By the late Dr WOLSTON.
“THAT’S a doctor, an Edinburgh doctor; drives himself, with a spanking pair of little grey horses, in a light victoria, and goes at a great pace. Take stock of him; you will be sure to know him by his grey horses. Take stock of him.”
The speaker was standing on the platform of the Queen Street Station, Glasgow, and talking to a friend, the only occupant of a first-class compartment of the last train to Edinburgh, into which I had just stepped one evening in March 189—, after addressing a large gospel meeting. The speaker’s friend sat in the window seat near the platform. I took my seat at the further side of the carriage, but the above words, though intended only for his friend, were uttered in such a loud stage-whisper that I heard every syllable, and immediately began to ponder what I should do under the circumstances, and whether two could not “take stock.” More conversation followed between the two, generally in relation to a well-known Edinburgh doctor of divinity whose fame is worldwide, and whose ministry, I gathered, the occupant of the carriage attended. Just then the starting bell was rung, the guard whistled, the engine responded, and with “A comfortable journey to you,” the platform speaker departed, and we started.
I immediately took my seat vis-à-vis to my fellow-traveler, who was a man of about five and thirty, an intelligent-looking, shrewd, hard-headed Scotchman, and taking out my watch looked intently at it.
“We are off by the tick of the clock,” said he.
“It is a grand thing to be in time.”
“I quite agree with you,” I rejoined, “but —” and paused.
“But what?” interrogated he.
“May I ask you, If this were the last train for heaven, would you be in it, sir?”
“The last train for heaven,” said he, “I never had such a question as that put to me in all my life.”
“Very likely,” I replied. “Is it a bad question?”
“I will not say that, but I never had such a question as that put to me before.”
“Be it so, but as you say it is not a bad question, I will put it again. If this were the last train for heaven, sir, would you be in it?”
He paused a moment, looked very serious, and then rejoined, “I go to church every Sunday.”
“So does the devil, every day the door is opened.”
“The devil go to church—what does he go there for?” he excitedly asked.
“He goes there to hinder you and the like of you from believing the gospel, which you very likely hear there.”
“I never thought of his going to church.”
“If you had read your Bible carefully you would have thought of it, for the Lord Jesus, speaking of the sower who went out to sow his seed says, ‘Those by the wayside are they that hear; then cometh the devil, and taketh away the word out of their hearts, lest they should believe and be saved’ (Luke 8:1212Those by the way side are they that hear; then cometh the devil, and taketh away the word out of their hearts, lest they should believe and be saved. (Luke 8:12)). Satan knows the way of salvation better than most men that preach it, leave alone those who listen to it; and therefore when it is being preached he tries to take away the word, lest the hearer should believe and be saved.”
“I never thought of that, but I go to church regularly. I go to hear the great Dr. M—; you know him?”
“Oh! yes, I know him personally and also by repute as a preacher. Has he been the means of your conversion yet?”
“Well, I could not just say that, but he is a grand preacher.”
“I know that, but if you have not been converted to God yet, do you not see his preaching has not been of much good to you? What you need, my friend, is the forgiveness of your sins, the pardon which the Lord alone can minister, the salvation of your soul, the sense of peace with God, and shelter from the wrath to come. Have you got these blessings yet?”
These pointed queries led to a very plain interesting conversation, much too long to relate. He asked many questions, and was evidently fully aroused in a sense of the importance of his soul’s salvation Our journey to Edinburgh was more than half over when all of a sudden he exclaimed, “I see exactly what you are at.”
“Indeed, what am I at? “
“Oh you want me to be a real, downright Christian, and that I cannot be.”
“Yes, that is exactly what I do want. I would like you to be a real backbone Christian, and I do not see why you cannot be one, for I have never yet met the man that Christ could not save. Why cannot you be a Christian? “
“I am in the liquor traffic; I travel in beer for Messrs. —, and you know a man cannot be in that business and be a Christian too.”
“Well,” I replied, “I quite admit that the liquor traffic and all that is connected therewith is a very difficult business for a Christian to be in happily, if he wish to serve his masters faithfully and yet keep a good conscience.”
“Well then, you see, I could not be a Christian,” said he.
“Yes, you may be,” I replied, “and a Christian this night too, before the train reaches Edinburgh.”
“How?” he fervently inquired.
“You come to Christ where you are just now, a sinner in your sins; own them, judge yourself, repent before God, and believe in the Lord Jesus Christ. He says, ‘Him that cometh unto Me I will in no wise cast out.’ If you come to Him He will pardon your sins, and save your soul. You decide for Him, and He will deal with the liquor traffic all in due time. Just now it is the question of your soul’s salvation; get that settled, I beseech you.”
Struck by this rejoinder he fell back into his corner seat, and I, wearied with my day’s work, fell back in mine, and closed my eyes. A quarter of an hour rolled by in silence, and when I opened my eyes I saw him reaching across the carriage, preparing to speak to me. The moment my eyes were opened he said, “Do you ever preach?”
“Sometimes.”
“Where?”
“Very often in Freemasons’ Hall.”
“Freemasons’ Hall, George Street, Edinburgh?”
“The same.”
“I know it well; I was there last Thursday night at the Licensed Victuallers’ Ball.”
“That is the spot,” I replied. “The difference between you and me, however, with regard to it, is this—you go there to dance, I go there to preach.”
“When will you preach there next?”
“I expect to preach next Sunday week.”
“Would you have any objection if I were to come?” he earnestly asked.
“Not in the least; I shall be delighted to see you and your wife, and any of your friends you like to bring. We generally get a well-filled hall, but will make room for you.”
“I will be sure to come,” was his rejoinder; and having exchanged cards, and promised to send him a notice of some special addresses on the ‘Night Scenes of Scripture,’ which I was going to give on Sunday evenings, we parted company as the train pulled up at the Haymarket Station.
