Sought and Found: Or Lizzie's Lesson Books

Only a child's toy, such as may once have delighted some little girl who felt almost grown up and very much like a real housekeeper as she dusted and arranged the chairs, tables and looking-glass in the drawing-room of her doll's house. Elsie wonders why I keep it on my mantle-shelf, standing side by side with odds and ends of old china or the likeness of some valued friend, and if I lend it to the children who come to see me sometimes, or if I played with it myself when I was a little girl?

No, Elsie, you have had two guesses, but you are wrong in both, so I may as well begin the story at once, which I see you are wanting very much to hear.

Seventy years ago a little girl, not more than three or four years of age, played with that tiny dressing-table, large enough for the small hands that held it so carefully. Years passed by and the child grew into a girl and the girl into a woman, one whose life was for many years a very busy and useful one, but she always remembered and often spoke of many of the events of her childhood as her lesson books; and if I tell you as much as I can remember, perhaps you and I may learn some lessons too.

Her first lesson was, I think, a very short text, "Thou God seest me." (Gen. 16:13.) Only four words, all very easy to write or spell, and yet they fell like a tiny seed into the child's heart, bringing forth fruit after many days. But I must not forget that if my story is to begin at the beginning, I must tell you her name. It was Elizabeth; but what is Florrie saying? That Elizabeth is not a very pretty name, and besides she thinks it is too long for a story. I am not sure that I quite agree with Florrie, for the old Hebrew name is rather a favorite one of mine. It has such a beautiful meaning, "the promise or oath of God," which has often reminded me of a lovely word in the letter written by the Apostle Paul to the Hebrew Christians, "For he is faithful that promised." (Heb. 10:23.) But suppose we call the subject of our true story Lizzie.

Who taught Lizzie to repeat her first text? She never knew how or where she learned it, but, as she could read with ease when only four years old, it is quite possible she found it for herself while turning the pages of a large-print Bible that always lay on the table in her mother's sitting room, and, though only a little child, a ray of light from heaven must have shone into her heart, and in that light Lizzie began to think about and try to understand her text.

“God can see—yes, He can see me," the child would say over and over again to herself. "How I wonder if He can see in the dark when all the lights are out? If I were quite sure, I would never be afraid to go to bed in the dark, for He would see me, and I know He would take care of me, for He is very good. And if He sees me always, He will know when I am naughty, so I will be good, and then God will love me.”

Poor little Lizzie was making a sad mistake, was she not, in thinking that God only loved good children? But I know grown-up people who are making just the same mistake. A poor woman told me only the other day that she was trying to trust Jesus, but she was afraid she was not quite good enough.

I knew she had been anxious about her soul for a long time, and I felt sorry for her, so sorry, that for a moment I hardly knew what to say; then I remembered that even a single verse from God's own word might help her to understand what His thoughts about sinners and salvation are, better than anything I could say, so I opened my Bible and read two short texts. One was, "But God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us." (Rom. 5:8.) And the other tells out, in words spoken by the blessed Lord Himself, the very heart of God to sinners: "For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life." (John 3:16.)

As Lizzie grew older she loved to read her Bible, and I think in its pages she must, while still a little girl, have found an answer to her question, "Can God see in the dark?" "Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee." (Psa. 139:12.)

I wonder how far the thought that the all-seeing eye of God is always upon us has been a real help to each of us to-day? Has it helped us to be more gentle, patient and kind to our school-fellows and playmates?

If we are conscious of His eye being upon us it would have a two-fold effect: we should seek on the one hand to avoid doing what would grieve Him, and on the other, try and do what He would approve.

Then comes the lesson that all have to learn, that it is only in the grace and strength which the Lord alone gives that anything can be done that will be pleasing to Him.

Chapter 2

“' Wherefore goest thou with me? '
Said the king disown'd—
Said the king deposed, rejected,
Disenthroned.”

LIZZIE was only a little girl, perhaps not more than seven or eight years old, but all through her life she remembered an evening on which she stood by her father's side, looking at a picture and listening with great interest to a story he was telling her.

The picture was one of an old castle standing in a deer park. The walls of the castle were very strong, and though the windows were too small to let in much light, the thickness of those ivy-covered walls was pierced by a number of long, narrow slits, or, as they were sometimes called, loopholes, telling how the castle had been built when England was far from a quiet, peaceful country. War had raged round those gray old walls, and showers of arrows had been shot through those loopholes by those within the castle on their enemies outside.

The story Lizzie was listening to was really a page of English history, and though our little friend was too young to understand or remember it all at the time, it made a deep impression upon her mind.

A hundred years before the time of our story the castle had belonged, her father told her, to his grandfather's brother, a young nobleman, who was much loved by the people among whom he lived. He was a brave soldier, and, better still, his poor neighbors and servants found in him a true friend and kind master.

He was rich, and might have been very happy if he could have forgotten that one whom he loved very much, a prince of the house of Stuart, was in exile, or, to make my story so simple that even little Millie can understand it, had been obliged to go away from his own country and live quite a poor man among strangers.

When the young nobleman, who was an earl, thought of the prince who had been his best friend, it made him so unhappy that he left his beautiful home and joined some friends who were trying to bring the prince back; and when he found they could not do as they wished, he proved his love by going to prison and even to death for the sake of the one whom he owned as his lord and master, for after being imprisoned for a time in the Tower of London, he was executed as a traitor on Tower Hill in the year 1716, and the grand old castle with its well-wooded park became the property of the king who then reigned in England.

Why have I told you this story, dear ones? Because it will, I hope, bring to your minds and hearts, as it has to mine, a Bible story of the time when King David was a wanderer, an exile from his royal palace, from his kingly throne. (2 Sam. 15:19, 20.) He must have felt very sad and lonely; but for him, even in those dark days, there were bright spots in the love of a few faithful friends, who shared his wanderings, not because they expected him to give them anything, but just because they loved him and wanted to be near him. And when the time for David's return to his palace came, we know that the friends who had been true to him in the days of his sorrow and rejection were honored and rewarded.

We have often heard that David was in many ways a type or shadow picture of the Lord Jesus Christ, and if we really know and love Him as our very own Savior, we shall want to know how we can please and honor Him. By owning Him as our Lord and Master, and seeking grace to confess Him day by day at home or in school.

I knew a Christian girl, whom I will call Ellen, who, on going to service for the first time, found she would have to share her room with a fellow-servant. As soon as she had unpacked her box she laid her Bible on the dressing-table, and before going to bed at night sat down to read a few verses, and then knelt in prayer.

Her fellow-servant, who was not a Christian, noticed all these things, and made up her mind to, as she said, "shake all her Bible-reading and praying out of her," so for quite a long time she behaved in a very rude and unkind way to Ellen, and if the Holy Spirit had not very often reminded Ellen that she served a rejected Lord, I am sure the young believer would have been discouraged; but the Master she served gave her grace to be gentle and patient, and when her fellow-servant found that though Ellen did not leave off praying or reading her Bible she was always ready to do little kindnesses or to help her with her work, she gave up her unkind ways and would sometimes even ask Ellen to read a chapter to her, and so then "faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God." (Rom. 10:17.)

Chapter 3

“Lead, light divine, amid th' encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on;
The night is dark, and I am far from home,
Lead Thou me on.
Keep Thou my feet, I do not ask to see
The distant path—one step's enough for me.”

IT was a dark, moonless night. Heavy storm clouds were drifting across the sky, and a few drops of rain had already fallen, warning the few passengers whose errands of business or pleasure led them to take a rather lonely road to lose no time in seeking the shelter of their homes.

I said the road was a lonely one, but do not forget, please, that the story I am telling is one of nearly seventy years ago. Rows of handsome, well-lighted shops and dwelling-houses now cover what was then only waste or open ground, where a little girl not more than six or seven years of age stood crying on the night of which I write, crying quietly, but very bitterly. Large tears dropped through her fingers as she tried to wipe them away with her cold hands, while every now and then a great sob shook the child's whole frame till she trembled like an aspen leaf.

