bad enough to neglect the dying wish of a friend like that."
"Ah! let us take heed that our own words condemn us not," faltered
Grace. "We have seen that the love of the Saviour to us has exceeded
all other love; has not our ingratitude to Him exceeded all ingratitude
beside? On the very night before He suffered, did not the Lord utter
the words, 'If ye love me, keep my commandments?' And how has that
dying charge been fulfilled? Have we not, at least too many of us,
quite forgotten the Saviour? Have not our hearts been as cold and dead,
our conduct as careless and sinful as if we had never known His love,
or heard of His holy commandments?"
"Well, well, we all go wrong sometimes; but the Lord won't judge his
poor servants," said Ann, in a tone which seemed to say, "Let's have no
more of this preaching."
[Illustration: But the heart of the heathen whom he addressed
seemed cold and hard as the iron itself. What cared Tippoo's servant
if the prisoner suffered, what cared he if he died?]
"If we be His servants!" exclaimed Grace, with earnestness, "but let
us not forget that God's Word declares, that 'if any man have not
the Spirit of Christ, he is none of His'; yea, the Lord Himself hath
said, 'He that is not with me is against me; no man can serve two
masters,'—if we be not heartily upon the Saviour's side, we are upon
the side of the world and Satan."
"It's just like this, I take it," said the nurse, "it's just as if
Baird had chosen to forget all about his country and his duty, and had
gone into the service of Tippoo, and had even fought in his cause."
"He'd have been a vile rebel," cried Ann.
"And have been punished as such," observed Grace. "What would have been
to him the name of Englishman? It could only have increased his shame;
and what to us will be the name of Christians, if we are found in the
ranks of Christ's foes? Oh, let us pray that we may be of the number
of those who are saved from wrath by His death, and freed from sin's
prison by His grace, and who bravely fight in His cause against the
world, the flesh, and the devil! To such the victory is certain, to
such the crown is sure; we shall be 'more than conquerors through Him
who loved and gave Himself for us.'"
Grace ceased, for her strength was exhausted; but a feeling of peace
and hope, such as she had not known before since her accident, stole
over the lady's soul. She felt that she had done what she could;
however little that might be, and that the Lord would not despise
the one talent which she sought to lay out for Him. Grace sank into
refreshing sleep, with the promise sounding in her ears, "They that be
wise shall shine as the brightness of the firmament, and they that turn
many to righteousness as the stars for ever and ever."
The Voyage
"Oh! is not this delightful!" exclaimed little Minnie Mayne, as she
sprang upon the deck of the steamer which was to take herself and her
mother back to their beautiful home in Scotland.
Mrs. Mayne, a widow lady, was returning from a visit to an aged parent
in London. Her child had become very weary of dull brick streets, and
the noise and smoke of the city. Minnie longed to see her bright home
by the sunny lake, to feel the breeze on the healthy mountains, which
to her young eyes were more beautiful than any other scene upon earth.
Mrs. Mayne and her daughter had come to London by land, so this was
the first time that Minnie had ever entered a steamer. Everything was
new, and everything seemed delightful. The child promised herself great
enjoyment from the voyage, as well as from the arrival at home.
With curiosity and pleasure Minnie surveyed the scene around her. The
deck piled with luggage, the funnel black with smoke, the compass in
its little glass frame, the pilot at the wheel, the hurrying to and
fro, the sailors busy with the rope, and outside the vessel the view
of the river crowded with shipping—boats, steamers, and barges; all
afforded intense amusement to the light-hearted, intelligent child, who
was full of eager questionings about each new object that caught the
eye.
"Oh, mamma! What a noise the steam makes! I can hardly hear myself
speak. I wish that the vessel would begin to move; but I can't think
how it will ever make its way through such a crowd of boats! What a
number of passengers there are; and, oh! What a lot of carpetbags and
boxes! I don't think that any more people can be coming; the sailors
had better pull up the plank that joins us to the shore, and let us be
off at once. Oh! no; there are some more people arriving. Such a grand
gentleman and lady, mamma! And a little girl so splendidly dressed!
They had better make haste and get on deck, or the vessel will move off
without them."
