Chapter VIII (2)

Startled, Conscience awoke, but, dizzy from the effects of the drug, was at first hardly able to understand what had happened. The lamps in the temple were still burning, and the faint light of morn was stealing in. Conscience looked round and perceived hideous idols in the niches. He saw that the jewels had been torn from their places, and beheld the enemy going on with his work of destruction,—soiling, marring, defiling the temple raised to the One pure God. Conscience, through the effects of the drug, had lost power to overcome the enemy. His strength had become as weakness, but he was still able to pull the rope which was attached to the bell.

With all his might he pulled it, startling the enemy by the sudden clang above his head. Knowing that many would rush to the spot on hearing the sound of the alarm bell, the robber hastily rushed out from the temple, dropping, in his flight, the jewels which he had plundered.

Measures were taken as quickly as possible to repair the sore mischief done. The idols Covetousness, Cruelty, Falsehood were, one after another, thrown down. The place received a thorough cleansing. Gradually, though not without much difficulty, the jewels were put back in their places, and HOLINESS, HAPPINESS, and PEACE again glittered on the wall. But it was long ere Conscience recovered his health, or the confidence of his superior, and never without shame and grief could he remember the night when he threw open the door to a traitor, and let the spoiler enter and pollute the temple of God.

Reader! The temple of God is the human heart, first formed by its Maker pure and clean, with holiness, happiness, and peace within it. How Satan, the enemy, first gained entrance, how he stained, robbed, and despoiled it, is written in the Word of God, and alas! its effects are seen in the world around us.

And what is meant by the watchman Conscience?

Conscience is that power to distinguish between good and evil which God has placed as a guard on the human heart. It is Conscience that tells us that to kill, to rob, and to lie is sin, and that sin is hateful to a holy God, and must be punished by Him.

But the enemy, Satan, has had power to drug Conscience, to put it to sleep, so that its voice has been silent. Look at Hindostan, and see how deep has been the slumber of Conscience! Murder is sin of the blackest dye; yet widows have been burnt alive, innocent babes killed by their own parents, thugs have strangled travellers, without Conscience being awakened to cry out, "O wretches! You will be called to a fearful account for crimes such as these! God's wrath is upon your heads!"

Where is Conscience in the heart of the deceit, the midnight thief, or the bold robber who rejoices over his ill-gotten spoils! Where is Conscience in the hearts of millions who utter lies as they swallow in air, quite unconscious that the path of falsehood leads to destruction! It is asleep, drugged and senseless! Conscience says nothing when man is robbed of happiness and God is robbed of honour. The once holy temple of God becomes a harbour for idols, for Covetousness, Hatred, Pride, and every other sin, and the watchman Conscience is silent and asleep!

Asleep, indeed, but not dead. Sometimes what seems an accident may awaken it from its dangerous repose. Even a little book, such as this, like the flap from the wing of a bird, may rouse Conscience, and open the watchman's eyes to the peril of the soul. Ask yourself these questions, O reader! "Is the temple of my heart clean; are purity, happiness, and peace within it? Do I abhor all sin, and give to none a place in my soul? Do I harbour no covetousness, hatred, or pride? Do I refuse all unlawful gains? Are my lips clean from lying and slandering?"

If these questions are honestly asked, and a voice within you answers "No!" that is the voice of awakening Conscience.

If, then, in anguish of soul you exclaim, "How can I escape from sin, and the dreadful punishment of sin?" know that the watchman has sprung to his feet, he is ringing the alarm bell for help.

God is ready to grant that help, to send His cleansing Spirit into your heart, to give back to it all that it has lost. The Christian religion not only tells of Satan's entering the world to despoil the temple of God, but it tells of the Conqueror of Satan entering the world to restore what had been polluted and spoiled. The temple may become fairer than ever before, for the blood of the Lamb of God was shed to cleanse it from sin. Conscience, made more watchful and faithful, may once more be trusted to keep guard against the entrance of evil, and happiness, holiness, and peace be again inscribed in shining letters within the temple of the heart.

THE TWENTY-FOUR PIECES OF SILVER.

A MERCHANT bade his servant Kesho go into the bazaar, and buy such things as he required. The merchant counted out twenty-four pieces of silver, and regarding their expenditure, gave the following directions to Kesho:—

"Take this money, and with it buy seven pillows, at the cost of one rupee each. Lay out, at least, eight on working tools, and see that they be thoroughly good. Thou must also buy food, and various other things which thou knowest to be required. But first of all, go to the railway station, where there are three parcels of value waiting to be called for. Pay what is requisite for them, and bring them to me with the utmost care. Be diligent and obedient, and show thyself worthy of trust."

Kesho salaamed and departed, having wrapped up the twenty-four rupees in the scarf which he wore round his waist.

My story, O reader! is a parable. In Kesho we behold an emblem of every man and woman now in this world. To each is entrusted the treasure of Time, the twenty-four hours of each day. Seven may be spent on the pillows of sleep; eight should be given to honest work, whether in the fields or the bazaar, whether in the school or in the office. They who have not to earn their own bread must be diligent still. Let them work freely for the good of others, spending their time in labours for God, caring for the poor, teaching the ignorant, pleading the cause of the widow. No one without guilt, and consequent punishment, can waste the twenty-four hours committed every day to his charge by his Maker.

