An Extract.
FANNY and Eliza B― were sisters; the former fourteen and the latter thirteen years of age when they came into my class in the Sunday school. They were generally-attentive to the instruction given, and learned the lessons appointed for them pretty correctly; but as soon as the restraint of school was over it seemed as if they quite forgot all they had heard. I was often reminded by them of the first part of the parable of the sower (it is written in the eighth chapter of the gospel of Luke): “A sower went out to sow his seed: and as he sowed, some fell by the way side; and it was trodden down, and the fowls of the air devoured it.” And the Lord Jesus, when explaining to the disciples the spiritual meaning of the parable, said, “The seed is the word of God. Those by the way side are they that hear; then cometh the devil, and taketh away the word out of their hearts, lest they should believe and be saved.”
Now Fanny and Eliza used, Sunday after Sunday to hear the gospel of the grace of God proclaimed; they were told of their condition as lost sinners in the sight of Him who is of “purer eyes than to behold iniquity;” and were entreated to come to the Lord Jesus Christ, who said, “I am the way, the truth, and the life; no man cometh unto the Father but by me.” They committed to memory the words of Scripture; they sat in the class with others, some of whom were Christians, and were not permitted to remain in a state of utter ignorance as to the necessity of having their sins pardoned before they could be ranked among the children of God, and heirs of everlasting life; but alas! they choose for their companions the giddiest and most thoughtless girls in the school, and when on Sunday afternoons they left the room, instead of going home, and thinking over the truths to which they had listened, they went away to laugh and shout, and run about the streets in a most improper manner. Like the “fowls of the air,” devouring the “good seed,” so did their idle, foolish conversation entirely destroy from out of the minds of Fanny and Eliza all remembrance of what was so frequently said to them about sin and the need of a Saviour; or if a thought ever crossed their minds as to the wickedness of their course, I suppose it lasted but a moment, and was soon banished.
Their mother (their father being dead) was informed of the trouble that they occasioned me and several of the other teachers, and was affectionately advised to check them; but she had brought them up in such habits of indulgence that they would not be controlled, and she did not know how to make them obey her.
An intense love of finery soon began to display itself in the dress of the sisters, and I think they must themselves have chosen their gaudy clothes, as their mother, who was herself a plainly-dressed woman, could hardly have been willing to allow her children to be decked out in the extravagant manner in which they appeared; and, as they were allowed to do just as they liked, it is probable that they persuaded her to give them as much money as they thought necessary, and then bought what they chose without consulting her taste and judgment. Poor girls! perhaps they thought when they stood before the glass, and put on their smart clothing, that they should be very much admired; but, if they did attract the attention of the worldly and worthless, none whose esteem was of any value prized them the more highly for it. A neat frock and bonnet would have been far more becoming than their gay ribbons and tawdry muslins; and many a time have I deeply regretted their pride and vanity when witnessing the way in which they tossed their heads, and twisted and turned as they entered the school-room, while they looked round to see who was noticing them.
Fanny was an impulsive girl; and sometimes, when I had an opportunity of speaking to her alone, the tears would fill her eyes, and she would seem grieved that she had caused me sorrow; but I never saw her humbled under a sense of her sinfulness before God, and after each conversation with her my heart was heavy, as I had little reason to hope that she was at all penitent.
After I had taught these two sisters for more than a year, I left the neighborhood where they lived, and went to reside a few miles off, but I frequently heard of them from the lady who took my class when I gave it up. Fanny appeared very sorry to part from me, and while she assured me that she felt grateful, although I had so often to find fault with her, she, at the same time, pressed me to accept a little ivory and velvet pin-cushion as a keepsake, which I still possess. The letters that I received from her teacher were anything but satisfactory, and, while rejoicing at the account which was given of some of my late scholars, I was much pained when I heard that Fanny and Eliza, although still attending the school, had only gone from bad to worse, and had grown inattentive and careless it her class, besides being still more giddy than ever as soon as school was over.