It was our old friend Lizzie, lost, and, in a sense, stolen. Shall I tell you how it all came about? The short winter's day was beginning to close in, and Lizzie was only just home from afternoon school, when her mother, who had been busy all day with house-keeping cares, met her in the hall, saying, " I can't think how it is that Mr. Jones is so late sending the things I ordered this morning, when he knew I wanted them early. I wonder if you could go to the shop for me and tell him I am waiting for the fruit to make a cake, and bring the tea; and if you are very careful you may take the money and pay the bill. See, I have put it in this purse for you. Now take care you don't lose the money, and make haste to get back before dark.”

Now Lizzie dearly loved to be allowed to go real errands, and to pay a bill was, she thought, by far the most important piece of business she had ever been trusted with; so we may be sure she needed no second bidding, but, holding the purse tightly in her hands, set off at once.

She had not gone far before she was stopped by a tall, dark-faced woman, who wore a red cloak and carried a basket very much larger than her own.

Connie says she must have been a gipsy. Connie is right; the stranger was a gipsy, and, laying her hand on the child's arm, said in a coaxing tone, "Why, my dear little miss, how fast you do walk. It's almost more than an old woman like me can do to keep up with you. But don't be in such a hurry. I've something so good to tell you. I've just been to your house and taken you the sweetest doll you ever set your two pretty eyes on. Such a beauty! with blue eyes and long curls that shine like gold, and all dressed in pink and blue.

“And your mother said—what do you think she said? If you go down the street you'll see my little girl. Tell her you are to take her for a nice walk, and then you can come home and have your tea.'”

Lizzie would much rather have gone on her errand and hurried home, but at the moment her mind was too full of the new doll to notice that the gipsy did not look much like one of the visitors who came to her father's house; besides, the child thought she ought to be kind and polite to the unknown friend who had just brought her such a beautiful present. So she allowed the stranger to take her hand (the one that held the purse), though she found courage enough to say, "Don't you think we had better go to Mr. Jones's first? because I know mother is waiting for him to send the fruit.”

The gipsy was very cunning; perhaps the master she served—Satan, who was, we learn from the word of God, the "father of lies"—whispered one into the heart of his willing slave, for she said, in the same coaxing tone in which she had just spoken to poor Lizzie, "Oh, that's all right, my pretty dear. I saw Mr. Jones's boy at your gate, so your mother told me to take you for a nice walk.

“But what are you holding so tight in your hand? Something very good by the care you take of it. Why, it's a purse! Only think of your mother letting you carry a purse. Put it into your basket, and I'll carry the basket. See, I'll put it inside mine, and then the purse can't get out, and when we see your mother she will be pleased at your taking such care of it. She told me to see you didn't lose your money.”

Chapter 4: Lost and Found

FOR a moment Lizzie held her purse all the tighter. Her mother had told her to carry the purse, to take care of the money; and, child though she was, she felt as if in some way she should prove herself unfaithful to her trust if she allowed the purse to pass into other hands.

The gipsy saw she was unwilling to give it up, so she said in a loud, cross voice, "Don't you know I have got a way of my own of making little girls do just what I tell them, and it's a way that perhaps you won't like; so just be quick and give me the purse.”

Poor Lizzie was quite frightened, and allowed the stranger to take the purse, which she put into her own large basket, and the two walked on for what seemed to Lizzie a very long way. At last she ventured to say, “Please will you take me home now? It is quite dark, and mother will be so vexed if we keep her waiting for tea.”

“Well, my dear, and so I am taking you right home now. But you like going to shops, don't you? Just run into this baker's and say Mrs. Green doesn't want any bread to-day.”

Lizzie was wanting very much to get home, so she obeyed, thinking if she made her guide angry she might say she would not take her. When she came out of the shop the gipsy was nowhere to be seen. She had run away, taking with her Lizzie's purse and basket. More frightened than ever, the child wandered on a little way till she came to a piece of open ground at the end of the houses. Then her strength and courage seemed to give way, and she began to cry. She was lost, and she knew it. But soon one little gleam of comfort seemed to come into her heart. It was the text, "Thou God seest me." Yes, God could see her, lost, lonely and afraid as she was. I do not know the words in which the child spoke to the holy, all-seeing God. Lizzie never could remember what she said, but I am sure she prayed from her very heart, and always believed that her cry for help was heard and answered by God.

A lady passed, and, after going a little way, turned back, saying kindly, "Why don't you run home, little girl? It is going to be a wet night, and, besides, mother will be thinking you are lost.”

“I am lost," the child replied between great sobs, "and I've lost all my money. All my mother's money, I mean, and she will be so vexed, and I don't know which way to go.”

“Tell me who you are and where you live," said the lady.

Lizzie's name and address were soon given, and the stranger, who Lizzie felt sure would be a real friend, said— “Why, you have wandered a long way from your home; it will take us nearly half-an-hour to get there. But I can't go home and leave a little lost lone lamb like you out—such a wild night, too." Half-an-hour later Lizzie was safe at home, and though at first her mother, who thought her little daughter had been careless and disobedient, was angry and threatened to punish her, her new friend would not go away till she had received a promise that she should be forgiven; and so it was not long before Lizzie, who was very tired and almost worn out with her wanderings, was asleep in her own little bed.

Are you not glad that the lost child was found and taken safely to her father's house? But let me ask you, dear young friends, has anything just a little like the story you have been reading ever happened to you? Have you ever tasted what a sad thing it is to be lost? If you have I know how glad you were to hear of One who came from heaven to be a Savior, "To seek and to save that which was lost." I can say "I know" because I have gone through it all myself. The bitterness of knowing that I was lost. The joy of knowing that I had been sought and found by the Lord Jesus, the Good Shepherd, who gave His life for the sheep.

Another time I hope to tell you of the way in which the gracious One, who had taken care of poor lost Lizzie, made Himself known to her soul as her own precious Savior. But just now I must leave you with the question—Are you lost or found? Or in other words—Do you know the Lord Jesus as the One who has sought and saved you?

Chapter 5: The British Museum

ONE of the lesson books Lizzie dearly loved to study was one that some of my girl friends are in the habit of calling “rather dull." Of course, those only of us who live in or pay holiday visits to friends in London can say that we have really seen for ourselves the strange carving and picture writing with which the Egyptian Rooms of the British Museum are filled. But Elsie, who writes to me from a fishing village in Scotland, and Sybil, who lives in one of the prettiest of our east coast watering places, are saying they have not had an opportunity of going to the Museum, but would like to hear about Lizzie's visits.

I will try and tell them just a few of the things that she found most interesting.

I must not forget to tell you that Lizzie's father was a great admirer of old buildings, old pictures and old books: so it was perhaps from him that the little girl learned to feel herself at home among so many strange and new objects.

One set of glass cases she never seemed to get tired of peeping into were filled with very old lamps, vases, plates and many other things which Lizzie was told by her father had been really used by people who lived in Egypt more than three thousand years ago. One case was filled with children's toys, and Lizzie liked to look at these and think of the little children who had owned them and wonder what kind of games they played at.

“Can I tell you anything about the contents of that case?" Dolly is asking.

Yes, for I too have seen it, though such a long time ago that I am afraid I quite forget the names of some of the toys.

“Were there any dolls for the little girls?" Millie (who has quite a large family of wax and china babies) is asking. Yes, Millie, there were several, not quite like those you play with. Dolls in Egypt seem to have been carved out of one piece of wood. They must have taken a long time to carve, as many of them are very nicely done and show that great care was taken in forming the joints.

We have read in our Bibles about the chariots of Egypt, and know they were a kind of carriage in which kings and governors used to ride. Chariots, made of a strong kind of china or terra cotta clay, were favorite toys with the children of Egypt, and one with both its wheels broken made me think of the contents of some of the play rooms I get a peep into now and then.

