IT was a dull, cloudy, showery day, early in the month of April. There was no ray of sunlight able to pierce its way through the heavy atmosphere that surrounded the peaceful looking village of T—y. With slow, thoughtful steps, I passed through the quiet, narrow, and old-fashioned streets which lie near the center of that secluded hamlet.
Months had passed away since I had resided in its well-known locality, and now for a short time I had returned on a visit to a friend.
Many a greeting from friendly voices sounded familiarly upon my ear as I proceeded to my destination, and as I recognized one and another, and pondered upon the changes which had passed over many a countenance since last I had looked upon it, my own heart found special rest and comfort in thinking of the ever-changeless One—Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and forever." Into my mind came sweet, restful thoughts of His love—His constancy—His all-sufficiency for all times, all seasons, all places.
Occupied with such thoughts I was unaware that hasty footsteps were seeking to overtake mine, until a hand placed upon my shoulder, and a strange voice aroused me. The speaker was a good-natured looking woman of some forty years of age, the wife of a well-to-do tradesman in the village.
I've been trying to overtake you, miss," said the good woman apologetically, as I turned towards her, half-wondering at being thus accosted by her. “I wanted to let you know at once how ill poor little Ethel J. is, and to ask if you could see her. Alay be if you could, you'd have a chance of speaking a word to her. She's not long for this world, I fear, miss."
A few more words of explanation, and I understood clearly the cause of her anxiety. Ethel J., of whom she had spoken, was the daughter of parents who had very earnestly striven to rear their child in the faith they themselves professed. At the same time they anxiously desired that their daughter should have every educational advantage that money could procure, and regretted there being no school in the neighborhood suitable.
Ethel J. had at one time been a pupil of mine; and now, as the good woman spoke to me of her sad state, how well could I remember the bright, eager face of my former favorite, and recall her intelligent questions and answers over our morning Scripture lessons. Well I knew that, even at that time, dear Ethel loved to read the word of God, and to speak with childish delight upon the many beautiful stories it contained. On account of this she had been suddenly removed from our instruction and sent to a nunnery at some distance, in order that her studies might be pursued under other influence. There the dear child had remained for the past two years. From time to time I had heard of her during that period; but I was not aware that she had been brought home in a far-advanced stage of illness; and, as the good woman told me the sad story, and added her fears that none would speak to her of Jesus as the only Saviour of sinners, my heart yearned over the dying girl, and I longed to speak to her of Jesus, the one "Mediator between God and man."
Fully aware of the difficulties which I might have to encounter, very earnestly I cried to God for an opportunity to speak yet once more to the dying girl of the love of Jesus. And He, who is the hearer and answerer of prayer, was true as ever to His promise, "Ask and ye shall receive."
A few hours later I stood in the sick chamber to which I had scarcely dared to hope that I should gain admittance. Wan and almost as white as the pillow upon which it rested was the face of Ethel, while the thin, transparent hand resting on the coverlet told its own tale of weakness. I needed not to be told that the mortal career was indeed drawing to a close. Silently I took my seat at the bedside, while the sick girl's large, lustrous eyes turned towards me with a piteous expression that I car never forget. Then followed a longing, beseeching look at the mother, who was standing near, and I understood it all. Ethel longed to be with me alone, as in the days of old. To ask such a boon from the watchful mother might be but to hinder the present opportunity, and close the way already so unexpectedly opened. But He who has “the hearts of all men in His hand " gave an answer beyond all expectation.
“I will leave you alone with Ethel a little, Miss B.," said the weeping mother a few moments later, as the sick girl still lay looking towards me beseechingly. “I wouldn't leave her with anybody else, but she always so clung to you," and so saying, the mother left the room. Oh! how I thanked God for His wonderful mercy, asking, too, for right words to speak to that sin-sick soul.
With her head resting on my arm, Ethel told me of the terrible burden of sin on her soul-of the knowledge she had that she was passing away from this world unsaved, unforgiven.
Silently I gazed upon one thing after another in that bed-chamber. The crucifix, the rosary, the sculptured Madonna all these were there, silently proving their utter inability to give one thought of peace or hope to the conscience-stricken soul.
With a full heart, I silently lifted the Missal at the sick girl's side. “There is no peace here," I said, as, after a moment's pause, I held the book before her gaze. "There is no peace here-no pardon for sin.
The crucifix, the rosary, the Madonna cannot help you at this solemn moment; they cannot wash away one sin from your soul; neither can the priest forgive you; he has no power to absolve you-no sacrament that will make you white and clean, fit for the presence of a holy God. No! your soul is, indeed, black, sinful, vile. God has said, ' The soul that sinneth, it shall die.' But listen, dear Ethel.
There is One who has come down to this earth and died instead of you. God's holy claims were all met when Jesus suffered on the cross, the Just for the unjust, to bring us to God.' So perfect was that one atonement, that all who believe in Him are justified from all things.' The spotless Lamb of God laid down His life and shed His precious blood that your sins might be put away by the sacrifice of Himself. The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin.' "
It was enough. Like a wonderful light streaming into her dark soul came the joyful news of that one atonement-that one sacrifice. Weary vigils, long fastings, we Marias, all were forgotten now, as the dying girl drank in the sweet story of a crucified but now risen Saviour. She learned that she, a sinner, must be washed “white in the blood of the Lamb."
"All sin—all sin," she repeated. “The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin.' I believe it. I'm ready to go now, and I long to see Him and thank Him for it."
As I laid the drooping head on the downy pillow, such a look of wondrous brightness passed over the young girl's face as she returned my smile, that I could only bless God, out of a full heart, for another redeemed soul over whom the Father was now rejoicing.
Bitter was the disappointment of the parents when they learned the change that had passed over their daughter's mind. Sorely grieved were they that she steadily refused the consolations of the "Church."
“There is but one atonement, mother," Ethel would say-" one sacrifice. 'The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all sin.' My soul is white in the blood of the Lamb."
Once more I stood by the sick girl's side. Sweet flowers perfumed the chamber. Every comfort that love could devise had been provided with lavish care. But they might not long detain the happy spirit from the presence of her Saviour. Already the death-dew was on the marble brow, but the radiant eyes recognized me, and the scarcely audible words came once more in response to my whisper—
“The—blood—of—Jesus—Christ—cleanseth—from—all—sin."
A few hours later, and all was over. The priest came and went. His useless ceremonies were not needed in that chamber of peace.
Five days later, the precious remains of Ethel J. were interred with all the pomp and ritual of a Romish funeral. But the happy spirit of dear Ethel was in the full sunlight of the presence of the Saviour who had died for her! Feathery plumes might wave above the hearse, and heavy incense be wafted through the air, but it was nothing to the ransomed spirit. She was "absent from the body, present with the Lord."
How had she reached His blissful presence? “Not by works of righteousness which she had done," but by God's grace, for He had given dear Ethel to believe the wonderful message of the love of a Saviour whose “precious blood cleanseth from all sin."
Dear reader, can you say, “I know Jesus as my Saviour! His precious blood cleanseth from all sin.' My soul is made white in the blood of the Lamb? " M. V. B.