And the three precious parcels which are first of all to be redeemed are—Prayer to God, Praise of the Most High, and Reading of the Holy Scriptures. These offer to us the noblest employment of time, and bring the richest profit.

Now hear what Kesho did with the rupees entrusted to his care.

Kesho took with him a mule to carry his purchases, and in the evening again appeared before his master. A very high but not very heavy burden made the mule's back appear almost as lofty as that of a camel.

"My lord, I bring the goods on the purchase of which I have expended my twenty-four rupees," said Kesho to the merchant, after a humble salaam.

"'Thy' rupees, forsooth!" muttered the merchant, knitting his brow in displeasure. Then, advancing to examine the mule's burden, he exclaimed, "O thou most dull of soul! I told thee to expend seven rupees on seven pillows, and behold thou bast brought to me twelve! What idle waste of my money. Doubtless thou hast spent on pillows for sleep five of the silver pieces that were meant for a nobler purpose. Where are the good working tools which I ordered?"

Kesho was slowly and lazily unpacking the mule. He now produced, one by one, put up carelessly between the pillows, the tools which were needed for work. The merchant examined each closely.

"These are too few in number, and not thoroughly good of their kind," he said, angrily laying one down. "Thou hast taken no pains in their choice, and hast doubtless spent too little upon them. What else hast thou bought with my money?"

Kesho produced a supply of food.

"More silver rupees have been spent on this than was required," observed the merchant; "your greatest expenditure seems to have been on eating and sleeping. But I see that thou hast still many things to show me. What are in those two bags slung across the back of the mule?"

Kesho did not appear to be in any haste to open them. Looking rather sullen, he poured out the contents of one upon the ground; it showed a hookah,* and a heap of worthless rattles.

* The hookah is the Eastern representative of pipes and cigars. Women
smoke it as well as men.

"Are you a child or an idiot that you have spent rupees on such trash as this?" cried the merchant, spurning the rattles with his foot. "I hope that my three valuable parcels are safe in the other bag. Show me its contents directly."

Kesho was more unwilling than before, but he had no option. He first took out a box, which he held in his hand, and then emptied the bag on the ground. Out came packs of dirty playing-cards,—mingled with dice! So many had been bought by the faithless servant with his master's rupees, that the merchant saw that Kesho must have spent on them at least half of the money that should have gone for the tools, perhaps a good deal more than half!

Exceedingly wrathful was the merchant. The two heaps before him showed how utterly unworthy was his servant to be entrusted with the money of time. But even worse was to come. Hoping that his master might not notice the movement, Kesho was trying to hide the box which he held behind the pile of cushions. But the merchant's eye was keen, and he detected the attempt in a moment.

"Slave! What art thou attempting to conceal?" he exclaimed in a voice of thunder. "Open that box, and show me upon what worse than trash thou hast been wasting my money!"

Most unwillingly, and with a trembling hand, Kesho obeyed. Scarcely had he raised the cover of the box when a number of hideous black scorpions were crawling about in every direction.

The merchant was more wrathful than ever. "Wretch! Worthy of a thousand stripes!" he exclaimed. "Is that what thou hast to show for my entrusted money? And where are the three parcels which I charged thee first of all to redeem?"

Prostrating himself in the dust, the servant faltered forth, "I forgot them!"

"Then thou hast injured thyself only!" said the merchant sternly. "Those parcels contained gifts for thee which are now lost to thee for ever!"

Scarcely had the words fallen on the ear of Kesho, when he sprang up from his prostrate position screaming with pain, for three of the scorpions had fastened on his leg!

Terrible was the effect of the stings of those scorpions, and still more terrible the scourging inflicted by the merchant upon his worthless servant. Kesho never forgot either the stings or the dreadful punishment to the end of his days.

O reader! Art thou like unto Kesho? Or hast thou learned to make a better use of the treasure of time? Review the way in which yesterday was spent; deceive not thyself, for thou canst not deceive Him who entrusted to thee those twenty-four hours which thou canst never recall. How many were lost in lazy sloth? How many were given to unnecessary spinning out the time employed in eating and drinking? How many were spent in that idle gossip which is worthless as the rattle of a child? Were any thrown away in those games of chance which have been the ruin of many? Oh! Search thy heart, and answer the solemn question truly, have any of thy hours been spent in such deeds of evil as are more poisonous than scorpions, deeds which thou wouldst gladly hide? Seriously consider these questions, and let thy conscience give answer. If it be silent now, at the last Day it will most assuredly speak.

After reviewing but "one" day of the many of thy life, dost thou not tremble and cast thyself in the dust, exclaiming to thy great Master, "'Lord! be merciful to me a sinner.' I have forgotten, or carelessly performed the duties of Prayer, Praise, and Perusal of Thy Word; I have indulged in sloth, in idle-speaking, in sinful pleasures, perhaps in acts of which I should be ashamed. And that not for one day only, but for weeks—for months—for years! Thousands on thousands of precious hours have been wasted, squandered, lost for ever!"