But I must not write any more about toys, for I want very much to tell you about some curious bricks that some Bible readers I know, have visited the British Museum on purpose to look at. They are said to have been made by the Jews, or, as they are often called, the Children of Israel, when they were slaves in the land of Egypt. These bricks are made of clay that, after having been mixed with chopped straw, was worked into a paste and baked in the heat of the sun. Some of these bricks are broken, so that it is easy to see the straw. We might wonder why some of the bricks contain so much, others so little, straw. But our Bibles will answer the question that Percy was, I think, going to ask.

We have only to open our Bibles at the fifth chapter of Exodus and read from the tenth verse to the end of the chapter, and we shall know the whole story in the very words of Scripture. How the darkest, saddest time for God's people in the land over which the proud king Pharaoh ruled came just before they quitted it forever. Truly, a night of weeping followed by a morning of joy.

Lizzie was only a little girl at the time of which I am telling you, so it would have been, too much to expect her to think of or understand all she saw in the Museum, but on every visit she was learning, so we may be forgiven for calling old stories one of her lesson books, and the lessons they taught helped, I believe, in after years to make her the thoughtful, intelligent Bible reader she was.

Sometimes she was allowed to accompany her father on his visits to the Library of the Museum, and while he sat reading some volume of history or travel, Lizzie would steal away on tiptoe to peep into a case of curious old Bibles. Few, if any, of them were printed, for they belonged to a time when the art of printing was unknown in England.

They had been written in Latin, and though Lizzie could not read a word of that language, she liked to look at what her father told her were called MS. Bibles, for in some of them all the capital letters were brightly painted in red, blue and gold, while others had pictures of flowers and baby faces that seemed almost to smile at her from among the scrolls of the border.

Chapter 6

“Were I with the trespass laden
Of a thousand worlds beside,
Yet by that same path I enter
The blood of the Lamb who died.”

TO-DAY'S story shall be of very solemn yet very blessed things —solemn because it is a never to- be-forgotten moment in the history of a soul when light from God shows it itself as sinful, lost and unfit to stand before that great and holy Being to whom "the night shineth as the day." (Psa. 139:12.) Blessed, for it is not so much of seeking as finding that I have to write this time, and we have all read in our Bibles (Luke 15) of the joy of the shepherd who, having found his poor straying sheep, "layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbors, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost" (Luke 15:5, 6), and we know that the Lord sets before us a picture of His own joy in being a Savior.

I am not sure at what time Lizzie was what the word of God calls "born again." We know that from being quite a tiny child she had loved to remember that God could see her, even in the dark. But as she grew older the thought that at first had brought only joy and comfort became strangely mixed with fear. His all-seeing eye saw she was beginning to understand right down into her heart, and there was sin there, and that sin had borne bitter fruit. Sins of pride, selfishness, unkindness were there, and though no one had ever spoken to her about her need of salvation, and her father and mother always called her a good, obedient girl, the Holy Spirit had awoke her to a sense of her need and danger, and the question, "Whither shall I go from thy spirit? or whither shall I flee from thy presence?" (Psa. 139:7) was one Lizzie longed to answer, but could not.

Quite ten years have passed since the night of which I told you on which Lizzie had learned perhaps for the first time the full meaning of the words lost and lonely. She had left school, and as her father, who was in comfortable circumstances, said he did not wish his daughter to earn her own living, even by teaching (her own great wish had been to be educated for a governess), it was decided she should remain at home. She still read her Bible, and often prayed in secret. She could not yet call God her Father. No unforgiven soul can do that, and Lizzie did not know the forgiveness of sins. So another year or two went by, busy years, for as the eldest of a family of three, many household cares fell to her lot, while her brother and sister, both much younger than herself, made many and loud calls on her time and patience.

“A letter from Aunt Orpah," Lizzie exclaimed, as she looked at the postmark of a letter, little thinking as she carried it to her mother what important changes were very near for herself.

Her mother read the letter, then said, addressing Lizzie, "Your aunt sends you an invitation. She wants you to go to her at Reading and stay for some months. I hardly know how to spare you, but if your father does not object, the change will, I think, do you good.”

And so the invitation was accepted, and in little more than a week Lizzie found herself booked as an inside passenger in the coach that then traveled between London and Reading.

On the first Sunday after her arrival her aunt, who had been very poorly for some time, said she was sorry she did not feel strong enough to take her niece to church, and it was suggested that Lizzie should be allowed to attend a Gospel preaching with a neighbor. Lizzie's aunt did not care much for Gospel meetings, or for people who went to them; but as she thought staying indoors all day would be rather dull for Lizzie, she gave a rather reluctant "Yes.”

And so for almost the first time Lizzie listened with wonder and delight to the Gospel—the good glad news of the love of God to sinners. Hence, too, of salvation as a free gift to every one that believeth. Heard that it was possible to know her sins were forgiven because of the value of the finished work and precious blood of Christ.

Would she believe the message, accept the gift, thank the Giver, and rejoice in knowing that for her a new history had begun; that, loved and forgiven, she had passed from death unto life?

You shall hear all about it in our next chapter.

Chapter 7

“He found me, the lost and the wandering,
The sinful, the sad, and the lone;
He said, ' I have bought thee, beloved,
Forever thou art mine own.”

—From the German.

SERVICE, short and simple, was over, but Lizzie did not go away. She had heard—in a way that seemed quite new and altogether different from the preaching she had been used to—of the Lord Jesus as One who loved, who wanted her for His very own. Hers had long been a weary heart. No earthly friend, not even her sister, knew how weary. She had tried her very hardest to be what she would have called “good." But all her trying had only ended, as such efforts always must, in failure and disappointment.

So, when an invitation for any who wished to be spoken to about their souls to remain was given, Lizzie gladly availed herself of it. I am not going to try to tell you all that passed on that, to her, never to-be-forgotten Sunday evening. I could not even if I wished to do so, for whenever a soul really has to do with God, much that passes is and must ever remain a secret known only to that soul and its God. “The heart knoweth his own bitterness; and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy." (Prov. 14:10) But more than forty years after Lizzie spoke of it as the night of her conversion, the time when, as a poor lost sinner, she trusted herself to a mighty Savior, resting her whole soul upon His word. “All that the Father giveth me shall come to me; and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out." (John 6:37.) Why have I copied the whole verse? Because among my readers there are, I know, many dear young believers, and it would be a great joy to me to be allowed to awake a thrill of gladness in the heart of one, even though it may be only one of His little ones.

Have you never had a love gift? Perhaps some very tiny thing of no great value in itself. No one understands why you keep it so carefully, do they? But you know. It was a present, you say, from some one you love dearly, and that is why you value it. Yes, dear ones, and so a strange new joy springs up in the heart of a young Christian when spirit-taught it sees itself, it may be for the first time, as the Father's gift to Christ, in itself poor, weak and worthless, but yet "loved with an everlasting love," and not only loved, but given to Him by the Father, and so dear and precious to the heart of Christ.

But we must go back to Lizzie and her story. She had received two things— forgiveness of sins and the gift of the Holy Spirit. It is too much to suppose that on the Sunday evening of which I write she would have been able to tell any one exactly what her new possessions were. She knew that she was saved by the work of another, by the work the Lord had done upon the cross, though she had still to learn that the One who did the work and was risen from the dead has gone to a new place, and that only new things can suit that new place.

A great longing filled her heart that her own loved home circle might share her joy. The One who had saved her was, she felt sure, able and willing to save them too. She must tell them of her Savior, of the joy that filled her own soul. The time fixed for her return home seemed far too long to wait, so she wrote to her father, telling him of the One who had sought and found her, and asking his permission to attend the little mission room that had already grown so dear to her.

How was the letter received? If a bombshell had fallen in the middle of the family sitting-room it could hardly have caused greater surprise or displeasure.

Her father's brow darkened as he read the letter. He then, without speaking, handed it to his wife. Soon both parents began to talk it over, and, after a little while, it was decided that what they called "this sort of thing" must be put a stop to; that during the remainder of her stay at Reading she must attend Church, or remain indoors if her aunt was not able to go with her, and that on her return home she must not expect to be allowed to say much of her new-found treasure.

And so the letter from home received by Lizzie a few days later must have been a great disappointment, costing her, I have no doubt, many bitter tears. But it did her good in the end by casting her more simply on the Lord, by helping to form the habit of turning every difficulty and trial into prayer.