As Minnie concluded her sentence, a stout man passed along the plank,
followed by his wife and daughter. The child wore a pink frock, and
pea-green silk tippet, and a quantity of light curls streamed on her
shoulders from a hat adorned with a long drooping feather. While
Minnie surveyed the girl's finery with admiration approaching to envy,
Mrs. Mayne glanced at the mother with an impression that that face
was familiar to her, though she could not for some time recollect
where she had seen it before. While the woman was bustling about her
baggage, and in a loud voice disputing with the porter about his
dues, the lady recalled to memory that the person before her was Mrs.
Lowe, a greengrocer's wife, who had provided Mrs. Mayne's mother with
vegetables nearly ten years previous. Mrs. Mayne recollected also the
circumstances under which her family had given up employing the Lowes.
The ladies had in vain tried to persuade the greengrocer to close his
shop on Sundays; his wife had even been insolent when the duty of
obeying the third commandment had been pressed home on her conscience,
and had thus lost her customers, as well as her temper. Mrs. Mayne
was not sure whether the greengrocer's wife now recognized her, but
felt sorry that such a person was to be her companion on the voyage to
Scotland.
"She looks as though her business had prospered," thought the lady, "to
judge by her comfortable appearance and dress; and she has decked out
her poor child in finery purchased by her ill-gotten gains. But how
impossible it is to tell who is happy by mere outside show! However,
those who wilfully break God's laws may appear to prosper, yet in the
end it shall be seen that 'the blessing of the Lord it maketh rich, and
He addeth no sorrow with it.'"
In the meantime, the plank had been raised; the huge paddles had slowly
begun to go around, and a stream of foam, white as cream, on either
side, marked the track of the steamer down the river. Minnie watched
the banks with delight, as they appeared to move faster and faster
with the vessel's increasing speed. There was so much to see, so much
to wonder at, as every bend of the river brought new objects to view.
The child's delight reached its height, when the noble hospital of
Greenwich appeared with its stately park rising behind, and at the same
time from the deck of a passing steamer, gliding with fairy speed,
sounded the air of "Rule Britannia," borne towards them by the fresh
breeze.
"How happy she is!" thought her mother, looking fondly at the child
by her side. "She is like some joyous young creature just beginning
the voyage of life, to whom all around seems beautiful, and everything
bright ahead. She is troubled by no thought of storm or trial; she
rejoices that she is going to a home, and she trusts to a parent's care
to provide all things needful on the way. Lord, give me this childlike
spirit of trust, and hope, and love, as I journey to the heavenly home,
which my dear husband has long since reached."
Pleasure seldom lasts long without a check. Shortly before passing the
Nore, as evening was coming on, a shower of rain warned the voyagers
to seek shelter below. Minnie had not yet seen the place in which two
nights were to be passed, and it was with some curiosity that she
descended the steep stairway that led to the ladies' cabin.
"What a dark, dull room!" she exclaimed, as she entered and looked
around; "and how hot and close it feels! I wish that we could stop all
night on deck. Why, where are we to sleep?" she added; "not in those
little pigeonholes surely! Are twelve or fourteen ladies to be crowded
together in a room no bigger than our parlor, and not nearly so nice
and high?"
"These are our berths," said Mrs. Mayne, with a smile, showing to her
daughter a little recess, almost perfectly dark, in which were four
"pigeonholes," as Minnie called them, two on each side, one above
another, each containing a bed; while in the centre was a space only
wide enough to turn round in. "The berths on the right hand are ours.
You shall have the one over mine."
Minnie laughed at the idea of clambering up to her little nest, though
she did not much like its appearance. "And will two other ladies," she
asked, "be packed into these tiny berths on the left?"
"No doubt, as the steamer is full."
"I hope they'll be quiet and pleasant," murmured Minnie, who was quite
unaccustomed to be brought into such very close contact with strangers.
She had scarcely spoken, when Mrs. Lowe and her Jemima came bustling up
to the recess.
"What a wretched dark hole it is!" exclaimed the greengrocer's wife,
in disgust, as with her dress spreading out like a balloon, she almost
entirely blocked up the entrance.
"Mamma, we can't sleep in such a place," cried Jemima. Minnie wondered
to herself in what corner the pea-green jacket and plumed hat could
be stowed, and for the first time felt glad that her own dress was so
simple and plain.
