The Tract found by the Way-Side.
"Take away the dross from the silver, and there shall come forth a
vessel for the finer." --Prov. XXV. 4.
Every one knows in these days what is meant by a _religious tract_. It
is a little printed pamphlet, which is sold at a very low price, or is
still oftener given away, or dropped in the streets and lanes, that
those who either purchase, or accept, or find them, may read the truths
of the Gospel, and the good advice which they contain.
This is an old-fashioned way of imparting instruction, both to high and
low. It was in use, for instance, as early as the first days of the
Reformation, when some faithful Christians of Picardy, in France,
assembled together to read the Holy Scriptures, on which account they
were exposed to persecution, death, and above all, to be burnt alive.
These true disciples of the Lord Jesus composed and distributed, with
considerable difficulty, some little pamphlets, in which were taught
the doctrines of salvation by Christ alone, and in a form which enabled
the poor and ignorant to read and understand; for it was impossible for
them at that time to procure a Bible, which was not only a scarce book,
but cost a large sum of money: indeed, almost as much as a thousand
Bibles would cost in the present day, and which, besides, they could
not carry home and read quietly to themselves, as they were able to do
with a simple tract.
At a later period, and chiefly for the last fifty years, this method
has been adopted in almost all countries where true Christian churches
and societies have been established; and even now, millions of these
tracts, adapted to all ages and conditions of men, are published and
distributed every year.
It is, however, but too true, that many tracts thus distributed are not
_religious tracts_; that is to say, the substance of them is not in
conformity with the truth of scripture. Many are published for the
purpose of upholding false religion and wicked principles, and which,
consequently, do great mischief to those who read them.
And if it be asked, "How can a good tract be distinguished from a bad
one?" we thus reply to this very natural question.
A _good tract_ is that which leads us to the Bible; which speaks of the
love of God in Christ; and which encourages the reader to be holy from
a motive of love to God.
A _bad tract_ is therefore that which does not speak of the Bible;
which tells us that salvation may be obtained by human merit, and which
consequently would persuade us to be religious from interested motives:
that is to say, to obtain pardon by means of our own good works.
Those tracts, too, which speak of man's happiness as if it came from
man alone, and not from God, and which consequently deny the truth of
God's word: these must also be called _bad tracts_, and must therefore
be carefully avoided.
The good that is done by the distribution of good tracts, can scarcely
be believed. There are many families, even in prosperity, who never
tasted real happiness until some of these evangelical writings found
their way amongst them. The following anecdote is an interesting proof
of this:
The family of a vinedresser, in the Canton of Vaud, in Switzerland,
was, unhappily, as well known in the village in which he lived, for his
bad conduct, as for his impiety. The father, whose name we will not
mention, was a proud and hard-hearted man, both intemperate and
dissolute; and his wife, who thought as little of the fear of God as
her husband did, was what might be called a _noisy babbler_.
The pastor of the village had often, but vainly, endeavored to lead
these unhappy people to a sense of religion, but he was always received
by them with scoffing and ridicule.
The family was composed of the vinedresser's three children. The
eldest, Mark, was as haughty as his father, and although he was only
fourteen years of age, he was already able to join in the disorders of
his drunken and gaming companions. He was entirely devoid of any sense
of religion. His sister, Josephine, who was rather more than twelve
years old, possessed a more amiable disposition. The pastor's wife took
much interest in this child, who could not help seeing that her parents
were not guided by the Spirit of God. Peter, the youngest, was but ten
years of age, but his brother's wicked example counteracted all the
good which he might have received from that of his more amiable sister.
About the end of May, there was to be, in a village not far distant, a
match at rifle-shooting. It was a public fete, at which all the people
in the neighborhood assembled.
On the morning of this day, Mark had answered his father with great
insolence, at which he was so much enraged, that he punished him
severely, and forbad him, besides, to go to the fete. The father went
thither himself, and Mark, after a moment's indecision, determined not
to heed the command he had received, but to follow him to the
shooting-match.
He therefore took advantage of his mother's absence, who, according to
her usual custom, was gone to gossip with some of her neighbors, and
notwithstanding the remonstrances of Josephine, he hastened over fields
and hedges, to the scene of the match.
"What is this?" cried he, picking up a little pamphlet, with a cover of
colored paper, which was lying on the path near the opening in the
hedge. "Oh! it is one of those tracts they leave about everywhere; it
will do very well to load my gun;" and so saying, he put the tract into
his pocket, and ran on as before.
