the intercourse of Naomi and Ruth as they journey on and after their
arrival in Canaan. How does the law of love dictate and pervade every
word and action! Naomi had once been an honored wife and mother in
Judah, and far above the reach of want. But in "the days when the judges
ruled," those days during which "every man did what was right in his own
eyes," her husband had deserted his people; and now on her return she
was probably penniless, her inheritance sold until the year of jubilee,
and she in her old age, unable by her own efforts to gain a subsistence.
The poor in Israel were not forlorn, but it required genuine humility on
Ruth's part, and a sincere love for her mother-in-law, to induce her to
avail herself of the means provided. She hesitated not. It was "in the
beginning of the barley harvest" that they came to Bethlehem, and as
soon as they were settled, apparently in a small and humble tenement,
she went forth to glean in some field after the reapers, not knowing how
it would fare with her, but evidently feeling that all depended on her
labors. The meeting of the mother and daughter at the close of that
important day is touching indeed. The joy with which the aged Naomi
greets her only solace, and the kind and motherly care with which she
brings the remains of her own scanty meal, which she had laid aside, her
eager questions, and Ruth's cheerful replies as she lays down her burden
and relates the pleasant events of the day--what gratitude to God--what
dawning hopes--what a delightful spirit of love appear through all! And
as days pass, how tenderly does Naomi watch over the interests of her
child, and how remarkable is the deference to her wishes which ever
animates Ruth. Even in the matter of her marriage,--a subject on which
young people generally feel competent to judge for themselves,--she is
governed entirely by her mother's directions. "All that thou sayest unto
me I will do." Said a young lady in our hearing, not long since, "When I
am married I shall desire that my husband may have no father or mother."
This is not an unusual wish, nor is it uttered in all cases lightly and
without reason. We know of a mother who would never consent that her
only son should bring his wife to dwell under her roof, although she was
entirely satisfied with his choice, and was constantly doing all in her
power to promote their happiness. What were her reasons? She was a
conscientious Christian and fond mother, but she would not risk their
mutual happiness. She felt herself unable to bear the test, and she was
unwilling to subject her children to it. Often do we hear expressions of
pity bestowed on the young wife who is so "unfortunate" as to be
compelled to live with her mother-in-law, and many are the sighs and
nods and winks of gossip over the trials which some of their number
endure from their sons' wives. Why is all this? The supreme selfishness
of our human nature must answer. Having a common love for one object,
the mother for her son, the wife for her husband, they should be bound
by strong ties, and their mutual interests should produce mutual
kindness and sympathy, and this would always be the case if each were
governed by the spirit of the Gospel. But alas! love of self rather than
the pure love inculcated by Jesus Christ most often rules. Brought
together from different paths, unlike, it may be, in natural
temperament, perhaps differing in opinion, the mother wishing to retain
her wonted control over her son, the wife feeling hers the superior
claim, there springs up a contest which is the fruitful source of
unhappiness, and which mars many an otherwise fine character. Before us
in memory's glass as we write, sits one of a most fair and beautiful
countenance, but over which hang dark clouds of care, and from the eyes
drop slowly bitter tears. She is what all around her would call a happy
wife and mother. Fortune smiles upon her, and the blessing of God abides
by the hearth-stone. Her husband is a professing Christian, as is also
his yet youthful-looking mother and the wife herself. Beautiful children
gambol around her, and look wonderingly in her face as they see those
tears. What is the secret of her unhappiness? She deems hers a very hard
lot, and yet if we rightly judge, could her sorrow be resolved to its
elements, it would be found that the turmoil of her spirit is occasioned
solely by the fact that she finds it hard to maintain her fancied
rights, her desired superiority over her husband and servants, because
of the presence of her calm, firm, dignified mother-in-law, whose very
lips seem chiseled to indicate that they speak only to be obeyed. What
would be the result if the tender, considerate love of Naomi and the
yielding spirit of Ruth were introduced to the bosom of each?