And now, O Reader! How can the past be redeemed? Thou canst not tell how many hours remain to be spent; make the best use of the one now before thee. And first, I would earnestly urge upon thee to search the Scriptures. Reading them carefully, prayerfully, thou wilt find a means of escaping both from the scourge and the scorpions, the punishment here and hereafter, which thou hast justly deserved. And there are to be found directions for redeeming the time in future, for laying out to the best advantage such hours as may be left to thee yet. We may count the treasures of time, but the treasures of Eternity cannot be counted. The one are as silver rupees in the girdle, the others, if blissful, will be as mountains of gold. On the way in which time is spent here, eternity will depend. Oh! May God bestow His Spirit upon thee, and make thee what all of His servants are commanded to be, "not slothful in business, fervent in spirit, serving the Lord"! (Rom. xii. 11).

THE BAD BARGAIN.

TRUTHFULNESS is as the Koh-i-nur, the gem without a flaw, which shines in the crown of a monarch. If you would know what comes of falsehood, hear ye the story of Shibbu.

In the island of Ceylon dwelt Lachman Dás, who, above all other men, was skilled in the art of making false jewels. He used to provide such for those men who go to ships arriving from England, to cheat unwary passengers by selling the false under the name of the true. Those who knew Lachman Dás best called him by the title of Father "Jhuth Muth" (Falsehood).

One of the customers who most often came to the dwelling of Lachman Dás was a man of the name of Shibbu, who had amassed some hundreds of rupees by cheating the English by selling false gems. One day he came to Lachman's house with a look of great eagerness on his face.

"What hast thou ready, O Father?" he cried. "The smoke of a large steamer is now to be seen in the sky, passengers will soon be arriving, and I have not so much as a bit of glass bottle left with which to tempt them!"

Lachman Dás did not answer at once; he was putting the last finishing touch to a beautiful ornament made of false rubies. But presently he relieved the impatience of Shibbu by drawing forth from a secret place a basket containing many more, each more splendid-looking than the other. Shibbu was dazzled by their beauty, and eager to buy.

"How many are there altogether?" he cried.

"Twenty-four choice ornaments," replied Lachman Dás, after counting them slowly.

"I do not mind taking the whole lot,—four annas * each, six rupees for them all," said Shibbu, trying to look as if he were indifferent to gain, and rather bestowing a favour on the maker.

* An anna is less than three half-pence.

"Four annas each!" cried Lachman Dás indignantly. "Wert thou born without eyes! Seest thou not that the worst of these is fit for the wear of a rajah!"

"If it were real," said Shibbu. "But come, you are an old friend of mine, I will give you—say five annas each."

"I will not let them go for one pie under a rupee each," said Lachman Dás with decision.

"A rupee each! Would you ruin a poor man with five children?" cried Shibbu. "Come, come, I am an old customer, let us say six annas a-piece."

"A rupee each, not a pie less. I shall find many who will purchase my jewels at that rate; go then elsewhere and buy," said the maker of false gems, beginning to put his gaudy trash back again into the basket.

"Do not be hard on an old friend. You have made many rupees by me, O Father!" cried Shibbu, in a pleading tone.

Lachman Dás considered for several moments; he appeared to be counting the false emeralds in a ring which he held in his hand. At last, he said, "I am willing to make a bargain with thee, O Shibbu! Thou shalt have, if thou wilt, the whole lot on the following terms. For the first ornament thou shalt give but one pie." *

* Less than a "mite." A rupee is now worth about 1s. 8d.

"'One pie!'" exclaimed the delighted Shibbu, scarcely able to believe his own ears.

"For the second 'two' pies, for the third 'four,' so to go on doubling till the whole twenty-four be paid for."

Shibbu was not clever at counting, but he soon made out that all the first four ornaments would cost him but a mere trifle. Was ever bargain so good! Shibbu began to think that the cunning old cheat before him must have grown crazy from age to sell his jewels for a few pice! He eagerly closed with the bargain, if Lachman Dás would but wait for payment until the false jewels should be sold.

"Enough," said Lachman Dás, with twinkling eyes. "Thou shalt sign an agreement before witnesses that if thou pay me not, not merely shall thy property be mine, but thou thyself shalt be my bondsman to the end of thy days."

Shibbu, eager to gain more rupees by lying and cheating, willingly put his mark to the paper which was drawn up for him to sign. He could hardly bear waiting till the business was over, so much afraid was he that some other seller of gems should get the start of him, and cheat the strangers out of their rupees before he had time to display before them his beautiful but worthless ware.

But Shibbu had no need for such haste. Not only did he reach the quay before the passengers landed, but his false gems were so superior to those of any other seller, that he disposed of the whole twenty-four, and made three hundred rupees!

"I never had such a catch in my life!" thought the exulting teller of lies. "It will break old Lachman's heart when he finds what a wretched bargain he has made. If he had stuck to his demand for rupees, I should have given in at last. Now he must content himself with his pice!" And Shibbu laughed to himself at the mortification of the covetous old man.

But Shibbu did anything but laugh when standing by the maker of false jewels, with many witnesses around, he heard the beginning of the calculation made as to the real amount of his debt. He kept silent at first, though growing graver and graver, till he found that though the first jewel cost him but one pie, the twelfth was rated at "ten rupees," "ten minas," and "eight pies."

