THE TEMPTER TRIUMPHS.
"Did the lady give you nothing more?" inquired Mr. Walters, as William
handed him the money for the shoes and mentioned the new order. He had
been pleased with the boy's ingenuous honesty shown a day or two
before, and was now in a more sunny humour than usual. The old
watchman, too, had come in for a half-hour's chat, and was sitting in
the back shop, from whence Mr. Walters had come. "What did she give
you?" he repeated, as he saw the boy hesitate.
William blushed, stammered something inaudible, and looked at Jem
Taylor, who, as master's back was turned so that he could not see him,
made signs to our hero to conceal the truth. "I am sure she gave you
something," cried the master, now growing angry; "tell me the truth
this moment."
The poor boy now recollected that he had spent part of it, and was
more embarrassed than at first; the nods, winks, and smiles of the
vicious journeyman were aiding in the struggle to conquer the boy's
virtue, and at last triumphed. The anger of Mr. Walters was now fully
aroused. He seized his young apprentice by the shoulder, and in a
voice of thunder repeated the question; to which, pale and trembling,
more from the terrible conflict within than dread of the uplifted arm
of his cruel master, he answered, "_I did not get any money!_"
Dear young reader, the first step on the downward road is the only one
that costs, the rest are easy; and our poor hero, the child of
Christian parents, the subject of many prayers, had listened to the
voice of the charmer, and now he stood on the verge of the dangerous
boundary line. Was he to fall, or would God, whom he had been taught
to love and honour, shield him in his perilous situation? Ah yes; for
is there not One who, loving the wretched and suffering children of
the earth--One who, touched with the feeling of man's infirmities,
took on himself the likeness of sinful flesh, and dwelt among them,
administering mercy to all? Wherefore in all things it behoved him to
be made like unto his brethren, that he might be a merciful and
faithful High Priest, to make reconciliation for the sins of the
people. For being in all points tempted as we are, yet without sin, he
himself having suffered, he is able to succour them that are tempted.
And there were purposes of mercy in store for the orphan boy, when the
chastisements with which God sees good to inflict on the children of
his love should have passed away. This trial of his power to resist
temptation was _permitted_, in order to show him that a better
strength than his own was necessary, and that it is only through the
divine Helper that any can be delivered from the power of the great
enemy "who goeth about as a roaring lion seeking whom he may devour."
Mr. Walters at once recognised the falsehood our poor hero was tempted
to tell; and although he was in the habit of beating him for almost
every offence, the chastisement on this occasion exceeded any that had
gone before. Severe indeed were the blows rained down on his back and
shoulders; less, indeed, intended as a punishment for the falsehood,
than a pouring out of his own wrathful spirit on the child, who for
the first time had manifested a spirit of opposition to his will.
Poor boy, every bone in his body ached; but what was that in
comparison with the anguish of soul he endured? Conscience, that sure
monitor, proclaimed with its still small voice, "Thou hast sinned
against God;" and he longed for the hour when he could be alone, and,
like erring Peter, "weep bitterly."
It was Saturday evening, and work was left off at an earlier hour than
usual. And well was it for our hero that Jem Taylor was too much bent
on the pursuance of his own low pleasures to remain a moment after the
signal was given to cease work. Perhaps more poison would have been
instilled into the soul which had been found vulnerable; perhaps such
a line of proceeding prompted as would have proved, if not ultimately
successful, at least productive of much suffering; for the blessed
Scriptures tell us that "transgression shall be visited with the rod,
and iniquity with stripes."
He was sitting alone in a corner of the shop when the shrill voice of
Mrs. Walters was heard calling him to "go to Burton's for milk." He
obeyed, and wiping his streaming eyes, with an attempt to look
cheerful, he entered the neat little room, where he found his friend
Thomas, who had left the scene of strife unobserved.
"Sit down, Will," said he, in a kindly tone, that, going straight to
the boy's heart, once more unlocked the fountain of his tears; "the
old woman is taking her bread out of the oven, but she will be here in
a moment."
"I dare not stay," replied the boy; "I must go home and come back
rather than wait. Mrs. Walters always scolds if I stay."
"I will go with you and carry your excuse," rejoined Thomas; "but
there is one thing about which I have long wanted to ask you. I never
see you dressed clean on Sunday, or going to church. Have you never
been accustomed to hear the word of God preached on the Sabbath, or
attended a Sunday school? It is no wonder that falsehood dwells in the
hearts of those who do not honour the ordinances of God; or that lies
are spoken by such as do not know that 'He who is the Truth abhors the
lying lips.'"
