SOME time after the occurrence of the incident related in the September number of GOOD NEWS, my mother died, and my father gave up his home, and went to reside with his mother and sister.
In order, however, that my readers may the better understand what I am about to relate, I must tell them that my new residence was part of a double cottage, and that the piece of ground on which it stood formed an irregular triangle. By the sides of its gardens, the owner of the property had planted two beds of osiers, amongst which grew some apple trees. To the east of the part occupied by my grandmother was the brook you read of in the number of GOOD NEWS already referred to; and when I inform you that another brook emptied itself into it from the opposite side, you will perceive at once that, with the exception of our front, which faced the road, we and our only neighbors were surrounded by water. This was of little consequence so long as the fine weather lasted; but when a wet season prevailed, the waters would overflow their banks, and not only close us in on every side, but even enter our lower rooms and drive us upstairs, where we were obliged to remain till they subsided. Were it my object to relate a pleasing tale, I could tell you much of those occasions, but as I seek your profit, I will commence my story.
One afternoon, a few friends were expected to visit us; and as one of them was a little boy about a year older than myself, I anticipated his coming with much delight. After tea, we were allowed to play out of doors, but not before we had been strictly charged to keep at a distance from the water. And as the hirer of the osiers was shortly expected to cut them, we were told neither to meddle with them nor go among them. We amused ourselves very nicely for some time, but at length my associate caught sight of one of the apple trees which stood on the forbidden ground, and proposed that we should go and gather some fruit. The apples on that tree were of a peculiar kind, and its richly laden boughs so attractive, that, after a little hesitation, I consented to accompany him. The twigs of the osiers hid us from the view of those who otherwise might have detected us, and as soon as possible we reached the desired spot. We ate till we were satisfied, well filled our pockets, and prepared to return. Before doing so, however, we wished to go to the end of the osiers, and as there was an offset (though a very small one) to the angle we were fast approaching, there was not much danger of slipping into the brook. But when we reached the paling which separated us from the side of the highroad, my playfellow would get over, and I, as a matter of course, must follow. After climbing the fence, there was a ditch to cross, and in trying to clear it I fell to the ground and rolled into the water. My terrified companion ran for help, but before he could reach the house, my affectionate aunt had heard my piteous cries, and was hastening to my rescue. She reached the side of the brook just in time to save me, and from that moment we loved each other more intensely than ever.
As a tree is known by its fruit, so is a child by its doings and my disobedient ways must have convinced all my readers that I was a very disobedient boy. But what I wish to press upon your attention is the fact that these sinful acts were but the fruit of that vile and corrupt nature which I, in common with yourselves, inherited from our first father Adam, who when he fell involved us in hopeless ruin — a ruin so complete and widespread, that “there is none that doeth good, no, not one.” This is as true of the youngest child as it is of the most elderly man; and the most amiable and affectionate reader of these lines possesses a nature as depraved as the very persons who “killed the Prince of Life,” and who afterward resisted the Holy Ghost. True it is that “the works of the flesh” are more manifest in some than in others; but the flesh itself is the same in all — that in which there “dwelleth no good thing.” This is why, before your baby brothers and sisters can say, “I will and I won’t,” you see them pout and turn red when they are not allowed to do as they please; and for the same reason you listen to wicked thoughts, utter naughty words, commit sinful deeds, and show bad tempers when you are not permitted to follow your perverse and stubborn wills. How is it that sometimes you are sent to bed in the dark, and lose the sweet smiles, the loving embraces, and the fond kisses of those who dearly love you, or, perhaps, by your self-will and obstinacy, bring upon yourselves the rod of correction? How is it, too, that when your godly parents enclose your hands in theirs, and pray for you, you are glad when they cease; or when, with tearful eyes and sorrowing hearts, they beseech you not to trifle with your precious souls, you turn away in disgust? or when they take you to hear the Gospel preached, you, if left to your own course, would prefer to remain at home? The secret of it all lies in the total depravity of your nature, and in the entire corruption of your whole being. Yes; all these things — the love of that which is evil, and the hatred of that which is good, prove that you are “carnal, sold under sin.” And though by self-control and other means you might seem to improve your condition, all your labors would produce nothing except “a whited sepulcher,” and “a fair show in the flesh.” But “that which is born of the flesh is flesh,” and whatever form it assume, whether wicked or religious, it “profiteth nothing.” Hence there is no more hope for you, so far as yourselves arc concerned, than there was for me, when I, through my willful disobedience, was sinking, helplessly sinking, in the water.
But as there was one who, notwithstanding all my waywardness, loved, me and saved me from my perilous condition, so Jesus came “to seek and to save that which was lost.” The motive in each case was the same, though the love of the former was as nothing when compared with that of the latter, but what a contrast between the objects and the work to be done to deliver them. I was a fond relative — a dearly beloved nephew, but those for whose sake Christ was manifested were strangers and enemies.
“No man of greater love can boast
Than for his friend to die;
Thou for thine enemies wast slain!
What love with thine can vie?”
Again: My cries for help attracted her, who rescued me from drowning, and thankfully did. I appreciate her efforts on my behalf, but the divine love led the blessed Lord to visit us in the depths of our guilt and ruin. He could say, “I was found of them that sought me not; I was made manifest unto them that asked not after me.” And not only was he an unsought guest in the world which we had made, and among his own nation, but their language was, “We will not have this man to reign over us.... let him be crucified.” In the contemplation of such unrequited love, it may be truly said —
“Not sinful man’s endeavor,
Nor any mortal’s care,
Could draw thy sov’reign favor
To sinners in despair;
Uncall’d, thou cam’st with gladness,
Us from the fall to raise,
And change our grief and sadness
To songs of joy and praise.”
(To be continued.)