"Stop! Stop!" he cried. "There is some jugglery here. They never can come to so much!"

"Go on," said the maker of jewels to the accountant who, pen in hand, was making up the sum.

Now poor Shibbu was like a wretch undergoing the torture. As the doubled price of each ornament was named, he first groaned, then actually shrieked, as if a twisted rope were being drawn tighter and tighter around him. Long before the price of the twentieth jewel was reached, he was a ruined man; and when the twenty-fourth was named as worth upwards of "forty thousand" rupees, Shibbu threw himself on the ground, beat his breast, tore his hair, and cast dust on his beard.

"Oh! Have mercy—mercy on me!" he cried.

He might as well have asked mercy from the stones as from the wicked Lachman Dás.

Shibbu saw himself stript at once not only of his ill-gotten three hundred rupees, but of his house, everything that he possessed,—yes, even of his very freedom! Lachman Dás kept him to his agreement, and the fruit of Shibbu's successful, lying and cheating was poverty, misery, and bondage to the end of his wretched days.

Reader! Have you ever made anything by lying or cheating? Then are you in as evil a condition as Shibbu? You have a hard creditor in Satan, the evil spirit, and every pie that you have gained by his means is "set down," to be accounted for hereafter. You may now, like Shibbu, be exulting in your success. Perhaps you are a bunniah, rich from what you have wrung from the poor. Perhaps a Government official, whose hands are not clean from bribes. Perhaps a contractor, who has amassed thousands of rupees by dishonest bargains. In whatever way the ill-gotten money has come, be sure that the reckoning day is near.

Do you know what, in the Word of God, is written about the fate of the liar? Hear it, O sinner! and tremble—"All liars shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death" (Rev. xxi. 8). You have sold yourself as bondsman to him who is indeed the father of lies, one who is more cruel than Lachman Dás. Man can but hurt the body, but the evil one destroys the soul. Poor lost one! Dost thou boast of thy successful lies and thy clever bargains? See what they will bring thee to in the end. Thou hast heaped up a debt beyond what thou canst count, and every pie must be paid.

Yet even thou needst not despair; if thou, O lost one! repent and forsake thy sin, there is a way by which even your enormous debt can be paid—The Son of Man is come to save that which is lost (Matt. xviii. 11). The Christian religion offers pardon to the sinful, freedom to the bound, and life to the dying.

What would have been the feelings of Shibbu, when grovelling on the ground, groaning and despairing, had some prince come forward and said, "Fear not, I will pay all thy debt; my treasury is full, and were thy debt even to empty it, thou shouldst go free." Would not Shibbu have sprung up from the dust, then thrown himself at the prince's feet, and wept for joy? Even this act of mercy hath the Lord Jesus, God's Son, performed for thee, if thou believe. From the treasures of His grace He pays all thy debt, so that Satan hath no power to ruin thee. Christ came from heaven to pay it; He shed His own blood to pay it; there is freedom and life and joy for those who trust in His name!

THE ILL-FAVOURED BRIDE.

TO the wise and virtuous Hossein was born a son whom he called Shádia Shah (Prince of Pleasure) in the gladness of his heart. But the son at whose birth had been many rejoicings, grew up to be a care and sorrow to his parents. As the son of a wealthy man, Shádia fell into temptations which assail the rich more than the poor. He thought that, having no need to labour for his bread, he was not required to labour at all.

Shádia was placed at a Government school, but scarcely attended one day out of three. He fell amongst evil companions, who led him into habits of gambling. From morn till night the youth would sit in worse than idleness, rattling the dice or shuffling the cards. In vain his father reproved him, in vain his mother entreated. Shádia constantly incurred debts which his father paid with sorrow and shame.

"Alas!" said the neighbours. "That so wise a man should have so foolish a son!"

One evening Shádia, having partaken of a plentiful meal, stretched himself on his charpai, wrapped his rich coverlet around him, and closed his eyes as if to sleep. His father and a friend named Mihr Dád, sat at a little distance smoking their hookahs. Then after a while, the bubbling sound of the hookahs ceased, and the two friends engaged in the following conversation:—

"Is it not time," asked Mihr Dád, "that your honour should make some arrangement for the marriage of your son?"

"Arrangements are already in progress," was the reply.

This was to Shádia startling and interesting intelligence. * He noiselessly turned round on his charpai, and raised his head a little that he might listen the better.

* But not as astounding as it would have been to a European. In the East, relatives arrange marriages, the bride and bridegroom are not supposed to meddle in the matter.

"No doubt your honour has chosen for Shádia the daughter of some highly-esteemed man of excellent family," said Mihr Dád.

"I cannot say that," replied Hossein. "The bride's father is not a respectable man, but one of mean and grasping character, and of very low birth. He is, moreover, exceedingly ugly."

"That sounds not well," said the friend. "But perhaps the good qualities of the bride's mother counterbalance the evil ones of the father."

"Oh! The mother is mad!" replied Hossein.

Poor Shádia became very uneasy as he listened, and raised his head a little higher, hoping that he was unnoticed, as he lay in the shadow of a pillar.