One day I went to spend a few hours near my old home, and determined to call on Fanny and her mother. I had been told that Eliza had gone to service, and that Fanny was apprenticed to a dressmaker, so I knocked at their door, at the time when I understood that Fanny always went back to her dinner. When I entered, I found that the mother had gone out, and that Fanny was alone. She seemed pleased to see me, but very unhappy, for, after talking a little while about her new occupation, and on various other subjects, she suddenly burst into tears, and said, I am truly miserable! “I never was so wretched in all my life! there is nothing worth living for!” I tried to find out the cause of this violent sorrow; but she did not tell me; and I again urged her to come to Him in whom all true joy is centered. She, however, continued to sob and cry, and as I was taking leave of her at the bottom of the staircase, she threw herself into my arms, and shed bitter tears, as her head rested on my shoulder. I longed to know why she was thus affected, and thought that if she disclosed the secret to me I might be better able to comfort her; but my attempts to win her confidence were useless, and I was compelled to say goodbye to her, without any apparent power to direct or soothe, little thinking that we should never meet again, and that in a few days she would have passed away from this world.
Shortly after, I heard sad news of poor Fanny. I shudder now when I reflect upon her melancholy end. Led away by bad companions, hoping probably to obtain the means of purchasing more expensive clothes than her mother’s slender purse could afford, Fanny had fallen into great and terrible sin. Her mother discovered it; and when Fanny went home to her dinner at one o’clock, about a fortnight after I last saw her, she told her daughter all she knew, and accused her of having almost broken her heart. Fanny totally denied the charge, and grew positively furious with passion; she stamped and screamed with rage, declaring that what her mother said was false (although it was true), and at length rushed out of the room, slamming the door violently behind her. She ran quickly along the street to her employer’s house, which was close by, and on entering the work-room fell on the floor in a fit! A doctor was sent for at once, and someone fetched her mother; but as soon as the unhappy girl recovered in some degree, another fit came on. She never spoke again, and after about a dozen fits she died at midnight, without having been able to address a single word to those around her.
Dear young reader, if you are yet in your sins, that is, if you have not yet found pardon through the blood of the Lamb, let me warn you of the terrible danger in which you are at this very moment. You must be either on the Lord’s side or on the side of Satan; and if you choose the latter, you will find him a hard master, luring you on in the path of sin, and making you fancy it at first very bright and pleasant, till at last nothing but misery will await you, and your only wages will be death. Let poor Fanny’s history be remembered; and if you are a Sunday scholar, be careful how you hear what your teacher says, and how you recollect it; and when the school is dismissed, never let dress or any similar trifle be the subject of conversation between you and your companions as you walk home. Think of the parable of the sower. Satan will be on the watch to take away the “good seed” out of your heart; but do treasure it, dear child, and, by God’s blessing, it may take root, and be the means of leading you to Christ.
Oh! if you are careless and inattentive, you give your teachers much sorrow; for if they know what it is to have their own sins forgiven. The desire of their hearts is that you may be saved; and they are surely often in prayer for you and the other children of their classes. Consider, too, the many advantages that you enjoy. In a country where Bibles are so cheap that you may get one for less than a shilling; where the Gospel is faithfully preached in so many places; and reflect, that if you die unforgiven, it will be because you did not accept God’s offer of pardon through His Son, and that you will be without excuse.
The Lord Jesus Christ is coming again to fetch His own people, and they will, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, be caught up to “meet Him in the air,” and be ever with Him in glory. From God’s holy word we know that He will come; but when that day will be we know not. It may be today, or tomorrow, or next week; and then, if you are not numbered among the children of God, you will have no part in the joy of His appearing. Be warned, then, now; and now, even now, own yourself a sinner, coming to the blessed One who died that sinners might live. May the Holy Ghost lead you to Him, and show you that His “blood cleanseth from all sin.”
H. L. T.
“The gentle Jesus pities you,
Poor thoughtless little child;
He bends on you a look of love,
So tender and so mild.
“He knows your little foolish heart
Prefers a worthless toy
To all His love, which, once believed,
Would give you lasting joy.
“He tells you, in His holy word,
How joyfully He gave
Himself―the spotless Lamb of God―
His wandering sheep to save.
“The child that knows his sins forgiven
Through His most precious blood,
Is made a lamb of Jesus’ fold,
A happy child of God.”