But when he approached the village where they were shooting, dancing,
playing, and making a great noise, he suddenly stopped, for he
recollected that if he should meet with his father, who was there, he
would certainly beat him, and send him home again, in presence of all
the people who might be assembled; besides, his brother Peter was there
also, and he might see him, and tell his father. He therefore kept at a
distance, behind a hedge, not daring to advance any farther.
"Supposing I read this book!" said he, at last, after having vainly
racked his brain to find out how he could be at the fete without being
discovered. "There is nothing in it but nonsense, I know beforehand;
however, it will occupy me for a while."
This tract was called "The Happy Family," and Mark became so much
interested in it, that he not only read the whole, but many parts of it
twice over.
"How odd it is," said he, when he had finished reading; "I should never
have thought it could be thus; this Andrew and Julia, after all, were
much happier than we are, and than I am, in particular. Ah!" added he,
as he walked on by the hedge-side, looking on the ground, "possibly
Josephine may have spoken the truth, and that, after all, the right way
is the one which this lady points out."
As he thought over the little story he had been reading, he retraced
his steps towards his own village, at first rather slowly, but soon at
a quicker pace, and he entered his father's house very quietly, and
without either whistling or making a noise, as he generally did.
"You have not then been to the fete," said Josephine.
_Mark_.--(A little ashamed.)--"I dared not go, I was afraid my father
would beat me."
_Josephine_.--"It would have been better, Mark, if you had been equally
afraid of offending God."
Mark was on the point of ridiculing her, as he always did, but he
recollected Andrew and Julia, and was silent.
_Josephine_.--(Kindly.)--"But is it not true, Mark? would it not be
better to fear God, than to be always offending him?"
_Mark_.--(Knitting his brow.)--"Yes, as Andrew and Julia did! would it
not?"
_Josephine_.--(surprised.)--"Of whom do you speak, Mark? Is it of "The
Happy Family," in which an Andrew and a Julia are mentioned. Have you
ever read that beautiful story?"
"Here it is," said Mark, drawing the tract from his pocket, and giving
it to his sister.
_Josephine_.--"Yes, this is it, exactly! But brother, where did you get
it, for it is quite new; did you buy it of a _Scripture Reader_."
"Did I _buy_ it?" said Mark, sullenly. "Do you suppose I should spend
my money in such nonsense as _that?_"
_Josephine_.--"Then how did you get it? Did any one give it you?"
_Mark_.--(Slyly.)--"Ah! they have often tried to give me some, but I
tore them to pieces, and threw them away, before their faces!"
_Josephine_.--"So much the worse, Mark! for the truth of God is written
in them, and it is very sinful to tear the truth of God in pieces."
_Mark_.--(Rudely.)--"But you see I have not torn this, for it is quite
whole! And as you are so anxious to know how I came by it, I found it
on the ground, near the road, and just beyond the brushwood."
_Josephine_.--"Ah! then I know where it came from. The Pastor's son,
and the two sons of the schoolmaster, have got up a Religious Tract
Society, who distribute them in all directions."
_Mark_.--(Reproachfully.)--"And pray why do they scatter them about in
this way? Can't they leave people alone, without cramming every body's
head with their own fancies. Let them keep their religion to
themselves, and leave other people to do the same."
_Josephine_.--"Do you think, Mark, that Andrew and Julia did wrong to
listen to their father and grandmamma, and to follow the precepts of
the Bible in preference to the ridicule of scoffers."
_Mark_.--(Softened.)--"I did not say _that_.... I think Andrew and
Julia were right; but ... come give me back the Tract; I want to look
at something in it again."
Mark then went away, carrying the Tract with him; and shortly after,
Josephine saw him sitting in the garden, behind a hedge of sweet-briar,
reading it attentively.
"Where's that good-for-nothing Mark?" demanded the vinedresser, when he
returned home at night half tipsy. "Did he dare to venture to the
shooting-match? I was told that he was seen sneaking about the
outskirts of the village! where is he now?"
"He went to bed more than an hour ago," answered his mother, "and was
no more at the shooting-match than I was, for I saw him reading in the
garden."
"Mark, _reading_!" replied his father. "What could he be reading? It
would be a miracle to see him with a book in his hand. An idle fellow
like him, who never did learn any thing, and never will!"
The vinedresser's wife was silent, and after putting poor little Peter
to bed, who was quite tired and weary, she managed to get the father to
bed also, and peace reigned for a season in this miserable abode.
