PIERRE MERLIN.
He pray’d, and, trusting in God, he slept
In his heaven-appointed nest.
The angel of the Lord encampeth round about
them that fear him, and delivereth them.—Psa.
xxxiv, 7.
“PAPA, what is the name of the book you are reading?” said an older
brother of Alfred to his father, one day.
His father told him the name of the book, and Frank said,
“O, how dry it looks! I wonder you can bear to read such very dry books,
father!”
“The book is very interesting to me, Frank,” said his father.
“I like to read travels, and stories of all kinds; stories about the sea
and the land,” said Frank.
“God knew that children loved stories,” said his papa; “and he has
filled his own book with the most wonderful and beautiful stories.”
“Yes, and travels and voyages too, papa,” said Alfred. “Was not that a
fine voyage of Paul; and a wonderful journey which the Israelites took
through the wilderness?”
“O yes!” said little Flora; “with a bright pillar going on before them
at night, and a cloudy pillar all day.”
“And bread sent down from heaven for them to eat,” said Alfred.
“And cool water gushing out of the rock,” continued little Flora. “And,
O, how pretty the story of the Shunamite’s little boy is, who got sick,
and said, ‘My head! my head!’ I am glad Elisha made him alive again.”
[Illustration]
“And, O, Flora,” said Alfred, “all about Elijah is so pretty! Don’t you
remember how the ravens fed him in the wilderness? Was not that a
wonderful story, father?”
“Yes, my son,” said Alfred’s papa, “it was very wonderful: and I read a
story yesterday that was something like it, although it was not in the
Bible.”
“Dear father,” said Alfred, “will you tell it to me?”
“Yes, if you will bring your chair beside me, and sit very still.
“There was once a good man named Pierre Merlin. He was a pious minister;
and the Roman Catholics hated him, because he preached doctrines which
the Bible teaches, but which they do not like.
“At one time, the Roman Catholics, in France, determined to murder all
who did not belong to their church. They _did_ murder many hundred pious
persons, on a night which was called St. Bartholomew’s Eve. They would
have killed good Pierre Merlin, but he jumped out of a window, and thus
got away from those wicked people. It was dark, and he ran on, on, on;
expecting every minute to be caught. Then he came to a hay-stack. Quite
out of breath, he hid himself in this friendly place, which seemed set
there to be to him what the city of refuge was to the Israelites, when
they ran for their life. He thanked God for his mercy to him. He could
not lie down in that narrow place, and he was very tired; yet, nestled
in the hay, he slept in peace, for the Lord sustained him.
“The morning came, gray, still, and misty. The little birds began to
twitter, and the poultry around awoke, and shook their wings, and
smoothed their feathers, and sent out their long, loud cry of welcome to
the opening day. Then golden colors painted the eastern sky; and, at
last, the bright, red sun rose to spread his gracious rays over the
awakening earth.
“Pierre Merlin gladly, yet sorrowfully, looked at the sun. Since it had
last risen many of God’s dear saints had been cruelly murdered. Some of
his own friends were among the number. This thought made him weep.
“Do you think, my dear children, that Merlin wished any evil to those
people who had been so cruel to him, and to his friends? No, for he was
a Christian. Like Jesus, he said, ‘Father, forgive them! They know not
what they do.’
“I said that _gladly_, as well as sorrowfully, this good minister looked
at the sun. Though he was sorry for the wickedness of his enemies, and
for the death of his friends, he was yet glad that his life was saved.
He thought that he might yet preach the gospel of Christ.
“He knew that his enemies were all around, looking for him; for he had
heard his name mentioned by them with loud curses. He dared not venture
from his hiding-place; although, as the morning advanced, he became
faint and hungry. He thought he should perish with hunger if he remained
there many days. But he continued praying to God, and did not fail to
put his trust in him.
“After he had prayed, he felt something moving near him. Merlin’s heart
beat very quickly. What could it be? Was it a hand thrust in among the
hay, to feel if he was there? He lay very still. Still the motion
continued. Directly he heard a sound: it was the voice of a hen that
said, ‘Cack, cack, cack!’ very joyfully, because she had just laid an
egg.
“Then the hen went away; and Merlin put out his hand, and took the egg
which she had left, and ate it for his breakfast. O, he did not want
egg-glass or spoon, or even salt, to make that egg taste deliciously! He
felt stronger for eating it. ‘But what shall I do to-morrow?’ said he to
himself. Then came this text to Merlin’s mind: ‘Behold the fowls of the
air: for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather into barns; yet
your heavenly Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than they?’
Matt. vi, 26.
“So he determined to trust in God for the morrow; in the gracious Father
who feeds the little birds that cannot do anything toward making food
grow for themselves.
“God did not forget his child. He saw Merlin in the hay-stack just as
plainly as he saw Elijah in the wilderness.
“The second day came; and the old hen came too, laid her egg in the
hay-stack, and walked off. Merlin thus got his breakfast on the second
day. It was not much, but it gave him some strength.
“The third day his good old friend again paid him a visit. O, how very
anxiously he had watched for her that morning! How afraid he was that
she would not come! Faint and hungry as he had become, it tasted even
more deliciously than the two former ones.
“On the third day all was still around him. He made a little hole in the
straw, and peeped out. He saw nobody. Night came on, and Merlin left his
hiding-place, praying to God every minute, as he walked along.
“What is that he sees in the distance? It is one of the cruel soldiers,
with his gun! But he must go on. He fears to turn back. As he comes
nearer he finds it is only a small tree, with a very long arm, which had
frightened him.
“Onward he goes, stumbling in the darkness, and very weary. The morning
comes. What is that before him? A river, gleaming, like molten silver,
in the early light. And, O joyful sight! a vessel, bearing English
colors, just setting sail. Merlin makes a signal. A boat is let down
from the vessel. He is taken in it, and escapes safely to England to
tell the story of his wonderful preservation.”
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