While the Lowes went for their bandboxes and provision bag, Minnie
whispered to her mother, "So they are to be our companions in this
funny little place! I would rather have had some people not quite so
dashing and grand."
Mrs. Mayne smiled to herself at the ignorance of her child, whose eye
had been caught by mere outside glitter. "She will know better in
time," thought the lady, "and learn to distinguish between tinsel and
real gold."
The Lowes returned to their little recess, which, small as it was,
they made smaller, by stuffing it full of their luggage, without the
least regard to the comfort of their unfortunate fellow travelers.
The night had now come on, and a lamp was lighted near the end of the
cabin, which threw but a dull gleam into the part portioned off for the
four. The steamer had entered the open sea, and to other discomforts
was added that of a heaving motion, which, with the close air, gave to
Minnie a tightness and pain in the head.
"Mamma," said she, sadly, to Mrs. Mayne, who was sitting beside her on
a sofa near the recess, but in a more open part of the cabin; "mamma, I
am afraid that we shall find this a miserable voyage after all."
"It is something like the voyage of life, my darling, in which we must
all expect to find some things to annoy and try; but let us make little
of trifling discomforts, and cheerfully look to the end. We know that
we are going home—the voyage will soon be over."
"Yes, mamma; and the less we like the way, the more glad shall we be to
get home. It makes one think of the verse about our heavenly rest:"
"'There fairer bowers than Eden's bloom,
Nor sin nor sorrow see;
Blest land, o'er rude and stormy waves,
I onward press to thee.'"
"And now, Minnie," said her mother, "the sooner you can forget your
discomforts in sleep, the better. I will just read a small portion of
the Bible to you as usual, and then you shall climb up into your berth,
and, I hope, slumber quietly till the morning."
"Mamma, you can't read the Bible here," whispered Minnie, "where there
are so many strangers;" and she glanced timidly at the tall, portly
figure of Mrs. Lowe, who was standing very near her.
"Why should we not read it, my child? It makes no difference in the
importance of a duty whether we perform it quietly in our own room,
or with many around us. You know that you are not able to read to
yourself, and must therefore hear your mother."
So saying, Mrs. Mayne drew forth a Testament from her bag, and in a
low, clear voice began reading to the child, who nestled close to her
side. Minnie felt shy and uneasy. Though her mother read softly, the
Lowes were so near that they must overhear every word; and the child
fancied that she saw a scornful look on the face of the elder, and on
that of Jemima a wondering smile, as though hearing the Bible read was
something strange to both. It is very possible that Mrs. Mayne wished
to be overheard; and it was with more than usual earnestness that she
prayed God to bless the reading of His Holy Word.
"'Then shall the kingdom of heaven be likened unto ten virgins, who
took their lamps, and went forth to meet the bridegroom. And five of
them were foolish, and five were wise. For the foolish, when they took
their lamps, took no oil with them: but the wise took oil in their
vessels with their lamps.'"
"Mamma," whispered Minnie, "I do not understand what is meant by the
virgins and their lamps."
"The virgins, my child, are the whole Christian world, now expecting
the coming of their Lord. The oil is God's grace in the soul, shining
forth in a holy life. What would a lamp be without oil? What would a
soul be without grace?—a dark and a worthless thing!"
Minnie fixed her eyes upon the lamp, which was now throwing around its
yellow light, and thought what a fearfully gloomy place that cabin
would be, but for its cheering gleam. Mrs. Mayne turned her page, so
that the light should fall upon it, and continued reading the parable,
so full of deep and solemn meaning:—
"'Now while the bridegroom tarried, they all slumbered and slept. But
at midnight there is a cry, Behold, the bridegroom! Come ye forth to
meet him!'"
"'And the foolish said unto the wise, Give us of your oil; for our
lamps are gone out. But the wise answered, saying, Peradventure there
will not be enough for us and you; go ye rather to them that sell, and
buy for yourselves.'"
"We see here," observed Mrs. Mayne, pausing in her reading, "that no
human being has power to save the soul of another, or to share with him
that grace which is the gift of God alone. The wise cannot supply the
foolish; each must answer for himself before God."
"'And while they went away to buy, the bridegroom came; and they that
were ready went in with him to the marriage feast: and the door was
shut.'"
"'Afterward came also the other virgins, saying, Lord, Lord, open to
us. But he answered and said, Verily I say unto you, I know you not.'"