Mark, however, who was not asleep when his father returned, had heard
himself called a good-for-nothing idle fellow, and he trembled from
head to foot, when he found he had been seen in the neighborhood of the
village.
"What a good thing it was," said he to himself, "that I did not go on!
It was certainly God who prevented me!" added he, half ashamed of the
thought because it was so new to him; but he determined no longer to
resist it.
On the morrow, to the great surprise of his father and mother, Mark got
up in good humor; he answered his father without grumbling, and when he
was desired to go and work in the field, Mark hastened to take his hoe
and spade, and set off, singing merrily.
"What has happened to him?" asked the father. "One would scarcely
believe it was he! Wife, what did you say to him yesterday, to make him
so good-humored this morning?"
"I never even spoke to him," said his wife, dryly. "You know how
whimsical he is."
"I wish he may remain in his present mind!" said the vinedresser; and
thereupon he went off to the ale-house, to talk with his neighbors of
the best shots of the preceding day.
Josephine related the history of the little tract to the good pastor's
wife, who advised her to meet Mark on his return from the field, and to
speak to him again of what he had read.
"Is it _you_, sister?" said Mark, in a happy tone of voice, as soon as
he saw her. "It is very good of you to meet me."
Josephine, who never received such a welcome from him before, was quite
delighted, and going up to him, she said, affectionately, "I want very
much to talk with you again about Andrew and Julia."
_Mark_.--(Seriously.)--"And so do I. I should like very much to
resemble them."
_Josephine_.--(Quickly.)--"Do you mean what you say, Mark? Have you
thought of it again since yesterday?"
_Mark_.--(Still serious.)--"I have thought so much about it, that I am
determined to change my habits. Yes, Josephine, I think you are right,
and that, after all, religion is better than ridicule."
The conversation continued as it had commenced, and when Mark returned
home, he went up and kissed his mother, who was just laying the table
for dinner.
"What's the matter?" said she, with some surprise; "you seem in very
good spirits, today."
"Nothing is the matter, good mother, but that I wish to alter my
conduct," replied Mark, seriously.
"To alter your conduct," cried little Peter, as he looked up in his
brother's face, and began to titter.
"And you, too, little Peter," said Mark, "you must become good, also."
"What a funny idea," cried the child, laughing. "_What_ has made you
turn schoolmaster, all at once? and, pray, when am I to begin?"
"We shall see by-and-bye," said Mark, kindly. "In the meantime, come
and help me to tend the cow."
"There is something behind all this!" said the mother and she blushed
to think that this change had not been occasioned by anything she had
said or done to him, herself.
When the father returned from the ale-house, they all sat down to
dinner, and as usual, without saying "_grace_." Josephine said hers to
herself, and Mark, who recollected Andrew and Julia, blushed when he
took his spoon to eat his soup.
After dinner, when they were out of the house, Josephine said to Mark,
"What a pity it is, brother, that papa does not pray before each meal."
"All _that_ will come in time, Josephine," said Mark; "I never prayed
myself, and yet ... I must now begin directly. But what shall I do?
Papa will be very angry if he sees me religious."
"I do not think he will," said Josephine, "for I heard him say to
mumma, this morning, that he should be very glad if your conduct
improved."
Mark blushed, but did not reply. He returned to his work without being
desired to do so, and his father, who was quite astonished, said to his
wife, "There is something very extraordinary about Mark. I wish it may
last."
"You wish it may last!" said his wife; "how can you wish that, when you
do not care to improve yourself."
"And you, my poor wife," said the vinedresser, "do you care to change
any more than I do? I think as to that matter, we cannot say much
against each other."
"Well, at all events," said his wife, "I am not a drunkard."
"Nor am I a tattler," replied the husband. "And for this reason let us
each think of our own fault, and if Mark is disposed to reform, do not
let us prevent him; for, my poor wife, _our_ example is not a very good
one for him."
Josephine, who was working at her needle, in the adjoining room, could
not help overhearing this confession of her father, and she felt the
more encouraged to uphold Mark in his good intention.
She therefore went again to meet him, and repeated to him all she had
heard. "I think," added she, "you will do well to relate what has
happened to our father and mother, and read them the little tract."
"Not yet," said Mark, "for my principles are not sufficiently strong.
It is but an hour since the ale-house keeper's son laughed at me,
because I told him I would not play at nine-pins with him, during
working hours. He asked me if I was becoming a Methodist, and I did not
know what answer to make. However, I trust I am already improving, and
I have read the little tract again for the third time."
"Oh!" said Josephine, "we ought to read the Bible, and we do not
possess one."