On the Sunday week I looked anxiously over my audience to see if my new friend were present, and just as the meeting commenced I saw him come in, accompanied by several friends, who, with him, took their seats at the bottom of the hall. He left immediately the meeting was over this night, as well as the two following Sundays, when I noticed that he was present. But thereafter I did not see him, and thought his case might have been like many others, where a passing spiritual impression gets worn off by contact with the world.
Two and a half years rolled by before I saw him again. My usual autumn rest in the Swiss mountains was over, and returning home by way of Croydon, I there held some special evangelistic meetings. Its largest public hall was packed to excess on Sunday night, and, during the course of the after-meeting, a Christian gentleman, resident there, came up to me and said, “There is a man sitting at the top of the room who is anxious to speak with you, Doctor. He says he is from Edinburgh, and was converted through you.”
Finding my way to the front bench I saw a very happy-looking man siting, who immediately greeted me most warmly, saying, “I am so glad to see you, Doctor.” A little taken aback, I made no answer for a moment, when he ejaculated, “You do not seem to remember me.”
“Well,” I replied, “your face seems familiar, and your voice, but I could not put a name on you.”
“Oh I am the man you spoke to in the train—don’t you mind?”
“I have spoken to a good many men in the train in my time.”
“Ay, ay, but don’t you mind me? I am the man you spoke to in the train coming through to Edinburgh from Glasgow.” Then by way of proving his identity he thrust his hand into his pocket and pulled out the card which I had given him just before we parted company at the Haymarket Station, and, pinned to it, the handbill of the meetings which I had sent him, according to promise.
“Oh! now I recognize you,” I said; “your name is B—. And are you converted?”
“Yes, thank God, I am converted, and my wife too.”
“And how did that come about?”
“Oh! through what you said to me in the train— I could not shake it off—and the meetings in the Freemasons’ Hall, and the little books I got at the door coming out.”
“But I only saw you there three times.”
“Oh! but I was there a great many more times than that. Look here (pointing to the handbill), I heard you all through your series on the ‘Night Scenes of Scripture,’ except the last two.”
“And you were brought to know the Lord then?”
“Yes, blessed be His name, He opened my eyes gave me the knowledge of the forgiveness of sins and made me the possessor of eternal life through faith in Him.”
“And what happened then?”
“Oh! I found, after I was brought to Christ, that I could not go on with the liquor traffic. I felt if I stopped where I was I should certainly be swamped, and I thought there was nothing for it but to make a clean break, so I gave up my situation and came down to a place about five miles from here, where my wife has some relations, to get clean out of the way of all my old associates.”
“And how came you here tonight?”
“Well, yesterday an old gentleman brought to my house a handbill of your meetings here, and when I saw the name I said to myself, ‘That is the man that spoke to me in the train,’ and I felt I must come in and see you.”
“I am very glad to see you, dear brother,” I replied, “and to find that you are now on the Lord’s side. But what are you doing to earn your bread now?”
“I am working on the estate of the Archbishop of Canterbury.”
“And is that situation as good as the one you had in Edinburgh?”
“Oh! no; I had I3. 2s. 6d. a week, besides commission, for selling beer. I have £1 a week now, but, thank God, I have a happy heart and a good conscience, and if I can just get enough to support my wife and bairns honestly, I want no more. I am a downright happy man now. I know the Lord, and I want to serve and please and follow Him.” And the joy that shone in his face was a thorough attestation of the truth of his words.
Assured of the reality of his conversion, I was only too glad to introduce him to a business gentleman in Croydon, who soon found him more congenial work, at pay approximating that which he gave up for Christ’s sake. Thus the Lord took care of the young convert, who had, through grace, been faithful to the light he had received.
Frequently have I seen B— in the south since then, and twice has he visited me in Edinburgh, as he came north annually to see his very aged parents who lived in Roxburghshire, and to whom he carried the news of the blessed Saviour he himself had found, before they passed hence—which both now have.
It has been often said that truth is stranger than fiction. The foregoing tale is a mere recital of facts, and, strange though it may read, it is the truth, and should encourage God’s children to sow the seed of His Word with liberal hand, in full assurance that fruit will be in evidence in due time. Fellow-Christian, devote yourself to God in the future as never before.
Reader, are you a Christian in the true sense of the word? A Christian is one who knows Christ as his own blessed, personal Saviour. Say not, like B—, “I cannot be a Christian.” If you are not one, own it, acknowledge it. However dark and many your sins may have been, Jesus’ blood can wash them all away. Heed God’s word, “The blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth us from all sin” (1 John 1:77But if we walk in the light, as he is in the light, we have fellowship one with another, and the blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin. (1 John 1:7)). Turn to the Saviour whom B— found. “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved” (Acts 16:3131And they said, Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, and thy house. (Acts 16:31)) now, just exactly as you are, and you will find that He will be to you, first of all, a Saviour, and then, no matter what your earthly occupation, a Deliverer. His Word says, “Ye are bought with a price; be not ye the servants of men. Brethren, let every man wherein he is called, therein abide with God” (1 Cor. 7:23, 2423Ye are bought with a price; be not ye the servants of men. 24Brethren, let every man, wherein he is called, therein abide with God. (1 Corinthians 7:23‑24)). If your occupation is honest, and you can keep a good conscience, “therein abide with God.” If the reverse, clear out of it, and trust the Lord. “Cease to do evil; learn to do well” (Isa. 1:16, 1716Wash you, make you clean; put away the evil of your doings from before mine eyes; cease to do evil; 17Learn to do well; seek judgment, relieve the oppressed, judge the fatherless, plead for the widow. (Isaiah 1:16‑17)), and you will find He will sustain you. So found our friend B—; so also have I found; and so also will you find.
W. T. P. W.