[Illustration: Mrs. Mayne drew forth a Testament from her bag,
and in a clear, low voice began reading to the child, who nestled
close to her side.]
"Oh!" exclaimed Minnie, "Does that mean that the foolish virgins—the
people who have no grace in their souls—will be shut out from heaven
for ever?"
"Shut out from light—shut out from glory—shut out from the presence
of the Lord! To me few words in the Bible are so fearfully solemn as
those, 'The door was shut!' Mercy's door is wide open now, open to
all who repent and believe. All are invited guests to heaven. All are
welcome now to the Saviour. All may have grace for the asking; yea,
'without money and without price'; it is promised to the prayer of
faith. But a time will come when it will be too late for sinners to
seek for grace—too late to sue for pardon, when mercy's door will be
shut upon those who would not repent and be saved. 'Watch therefore;
for ye know neither the day nor the hour wherein the Son of man
cometh.'" And with this solemn warning on her lips, Mrs. Mayne closed
the Testament.
"Mamma," said Minnie, resting her little hand on the arm of her mother,
and looking earnestly into her face, "do you think that the Lord will
come soon?"
"God only knows the time," was the reply; "but it is for us to live as
those who are ready and waiting for His coming. Of one thing we all are
assured—death is not very far off; it may come soon to the young; it
must come soon to the aged: and death is as the midnight cry, 'Behold,
the bridegroom cometh!'"
"I can't imagine," said Mrs. Lowe, addressing herself to Jemima, but
in a tone to be overheard, "why people who are strong and hearty
should always be thinking about death. I for one never trouble
myself with sickly fancies;" and as she spoke, she plunged her hand
deep into her provision bag, and brought out of its depths a rather
suspicious-looking flask.
Little Minnie, assisted by her mother, was soon safe in her tiny nest,
which she found less uncomfortable than she had expected. The child
did not, however, feel disposed to sleep. She seemed in a strange, new
world, and sat up for some time in her berth, watching the movements
of the Lowes by the light of the lamp, and listening to the voices of
the ladies who occupied the cabin. Presently, however, the motion of
the vessel became so disagreeable to Minnie that she was glad to lay
down her aching head. She heard poor Jemima complaining bitterly, and
Mrs. Lowe abusing steamers and all their arrangements, and scolding the
stewardess for not attending at once to her unreasonable wants.
"It's a comfort," thought poor little Minnie, "that the voyage can't
last for ever. I wonder if any people feel the same way about the
voyage of life—if any are really glad to know that it soon may come to
an end! Ah! Only the wise virgins, who had oil in their lamps, could
start up with joy at the midnight cry! They were glad at the thought of
seeing the bridegroom, for they were ready to go to the feast. I wonder
how I should feel, if I heard that I soon should meet my Lord."
As the night advanced, the sounds in the cabin became gradually
stilled; Jemima ceased to complain, and her mother to scold; both
showed by their welcome silence that they were fast asleep. The weather
was by no means stormy; there was nothing to disturb or alarm, and an
occasional heavy step on the deck overhead, or a slight creaking in the
cordage, with the constant beat of the paddles, were all the noises
now heard. Minnie, wearied by the day's excitement, sank into peaceful
slumber at last; she knew that her mother was close beneath her, and
that God was watching above.
Suddenly every occupant of the ladies' cabin was startled from sleep by
the sound of great commotion on deck, tramping of feet, and loud and
repeated cries of alarm, that thrilled every heart with fear. Anxious
faces were bent forward from every berth, and eager questions were
passed from mouth to mouth, to which none seemed able to reply. "What
is that noise? What can have happened? Has the ship struck? Have we
run down some vessel?" And as the sound above continued and increased,
rapid movements were made on all sides, as the ladies began hasty
preparations for appearing on deck, should there prove to be real cause
for alarm.
"Stewardess, stewardess!" called out Mrs. Lowe, as she searched here
and there for her mantle, "run up-stairs; ask what is the matter; I'm
sure something dreadful has occurred. If ever I travel by steamer
again—"
"Mamma, mamma!" cried the terrified Jemima, "How awfully hot it has
grown!"
"I feel half stifled," murmured pour Minnie, as, half dizzy with sleep,
and trembling with fright, she held out her arms to her mother, who
lifted her down from her berth.