Chapter 8: At Home Once More

“And thou of gentle spirit,
Not formed for earth's fierce fight,
May yet be Christ's brave soldier,
And honored in His sight.”

WE may be sure the letter from home was a great disappointment. Lizzie, like many who have just tasted the joy of knowing the forgiveness of sins, thought she had only to tell her nearest and dearest of the One who had loved and given Himself for her, and they too would accept salvation as a free gift, and unite with her in thanking the Giver.

She was not one who talked much about her own joys or sorrows, so that I cannot say as a fact that I really know she cried over what must have seemed harsh and uncalled-for words of reproof; but it is quite likely that she did, and such tears are bitter ones. And yet they have their own afterward of blessing, for often, even though for a time the tear-dimmed eyes cannot see to read clearly the purpose of an all-wise and loving Father, another page of life's lesson book has been turned by the One whose own words are, "I am the Lord thy God which teacheth thee to profit." (Isa. 48:17.)

Perhaps one lesson Lizzie was to learn through her disappointment was that no power but that of the Holy Spirit can really bring a soul to Christ. I think I almost hear some one saying, "Then I cannot come to Him, for I do not feel that a power outside myself is drawing me to Him.”

Stay a moment, dear one, before you run off to your lessons or your play, and please do not be vexed with an unknown friend for telling you that you are without excuse, for the desire, however faint it may be, to know the Lord Jesus as your own trusted Savior is the tender, gracious whisper of that Spirit, an echo of the voice that once spoke on earth, but is, through the written word, speaking from the glory now, saying, "Come unto me.... and I will give you rest." (Matt. 11:28.)

Another lesson Lizzie had to learn was that, while she still owed a child's duty of obedience and affection to her father and mother, she was as a child of God brought into a new circle with new affections and new relationships.

The remaining weeks of her stay at Reading passed rather slowly, but they were not unhappy ones, for through her opportunities of meeting with Christians older and better taught in divine things than herself, her Bible seemed like a new book, and prayer was a great comfort and delight.

At last the day fixed for her return came, and in her longing to look once more on the dear faces of her friends, she forgot for a moment that she was not returning to her father's house exactly the same Lizzie who had left it only a few months before. The welcome she received was much less warm and cordial than she had expected, and it must have been a real grief to her affectionate heart to find that her father, whom she loved and honored greatly, was gravely displeased with the public way in which she had confessed her faith in Christ; and before many days had passed she was plainly told that except she gave up what were called her "absurd notions" she could not be allowed to remain at home.

Lizzie was sadly distressed. "Children, obey your parents in the Lord: for this is right" (Eph. 6:1) was, she saw, a very plain teaching of her much-loved Bible, but even this duty must not be allowed to interfere with faithfulness to Christ. She prayed much to be rightly guided, and the good great Shepherd who had been caring for her all along inclined the hearts of some of His own to offer to teach her the straw bonnet business, with a view to her afterward taking charge of a workroom in which a number of girls and young women were employed.

The offer was accepted, and with tear-filled eyes Lizzie said good-bye to the home of her childhood, never again to be more than a passing guest or casual visitor under her father's roof. And yet it was not alone that the young disciple went forth to suffer or to serve. Her Bible would be still her companion and guide, and from its pages the Holy Spirit was free to take precious gems of encouragement and counsel and make them in a new and very blessed sense her own. So she could look up and repeat faith's whisper and say, "When my father and my mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up." (Psa. 27:10)

Chapter 9: Life in a Workroom

“‘To serve Him' in the little things
None other eye can see,
Of which His love will one day say,
'Ye did them unto Me.'”

VERY different from anything Lizzie had ever been used to was life in a workroom—so different that at first she did not like it at all. But three little words, "For Thy sake," have sweetened many a bitter cup, and while her new duties were not at all the kind of work she would have chosen, deep peace filled her heart. Nor was the strange new joy, best known by those who have left something of worldly ease or pleasure to follow the Master—Christ—untasted by her.

Naturally quick and painstaking, she soon learned how to make plain and fancy straw plait into hats and bonnets, so that in less than a year she was placed in charge of the workroom as forewoman or over looker. She had not only to give out work and keep the accounts, but teach the apprentices, of whom there were often as many as eight or ten at one time, mostly young girls of from 12 to 16 years of age.

So another of Lizzie's lesson books had been placed by the tender care of her heavenly Father in her hands, and from its pages she was learning not only needed lessons of faith and patience, but she was being trained for work that lay before her, though of this she at the time knew nothing, During the years Lizzie had spent under her father's roof she had not known much of the wants and sorrows of the very poor. She had, it is true, often in her walks been saddened by seeing little children with shoeless feet and thin, pale faces. It had been, too, one of her weekly pleasures to save part of her weekly allowance of pocket money for an old blind man, who, guided by a faithful dog, found his way from street to street calling out in a shrill, loud voice, "Pity the poor blind"; but to the homes of the very, very poor she was quite a stranger.

About the same time Lizzie took a class of girls in the Sunday school, and though at first some of her scholars, who were very poor and rough children, were often rude and troublesome, they soon learned to love their kind, patient teacher, and the Lord gave her what she longed and prayed for-the joy of leading nearly all her class to know and trust her own precious Savior.

Mabel is asking a question. What is she saying? Will I tell you any true stories about Lizzie's scholars? I am afraid I don't remember any. But Mabel shall have her wished-for story, one that filled my own heart with gladness when not many weeks ago I heard it from the lips of a dear fellow-teacher.

“Poor Julia G—." Hers was a sad, often lonely life. Her mother having died when Julia was quite a baby, her father was very seldom at home, most of his money being spent in drink and his evening in the public-house, so the children (of whom there were several, Julia being, I think, the youngest) were much neglected, and often went to bed cold and hungry. No loving voice had told Julia the old sweet story of a Savior's love. Sin, we know, is in all our hearts, and before Julia was twelve years of age the sinful nature that was hers as a child of Adam had borne very ugly, bitter fruit, and Julia was known in the small country town where she lived as "a little thief." The neighbors would not allow their children to play with or even speak to her.

But there was One who loved her, uncared for and neglected as she was. Loved her, too, although He knew all she was and all she had done. Ah! you have guessed rightly, dear ones. The Lord Jesus was the mighty Friend I mean.

He wanted to make Himself known to her as a Savior, so in His grace He led her to where she could hear of Him as the One who had died for her. Hear of Him as the One "Who his own self bare our sins in his own body on the tree.... by whose stripes ye were healed." (1 Peter 2:24.)

No one seemed exactly to know how it was that Julia first came to our school in R—, but come she did, and was placed in my friend's class. How she got on I hope to tell you in my next chapter.

Chapter 10: The Absent Scholar

“From drear, dark places of the earth,
From depths of sin and shame,
He takes the vessels of His grace,
A people for His name.”

JULIA did not give her teacher any trouble; from the very first Lord's day she took her place in the class she was quiet and attentive. Her teacher, Mrs. M—, noticed with great interest how eagerly the poor child drank in every word, the only trouble being with some of her classmates, who showed by unkind ways and looks that they did not want poor Julia, one girl even saying in a very loud whisper, " My mother won't let me come to the school if I have to sit next a little thief.”

Poor Julia colored deeply, but said nothing. The Lord, who had brought her to Mrs. M—'s class, was watching over her and would not let her be turned aside. For about three months she continued to attend very regularly.

One Sunday, however, her place was empty. It was her first absence, and when her teacher asked, "Does any one know why Julia is not here?" one of the girls, whose home was near Julia's, said, “She has a bad cold, and has not been up today." Mrs. M—quite intended calling to see her scholar, but for her the week that followed was a very busy one, and not hearing any more of Julia thought she was probably better.

On her way to school the next Lord's day afternoon she was joined by one of her class, who said, “Oh, teacher, have you heard about Julia? She is dead. She died two days ago." Mrs. M—hastened to the cottage where Julia had lived, there to learn more of the grace that had not only saved the neglected child, but allowed her to bear a bright testimony for the Lord.