The tears of the orphan boy now flowed freely, and a deep blush
mounted to his temples. "O Mr. Burton," he sobbed, "how gladly would I
go to church and Sabbath school, as I did when my parents were living;
but I fear I am growing wicked, for at times I have bad feelings, and
to-day I told"--he could not bring himself to say a lie--"what was not
true."
"I know you did," said Thomas; "I was in the back shop and saw you
punished. God grant you may never need another chastisement for the
same cause. But here is the old woman, and although I would like to
talk to you a little, I must not suffer you to do wrong by staying a
moment longer than necessary. How would you like to go to church with
me to-morrow afternoon?"
"If I only could," replied William, "I would be glad; but I have a
great deal to do on Sunday, and I am afraid Mrs. Walters will not like
to spare me."
"I will ask her, and I am sure I shall not be refused," said Thomas;
"but here is your milk--come, I am going with you."
Mrs. Walters, either being in a better humour than usual, or wishing
to appear amiable to her respectable neighbour, not only took no
notice of William's rather long stay, but consented he should spend
Sunday evening with the watchman.
Great lightness of heart would have been his in consequence of this
consent, had not his spirit been weighed down with the burden of his
sin. He felt how blunt are all the arrows of adversity in comparison
with those of guilt; and how insignificant are all the trials imposed
by cruel men, contrasted with the pain of soul caused by the sense of
having displeased God.
Twilight came on, and with it he sought the quiet of his comfortless
attic. Its rude walls and squalid furniture were, however, not now
noticed; its privacy and seclusion were all that his soul desired. He
threw himself on the pallet which served him for a bed, and wept
bitterly as he thought of his parents, who had taken so much pains to
teach him to abhor a lie, and recalled the words of his mother, who
constantly admonished him how much better it was to suffer wrongfully
than do wrong; and bitter was his self-reproach, that for the sake of
a paltry sixpence he had told a lie, and in doing so sinned against
the God of truth, whose word declares that "lying lips are an
abomination to the Lord."
Oh, how guilty he felt! how humbled in his own estimation! and with
deep and bitter repentance he bewailed his error, and entreated pardon
from Him who for Christ's sake will always hear the penitent when they
pray, and help them in their time of trial. "My heavenly Father," was
the language of his anguished heart, "I have sinned, and am most
unhappy; save me from temptation, or give me strength to resist when
it comes."
It was long before the violence of his grief passed away, and when it
did, feeling no inclination to sleep, he went to his trunk for his
Bible, which latterly he had somewhat neglected. As he turned over the
articles which lay within it, most of which he had brought from home,
and which served most vividly to recall the happiness of his earlier
years, his eyes rested upon the portfolio of his father's drawings,
which lay on the bottom, and on which he had not lately looked. As he
opened it a folded paper fell from between the leaves. He took it up
and opened it--it was the little drawing which he had made in the
church-yard; and as he gazed on it he recollected the stranger who had
coloured it, and with remembrance of him came that also of his
spiritual conversation. He read the words written on the back: "Watch
and pray, that ye enter not into temptation;" "Watch that you may
pray, and pray that you may be safe;" and the tide of tears once more
burst forth.
"I was not watchful," he said; "I did not pray as I ought; but I will
try never to forget my duty again."
His tears could not soon be restrained; but as he read such passages
from his Bible as his mother had taught him to understand,
tranquillity gradually stole over his heart, and although he still
wept, his tears were not so bitter as at first. Oh, blessed religion
of Christ! that can bring a balm for every human grief; that tells the
weary and heavy laden where to go for rest and solace; that tells the
desolate of a home and inheritance in a land where there is no sorrow;
and bids the sin-sick not despair, for there is mercy in Christ for
all, and God hath no pleasure in the death of the sinner, but would
rather that the wicked turn from the evil of his way and live: it
tells of a love which does not willingly afflict, but when, in
mysterious but unquestionable mercy, it lays the cross upon our
shoulder, it also gives the support of its divine strength, "making
the rough places plain to our feet, and the darkness to be light about
our path." He who bore a cross, "the heaviest cross," can also lighten
the burden of all our trials; and although he may not see good to
remove them, he can remove their oppressive weight by the bestowment
of the spirit of patience, which teaches implicit obedience to our
heavenly Father's will. And now, as the refreshing dew falls silently
and unseen upon the sun-scorched earth, and all nature revives to
renovated life, so did the gentle but powerful influence of the gospel
precepts shed peace and hope upon the heart of this desolate boy.
Trusting in the orphan's God, who has declared "he will never leave
nor forsake those who call upon him," he grew calm as he recalled the
abundant promises of God, and, comforted by the holy assurance they
afforded, his agitation subsided into calmness, and at last he sunk
into a calm and quiet sleep.
