upon alighting from the coach, I was addressed by a man, who respectfully desired to have a few minutes’ conversation with me. He spoke and looked as if he knew me, but I had not the slightest recollection of ever having seen him before.
“Don’t you know me, sir?” he asked with a smile. I confessed I did not.
“Ah! sir,” he said, “I have much reason to be thankful that ever I knew you;” and then to my surprise he recounted the particulars which I have just related. I was the coachman, sir; and I bless God that you ever traveled with me that day. I saw myself a lost and ruined sinner, but now, through the blood which cleanseth from all sin, and by the power of the Holy Spirit, I am a converted man.
I shook him by the hand, and devoutly rejoined in the mercy that had been shown him. He pressed me, if only for a moment, to go with him to his house, which was but a short distance from the spot where we were. When we arrived there, he presented me to his wife and daughter, as the instrument in the hands of God of his conversion from death unto life; “and oh, sir,” he added, with tears in his eyes, “both my wife and my daughter have also been brought to a knowledge of the truth as it is in Jesus. Stop not in your good work, sir, of speaking to poor sinners, as you spoke to me that day on the coach, for I should still have been in the broad way which leads to destruction, but for your reproof and instruction.” I spent some time with him, and we mingled our praises and thanksgivings at the throne of grace, and I then left them, happy in their Saviour’s love.