She had been ill for more than a week before a doctor was sent for. As soon as he saw her he said, "I am too late to be of any use—why did you not send for me before? The child is sinking fast, and cannot possibly live many hours." Julia heard all the doctor said, but she was not afraid. She knew the Lord Jesus as the One who had died for her—who had washed away her sins in His own precious blood. And, herself bright and happy in His love, she began to speak to others of the One who had saved her, telling her father and sister of the One who had saved her, adding, "You cannot go to heaven as you are—no one can go there in their sins. You must come to the Lord Jesus; you must trust my Savior.”

Did they listen to and believe the message?

I do not know, but it was, I felt, very gracious and tender of the Lord to allow them to hear of salvation from the lips of a little girl who knew and trusted the Lord Jesus as her own precious Savior. And when, only a few hours after, Julia died, still happy in the Lord, they seemed anxious to remember what she had said.

Do you not think the story of Julia an interesting one? I do. But we have left Lizzie and her scholars so long that I am almost afraid you may forget her.

Lizzie was a frequent visitor in the homes of her Sunday scholars, and as she was careful not to go at times when their mothers were likely to be busy, it is not too much to say that she was always a welcome one.

Nearly all of them were very poor, but what grieved and surprised Lizzie greatly was to find how little some of the grownup women who lived in the back streets and close-crowded courts of Stepney and Limehouse knew of the word of God; for though now and then she was cheered by meeting one who was a true believer in the Lord Jesus, by far the greater number were living thoughtless, careless lives. Many had no Bibles; some said they could not afford to spend money in buying even a cheap copy of the scriptures, and though Lizzie told them a whole Bible could be had for less than a shilling, and a Testament, in nice clear type, would cost only four pence, still some shook their heads, saying, "We can't read, so a Bible would not be of any use to us.”

What was to be done? Lizzie felt sadly discouraged in the midst of so much ignorance, but it is always good for us to be made to feel our own weakness, as when the lesson is really learned in the presence of the Lord, it casts us more simply on His unfailing strength, on His changeless love.

So, after much prayer and some months of waiting, Lizzie began an evening class, to which any of the mothers who wished to learn to read the Bible were welcome, and though at first the number of those who came was small, and a few who said "they found learning to read very dull work" got tired and gave it up, Lizzie worked patiently on, and fresh work, of which I hope to tell you in the next chapter was being opened up to her.

Chapter 11: Classes for Sewing

“Sweet sings the great choir of sorrow,
The song of the gladness untold,
To Him on the throne of His glory,
Who wept in the days of old.”

YET another page of Lizzie's lesson-book was about to be turned for her, though I do not think it was in the way she or any of her friends expected. Often as she had gathered her little class round her, or gone in and out among the poor, who were beginning to love and trust her as a friend, she had wished she could give more than a few evening hours to visiting the sick and poor, and the desire had very often been formed into a prayer that, if according to the will of God, the way might be made plain.

There seemed so much to be done; many of the girls whom she was teaching to read, wore very ragged clothes, and this was not only the case among the very poor, but even with some whose fathers were, she knew, earning good wages. All this at first puzzled Lizzie greatly, but after a few visits to their homes she found out the secret that many of their mothers did not know how to make or mend their own or their children's clothes.

So another class was begun, open to any who wished to learn how to sew. Lizzie, who was really very clever at cutting out, became its teacher, and often while she was busy with the needlework a friend would look in for half an hour, read a chapter from the Bible, and say a few simple but earnest words about God's way of salvation.

And "faith cometh by hearing, and hearing by the word of God." Before the end of the winter Lizzie was encouraged by hearing from more than one of the mothers that the blessing of the Lord had rested on the quiet little work, and they could now join truly in singing—

“Happy day, happy day,
When Jesus washed my sins away.”

I am not quite sure, but think it was in the year 1859 that an outbreak of cholera swept over the east end of London. So many were taken ill that the hospitals were soon so crowded that it was impossible to make room for any more patients, and though doctors and nurses worked till almost worn out, a great number of sick people could not be removed from their own houses.

What is Maggie saying? That she can never quite understand how it is that people take cholera and smallpox, and wishes I would tell her. Well, I will try to help her out of the puzzle, even though I am afraid some of our readers will think I am going to put them off with a nursing lecture instead of a true story.

We all know that, while a few plants and flowers grow from slips or cuttings, by far the larger number are raised from seeds. Now fevers, smallpox, and all the diseases that are called infectious—a long word, I know, but it only means that others beside the person who takes them first get ill and have to be nursed—like the pretty flowers that have made our gardens so bright this summer, grow from seeds so very small that no human eye unaided by a microscope has ever seen one, and yet with the aid of a powerful glass they may be counted by hundreds. These seeds are called germs; they sail about in the air we breathe, are in the water we drink, the food we eat, and hide away in every place in which dust is allowed to gather and remain.

Nellie looks quite grave, and says if there are so many germs it is quite surprising we do not all take some kind of fever. We Christians know it is the mercy of God that we do not; but God, who is the God of order, works by known laws, and one of these laws is that a germ cannot grow unless it is planted. The kind of soil it likes best is the body of some one who is weak, or tired, or hungry. As soon as a germ gets planted it begins to swell, and then divides into two; these divide again into four, and this division goes on so quickly, the doctors tell us, that in twenty-four hours one germ can multiply into several millions.

Perhaps our little talk about germs may help some of us to remember when we have any sweeping or dusting to do that we are really doing very useful sanitary work, and helping the doctor, as by keeping our houses clean we are driving away the germs, and so helping to prevent illness.

But you would like to hear more of Lizzie and her cholera patients. Well, we must wait for the next chapter, I think.

Chapter 12: Nursing the Sick

“See the shadows lengthen round us,
Soon the day-dawn will begin;
Can you leave them lost and lonely?
Christ is coming—call them in.”

MORE nurses and more visitors were required when the cholera broke out. Christian women seemed wanted everywhere, in the hospitals and in the homes of the sick poor. Lizzie knew that she might take the cholera from some one she visited, and be very ill, or perhaps die, but she knew, too, whose she was and whom she served. Knew, too, that death, if it came, could only set the spirit free to go home to her heavenly Father's house, where she would be forever with the Lord, who had bought her with His own precious blood, and as she thought of the many who were dying without God and without hope, the love of Christ constrained her, and she went forth, not only to carry food, medicine and other things sent to the sick by many kind friends, but to speak to them of One in whom her own soul was resting and rejoicing—her own loving, living Lord and Savior.

Her work began in Limehouse, a thickly-peopled district in East London, and I have often heard her speak of one sorrowful day when, on entering N— Street, the closed shutters or lowered window blind of nearly every house told that death had been very busy.

I am not going to tell you of all the sad things Lizzie saw and heard. But while there was much to sadden, there was also much to cheer. Many who had been living thoughtless, careless lives began to read their Bibles, and asked, "What must we do to be saved?" And though when the cholera outbreak was over a few of these went back to their old ways, showing plainly that they had never really tasted the converting grace of God, there were others who gave proof by changed lives that for them old things had passed away, that they had passed from death unto life.

Forty years ago very little was done to make the homes of the very poor comfortable or even healthy. What is now known as hygiene, or the law of health, seems to have been very little known or attended to, and Lizzie was often grieved by the untidy ways of the people she visited. It seemed so hard to persuade some of the mothers that it was wrong to allow a pool of dirty water to remain just outside their front door, or that the smell arising from a heap of potato parings, cabbage leaves, etc., was enough to make any one ill. But time and patience, with the blessing of the Lord, did much, and those who had known N— Street in the past said it looked more clean and tidy than it had done before the cholera visited it.

One of the mothers Lizzie visited interested her greatly. Mrs. M., as we will call her, was a Christian. Her marriage had not been disobedience to the word of God, "Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers" (2 Cor. 6:14), for when she became a wife it would have been hard to say whether her husband or herself was most careless as to divine things; but, about a year after, "the grace of God that bringeth salvation" (Titus 2:2) appeared to her, and she was truly converted. The Spirit of God puts new desires into the hearts of those who belong to Christ, and the great desire of Mrs. M.'s heart was that her husband might become a partaker of like precious faith, and she made it a matter of daily prayer.

