Let me tell you a story about a little French girl I once saw. She was much deformed and very poor; she lived in a little hut, among dirty rags and bones; she had no nice clothes nor toys: but, strange to say, she was very happy. This little girl’s name was Emilie. Her father was a rag-picker. The people in France do not put the dust into wooden boxes near their houses as you do in England; so in the evening all the dust and rubbish is carried out of doors into the streets, and early in the morning the dustman’s cart comes and takes it all away from each door. The “rag-picker” is a man who, when I was a small child, I thought looked very mysterious, and of whom I was terribly frightened. He turns out from his home at night, carries a small lantern, has a great basket fastened on his back, and holds in his hand a stick, with a sharp iron hook at the end. Then he makes his way to all the heaps of rubbish he can meet with, and picks up bits of paper, bones, rags, and such odds and ends as can be made use of in the mills. In the morning he brings his treasures home, and then the family circle sit sorting and arranging the various articles for sale.
These rag-pickers lived in one corner of the outskirts of Paris. As a body, they were not respectable. They lodged by themselves, they were neglected and fearfully dark and ignorant. A few years ago some devoted English Protestant ladies visited these poor people and brought to them the simple gospel. They were kindly received by the poor rag-pickers; and, after a little time, a room was taken, where, on Sundays, a band of rag-pickers came gladly to hear of the love of God. The priests tried to prevent the work, but they did not succeed, and the word of God prevailed. I happened to be in Paris one Sunday afternoon, and was asked to go and tell to my country people― “the Chiffonniers”―something that would do them good. I was very happy to go, but should never have guessed they were “rag-pickers,” so clean and neat did the men, women, and children look. It was at this meeting I found Emilie, the little dwarf. God had given hers very sweet melodious voice for singing, and she sang the beautiful hymn, “Oh, for the Robes of Whiteness!” in her own tongue. It was good to see and to hear Emilie, the little rag sorter: her faith, her trust in Jesus were so bright. She asked me to remember her always in prayer when I should hear this hymn sung. I have never forgotten to do so, thanking our dear Lord that the poor and the rich children are all alike precious in His sight. I believe I shall meet dear Emilie in heaven, and hear her sweet voice singing the new sang. Dear young readers, shall we meet there?
“If I come to Jesus,
He will bid me live;
He will love me dearly,
And my sins forgive.
If I come to Jesus,
He will take my hand,
He will kindly lead me
To a better land.
There with happy children,
Robed in snowy white,
I shall see the Saviour,
In that world so bright.”
J. L. M. V.