The Sabbath morning rose bright and beautiful, and the sacred silence,
evident even in the crowded city--for the usual sounds of labour and
of sport are hushed--was soothing to the sin-wounded spirit of the
poor orphan boy. His first thought on awaking was the remembrance of
his sin; his first work, to ask forgiveness and seek strength for
present duty and future trial; and in the stillness of heavenly
communion he found the peace promised to all who trust in the Lord.
Pale and serious, but with a happiness to which he had long been a
stranger, the influence of the Holy Spirit was operating upon his
heart. He felt that he had been in danger of straying from the fold of
the Good Shepherd, and that he had in mercy been saved by the trial
which showed him that he dared not trust to his own strength. Nothing
occurred to mar the quiet of the day. Mr. Walters was quiet, though
somewhat moody; his wife did not scold as usual; and when, in the
afternoon, Thomas Burton came in for our poor hero, there was no
objection made to his going, but permission given for him to stay with
the Burtons until bed-time.
Walters could not well refuse Thomas any favour. Not only was he
obliged to respect this humble Christian for his consistent walk, but
he owed him a large debt of gratitude; for when he and his family all
lay ill at one time of an epidemic fever, the Burtons, when no one
else would go near the house, waited on them day and night. He was a
little mortified that the good watchman had been witness of his
violent behaviour on the day before,--he feared some expostulation on
the part of his worthy neighbour; but Thomas wisely forbore to say
anything at present in the boy's behalf, thinking he could serve him
better by silent observation, and not interfering until a suitable
time.
Very pleasantly did this Sabbath-day pass with William. How he enjoyed
the service in the plain church where the Burtons worshipped! It
reminded him of home days, and in the softened mood of his heart every
word uttered by the preacher told. The beautiful words of the text,
which the Saviour spoke to his disciples, "Let not your heart be
troubled; ye believe in God, believe also in me;" and its following
words, in which the Comforter is promised,--came like healing balm
upon his wounded spirit, and he bowed his soul in humble gratitude to
the great Head of the Church, who, in suffering him once more to enjoy
the privileges of the sanctuary, had also satisfied him with spiritual
food.
The evening passed pleasantly away, although the conversation, turning
on the events of the preceding day, brought a blush to William's pale
cheeks and tears to his eyes. The old watchman, although rude and
uneducated, was yet a true Christian, and as such, admonished the
desolate child with all the tenderness of a father. When our hero told
him how he had been tempted to run away on the day the shoes fell into
the gutter, and how harshly he had been treated, not only on that
occasion, but always; and how hard it was for him to observe the rule
of duty, which he well knew, when Jem Taylor, the only one who ever
showed him any kindness, was always advising him to pursue a course to
which the human heart is naturally inclined, but which his conscience
told him was wrong.
"That is all very true," said Thomas; "but you must remember that all
set out on a race for one stopping-place, to which there are two
roads. You have read in your Bible about the wide and the strait gate.
'Enter in,' it says, 'at the strait gate; for wide is the gate and
broad is the way that leadeth unto destruction, and many there be that
go in thereat. Because strait is the gate and narrow is the way that
leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.' Now, my boy, God
has taken away your earthly joys, and made the way narrow to you;
hedged your path with thorns, and caused you to weep bitter tears
every day. We know, too, that no affliction for the present is joyous,
but grievous: and as our light afflictions, which, in comparison with
eternity, endure but for a moment, work out for us a far more
exceeding and eternal weight of glory; so God has filled your way with
trials, difficulties, and thorns, that, taught so early in life to
deny self and fight against sin, you, as you progress, will find the
narrow path grow easy and pleasant, and find at the end everlasting
life. Now, the temptations of Jem Taylor are easily resisted, if you
will read your Bible _prayerfully_. 'Thy word is a light unto my feet
and a lamp unto my path.' 'Through thy commandments I get
understanding,' says David; 'therefore I hate every evil way.' And if,
when tempted, you strive mightily, and call for help on Him who hath
promised to aid in the hour of trial, he will bear you through the
whole conflict safely, and at last give you a crown of life."
William drank in the old man's words, and could have listened longer,
but it was growing late. The good watchman must be at his post; and
even while speaking he was putting on his overcoat, and, taking up his
lantern, was soon prepared to traverse his nightly round.
Having promised he would return William safely, he proposed that they
should leave together; but not before Mrs. Burton had wrapped up half
a dozen nice rolls, which she gave him; and William, looking up in the
old man's face, said, "You will not forsake me?"
"No, boy, no, that I won't," was his reply; "but try to do all that
conscience tells you is your duty, and then you will have a better
Friend, worth more than a whole host of mortal men."