But God, whose ways are not as our ways, saw it would be good for her to be kept waiting. For forty long years she went on praying, often sorely tried, but with a faith that never seemed to waver. Lizzie often united with her in prayer, and Mrs. M. would say, "Yes, miss, it does seem a long time, but I don't mind, for the answer will come—my husband will be saved. I cannot exactly tell you how I know, but I do feel quite sure of it.”

And in God's own time and way the answer came, though, as far as we know, the eyes of the faithful wife did not see it. Very suddenly, and only after one hour's illness, the Lord took her to be with Himself, and words spoken at her grave were used of the Lord to Mr. M.'s conversion.

After about four years of consistent Christian life he, too, fell asleep in Christ.

Mrs. M.'s true story will, I hope, encourage some of us who have begun to pray for unconverted relatives and friends to keep on praying, remembering the Master's words: "Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you." (Luke 11:9.)

Chapter 13

“I shall not be missed, though another succeed me
To reap down the fields that in spring I have sown;
Who plowed and who sowed is not missed by the reaper,
But only remembered by what he has done.”

TEN years of busy, happy work followed the events of which I told you in our last chapter, for though the cholera was a thing of the past, the need of a wise, loving friend who would go in and out among the poor people, teach the children, look after the young girls just going to their first places of service, show the busy, often tired mothers how their homes might be made brighter and happier, and their own and their children's clothes kept neat and tidy, seemed as great or even greater than it had been when Lizzie first visited among them, and she had learned to love her poor friends so well that the thought of having to say "Goodbye" made her quite sad; so it will not, I think, surprise you to hear that she never again took her old place in the work-room.

Her friends still looked coldly upon her, and as she had no money of her own until some years later, when the death of one of her aunts put her in possession of a small income, she had again to face the question, "How shall I earn a living?" And when some Christian ladies offered to give her a small sum weekly if she would devote her whole time to selling Bibles, holding sewing classes, &c., Lizzie accepted their offer.

Do I think she was right or wrong in doing so? I can hardly say, for all Christians have not the same light. But I know that those to whom the Lord makes it plain that they are to give up other work so that they may have more time for His service, serve One who is interested in their every need, One of whom the Apostle Paul could say when writing to the Christians at Philippi, "But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus." (Phil. 4:19.)

Every need may become a matter of prayer, for though it is quite true that all our needs are known to God, yet it is indeed

“Sweet to tell Him all He knoweth.”

But let us return to Lizzie. Her days were very busy ones. Shall we join her in one of her walks? Limehouse is now a thickly-peopled district of East London, but I remember having read that when Queen Anne was on the throne it was a pleasant village four miles from the great city, where many of the merchants had their shops or counting-houses, whose country houses were in what was then called "Limehouse-in-the-Fields," and I think this is quite true, for many of the old houses still standing are so large and well built that it is easy to see they once belonged to rich people. I have myself, on going to see a family of match-box makers who lived in an attic in one of those old houses, gone up a broad, handsome staircase with railings of oak so beautifully carved that I could not help stopping for a moment to admire and think of how "passing away" is written upon all things here. Many of the old houses have been pulled down, and those still standing have been turned into warehouses, or let to people who can only afford to pay the rent of one or two rooms.

Mrs. S—lived in one of these houses. Lizzie's knock at the door of one of the rooms on the second floor was answered by a low "Come in," and, opening the door, she found herself in a room that would have been a good size for one person, but was far too small for the wants of the whole family of father, mother and four children. In a low bed near the fireplace lay Mrs. S—, the sick woman Lizzie had called to see. It was not often she was to be found alone, but her husband, a laborer, was out seeking work, and the children had all gone to the ragged school in the next street. Lizzie was glad of the quiet time, as it gave her an opportunity to speak to Mrs. S—about eternal things.

For many months she had been very ill, getting weaker every day, though a stranger might have said, "Oh, no, it cannot be true; her eyes are so bright, and she has such a fresh color in her cheeks." Lizzie knew the poor woman was in almost the last stage of consumption, and that the doctor had said she would never be any better, and had perhaps only a few weeks to live. She had prayed much for her that the Holy Spirit would give her to see and own her need of salvation.

We may be sure the talk that morning was a very earnest, solemn one, and those of our readers who know the Lord Jesus as their own trusted Savior will be glad to know that before her death she trusted herself as a lost sinner to Christ, and was made so happy in the love of Christ that she was enabled in simple faith to leave her children in His care.

Chapter 14: Amongst the Working Men

“Go with the name of Jesus to the dying,
And speak the name in all its living power;
Why should thy fainting heart grow cold and weary?
Canst thou not watch with Me one little hour?”

SEVERAL other visits in the neighborhood of Mrs. S—'s had to be paid, and the morning passed quickly. Soon, after twelve o'clock the children coming out of M— Street ragged school gathered round Lizzie, greeting her as quite an old friend. She had a smile and kind word for each, then, with one hasty glance at her watch, passed on, for it was the men's dinner hour, and taking quite a large parcel of gospel books and tracts from her bag, she quickened her steps towards Millwall, where for some time a large party of navvies had been employed on a new dock.

Before I go on with my story I must tell you of one gift Lizzie possessed, in I think, a greater degree than any one I have ever known—a singular fitness for carrying the gospel message among rough men, not in any way taking the place of a teacher. This, we are clearly shown by the word of God, could not be a woman's work; but in numberless quiet ways she would go among them, either singly or when, as often happened during their dinner hour, they were in little knots, and after a few pleasant words about their homes and children, offer scripture portions or gospel books, rarely, if ever, getting one refused.

Sometimes a man would say, "It's no use my taking a book, I don't know how to read." Then she would say, "Oh, I see, you want to hear me read it, only you did not quite like saying so. Go on with your dinner. I don't think we shall be disturbed here." And taking her seat on a log of wood, or more often still a heap of stones, she would read aloud till the ringing of a bell called the men to resume their work, and, as Lizzie rose to go, she would often find she had been surrounded by quite a little group of attentive listeners.

In the later years of her life I have known her enter an East London public-house, and after having asked permission—a permission which it seems almost strange to say was never refused—she would go in and out among the rough, often noisy, men and women, who were standing or seated in the bar, give them tracts and often read or repeat a few Bible words.

One evening a man who was employed in cleaning cans, &c., followed her into the street, saying, “I never had a day's schooling in my life, and I can't read a word in a printed book, more's the pity! but my wife now is quite a scholar, and so fond of reading too; would you please give me a little book for her? she'll read it to me, and be proud to do it." And as a gospel book was gladly given, we may hope that its message was heard by one who seldom, if ever, came within the sound of the preacher's voice.

One winter the distress in Limehouse and Millwall was even greater than usual. A misunderstanding between the shipwrights and their masters had been followed by a strike. Hundreds of men were out of employment, and their wives and families were in great distress; there was a great deal of murmuring and discontent-in some places the men even talked of forcing their old masters to give them higher wages than was really just. I could take my dear young reader into streets where in those days even the police did not care to venture except two or three went together. But in the midst of all the sorrow and confusion Lizzie went quietly on with her work for the Master, visiting the sick and carrying messages of peace and comfort to the sorrowful and lonely.

I asked her once if she was never afraid during those troublous times. She answered, "No; He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty." (Psa. 91:1.) Ah! she had told the secret of her peaceful, happy life—simple, quiet trust in the wisdom and love of God. For her to dwell beneath His shadow was as real as it was blessed.

Her time was very fully occupied. She would, as a rule, leave home about ten o'clock in the morning, and, taking her dinner in a tiny basket, spend the day in visiting, going on in the evening to hold a girls' sewing class, or to cut out work at a mothers' meeting. She was well known, too, in the homes of the sick and in the chambers of the dying.