We cannot leave this record of Holy Writ without commenting also on the
remarkable state of society which existed in Bethlehem in those far
distant days. When Naomi returned after an absence of ten years--an
absence which to many might have seemed very culpable--with what
enthusiastic greetings was she received. "The whole city was moved." It
made no difference that she "went out full but had returned empty;" nor
did they stop to consider that "the Lord had testified against her." The
truest sympathy was manifested for her and for the stranger who had
loved her and clung to her. In her sorrow they clustered around to
comfort her, and when the bright reverse gave her again an honored name
and "a restorer of her life" in her young grandson, they were eager to
testify their joy. The apostolic injunction, "Rejoice with them that do
rejoice, and weep with them that weep," seems to have been strictly
obeyed in Bethlehem. The distinctions of society, although as marked
apparently as in our own time, seem not to have caused either
unhappiness nor the slightest approach to unkind or unchristian
feeling. Witness the greeting between Boaz and the reapers on his
harvest field. "And behold Boaz came from Bethlehem and said unto the
reapers, The Lord be with you. And they answered him, The Lord bless
thee." Boaz was "a mighty man of wealth;" he had his hired workmen
around him, and in the same field was found the poor "Moabitish damsel,"
gleaning here and there the scattered ears, her only dependence. Yet we
find them all sitting together in the hut which was erected for shelter,
and eating together the parched grain which was provided for the noon's
refreshment, while Boaz enters into a conversation with Ruth which
indicates his truly noble and generous character, and speaks words which
are like balm to the sorrowing spirit. "Thou hast comforted me and
spoken to the heart of thy handmaid," she said as she rose to leave the
tent and felt herself no longer a stranger, since one so excellent and
so exalted in station appreciated and sympathized with her. We see
little in these Gospel days and in this favored land which will compare
with the genuine kindliness which breathes in every word and act
recorded in the book of Ruth.
But the most surprising revelation is made in the account which follows
the scene in the tent. What exalted principle--what respect for
woman--what noble virtue must have characterized those among whom a
mother could send her daughter at night to perform the part assigned to
Ruth, apparently without a fear of evil, and receive her again, not only
unharmed, but understood, honored, and wedded by the man to whom she was
sent, and that notwithstanding her foreign birth and dependent
situation, and fettered with the condition that her first-born son must
bear the name and be considered the child of a dead man!
We have friends who will fasten their faith on the New Testament only,
and can see nothing in the Old akin to it in precept or spirit. We
commend to them the Book of Ruth.
* * * * *
Original.
THE MISSION MONEY: OR, THE PRIDE OF CHARITY.
"Take heed that ye do not your alms before men to be seen of
them."--MATTHEW 6:6.
(Concluded from page 211.)
In the mean time Charlotte ran home for her pennies, and on her return
met an acquaintance who did not belong to the Sunday-school.
"Where are you going so fast, Charlotte?" said she; "stop, I want to
show you what a lovely blue ribbon I have just bought at Drake's, only
four cents a yard, and half a yard makes a neck ribbon; isn't it sweet?
just look;" and she displayed a bright blue ribbon to the admiring gaze
of Charlotte.
"It is very pretty," said Charlotte longingly, "and I wish I could
afford to buy one like it, but I've got no money."
"What is that in your hand?" asked the other, as she espied the pennies
in Charlotte's hand.
"That is mission money," she replied; "I am going to give it to the
missionary to buy Bibles for the heathen."
"Buy fiddlesticks!" said the other, with a loud laugh. "Why, you _are_ a
little simpleton to send your money the dear knows where, when you might
buy a whole yard of this beautiful ribbon and have a penny left!"
Charlotte looked wishfully at the ribbon, and sighed as she answered,
"But I earned this money on purpose to give."
"More goose you to work for money to give away; but if you are so very
generous, buy half a yard, and then you will have three cents left to
give, that is enough I am sure; but do as you like, I must go. They have
got some splendid pink, that would become you exceedingly. Good bye;"
and so saying she left her.