The stewardess hurried to the door. The instant that she opened it,
to the horror of all in the cabin, in rolled a suffocating volume of
smoke, and only too distinctly sounded the voices above—"Fire! Fire!"
was the terrible cry.
"Don't let the women come up—they must keep down—we can't have them
here on deck!" called out the loud voice of the captain. Several of the
ladies attempted to rush up the hatchway, but were roughly ordered back
by the sailors.
"You would but hinder us here; go down and pray," cried a tar, all
begrimed with smoke.
"Yes, let us pray," re-echoed the voice of Mrs. Mayne, as she sank on
her knees in the cabin, her hands clasped, and her arms enfolding her
daughter.
In that hour of terror and danger, the varied characters of those
in that crowded cabin showed in strange distinctness. Differences
of rank and age were quite forgotten—a common fear seemed to level
all; while far more marked than before grew the contrast between the
foolish virgins and the wise. Poor Jemima stood trembling in the
recess, unconsciously trampling under foot the plumed hat which had
once been her pride. Mrs. Lowe was almost mad with terror. Wringing
her hands, and imploring those to save her whose peril was as great
as her own—wildly asking those who knew as little as herself whether
there were no hope of deliverance—she stood a fearful picture of
one who has lived for the world and self. What were then to her the
comforts or pleasures bought at the price of conscience! With what
feelings did she then recall warnings despised and duties neglected!
Could all her unrighteous gains—gains by petty fraud, by bold
Sabbath-breaking—procure her one moment's peace when she feared that,
within an hour, she might be standing before an angry God? No; those
very gains were as fetters, as dead-weights, to sink her soul down to
destruction. "Your gold and silver is cankered, and the rust of them
shall be a witness against you, and shall eat your flesh as it were
fire. Ye have heaped up treasure for the last days."
Mrs. Mayne was pale but calm. Her best treasure was safe where neither
storm nor fire could touch it. She knew that a sudden death is, to the
Christian, but a shorter passage home, a quicker entrance into glory.
The grace which she had sought for by prayer in time of safety, shone
out brightly now in time of danger, and she was able to sustain others
by the light which cheered her own trusting soul. Mrs. Mayne prayed
aloud, and many in the cabin fervently joined in her prayers.
"I can't pray, I can't pray!" cried Mrs. Lowe, sinking her face on
her hands, while her long, loose black hair streamed wildly over her
shoulders. Then suddenly changing her tone, and stretching out her
arms, she exclaimed, "O God! Spare me, spare me yet a while; I will
lead a different life, I will turn from my sins; mercy, mercy on a
wretched sinner! Let not the door yet be shut; save me, save me from
this terrible death!"
Minnie clung round her mother; the greater the danger, the greater the
fear, the closer she clung! "We shall not be separated!" she gasped
forth; and Mrs. Mayne, bending down, whispered in her ear, "'And who
shall separate us from the love of Christ?' My precious one, He is with
us now; He has power to subdue the fire, or to bear us safe through it
to glory."
It was a strange and awful scene, and strange and wild were the
mingling sounds that rose from the ship on fire. Shouting, shrieking,
praying; the clank of the pump incessantly at work, voices giving
hurried commands, the crackling of flame, the gurgle of water, the
rushing of feet to and fro. Then—oh, blessed hope!—can that sudden,
sharp clatter be indeed that of rain, pelting rain, against the window
of the cabin, that dark window, which has only been lightened now and
then by a terrible gleam from the fire?
"Rain, blessed rain!" exclaimed Mrs. Mayne, starting up. "Rain, rain!"
repeated every joyful tongue; and then there was a momentary silence
to listen to the clattering drops, as thicker and faster they fell, as
if in answer to the fervent prayers that were rising from every heart.
Surely never was shower more welcome!
"Oh, God sends the rain!" exclaimed Minnie. "There's no red glare now
to be seen. It is pelting, it is pouring; it comes down like a stream!"
And even as the words were on her tongue, a loud, long, glad cheer from
above gave welcome tidings that the fire was subdued.
"Thank God, ladies, the danger is over," said the captain, at the door.
He was now, for the first time, able to leave his post-upon deck, to
relieve the terrors of his passengers below.