THERE was a gay wedding, and the world smiled on the beautiful girl who was married that morning. She had all that earth can give to make one happy, and the wedding trip was begun on the Continent. Perhaps Harriette thought her cup of joy was full; but she little knew how soon it was to be dashed from her.
Of a kind and generous disposition, and outwardly correct as to Christianity, she would have been deeply annoyed had any one said to her, "You are as far from the kingdom of God as the poor thief or drunkard." Yet such was really the case, for she knew not Christ as her Saviour. She spoke of Him as "our Saviour," and with the multitude often kneeled to praise His name, but as yet her heart was far from Him. But He loved her, indifferent as she was to His love, and in His own way He had prepared for her a severe trial to bring her to a true sense of her need, and of Christ's sufficiency. The wedding trip was nearly over, when the sad news reached England that Harriette was a widow. Her husband had been involved at a gambling-table, where the thirst for play had so over powered him that he had staked his whole fortune and lost it.
Driven to despair, the unhappy man thought only of ending his life, which he saw would be one of poverty and shame, and in a moment of madness he destroyed himself, without one farewell word to his young bride.
When the children of God are under trial, the realization of His unfailing love in all circumstances sustains them through everything, and this is why we see suffering saints so peaceful; but with the unsaved it is different. Who can wonder then that Door Harriette, not having the peace of God which passeth all understanding reigning in her soul, rebelled against her sore trial? and with no happiness left on earth, and no comforter, her reason gave way, and she was brought to England the wreck of her former self. The doctors advised that she, with an attendant, should take a long voyage, to try if by any means her mind might regain its usual vigor. God was watching over her with tender love, and ordering every step of her way. In the same vessel that bore the sorrowful young widow over the waters of the Mediterranean was a man of God—a missionary, who spent his life in winning souls for Christ. He had heard the sad story of his fellow voyager; he marked her look of hopeless misery as she paced the deck day after day, taking no interest in anything around her, and he resolved to tell her of One who could give her joy and peace.
He very gently addressed her one day, and said a few words about God's love, but Mrs. M—regarded him with haughty indifference, and passed on. Still, he was not to be repelled, and sought for another opportunity. It came, and though still scorning his simple words—for Harriette was a proud woman—the message took effect. Little by little she understood it all—saw herself as God saw her, a sinner, lost forever, with a "heart deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked." (Jer. 17:99The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked: who can know it? (Jeremiah 17:9)). Could it be that she, the upright, amiable woman of the world, who had never harmed a fellow-creature in her life, who had served others, had been kind to the poor, and even quite religious, was really lost? Yes, she saw it all, and in her soul rose a great cry, “Woe is me, for I am undone!'! (Isa. 6:55Then said I, Woe is me! for I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips: for mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of hosts. (Isaiah 6:5).)
When once the sinner really owns himself lost, and gives up all his self-righteousness, he finds how sufficient is the work of Christ, which God has accepted, and whereby peace is made. Happy are they who give up self for Christ, and self-confidence for heart-belief in the Son of God and His perfectly-finished work!
And what is this self-confidence, this righteousness of our own, that we cling to so fondly, and it takes so much to deprive us of? God calls it "filthy rags" (Isa. 64:66But we are all as an unclean thing, and all our righteousnesses are as filthy rags; and we all do fade as a leaf; and our iniquities, like the wind, have taken us away. (Isaiah 64:6)), for He sees not as man sees. We see our fellow men very benevolent, charitable, and so on, and we think they will have a good hope of heaven; but if still unsaved, every action, however commendable it may seem, is tainted with sin, for our very nature is sinful, and a corrupt tree cannot bring forth good fruit. (Matt. 7:1818A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit. (Matthew 7:18)).
Reader, if you know not Christ, you are that "corrupt tree.”
Mrs. M— found Jesus to be her Saviour, her all in all, and no sooner did His sweet peace fill her soul than her mind was thoroughly restored, and she was indeed a new creature in every sense. Sorrow had done its work, it had led her to Christ. He said when on earth, "Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again." (John 4:1313Jesus answered and said unto her, Whosoever drinketh of this water shall thirst again: (John 4:13)).
And had she not proved it? The world, with its pleasures, the gift of great personal beauty, admiration, flattery—all had been unsatisfying; she had drunk of that water only to thirst again. But when she found the living water, she drank and thirsted no more. Reader, are you thirsty? Jesus says, "I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely." (Rev. 21:66And he said unto me, It is done. I am Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end. I will give unto him that is athirst of the fountain of the water of life freely. (Revelation 21:6).)
After the lapse of some time, an earnest Christian baronet made Harriette his wife; and thus did God, ever mindful of His own, provide a happy home for His child.
Among her servants was one Eliza, the cook, who loved her mistress, and longed much to have the same bright confidence in Christ. "Ah, my lady," she said once to her, "I wish I were like you; you have no doubts.”
“Doubts, Eliza!" replied Lady S— with emphasis; "how can I doubt, when I am on the Rock?”
After tenderly nursing her husband during his last long illness, she was herself called to lie on a sick bed, whereon she ended her earthly career. During this time, the faithful servant Eliza esteemed it her greatest joy to help to sit up with her mistress at nights, and tend her in every way. She well remembers what a happy death-bed that was, how marked with joyful anticipations of the home beyond the grave.
“Doctor," asked Lady S— one day, "how long do you think I shall live?”
“I cannot tell," he replied; "perhaps only a week.”
“Oh, you never told me before," she exclaimed. Eliza, standing by, marked her face, and it seemed as if her beloved mistress were speaking of taking a journey to meet one whom she loved, so happy did she look. Yes, verily, the end of that journey to the believer is the presence of Christ, where there is fullness of joy.
One day Eliza took Lady S— some little delicacy to tempt her failing appetite, and she exclaimed, "Oh, Eliza, your willing service does me good.”
“Ah, my lady," replied the girl, "your memory will ever be dear to us all.”
But her mistress raised her thin hand to heaven and said, "Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto Thy name give glory.”
Seeing her children and servants round her bed, she looked at them lovingly, and stretching out her arms, she cried, "Oh, that I could take you all in my arms up to heaven, where I am going.”
A loved friend was in the room just as her soul was in departure, and looking down at the sweet pale face on the pillow, he bowed his head, and prayed, "Lord Jesus, receive her spirit;" she looked up with a smile, not of earth, and she was gone.
Oh, the power of the love of Christ, to give such calm happiness on a dying bed! Reader, may you knoweth, there is nothing like it!
G .A. C.