MICK HEALY was a native of the county of Meath. His father held a small farm, to which at his decease Mick succeeded. He cultivated the few acres of which the farm consisted, regularly paid his rent, and by great industry and economy was able to provide for himself and his family. He possessed the goodwill and respect of his neighbors, and lived in tolerable comfort. He was a strict Roman Catholic, went regularly to his place of worship, and performed his devotions with becoming respect. He went to confession, and punctually paid his dues. He had the approbation of his priest, and was looked upon by everyone as a faithful son of the Church.
Thus things went on during fifty years of Mick’s life, when, one day being detained in the house by rain, he employed himself for a time in rummaging an old trunk which had belonged to his father. In turning over some old papers which the trunk contained, he lighted on the fragment of a book he took it out and read a few pages, and then carefully consigned it to the trunk again. The day cleared up, and he went out to his work. On each succeeding wet day, and at every leisure hour that he had, he visited the trunk, took out the fragment, and resumed his reading. His mind was arrested both by the nature and novelty of what he read. He was excited, and there is a pleasure in excitement; he was alarmed and then tranquillized; he was depressed and then elevated. He could not account for the emotions which he felt. The more he read the fragment the more he wished to read it; he became deeply interested in the subject of it. He read it now not only on wet days, and at leisure hours on other days, but devoted his Sundays after mass to the same pursuit; and that he might enjoy the pleasure with the least interruption, he was in the habit of going out every Sunday to the back of the hedge, and poring over its pages for hours together. During all this time he had not the slightest notion what the book was, with which he was so much delighted. It was, in truth, only the fragment of a book, and had neither title-page nor inscription.
When he was engaged, one sunny day, in this his favorite recreation, the Roman Catholic schoolmaster of the parish happened to pass by. As Mick was an acquaintance of his, he came over to speak to him. He gave him the usual salutation; and as he cast his more experienced eye on the pages which Mick was reading, he exclaimed—
“Ah, Mick, you are reading the Bible; you are a swaddler, and I will tell the priest.”
“The Bible, indeed!” said Mick; “it is only an old book of my father’s that I am reading.”
“Oh, I know well that it is the Bible,” said the schoolmaster, “and if you don’t stop reading it, I will tell the priest.”
“I don’t care to whom you tell it,” said Mick; “it was my father’s book, and I will read it in spite of any one as long as I like.”
The schoolmaster was horrified; and that he might not appear to countenance such conduct, he lost no time in informing the priest how he had found Mick Healy employed. The priest was speedily at Mick’s house.
“What is this I hear of you?” said be; “I am sorry to hear it of your father’s son.”
“What is the had thing your reverence has heard of me?” replied Mick.
“Why, the schoolmaster tells me you are become a Bible-reader; and sure you will not bring disgrace upon your family, and a scandal on the parish?”
“Oh, never mind him, your reverence,” said Mick; “it is only an old book of my father’s, which I found in the trunk, that I do be reading.”
“How long have you been reading it?” said the priest.
“Only about a year, your reverence,” said Mick.
“Show it to me,” said the priest, alarmed at the length of time the mischief had been working.
Mick proceeded to the trunk, and producing the fragment, handed it to him.
“Sure enough,” said the priest, as he looked through the pages, “it is the Bible; and, Mick, you must not read it any more: it is not fit for you. If you have not great learning, like the clergy, you may take a wrong meaning out of it, and it might make a heretic of you.”
Mick, taking the book out of the priest’s hand, said, “Oh, your reverence, it won’t do me any harm; it does my heart good to read it; I never met any book like it; if it does not make me better, I am sure it won’t make me a worse man.”
The priest, suspecting perhaps that if he did not get the book out of Mick’s hands he might get no money out of Mick’s pocket, said in a mild tone, “Oh, Mick, you must not keep it at all; it is not safe for you to have it; give it to me, and as it was your father’s, I will keep it, and take care of it for you.”
“Is it give you my father’s book? “said Mick;” indeed, please your reverence, I will do no such thing; I can keep it and take care of it myself.”