Lizzie has finished her work now and gone to be forever with the One who loved and gave Himself for her; were it otherwise, I should not be writing the story of her life; but it is sweet to think how some who heard from her lips of a Savior for the guilty and the lost may yet be her joy and crown of rejoicing in the day of Christ's appearing.

Chapter 15: A Welcome Friend

“In the desert God will teach thee,
What the God that thou has found:
Patient, gracious, powerful, holy,
All His grace shall there abound.”

FOR about ten years Lizzie was allowed to go in and out among the poor people, of whose homes and ways of getting a living our last chapters may have helped you, dear young readers, to form some idea.

Busy and I believe happy, Lizzie took a real delight in her work. And then—ah! then—the Savior- friend, who though unseen was ever near, saw it best for His own glory, best, too, we may be sure for Lizzie, that another page in the lesson book of her life should be turned for her by His own wise, loving hand. She had never been strong; ten years of almost constant work, for her holidays were short and by no means frequent ones, had told greatly upon her constitution. Perhaps, like many another busy worker, she had sometimes forgotten that the body is "the Lord's," and should be rested as well as used for His will and pleasure. The same Lord who of old said to His disciples "Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place, and rest a while" (Mark 6:31) was about to take Lizzie apart to a lonely place, to the quiet of a sick room, away from the busy mothers who had attended her sewing classes, away from the factory and watercress girls who had so often heard in her evening school words whereby they might be saved.

For some time her friends had noticed how tired she always looked, and the doctor had said a long holiday, not less than three months, might do her good. But she could not make up her mind to such a long absence from her much-loved work, and as she had a bright color in her cheeks and a pleasant smile and a kind word for every one, no one even guessed at the almost constant pain she suffered, or thought that the day she was to visit her poor people for the last time was very near.

A severe illness from which she never really recovered laid her aside from active work. For some weeks she was so very ill that the doctor, who was, I believe, a Christian man, more than once wished her good-bye, thinking that before his next visit the Lord would most likely take her to be with Himself. I have often heard her speak of the deep, quiet joy of that "waiting time," when she herself thought that for her the time when she should "depart to be with Christ" was so near that at any moment she might be forever with the Lord. Perhaps she may have said, in the words of another—

“I took the rest and stillness,
From His own hand,
And felt this present illness
Was what He planned.”

But the love that makes no mistakes knew that Lizzie's lessons were not all learned, her work on earth not done. It was quite a disappointment, she used to say, when a turn in her illness led the doctor to say, "Well, you are not going to leave us yet; you will pull through, but you will never be strong enough to visit or work as you have done." And then the most trying part of an illness that lasted for more than twenty years began. Days that soon grew into weeks and weeks into months and years of pain and weakness. Her circumstances, too, were trying, for having left her father's house for Christ's sake, she did not feel free to return to it an invalid, who could only give trouble, even if her friends had invited her to do so.

She was in lodgings, and as the person in whose house she lodged would not or could not undertake to nurse her, or even to carry out the orders of the doctor, and as she could not at that time afford to pay for the help of a trained nurse, she suffered much from the want of proper care and attention; but day by day she was learning never-to-be-forgotten lessons of the love and care of her heavenly Father.

After two or three lonely years a friend much younger than herself began to visit her. We will call this friend Ivy, as I do not think she would like me to tell you her real name.

Ivy had, when quite a little girl, been through grace led to trust in the Lord Jesus as her own precious Savior. She had been a lonely, thoughtful child. Perhaps it was her longing for sympathy rather than any deep sense of her lost condition as a sinner that at first the Lord used in bringing her to Himself; but she came, and it is not the way in which we come, but the One to whom we come that saves us.

Unlike in many things, they were sisters in Christ. At last the friendship that sprang up between the two lonely women grew so strong that they decided on making their home together—an arrangement that proved good for both.

Chapter 16: Days of Leisure

“Name of Jesus! highest name!
Name that earth and heaven adore!
From the heart of God it came,
Leads me to God's heart once more.”

From the German.

IF even a very little girl or boy were asked what is the meaning of the name of Jesus, I know of some who would be able to say—"We love to call Him Lord, but the name of Jesus means Savior." Yes, dear ones, you are right, and it was because the One who so many years before had made Himself known to Lizzie as her own precious Savior wanted her to know Himself better, to know, too, how His grace can cheer and sustain His own, even when the homeward way seems a long and trying one, that fresh pages of the lesson book, of which we have so often talked in these chapters, were being turned for her.

It was a real trial to her to find that, though after a time she was able to go for short walks, and so enjoy the fresh air and sunshine, the entire loss of voice, a trouble which lasted for several years, would not allow her to visit as she had been used to do. Once or twice she went in a Bath chair to see some in whom she was greatly interested; but, though we may be sure the busy mothers in their homes or the aged sick in the workhouse were glad to get even a look at their old friend—perhaps the Lord may have used these visits to remind some of Bible words they had heard from her lips in bygone days—all she could do was to give a text-card and say a few whispered words to each, and even the effort needed to do that little made her so very tired that for more than a week she was unable to leave her bed.

But "the Lord is good, a strong hold in the day of trouble; and he knoweth them that trust in him." (Nah. 1:7.) And His lovingkindness gave Lizzie in the closing years of her life many bright and pleasant things. You will remember she was no longer alone; a friend, who for more than twenty years was her constant companion, shared her home.

A slight addition to her income enabled her to do what the doctor had long wished, try frequent change of air and scene, in the hope that her health might be improved by spending some hours every day in the pure fresh air; and so for some years their little home in one of the suburbs was often empty for weeks together, while Lizzie and her friend sought change and rest, sometimes among the hop gardens and green lanes of Kent, sometimes in a very quiet lodging in one of our south or east coast watering places.

Perhaps many who will read these pages may have paid a holiday visit to Margate, but may not have seen the Grotto. It certainly is a most interesting place—at least, so think many of its visitors. I n the year 1859, just fifty years ago, some workmen were busily employed near Margate digging foundations, for a new school-room, when one of them came upon a large flat stone. He removed it, and found it covered the entrance to a flight of steps. Calling his mates, they got lights and went down, taking care not to breathe more of the air than they could help, as, from having been shut up so long, it had become so bad as to be quite poisonous.

On they went, and at last found themselves in a cave or grotto that looked something like narrow passages, the walls and roofs of which were covered with small shells. Great care had been taken in forming the shells into patterns, many of which were really very pretty and looking a little like the kindergarten work several of my little friends do so nicely. Up went the workmen again, eager to tell their friends what they had found.

Numbers of people went to see the shell cave, and a party of learned men went down by special train from London to learn all they could about it.

It was a strange old place, every one was sure of that; the hands that had arranged the shells into quaint pictures of birds and sunflowers must have returned to dust hundreds and hundreds of years ago; but for a very long time no one seemed able to find out by whom or for what purpose the work had been done.

At last some one found in a very old manuscript, written long before books began to be printed, an account of how the old Norse kings buried their dead. These Norsemen were, we know, the ancestors of the Danes, or people of Denmark. They had no Bibles; no light from heaven had, so far as we know, ever come into their souls. They did not know the true God, but worshipped idols. Some of their funeral customs were very strange. When one of their kings or chiefs died, his body was placed, with many curious ceremonies, in a boat; the boat also contained a great quantity of sweet-scented wood, gums and other things that burn readily.

These were lighted and the boat allowed to drift away to sea; but if the death were that of a queen or princess, the funeral took place in a cave near the shore, all the passages leading to it were covered with shell work, and the opening carefully closed up. So it is quite possible that the shell grotto in which Lizzie and her friend were so greatly interested may have been an old Norse burying-place. The grotto is, I believe, still shown to visitors, so perhaps some day any of our readers who visit Margate may have an opportunity of seeing it for themselves.

How glad and thankful we ought to be for our Bibles, the blessed book that has made known to us what these old sea-kings never knew, the only true God, who so loved the world, a world of sinners, that He gave His own beloved Son to be a Savior for all those who own to God their ruin and their need, and take salvation as His free gift. We receive a gift and thank the Giver, do we not? And then, ah! then we find that the Holy Spirit has put new affections, new desires, into our hearts, and we want to walk, at home or at school, in a way that will please and honor Christ.