Charlotte walked thoughtfully on; her love of dress and finery was a
ruling passion, and had been aroused at a most unfortunate moment; she
had never possessed a piece of new ribbon, and she longed to see how it
would look with her white cape. Thus thinking she arrived at Mr. Drake's
store, and the first thing she saw temptingly displayed in a glass case
upon the counter was the identical ribbon she coveted. There were
customers in the store, and Charlotte had to wait her turn; during those
few moments various thoughts passed through her mind.
"If I buy the ribbon what will Annie say?" suggested conscience. "Why
need you care for Annie?" whispered temptation, "the ribbon will look
pretty and becoming; you earned the money, and beside, Annie need not
know anything about it; tell her you had not time to change the money,
and throw the pennies quickly in the box; there will be more there, and
no one will know how much you put in."
Poor Charlotte! she did not know that the best way to avoid sin is to
flee from temptation. The shopman was at leisure, and waited to know
what she wished. She had not decided what to do; but the ribbon was
uppermost in her thoughts, and she asked, "What is the price of that
ribbon?" "Four cents," said the shopman as he quickly unrolled it; "here
are pink, white, blue and yellow; pink I should think the most becoming
to you, Miss. How much shall I cut you? enough to trim a bonnet?"
Charlotte was agitated; the man's volubility confused her, and she
stammered forth, "Half a yard, if you please, sir."
It was cut off, rolled up, and in her hand, and she had paid the two
cents before she collected her thoughts; and then as she slowly returned
home, she unfolded her purchase, and tried in her admiration of its gay
color to forget she had done wrong.
Perhaps if Charlotte had read her Bible she would have remembered how
Ananias and his wife Sapphira were struck dead for mocking the Lord, by
pretending they had given all when they had reserved a part of their
goods. Their sin consisted not so much in keeping back a part as in
lying unto God; and this sin Charlotte was about to commit by
pretending to put in the mission box more than she really did.
Sunday morning dawned bright and lovely. Annie was up and tidily dressed
long before the hour for school. She had time to sing a sweet morning
hymn, and to feed the tame robins with the crumbs she had carefully
swept up, and then with her little Bible sat down to study her lesson
again, and assure herself that she had it perfect. As she read the
sacred volume, and dwelt upon its precious promises, which her mother
had explained to her, she felt doubly sorry for those poor people who
were deprived of so great a blessing; and then she thought of her little
offering, and wished with all her heart it had been more.
Charlotte, on the contrary, awoke late, after an uneasy slumber, and
hurriedly eating her breakfast, for which she had but little appetite,
dressed herself, and opening the box where she kept her little
treasures, took out the gay pink ribbon, and after a long admiring gaze,
pinned it carefully about her neck. As she closed the box cover she saw
the three cents lying in one corner, and hastily put them in her pocket
with a feeling of self-abasement that made her cheeks glow with shame.
She ran quickly down stairs, lest her mother should see her and question
her about the ribbon, for although Mrs. Murray would not have
disapproved of her daughter's purchase, Charlotte dreaded her mother's
ridicule for so soon abandoning her new-fangled notions, as she called
them.
She had promised to call for Annie, and she walked quietly along, hoping
her friend would not notice the ribbon nor ask to see the money. As she
slowly approached Mrs. Grey's cottage, she saw Annie's favorite kitten
jump up in the low window seat to bask in the warm sunshine. Charlotte
saw the little cat put out her paw to play with something, and just as
she was opposite the window a small bright piece rolled down into the
road. She hastened forward and picked it up; it was a bright new
five-pence.
"This must be Annie's," she thought; and looking in the window she saw
the room was empty, and Annie's Bible and handkerchief laid on the
window seat. Puss was busy playing with the leaves of the book, and
Charlotte walked slowly on with the piece yet in her hand.