"It is to be hoped that the girl does not resemble her parents," observed Mihr Dád.

"She is said to be more ugly than her father, and more mad than her mother," was Hossein's reply.

The poor intended bridegroom could hardly refrain from an exclamation of disgust. What could his father mean by making so horrible a marriage for his only son and heir!

"I suppose that the money arrangements at least will be satisfactory," said Mihr Dád after a pause; "the girl will bring great wealth to the house of her future lord."

"Anything but wealth," replied Hossein with a sigh. "Her father makes many promises indeed, but he is pretty certain never to fulfil them. On the other hand, Shádia's friends must settle on his bride all that he now possesses, or may inherit at my death. I believe that the result of the union will be to bring him to beggary at last."

Shádia could listen in silence no longer. He sprang from his charpai, and with flashing eyes and quivering lips suddenly appeared before his father.

"I will never make such a marriage!" he exclaimed. "Why have you chosen for me so hateful a bride?"

"I have not chosen her for thee, O my son!" Hossein mildly replied. "Thou hast chosen her for thyself. I would have wedded thee unto Wisdom, thou hast given thyself unto Gambling."

The youth looked somewhat perplexed.

"Sit down beside us," said the father, "and hear the meaning of my parable, and profit by it, my son."

Shádia took his place on the mat, and listened in silence while Hossein went on. "Gambling is the daughter of Covetousness, and her mother is the mad Love of Pleasure. She inherits the evil qualities of both her parents. She brings the rich to poverty, and the honourable unto shame. Didst thou ever know a gambler who rose to distinction by honest, persevering industry? Didst thou ever know a gambler who was blessed by his family, or who left a good name behind him?"

Shádia hung his head as one ashamed.

"Oh! My son, it is in youth that unions are formed on which the happiness or misery of the whole life may depend. You are now contracting habits which, if confirmed, will prove your ruin. The wild mirth of your associates is like the festivities and fireworks at a marriage, where the bridegroom is a victim, and the bride a fiend in disguise. For is it not the natural effect of the vice of gambling to destroy all that is noble in the character of man? If the parents of Gambling be Covetousness and the mad Love of Pleasure, what are her children? Idleness, Selfishness, Neglect of Duty, Poverty, Misery, and at length Despair."

Shádia took to heart the words of his father, and resolved from that day to break from the evil habit which was ruining his prospects and corrupting his heart.

And now, O reader! There is another kind of gambling against which I would warn you, Gambling daily practised by many who never touch a dice or a card. It is playing at the game of chance, at which the immortal soul is the stake. You may have been born among Hindus or Mahomedans, Sikhs or Christians; you may have learned from childhood to streak your forehead with the mark of Shiv, or to say, "There is one God, and Mahomed is His prophet," or to honour Goru Nanak, or to reverence the name of Christ. You go on doing these things, but as a matter of custom. Your common sense tells you that amongst many differing religions not all can be right—that if God be One, so Truth must be one; many paths lead to Hell, only one can lead to Heaven. Why do you not search and inquire, to be certain which is the right one? Why read you not Shastra and Grundth, Qurán and Bible, and compare them together, with earnest prayer to God for guidance? Because you shrink from labour, because you are willing to stake your soul on a "chance!"

Consider what is the stake. If you saw a royal gambler who should cry as he rattled the dice—"If I throw anything but six, I am content to forfeit my crown, come down from my throne, and take my place amongst the beggars who throng my gates!" Would you praise that king for wisdom? Would you not say, "Alas! He is mad!"

Or if you saw a youth seated at play, and heard him exclaim with a solemn oath—"If I lose this game of chance, I will throw myself into yon well a thousand feet deep, and make my life the forfeit of failure!" Would you praise that youth for wisdom; would you not rather cry, "Put him at once into confinement; it is not safe to leave him to himself!"

But he who stakes his soul, stakes more than a crown, stakes more than his earthly existence. He stakes future happiness, more precious than kingdoms; he risks the loss of bliss through millions and millions of ages. He risks it on the "chance" that his forefathers were right, and seeks no proof that they were so. Is this conduct the conduct of the wise? If the Mahomedan religion be from God, what will become of the Hindu? If the Christian Faith be indeed the true one, what will be the fate of those who, refusing to examine its proofs, reject it?

O reader! Gamble not with your own soul; become a patient, earnest, prayerful inquirer after truth. Examine the foundations of various religions, especially of that which fears no test. Mahomed himself declared the Tauret of Moses, the Books of the Prophets, and the Gospel to be the Word of God, yet willed not that his followers should read them! Has Wisdom no answer to the question "'Why' was he unwilling that men should search the Scriptures, though Christ, whom he knew to be a Prophet, commanded that men should search them?" Was it not that he had reason to dread the light that would pour in on the soul from reading the inspired books?

To seek for the truth—this is wisdom. To search and examine whether the foundation on which we build our hopes of heaven be firm and sure—this also is wisdom. To pray to the unseen God to guide us in our search—this is wisdom; and having found truth, to embrace and hold it fast to the end—this is wisdom indeed!

THE LADDER OF LIFE.