The priest’s tone was now changed; all his efforts to get it from him by coaxing were in vain. Mick would not part with his inheritance. The priest stormed; Mick was calm, which no doubt was very provoking. He held it in his hand, and, looking at it as if his bowels yearned upon it, he said, “And is this the Bible, your reverence? But sure it wants a piece here,” turning to the first page of his fragment, which was in the middle of Exodus; “and sure it wants a piece there,” turning to the last page, which was part of the Prophet Daniel. “Where could I get the pieces, your reverence? Will you give them to me, or tell where I can find them?”
This did not quiet the priest much; this cool confidence rather inflamed him. In an angry tone he refused to comply. Mick, in all sincerity, anxious only for the book, and without meaning any offense, calmly urged his request. This made matters worse; it was adding fuel to the fire; it flamed the more; yet what could be done? — longer delay might end in worse defeat. To avoid this, and to prepare for another mode of attack, the priest left the house, but in the worst possible humour, while Mick very composedly remained, and quietly sat down to read.
It was soon noised abroad that Mick Healy read the Bible, that he would not give it up for the priest, and that he was become a Protestant. The people shrunk from him as if he had the plague; they shunned his company with the greatest aversion, and altogether deserted his house. They were warned to keep aloof from him, partly for their own sake, that they might not be infected, and partly for his sake, that he might be driven to give up the Bible. But neither cunning nor coldness, neither frown nor favor, would induce Mick to give up the book; the more pitiless was the pelting of the storm, the closer he clasped the comfort to his breast. The coldness and aversion with which he was at first regarded were now succeeded by threats and abuse; but as he had incurred man’s anger for God’s word, he seemed to obtain God’s favor by it. He was now learning, like David, to comfort “himself in the Lord his God.” The methods which were pursued towards him seemed to produce an opposite effect to what was expected. The conduct of priest and people together with the knowledge of Scripture which he was daily acquiring, gradually cooled his passion for the services of the chapel; his visits to it became less and less frequent, and at length they altogether ceased.
He now heard, by some means or other, that a preacher, about twelve miles distant, had Bibles, and would be likely to give him one, if he went to him for it. Accordingly, he went there, and called on him.
“Sir,” said he, “I have a bit of the Bible, but I would very much like to have it all.” He then took the fragment from his bosom, and showed it to him.
The preacher entered into conversation with him, and when he perceived that he had made good use of the part of the Bible which he possessed, and was really anxious to have the entire, the worthy man gave him a good octavo Bible, which Mick kept and read to the day of his death.
Mick returned home with his treasure on the same day, having walked at least twenty-four miles; but this was as nothing to him for the love he had to the Bible. He now became a thorough and confirmed Bible-reader. He struck out boldly into the wide extent of Scripture; he felt himself in a new world, and new regions and new prospects opened upon his view. He was astonished at Abraham, and delighted with Joseph; but the bondage in Egypt came home to his heart. When he came to the New Testament, he was lost in amazement. He followed the “Man of sorrows” through his wondrous history, from the manger to the cross. Gethsemane and the Judgment Hall, the crucifixion and the burial, each, in its turn, filled him with awe. He was led to Christ; he believed in his name; he was saved everlastingly; and now he felt his heart dilating with love to all men. He would fain communicate what he knew of Jesus to everyone he met.
During many following years of reproach and persecution, Mick exhibited an even Christian spirit, and maintained the same consistent walk to the very last. He served his Master with fidelity; his honesty was unimpeachable; and he uniformly bore all the petty annoyances to which he was perpetually subjected on account of his religion, with the utmost meekness. Shortly before his death, his son asked whether he was happy.
“Mickey, jewel,” said the father, “no king ever went to his throne so happy as I now am going to my Saviour, the Lord Jesus Christ.”
From that hour till he closed his eyes in death, “the peace of God, which passeth all understanding,” kept his heart and mind through Christ Jesus. His short and simple history affords convincing proof of the value of the Scriptures, and a precious testimony to the grace of God. His sins were all washed away in the blood of Christ; his foes and his fears and his fighting’s now are gone forever; and “more than conqueror through him that loved him,” he is happy in the presence of God and the Lamb.
(Extracted.)