"How pretty and bright it looks," she thought. "I wish that I had one to
give. I know the girls will stare to see Annie put in so much. How lucky
it was that I passed; if I had not it would have been lost, or some one
else would have picked it up. I will give it to her in school; I shall
not keep it, of course." Thus quieting her conscience she walked quickly
to school, and took her seat among the rest.
How gradual is the descent to sin. Charlotte would have spurned the idea
of stealing, and yet from desiring to give with a wrong motive she had
been led on step by step, and when the girl who sat next her asked what
she had brought, she opened her hand and showed the piece of money.
School had commenced when Annie came in; she looked disheartened, and
her eyes were red with crying. Charlotte's heart smote her, and could
she have spoken to Annie, she would doubtless have returned the piece of
money, but she dared not leave her seat, and after a few moments it was
whispered around the class that Annie Grey had lost her mission money.
Then the girls about Charlotte told each other how much she had brought,
and she began to think,
"What difference will it make if I put it in the box? it is all the
same, Annie says, who gives the money, so that it is given;" and so when
the box was handed round she dropped the five cent piece in. Her
conscience reproved her severely as she glanced at poor Annie, whose
tears were flowing afresh, and who, when the teacher handed her the box,
said in low, broken tones, that she had lost her offering and had
nothing to give.
After dismissal the children crowded around Annie, pitying and
questioning her. Charlotte moved away, she could not speak to her
injured friend; but as she passed she heard Annie say, "I laid it on my
Bible. I was just about tying it in the corner of my pocket handkerchief
when mother called me away; when I came back it was gone. Kitty was
sitting in the window, and I suppose must have knocked it down in the
road. I searched all over the room, and out in the road, but could not
find it."
"I am really sorry," said one.
"And I, and I," added three or four more.
"Let us go and help her look for it again," said they all, "perhaps we
may find it yet," for Annie's gentleness had made her beloved by all.
Charlotte's feelings were far from enviable as she went towards home;
she hated herself and felt perfectly miserable. As soon as she arrived
at the house she went hastily up stairs, and took off the hateful
ribbon, as it now appeared, with a feeling of disgust, and throwing
herself on the bed cried long and bitterly. Charlotte did not know how
to pray to God to give her a clean heart and forgive her sin; she never
thought of asking His forgiveness, or confessing her fault; she felt
sick at heart, restless and unhappy. Such are ever the consequences of
sin. She ate no dinner, and her mother told her to go and lie down, as
she did not look well. Charlotte gladly went up stairs again, and after
another hearty crying spell fell fast asleep.
When she awoke it was evening, and going down stairs she found that her
mother had gone to visit a neighbor. Charlotte stood out by the door,
and although it was a lovely summer night, a gloom seemed to her to
overhang everything. Her little brothers spoke to her, and she answered
them harshly and sent them away. While she stood idly musing a miserable
old beggar woman, who bore but an indifferent character in the
neighborhood, came hobbling along; she came up to the little girl and
asked an alms. Almost instinctively she put her hand in her pocket, and
taking thence the three cents placed them with a feeling of relief in
the beggar's hand. She thought she was doing a good act, and would atone
for her wicked conduct. The old woman was profuse of thanks, and taking
from her dirty apron a double handful of sour and unripe fruit, placed
it in Charlotte's lap and went away.
Charlotte's parents had forbidden her eating unripe fruit; but a day
begun in sin was not unlikely to end in disobedience. She felt feverish
and thirsty, and so biting one of the apples went on eating until all
were gone. She then went up to bed, and feeling afraid to be alone, for
a bad conscience is always fearful, she closed her eyes and fell almost
immediately asleep.
She was awakened in the night by sharp and violent pain; she dreaded to
call her mother, as she would have to tell her what she had been eating,
and so she bore the suffering as long as she could; but her restless
tossings and moans aroused her mother, who slept in an adjoining room,
and hastening in to her daughter, she found her in a high state of
fever. She did all she could for her, but the next morning Charlotte was
so much worse that a physician was sent for. She was quite delirious
when he came, and he pronounced her situation dangerous.