LOOK on the shadow of great realities shown forth in a dream! I beheld as it were a mighty Cross, the top of which I could not see, for it was hidden in a bright cloud; and the arms spread from East to West, as if to embrace all the world. Against this Cross, resting upon it, was a wondrous ladder with poles of gold, and seven rounds of various tints, each different from the other.

The first round of the ladder was of the hue of ashes, and on it was written these words from Scripture—"I acknowledge my transgressions, and my sin is ever before me: what shall I do that I may be saved?" The name of this round was Repentance.

The second round was blue and bright as the summer sky. On it was written these words—"God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have everlasting life." The name of this round was Faith.

The third round was of glowing crimson hue, richer and more beauteous than that of rubies. On it was written these words—"We love Him because He first loved us." The name of this round was Love.

The fourth round was green as emeralds sparkling in the light of the noonday sun. Even to look on it gladdened the heart, and ever and anon flowers appeared to blossom upon it, as roses bloom on the green earth. The name of this round was Joy. On it was written—"In whom believing, ye rejoice with joy unspeakable, and full of glory."

The fifth round was very marvellous to look on. Its colour was pale violet, and on it appeared in gold the semblance of an eye, an ear, a mouth, a hand, a heart, and other objects. The name of this round was Service, and on it was written—"I beseech you, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service."

The sixth round was of spotless whiteness, compared to which the pearl is without beauty, and the new-fallen snow without brightness. The name of the round was Holiness, and on it was written, "Holiness—without which no man shall see the Lord."

The seventh round appeared to be formed of golden light, but it dazzled my eyes so much, that I could not see it distinctly. The name of that round was Glory. On it was written, though I scarcely could read, on account of the excessive brightness—"To them who by patient continuance in well-doing seek for glory, and honour, and immortality, eternal life."

When I looked upon the ladder, I rejoiced, but when I looked from it to the earth I trembled. In the distance I saw red flames, as of a vast conflagration, and though yet afar off, minute by minute they drew nearer and nearer. I knew that a fiery deluge of destruction was spreading over the land, and was conscious that at last there would be no means of escape but by the way of the ladder that was resting upon the Cross.

On the first round of the ladder, Repentance, I saw several women seated, and all appeared to be in trouble, looking ever and anon to the fire at a distance. I heard first one, then another, repeat with weeping the words inscribed on the round. These were women whose hearts were touched with a sense of their sins.

"Oh! What must I do to be saved?" cried one.

A Brahmin in a long dhoti, and with painted lines on his forehead, and a string of beads in his hand, stood near. He heard the woman's exclamation and replied, "Go on pilgrimage to Kashi, bathe in the sacred Ganges, do pujá at the shrines, give offerings to the priests, and possibly even thou mayst obtain emancipation."

A turbaned Mahomedan Moulvie on the other side, with a copy of the Qurán in his hand, cried aloud, "There is but one God, and Mahomet is his prophet. Keep the fasts, pray five times a day, observe all the laws of Islam; even for women a place in Paradise may be found; saith not the prophet, that God will lead the believers of both sexes to the gardens of delight?"

Some of the women descended from their place on the round, and followed the one or the other speaker. I know not whether their hearts had found rest, but as they were now standing on the doomed earth, I feared that none were really in safety. Their eyes were fixed on that earth, and they turned their backs upon the Cross.

Two youthful sisters remained on the round of Repentance, nor listened to Brahmin nor Moulvie. Their gaze was anxiously fixed on the second round of the ladder, a round which was very high, and therefore hard to climb. At last, one of the sisters raised her hand, grasped firmly the round of Faith, and by her companion's aid got a footing upon it. The uppermost climber then helped the other up. Trembling from the exertions which they had made, both the young women stood trembling upon the round.

Then loudly from those below arose the cry, "Come down!" mingled with angry threats and curses. And suddenly a tremendous wind began to blow, increasing to a hurricane. It could not shake the ladder indeed, but it greatly harassed and frightened the girls who were clinging to it.

"I cannot stop here!" cried the elder. "I cannot endure this storm!" I could see in my dream that every limb was trembling from the blast of "persecution."

"Hold on! Oh! Hold on, my sister!" cried the younger. "A voice is sounding even through the storm, 'Whosoever shall confess Me before men, him will I confess also before my Father which is in heaven.'"

"Oh! This is terrible!" exclaimed the elder. "I can endure no more!" As she uttered the words she let go her hold, and dropped to the ground, sorely bruising herself against the round of Repentance as she fell.

A cry of anguish burst from her sister; but still notwithstanding the furious storm, and the fiercer cries of those beneath, she maintained her grasp, and only clung the harder, the louder the tempest of persecution blew.

She not only clung, but she climbed. It seemed as if the very blast helped to bear her upward, so quickly did the brave girl reach the third round, the ruby round of Love. It appeared as if there she would find some rest; from thence she could look down on the crowd, and less heed their hooting and upbraiding. I thought in my dream that I heard her say, "Perfect love casteth out fear."

Upward and upward still, struggling, clinging, climbing, the girl has reached the round of Joy. Then suddenly the wind went down, as if a voice had commanded it to be still, and as I looked on the climber, I beheld her face lighted up with exceeding delight. A song of joy burst from her lips, "My soul doth, magnify the Lord, and my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour!" Methinks there is no happiness on earth like the happiness which fills the heart of those who have risen from Faith and Love to Joy!

