WHAT a curious looking old place, and what a peculiar position it is in to be sure! and yet one cannot but notice the great improvements that have been made since the old people came into it. It is only quite recently that one would have expected to find cabbages and other vegetables growing in the garden, as the place seemed such a wilderness, but now sweet-scented wallflowers and other plants adorn the garden all the way down to the beautiful stream that flows along its edge.
The house had been almost in ruins for years, but certainly it is astonishing what a little labor and ingenuity can do towards making even the dingiest looking place attractive and comfortable. But I must not stay talking about the garden, but go inside the house, and see how the poor old man is, as I am told he is very unwell. How is it there is no response to my knock? Surely there must be someone in?
On opening the door, I hear, or fancy I hear, a feeble voice saying, “Come up.” But where can the way up be? There is only one room downstairs, and a place where firewood is kept. Surely the staircase cannot be out of this little side place? But so it is. It is the most comical sort of staircase, or apology for one, you could possibly imagine. I, however, soon get to the top, and am there greeted by a feeble old man, who strives to come to meet and welcome me. The only furniture in the room is a four-post bedstead, one chair, and a log of wood. The old man kindly offers me the chair, but I soon make a seat of the log of wood, drawing it near to the cheerful fire which is burning in the grate.
“Well, my friend, how are you today; are you getting any better?”
“Thank you, sir, but I am only very poorly just now. I’m a’most choked with cold. The parish doctor came to see me today, and he says I’se suffering from bronchitis. And what grieves me most is, that if I don’t soon mend a bit I shall have to be put on the parish, and I don’t like the thought on it a bit. As long as the good Lord gi’es me health I can work and scrat together enough to buy the few things as I want, but when I’se feeble like this, I’se good for nowt at working. But I must bide the Lord’s good time, bless Him. He’s always stuck to me, and helped me through before, and maybe, aye, I’m sure He will agen.”
“I’m very sorry to find you so weak in body, but tell me, are you quite happy in your soul?”
“Aye, sir, that I am.”
“And what makes you happy?”
“What makes me happy? Why, for a poor old man like me to know that my sins are forgiven, and that God loves me and cares for me. I can’t help being happy when I think of all He’s done for me, and the way He has taken care of me so many years.”
“And what makes you think your sins are forgiven, my friend?”
“Why, because the Saviour died a’ purpose to take ‘em all away, and He did it.”
“And how long is it since you knew these things?”
“Ah! it’s a vast o’ years sin’ I first gave Him this poor owd heart o’ mine, that it is. Maybe it’ll be forty years sin’.”
“And what kind of circumstances have you been in all these years?”
“Bless the Lord, I’ve never wanted meat all these years, nor health either, until lately. You see, sir, I was the first to start the stick trade in this town. I began when a young man. I had a pony and cart, and have gone to the different woods roundabout wherever I knew they were felling trees, and they lets me have a pony load of branches for a shilling. These I tie up in bundles, and take them round the town to sell.”
“And how far do you go now for your sticks?”
“We go nine miles to the woods, and nine miles back. This is a good day’s work to get the sticks, tie them in bundles and bring them home, My poor old wife here, who is o’er seventy, always goes wi’ me; but, oh, dear! the wet days in the woods give us such bad colds. We can’t stand ‘em now as we used to do. We thowt nowt about a wetting when we were younger, but this dreadful bronchitis seems to pull me to pieces. Oh, sir! if me and the owd woman hadn’t the Lord to comfort us, what a dreadful thing life would be to us.
“Aye, dear me! I’ve seen a lot of folk taken away in my time, that I have. My first wife was a dear, good creetur, that she was! I had her over thirty years, but the Lord took her away from me. I buried her in K—burn churchyard, about four miles from here. She was always a sick ’un, but, my! wasn’t she a good creetur! And then there was Billy Watson, a great strong chap, and he was taken away after a few days’ illness. I knew him well. I used to speak to him about his soul, but he always said, Oh, it’s all right, I isn’t agoin’ to bother mysen just yet awhile.’ But now he is lying near my first wife in the churchyard.
“I’ve been with scores on ‘em when they died, and, oh, dear! wasn’t it grand to be with those who knew Jesus when they passed away. It was splendid to see ’em so happy just when they were going through the dark valley. It did one’s soul good to see ’ern, that it did. Nearly all my owd friends have left me and gone to glory some time sin’. I seem to be almost alone in the world now.
“I sometimes sit here and think about all the good times we used to have when I was younger. Aye, but we used to have some grand meetings in our village. Some of us used to meet together in our little cottages, and pray for the farmers and our neighbors, until they gave their hearts to Jesus. And, my word, didn’t we pray! The Lord seemed at one time to make us pray day and night. We could hardly sleep for praying, we were so anxious about the people’s salvation. It used to be, Jimmy, just come and pray with me a bit.’ And another would say, ‘Come in, Jimmy, and let’s pray a few minutes.’ And, oh, my! didn’t the good Lord send us lots of blessing. It seemed as if all in the village was shouting out, Oh, my poor soul! Oh! what a sinner I’ve been! God have mercy on me, a big sinner!’ And God did have mercy. He led the people to the Saviour, who soon set them right by showing them that He had died for them.
Aye, yes! it does me good to think about those good times again.”
“I’m sure it must do, my friend,” I said; “and how blessed it is to remember that the Lord who has blessed you so much is the same yesterday, today, and forever.’ He loves you as much now as He did then, and He has promised, ‘My sheep shall never perish, neither shall any pluck them out of My hand.’”
And as I looked at those aged faces, beaming with true happiness, the happiness which Jesus alone can give, I could not but feel what apo wer and a reality the grace of God is in the heart. It makes a man live above his circumstances and his trials. These people are thankful, delighted and happy when God puts into the hearts of kind people to send them even a little pudding, a packet of tea, or any other kind gift. They praise God for the mercies they receive, whereas so many receive a thousandfold more than these poor people, whose hearts scarcely know a note of praise or thankfulness to their heavenly Father. These poor folk are happier than scores of rich people I know, whose enjoyments are only found in the attractions and magnificence of many of this world’s pleasures. These are fleeting, and most of them have, like the serpents, hidden stings, whereas the real pleasures, which alone can satisfy the cravings of the soul, are centered and found in that salvation, which makes us sons of God and heirs of eternal mansions and happiness.
It is quite refreshing, after visiting people who are much better off and much more discontented with their lot, to go to this poor old cottage, where, destitute of nearly every comfort which in this nineteenth century-civilization seems almost to be a necessity, these poor, tidy, God-fearing old people are patiently toiling on, straggling against poverty and sickness, working honestly with their remaining strength and thankfully praising God for every mercy, however small, which the good Lord sends them.
If any unsaved one reads these lines, remember, though you may possess much gold, you are poorer than these stick gatherers; if you do not know the love of Jesus and the salvation He gives, your treasure will have to be left behind, whereas these poor people have their treasure in heaven.
And, dear Christian, there is also a lesson for you in this simple narrative. Do you never murmur or feel discontented, or weary or discouraged, because of the way? Think of the bright light shining from this poor cottage, where the circumstances seem to be all against them. If God can enable Joseph to serve Him in Egypt, Daniel to pray and trust when in the lions’ den, Paul and Silas to sing praises and rejoice whilst their backs are bleeding from the blows of the cruel lash, and their feet tied in a loathsome dungeon, surely we, who are more favored, ought not to murmur or distrust, but live as Paul would have us when he says, “Rejoice in the Lord alway: and again I say, rejoice.”
R. M.