"True," said Mark, somewhat surprised. "I never thought of _that_. We
have really no Bible in the house! Indeed, this must not be," he added,
looking on the ground, and striking it with his spade.
"What shall we do, then?" said Josephine, "for it would be very nice to
have one."
Mark became thoughtful, but said nothing. From that day his conduct was
always regular, and his habits industrious, so much so, that his
father, who was never in the habit of showing him much kindness, said
to him, at the dinner table, and before all the rest of the family,
"Well, my good Mark, tell us what has happened to you; for it is very
pleasant to us to see how well you now behave. Tell us, my boy, what
has been the cause of this improvement."
"It was from this book," said Mark, drawing it out of his pocket, where
he always kept it.
"What book is it?" said his mother, scornfully. "Is it not some of that
horrid trash, that"...
"Be silent," cried the father. "If this book has done good, how can it
be horrid trash? Do sour grapes produce good wine?"
"But," replied the mother, bitterly, "I will not have any of those
books and tracts in this house."
"Well, for my part," said the vinedresser, "I will encourage all that
teach my children to do what is right. Mark has worked well for the
last eight days; he has not occasioned me a moment's vexation during
the whole of that time, and as he says that this book has been the
means of his improvement, I shall also immediately read it myself.
Come, Mark, let us hear it. You can read fluently; come, we will all
listen. Wife, do you be quiet, and you too, Peter; as for Josephine she
is quite ready."
Mark began to read, but he could not proceed far; his father got up and
went out, without saying a word, and his mother began to remove the
dinner-things.
But as soon as the family re-assembled in the evening, the father said
to Mark, "Go on with your reading, Mark, I want to hear the end, for I
like the story."
Mark read, and when he came to that part of the tract, in which the
Bible is mentioned, the vinedresser looked up to a high shelf on the
wall, where were some old books, and said, "wife, had we not once a
Bible?"
"Fifteen years ago," she answered, "you exchanged it for a pistol."
The vinedresser blushed, and listened with out farther interruption
until Mark had done reading. When the tract was finished, he remained
silent, his head leaning on his hands, and his elbows on his knees.
Josephine thought this was the time to speak about the Bible, which she
had so long wished to possess, and she went up to her father, and stood
for some time by his side without speaking.
Her father perceived her, and raising his head, he said to her, "What
do you want, Josephine, tell me, my child, what do you want to ask me?"
"Dear papa," said the child, "I have long desired to read the Bible,
would you be so kind as to buy me one?"
"A Bible," cried her mother, "what can _you_ want with a Bible, at
_your_ age?"
"Oh! wife, wife," said the vinedresser, much vexed, "when will you help
me to do what is right?" "Yes, my child," he added, kissing Josephine's
cheek, "I will buy you one to-morrow. Do you think there are any to be
had at the pastor's house?"
"Oh! yes, plenty," cried Josephine, "and very large ones too!"
"Very well then," said the father, as he got up, and went out of the
house, "you shall have a very large one."
"But," said his wife, calling after him, "you don't know how much it
will cost."
"It will not cost so much as the wine I mean no longer to drink!"
replied the father, firmly.
He kept his word. The Bible was purchased on the morrow, and the same
evening the father desired Mark to read him a whole chapter. The
ale-house saw him no more the whole of that week, and still less the
following Sunday. His friends laughed at him, and wanted to get him
back. He was at first tempted and almost overcome, but the thought of
the Bible restrained him, and he determined to refuse.
"Are you gone mad, then?" said they.
"No," replied he, "but I read the Bible now, and as it says, that
drunkards shall not 'inherit the kingdom of God,' I listen to what it
says, and I desire to cease to be a drunkard."
"You see," said Josephine to Mark, as they accompanied each other to
church, "how good God has been to us. We have now a Bible, and it is
read by all at home."
_Mark_.--"Have you been able to tell the pastor's son how much good his
tract has done us?"
_Josephine_.--"I told his mother."
_Mark_.--"And what did she say?"
_Josephine_.--"She said, 'God is wonderful in all his ways,' and that,
'He which hath begun the good work in us, will perform it until the day
of Jesus Christ.'"
_Mark_.--(Feelingly.)--"Who could have thought that when I went as a
rebel to that Fete, that God was there waiting to draw me to himself.
But, dear Josephine, there is yet much to be done."
"But," said Josephine, "where God has promised he is also able to
perform. He has told us to pray in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Let us do so, and you will see that God will renew our hearts, and make
us wise and good."