But there were other heights to be reached, and the climber was soon upon the round of Service. The ruby light of Love, the emerald radiance of Joy were about her still, as if she carried them with her. Her happy song did not cease; Service was evidently to the climber a post of honour and pleasure. To devote heart and eye, lips and hand, all that we have, and all that we are to Him who gave Himself for us, this is not the task of the slave, this is the adopted child's privilege and delight.

But still, even when on the round of Service, the girl's eyes were fixed on the round of Holiness above her, the beauteous pearly round. She stretched her hand upwards, longing to reach it, but it seemed too high for her even to touch. "Oh! Create in me a clean heart!" she cried. "And renew a right spirit within me!"

As the climber stretched upwards with wistful gaze, I saw an angel with snowy wings and starry crown suddenly swoop down from the sky. He caught the weary one in his strong arms, and in a moment placed her on the round of Holiness, and then onwards—upwards to Glory!

The crowd below cried, "The Christian is dead!" I knew that she had but entered into heavenly rest. They saw in the winged messenger the terrible form of Death, I beheld in him a ministering angel sent by the Lord of Life. Blessed are they whom He finds on the round of Service, still shining with Faith, and Love, and Joy!

Reader! This is a parable for all who have learned that they are sinners, who have heard of the love of a Saviour! If you have read this book, the Ladder of Life is before you, it remains with you whether or not you will resolve to climb it. At the last Great Day you cannot plead, "No one warned me of coming judgment, no one showed me a way to escape." Have you reached even the first round of the ladder? Has the cry ever burst from your heart, "God be merciful to me a sinner! What must I do to be saved?"

If, as is possible, though you yet be called a Hindu, you have reached the second round of the ladder, think not that it is possible to rest securely on the bare belief that Christ died for sinners, without the Love which can raise you above the fear of man. The devils believe, but do not love; their dead faith can never save them. If you, like too many, are content to think as a Christian, but live like a heathen, you are in fearful danger of a fall. Oh! Climb upward, struggling and praying, and be assured that it is Love that leads to Joy, and to that ready glad Service which shows to all that true faith inevitably leads to a useful, devoted life.

Do you long for Holiness, never fully attained on earth, yet aimed at by every sincere Christian? Hear the words of the Saviour— "Blessed are they that hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be filled. We know that when He shall appear we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is." To be with Him, and like Him for ever, this is glory indeed!

Once more look at the rounds of the Ladder of Life, and as you look, ask your own heart, "Do I desire to climb it?" And if you find the desire, oh! Turn it into a prayer—"Lord! By the help of Thy Holy Spirit, give me strength to climb it, for the sake of Thy blessed Son."

A. L. O. E. would suggest to kind young friends eager to help Missionaries, how very acceptable would be copies of this Ladder made in cardboard, with bright colours and gilding. She has herself made several, and few things are so useful to her in Zenanas as the one which she has reserved for herself. A friend greatly added to its value by putting a little figure of a man upon it, who, by being drawn up by means of a string at the back, mounts from round to round. Children in Mahomedan schools have readily learned by heart the precious verses attached to Repentance, Faith, &c. Nothing should be written on the Ladder except the names of the rounds and references to suitable verses. Each Missionary should learn to repeat these verses in the language of the people she visits.

Ladder of Life.

GLORY WITH CHRIST.
LIKENESS TO CHRIST.
SERVICE FOR CHRIST.
JOY IN CHRIST.
LOVE TOWARDS CHRIST.
FAITH IN CHRIST.
REPENTANCE FOR SIN.

THE BRAHMIN BOY.

PRITHU was the eldest son of a "Brahmin" (one of the highest "caste" or class in India, who think themselves twice-born, and so entitled to look down on their fellow-men). Little Prithu would probably at one time have almost rather starved than have eaten food which had been touched by one of low caste, or by a Christian, or have cut off the tuft of hair at the top of his head, which was a sign of his being a Brahmin. Prithu has cut away the precious tuft, and now sits down at the Christian's table, and gives thanks to the Christian's God. But the Brahmin boy had a hard struggle to go through before he left father and mother, country and friends, for the sake of the Gospel.

Prithu's home was in Narowal, which is in the large province called the Punjab. Narowal is a heathen place, but in it is a school, which was watched over by Mr. Bateman, an English missionary. Earnestly had Mr. Bateman been trying to win souls for Christ in Narowal and the country around. His was not an easy work, nor always a safe one. On one occasion some villagers were so angry with Mr. Bateman for having been the means of drawing a boy to the Saviour, that they threatened to drown the missionary the next time that he should cross their ferry.

"I am not easily drowned," was Mr. Bateman's good-humoured reply.

The natives dared not drown the English gentleman, however willing they were to do so, but they showed their spite by trying to drown his camels. When the large heavy beasts had to cross the ferry, a villager led them into a quicksand, where they had no safe footing. Down went the poor camels and Mr. Bateman's luggage into the water. The heathen around refused to bring a boat, or to help the poor struggling beasts. But let us return to our Brahmin.