The poor girl raved incessantly about ribbons and Annie's tearful face,
and seemed to be in great distress of mind. Annie heard that Charlotte
was very ill, and came to see her. She was shocked to hear her talk so
wildly, and to see her face flushed with fever. She stayed some time,
but Charlotte did not know her, although she often mentioned her name.
When Annie returned home she asked her mother's permission to stay with
Charlotte as much as possible, which Mrs. Grey cheerfully gave, and went
to visit her herself.
For a whole week poor Charlotte's fever raged violently, and as Annie or
her mother were with her constantly, they could not fail to discover
from the sick girl's ravings that she had taken the lost fivepence.
Annie, however, who heartily forgave her playmate, never mentioned what
she heard to her mother, and Mrs. Grey also wisely refrained from
telling her suspicions. She was better acquainted with the treatment of
the sick than Mrs. Murray, and she watched over Charlotte with the
tenderness of a mother. One day Annie sat reading her Bible by the
bedside when Charlotte awoke from a long sleep, the first she had
enjoyed, and looking towards Annie said in a feeble voice,
"Oh, dear Annie, is that you?"
The little girl rose, and bending over her sick playmate, begged her in
a gentle voice to lie still and be quiet.
"I will, I will," answered Charlotte, clasping her hands feebly about
her friend's neck as she leaned towards her, "if you will only say you
forgive me. Oh, you know not what a wicked girl I am, and yet it seems
as if I had been telling everybody."
"Never mind now, dear," whispered Annie, "only keep still or you will
bring on your fever again."
"I believe I have been very ill, and have said many strange things,"
murmured Charlotte, "but I know you now and understand what I say. Do
you think you can forgive me, Annie?"
"Yes, dear Charlotte, and I love you better than ever now, so do not
talk any more." Annie kissed her tenderly as she spoke, and the sick
girl laid her head upon the pillow still holding Annie's hand in her
own.
From this time Charlotte rapidly improved, and one afternoon, when her
mother and Mrs. Grey and Annie were sitting with her, she told them the
whole truth about the lost money, and begged them to forgive her. Little
Annie, whose tears were flowing fast, kissing her again and again,
assured her of her entire forgiveness, and told her never to mention it
again.
Mrs. Grey then said, "I think that we all forgive your fault, my dear
child, but there is One whose forgiveness you must first seek before
your repentance can be sincere. The sin you have committed against God
is far greater than any injury you have done us. In the first place, my
dear Charlotte, you wished to give with a wrong motive; you did not seek
to please God and serve Him, by giving your trifle with a sincere heart
and earnest prayers. You sought rather the praise of your teachers; and
worse even than this, you wished to awaken the envy of your companions.
Such a gift, however large, could never be acceptable to the just God,
who knows all hearts, and bids us to do good in secret and He will
reward us openly. You see, my little girl, how one misstep makes the way
for another,--how this pride begat envy, and envy covetousness, and
then how quickly did deceit and dishonesty and disobedience come after.
Do not think me harsh, my dear child, from my heart I forgive you; your
punishment has been severe, but I trust it will be to you a well-spring
of grace; and now let us humbly ask the forgiveness and blessing of that
just and yet merciful God who for Jesus' sake will hear our prayers."
They knelt, and Mrs. Grey made a touching and earnest prayer; even Mrs.
Murray was affected to tears; she felt ashamed of her daughter's
conduct; she knew she herself was to blame, and this event had a good
effect upon her future conduct.
After a little while Charlotte asked for her box, and taking out the
pink ribbon placed it in Mrs. Grey's hand and begged her to burn it, as
she could not bear to see it.
"No," said Mrs. Grey, "keep it, Charlotte; it will remind you of your
fatal error, and perhaps, through God's blessing, may sometimes lead you
from the path of sin into that of holiness."