But even these new affections and desires would not be of any real help to us if a new power, the Holy Spirit, had not been given. He alone can enable us to walk as those ought, who have been redeemed by the precious blood of Christ.

We often get humbled and cast down when we see how naughty and self-willed we have been; we would not be kept, we would not be led, and we are, as it is quite right we should be, sorry. But there is no need for being discouraged. We need not stay away from the Lord. He waits to be gracious, He loves to bless.

Chapter 17: In the Castle Grounds

“E'en now let my ways, Lord,
Be bright with Thy praise, Lord,
For brief are the days ere
Thy coming again;
I'm waiting for thee, Lord,
Thy beauty to see, Lord,
No triumph for me like Thy coming again.”

NOW, dear young friends, shall I tell you of a pleasant holiday visit Lizzie and Ivy paid to Hastings? It was a bright spring morning, the sea was almost as smooth as a sheet of glass, while close to the shore tiny wavelets danced and rippled in the sunshine. The heights leading to the ruins of the old castle, always an attractive object to visitors, were covered by the yellow blossoms of the wallflower; while in the castle grounds primroses grew on mossy banks or nestled almost lovingly at the roots of trees. It was a fair scene, and for a little while Lizzie and her friend enjoyed its beauty. Some such words as "O Lord, how manifold are thy works! in wisdom hast thou made them all: the earth is full of thy riches" (Psa. 104:24) may have awoke a praise song in their hearts. They talked for a few minutes about the history of the castle, for the gray ivy covered ruin has a history, and an interesting one.

Built in Saxon times, it seems to have been an important stronghold when William the First, then Duke of Normandy, landed at or near Pevensey, on the coast of Sussex, and as it is only seven miles from Battle, where, after hard fighting, the Saxons, overcome by the Norman troops, were forced to yield, and so William was placed upon the throne of England, Hastings Castle is believed to have been one of the first places in which the Conqueror held his court.

An old MS. book still kept in the British Museum tells us that at one of the gatherings of knights and nobles so frequent in those far-away times, his daughter, Adela, gave prizes to those who had fought most bravely. We, as we think of those days, cannot help feeling both glad and sorry, can we? Sorry, when we think of all the fighting and bloodshed, and of how often the lives of brave men were wasted over some foolish quarrel; glad that we have been taught such words as "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefully use you, and persecute you."

(Matt. 5:44.)

On leaving the castle grounds our two friends found a seat in a quiet spot, not far from the sea front. They had not sat long before they were joined by a middle-aged woman, whose dress and manner marked her as belonging to the working class. Hard lines, too, on her face told their own tale of how hard work rather than the weight of years had bowed her once upright form.

A gospel book was offered to and accepted by her. Some conversation followed, in which the stranger said “No, I am not what you would call a Christian. I have not taken salvation as the free gift of God in the way you speak of, but I cannot complain; God has been very good to me. I am poor, and I have had to work hard; but I am not so badly off as many. I have a niece living not an hour's walk from here who is deaf and blind too, poor girl.”

“Can she read with her fingers and write?" asked Lizzie's friend.

It took some thinking on the part of the stranger before Ivy's question could be answered. But, after a pause, she remembered having seen Annette, as we will call the afflicted girl, with some books which, as she said, would be of no use to a person who could not read them. She did not think much of her niece's writing, it being only, she said, like pinpricks all over the paper. Our friends smiled; she was, they knew, speaking of the Braille or dotted system of writing and reading which so many of the blind are now taught.

It was rather a long walk to Annette's home, but on the evening of the same day they found themselves at the address given. Annette could neither see her visitors nor hear what they said to her, but as one of them, who had been used to talk to deaf mutes, took her hand and finding she understood the sign and manual language began talking to her, Annette was able to enjoy their visit.

It was a great joy to find in Annette one of the Lord's hidden ones, one who really knew and trusted the Lord Jesus as her own Savior. She was, she said, very fond of reading, and was much pleased by the promise of some new books-a promise which was faithfully kept.

Annette is still living, and the books which have been sent to her from time to time-many of them portions of Scripture -have, there is reason to hope, been a real help and blessing to her soul.

Very few of the blind have a whole Bible, as one in raised, embossed or dotted type has to be divided into so many parts or volumes that it is not only very large but very expensive. A Bible in Moon's type is divided into sixty-four volumes and costs nearly £7. One in Braille type is much smaller, and can be bought for about £3 15s.

“The entrance of thy words giveth light; it giveth understanding unto the simple." (Psa. 119:130.)

Chapter 18: The Last Birthday

“There no stranger-God shall meet thee,
Stranger thou in courts above;
He who to His rest shall greet thee,
Greets thee with a well-known love.”

J. N. D.

ONLY one chapter of my story remains to be written now—the last—for Lizzie was very near the end of her journey, nearer perhaps than any of her friends thought; for to those who did not know her well enough to notice how rapidly her little strength was failing; she seemed not only brighter but better in her general health than she had done for months or even years past. But “the secret of the Lord is with them that fear him."(Psa. 25:14.) And Lizzie, I think, knew that the time of her home-going was not far distant. To her it was only going to be forever with the One who had loved her, and washed her from her sins in His own precious blood. She had never been a great talker, but when she spoke of unseen things it was with the quiet, happy confidence of one in the present enjoyment of them. "Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither have entered into the heart of man, the things which God bath prepared for them that love him. But God bath revealed them unto us by his Spirit" (1 Cor. 2:9) was a scripture Lizzie loved to dwell upon.

I do not think, however, that on the bright August morning when Lizzie and her friend Ivy left their quiet little home for their autumn holiday either really thought a parting was so very, very near, or that within a few weeks one would have entered into the rest of being forever with the Lord, the other leave the seaside lodgings where in past years the resting time had so often been pleasantly spent, and return alone to her home, that could only be to her an empty and silent one.

The watering-place chosen for their holiday was one on the South Coast; between it and the Isle of Wight lay the blue waters of the Solent. Lizzie, though she owned to not being quite well, went for daily walks and seemed to enjoy the change of scene and fresh sea breezes as much as she had always done.

For more than twenty years Lizzie's birthday had always been spent away from home, and it came before she had been quite a fortnight at S—. Now the children of God, who really know that they stand before God in a new place, won for them by the death and resurrection of the Lord Jesus, do not often think or talk much of birthdays, and I should not have told you of Lizzie's had it not been for two or three things connected with it. It was her last and she was seventy years of age, though she never gave those who knew her best, the idea of being so old; even the doctor who attended her in her last illness found it difficult to believe there had not been some mistake about her age.

The morning's post brought her quite a number of letters and tiny love tokens from absent friends, and when Ivy read her their kind wishes she seemed greatly pleased, and asked that some verses sent in one of her letters should be re-read to her. I will copy them, as perhaps some of our young readers may like to pass them on to some aged friend or relative—

THREE SCORE AND TEN.

Three score and ten, swiftly fly the hastening years,

Now through the sheen of smiles, now through the gloom of tears;

Now in the hurrying work, now in the quiet rest,

Now in the throes of pain—the good God knoweth best.

Three score and ten, still the saying, faithful, true,

That Jesus died for sinners; Ah! message ever new;

And the sinner loves the Savior, and loving learns to long

For the rest which now remaineth where love is cleansed from wrong.

Three score and ten! O, happy walk with God:

Happy for joy and sunshine, happy for chastening rod;

Dawn shall it prove of endless day, through which shall ever rove

Thy soul 'midst heavenly glory, bought with eternal love.

E. I. G.

Lizzie's illness began two days after her birthday, and though during the three weeks that followed she suffered greatly, the Lord not only kept her in perfect peace, but when the end came He put her very gently to sleep. The nature of her illness made it very difficult for her to speak plainly, but among the last words Ivy caught were, "Never leave Thee, never forsake Thee, no, never, never.”

“For if we believe that Jesus died and rose again, even so them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him." (1 Thess. 4:14.)

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