Prithu's father placed his boy at the Narowal school, hoping to make him a clever man, but certainly "not" a Christian; he wished his son to gain knowledge, but not that knowledge which is more precious than all besides. But Prithu was thus within hearing of God's Word, and with him it did not fall like seed by the wayside. The boy listened, attended, and learned to love the Gospel, Prithu did not read his Bible as carelessly as do many so-called Christian boys. The truth was taking root in his heart, and the young Brahmin believed that Christ died for sinners, and felt that he must love Him who had given so great a proof of His love for mankind.

Great was the vexation of Prithu's father when he found that his son wished to become a Christian. He took his boy from Narowal, and placed him in a school at Lahore. But though no longer with his friend the missionary, Prithu did not forget his teachings. The seed of truth went on growing, Prithu's faith and love increased. In the spring, Prithu returned to Narowal, and spent a fortnight there, studying the Gospel, and trying to encourage a fellow-scholar who, like himself, believed the truth, and had to suffer persecution for righteousness' sake.

You must not suppose that Prithu was a boy without faults; he had to fight against sin within, as well as bear opposition from without. The Brahmin lad had been brought up in a land where sins of the tongue, evil-speaking, and lying, are fearfully common. On one occasion, he insulted his friend the missionary.

Mr. Bateman was engaged in writing, when Prithu asked him a question. The reply did not please the young Brahmin, who uttered a rude word to express that he did not believe that what the clergyman had told him was true.

The missionary rebuked the insolent lad. "Do you take me for a Hindoo or a Mahometan," said he, "that you think that I should lightly tell you a lie?" And turning round, the missionary went on with his writing.

Mild as was the reproof, it cut the boy to the heart. As Mr. Bateman described it, "he shrivelled up like the branch of a sensitive plant." Prithu felt how unjust, how ungrateful it had been to give the lie to one whom he so well knew to be speaking the truth in love.

For about half-an-hour Mr. Bateman went on with his writing, leaving the boy to reflect over his fault. Then the missionary, looking at the silent humbled Prithu, asked him of what he was thinking.

"I was thinking that if God were to cut out my unworthy tongue, it would be better for me," was the poor young Brahmin's reply.

Surely the "idle word" thus repented of was forgiven both by the master on earth and the Master in Heaven.

Thus has been described the peace and joy which came to Prithu when shown how he could overcome the sins of the tongue.

No burst of Sunshine on that April day made any landscape brighter than was his face when God's light broke through the cloud which hung over his heart, and he found the true remedy for his fault as he learned to pray, "Set a watch, O Lord, before my mouth, and keep the door of my lips, that I offend not with my tongue." How many of my British readers have from the heart uttered this prayer, and if they have never yet done so, is it "because they do not need it?"

Brightly and more brightly the light of truth shone upon the Brahmin boy. He received Christ as his Saviour, he was willing to leave all, and take up his cross to follow Christ. But oh! what a heavy cross it was to the tender loving heart of Prithu!

We who have been born of Christian parents, and brought up in Christian homes, know little of the agony to be borne by the convert who stands alone in his family, the one Christian amongst many heathen. The more tender the heart, the more sharp is the pain.

Prithu had the courage to ask for baptism, but Mr. Bateman thought him, under the circumstances, too young yet to receive it. Prithu was then not fifteen years old; he must count the cost before he gave up all for Christ; he must not hastily take a step which might divide him for ever from those whom he fondly loved. Prithu returned to Lahore without having had the water of baptism on his brow, but he carried with him the grace of God in his heart. Unlike many lads in Britain who dread even the scoff or laugh from ungodly companions which might follow their showing that they care for religion, unlike those who are ashamed even to be seen engaged in prayer, Prithu boldly confessed his faith in Christ.

The Brahmin father took his boy from the school in Lahore, and placed him in another, where he heard wicked blasphemous words uttered against Christ. Prithu was sorely distressed. He was like a light shining in a dark place; the wind of opposition was blowing round it; would it not flicker, would it not go out? Could a boy not yet fifteen years old hold fast his faith to the end?

Mr. Bateman was anxious about Prithu, and consulted a magistrate regarding the case of the boy. By the magistrate's advice, the missionary had a serious conversation with the father of his young friend. Mr. Bateman told the Brahmin that in three months more Prithu would be old enough to judge for himself which God he would serve, and that if, after that time, the lad still wished to be a Christian, the missionary would no longer refuse to baptise him. But during those three months of trial Prithu must go home with his father; that father might do all that he could to draw him back to the Hindoo religion, every means might be taken to work upon the boy's love or fear, his desire of praise, his dread of shame, and his pride of caste.

It was just and fair that the father should be given those three months during which he might try to win back his boy; it was honourable in the missionary to do nothing, even for the sake of converting a soul, in a deceitful underhand way. But it was a bitter trial to Mr. Bateman thus to part with his beloved young convert; he could not but dread the effect which those terrible three months might have upon the courage and faith of Prithu. Could the lad, with no Christian friend beside him, resist the arguments of his father, the tears of his own dear mother, the taunts or entreaties of those whom he had known from his childhood? Doubtless Mr. Bateman was very earnest in prayer for his poor Brahmin boy, but he felt like Darius when giving up Daniel to be thrown into the den of lions!