Charlotte took her friend's advice, and after her recovery never gave
utterance to a falsehood. She and Annie became Sunday-school teachers,
and through the grace of God Charlotte was the means of bringing her
whole family into the fold of the Good Shepherd; and while she lived she
always carefully treasured the pink ribbon, which was a memento alike of
her fault and her sincere repentance.
* * * * *
Original.
LETTER FROM A FATHER TO A SON.
MY DEAR SON:--Seldom, if ever, have I perused a letter of
deeper interest to myself as a father, than the one you lately addressed
to your sister. Long had it been my daily prayer that the Spirit of God
would impress you with the importance of becoming a Christian; from your
letter I infer that you are anxiously inquiring after the "great
salvation." It is all-important that you be guided aright. _What must
you do?_
The Bible should be our guide in matters involving our spiritual
interests, and we need not fear to follow its directions. The Bible
declares that in order to be saved the sinner must "_repent_." This is
the first step.
But what is it to repent? Let me tell you. Suppose, then, that a person
spreads a false and injurious report about another, by which his
character is wounded, his influence lessened, and his business
destroyed. This is wrong. Of this wrong, the injurer at length becoming
sensible, and deeply regretting it, repairs to the one whom he has
injured, confesses the wrong, seeks forgiveness, does all in his power
to make amends, and offends no more. This is repentance.
Now, when such sorrow is exercised toward God for wrong done to Him,
when that wrong is deeply deplored, is honestly confessed, and is
followed by a permanent reformation, that is repentance toward God. Such
repentance God requires; nor can one become a Christian who does not
exercise it. This is one unalterable condition of salvation. I do not
mean that the penitent sinner will never afterwards, in no instance, sin
again. He may sometimes, again, do wrong, for so long as he is in the
world imperfection will pertain to him; but the ruling power of sin will
be broken in his heart. He may sometimes sin; but whenever he does he
will lament it. He will retire to his closet, and while there alone with
God his tears will flow. Oh! how will he pray and wrestle that he may be
forgiven; and what solemn resolutions will he make to sin no more! This
he will continue to do month after month, and year after year, as long
as he lives, as long as he ever does any wrong. To forsake sin becomes a
principle of his life; to confess and forsake it, a habit of his soul.
Repentance, then, is the first step.
But the Bible adds, "Repent and _believe_ on the Lord Jesus Christ, and
thou shalt be saved." Belief, or faith, as it is called, is another
exercise required in order to be saved. What now is _faith_? Let me
illustrate this.
Suppose a person is standing on the branch of a tree. It appears to be
sufficiently firm to bear him, and he feels secure. But presently he
perceives that it is beginning to break, and if it break he may be
dashed on the rocks below. What shall he do? He looks abroad for help.
At this critical moment a person presents himself at the foot of the
tree, and says, "Let go, let go, and I will catch you." But he is
afraid. He fears that the person may not be able, or may be unwilling to
save him. But the branch continues to break, and destruction is before
him. Meanwhile the kind-hearted person below renews his assurance, "Let
go, let go, confide in me and I'll catch you." At last the person on the
branch becomes satisfied that no other hope remains for him, so he says,
"I'll do as this friend bids me; I'll trust him." He lets go, falls, and
the other catches him. This is _faith_, or in other words it is
_confidence_.
Now the sinner is liable to fall under the wrath of God for the wrong he
has done, and there to perish. He may repent of that wrong, and
repentance is most reasonable, and is, we have seen, required; but
repentance of itself never repairs a wrong. One may repent that he has
killed another, but that does not restore life. One may be sorry that he
has broken God's commands, but that does not repair the dishonor done to
the Divine government. That government must be upheld. How can it be
done? I will tell you how it has been done. Christ consented to take the
sinner's place. On the cross he suffered for and instead of the sinner;
and God has decided that whosoever, being penitent for sin, will confide
in his Son, or trust him, shall be saved.