eae
——
The Baldwin Library
University
ROB wii
Florence and her Friends.
The Two Roses. © z
Little Tenpenny.
Sia China Leacups.
His Gin Bnemy,-
Three Firm Fricnds,
The Empty Jam-pot,
Patty and Brownie.
‘Pwo Weeks with the Greys.
eg) Tale of Three Weeks.
My Brother and I.
The Blessed Palin.
Hibertis Temptation,
Pretty Miss Violet.
The Queen's Oak.
The Story of «a Yellow Rose,
The Blacksmith’s Daughter.
Daisy's Trust.
The Runaways.
Jack Silverleigh’s Tempta- ¥
tion. :
‘
May Lynwood.
Tow’s Bennie.
The Captain of the Schoot.
Sallie, a Little Sister.
Keziah Taylor’s Donkey,
ISAAC GOULD THE WAGGONER,
i
Hittle Dot Series.
ISAAC GOULD.
THE WAGGONER.
A Story of Past Hays,
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY:
56, PATERNOSTER Row, 65, ST. Paut’s CHURCHYARD};
AND 164, PICCADILLY.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I,
PAGR
A Cortacz Home . a ®
CHAPTER IL
TEMPTATION ° ‘ 14
CITAPTER fff,
A GreaAT CHANGE . . 0 » 2
CHAPTER IV.
A SrruGGLe To Live .
iv Contents.
CHAPTER V.
PAGF
A Vrrenp In NEED . : . 47
THE SPARK AND THE FLAME : , 60
JSAAC OULD,
THE WAGGONER.
———0 0830-0.
CHAPTER I.
A COTTAGE HOME,
a large town in the south
of Hampshire stood, about
fifty years ago or more, a
@> cottage. It was of the hum-
blest character, being what is
called a mud cottage. It was,
however, built of clay and
fine gravel, mixed with a little straw; and as
the walls were very thick, and the roof was
well thatched, it had been a far more com-
fortable abode than might have been supposed
from its outside appearance,— warm in winter,
6 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
provided the doors and windows were shut,
and a fire was burning on the hearth (which
was not always the case), and tolerably cool in
the summer. Still it had scen its best days,
The walls were here and there crumbling
away, the thatch was covered with moss and
grass, and several birds had made their nests
init. The door and window-frames too were
shrunk and rickety, and iil kept out the keen
blasts of winter. There was a second storey
to the house; but the walls of it were about
three feet in height,—the remaining height
necessary to enable a person to stand upright
being afforded by the sharp-pointed roof.
Such was the habitation of honest Jacob and
Susan Dixon and their numerous young
family, and of Susan’s old father, Simon
Brand. It stood in a little garden, redeemed
out of the wild moor. This garden, by con-
stant digging and working, and by adding
every particle of manure which could be col-
iccted, had become very prolific. The country
round was wild and barren in the extreme;
and in the winter, when storms were blowing,
A Cottage Home. 7
it looked solitary and dreary enough. But
Jacob and Susan did not think so. Their
first child had been born there, and ther
they had lived ever since.
Jacob was but a day-labourer, and possessed
but a small amount of learning or talent ; but
he could read quite well enough to under-
stand his Bible. He stumbled, it is true,
when he came to hard words, and now and
then he did not know exactly the meaning of
sentences; but he persevered, and so, by the
grace of God, was able to make out sufficient
for his own spiritual needs. He felt that he
was indeed a sinner, as the good Book taught,
and read with deep gratitude of Jesus who
died for his salvation. Daily did he pray that
God would, by His Holy Spirit, create in him
a clean heart, and renew within him a right
spirit, and give him faith to believe, that he
might not perish, but have everlasting life.
Daily did he strive to order his steps aright ;
but still often he felt the power of temptation.
When old Simon Brand came to live with
Jacob and his wife, a year after their marriage,
8 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
he was sadly ignorant, Reading with him
was quite out of the question; he did not
even know his letters, and declared himself to
be too old and stupid to learn. Jacob Dixon,
however, did not therefore consider that he
ought to be left alone, but only laboured the
more perseveringly to awaken in him some
concern for spiritual things. As gradually
his mind opened to understand the truth, he
as a child received it. It is not too much
to say that after this he daily grew in know-
ledge and grace, and was able to speak to his
grandchildren, and to instruct and exhort
them. Susan, too, who once had been cum-
bered about much serving, listened attentively
to her husband’s and father’s remarks, and
accepted the truth of the gospel as it is in
Christ Jesus. Thus light had begun to beam
forth in that humble dwelling on the wild
moor.
In those days there were not good schools
to be found, as there are now in almost every
Village and hamlet. The little Dixons had
to go three long miles to a school, where they
A Cottage Home, 9
learned, in no very easy or pleasant way, to
read and write a little, and to do a few sums.
Still in bad weather or in fine, in spite of all
difficulties, they went. Jacob encouraged
them: “If you don’t go, you won’t be able
_ to read the Bible; and if you are not able to
read the Bible, you are more likely to be led
away into all sorts of follies and wickedness.â€
_ Jacob had a brother who had been rather
better educated than himself, and had gone
away, risen in the world, and made his
fortune,—so he heard; but as this brother,
Thomas Dixon, never wrote to him or sent
him any message, he was very uncertain
about him. “If he is alive and well to do,
he knows where to find me; and it wouldn’t
be right in me to go and ask him for help, as
long as I have a crust to put into my children’s
mouths and a roof over their heads,â€
Hitherto things had gone pretty smoothly
with Jacob Dixon. He had kept his health;
and by toiling early and late in summer, and
by moonlight labouring in his little garden
when his daily work was over, he had always
10 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
managed to find the required crust for his
children, and to clothe them decently, though —
coarsely. But bad times came; work grew
scarce, wages low, food dear; the master for ’
whom Jacob had always worked, year after
year without fail, all the year round, died, and
his property was sold.
The farm, with a house on it near the high
road, on which farm Jacob had chiefly been
employed, was bought by a certain Isaac
Gould, a waggoner, well known in those parts,
who drove his team from the town up to
London and back every fortnight, and oftener
sometimes. He was a hard, grasping man,
fond of money, who never failed in getting
the uttermost farthing from a debtor. Even
with this mode of proceeding, it was difficult
to say how he had scraped up enough money
to buy a property even of the size of Ashtree
Farm,
Jacob would rather have served any other
master than Isaac Gould. “Still it’s bad to
change,†he said to himself. “If I do my
duty, and he pays me my just wages, I don’t
A Cottage ome. 11
sec that any harm can come of it.†Jacob ac-
cordingly went to Ashtree Farm the day Isaac
Gould took possession, and offered his services
as a day labourer.
“Have you worked Jong for Mr. Barton ?â€
(the previous owner), asked Mr. Gould.
— “Sixteen years come next Michaelmas,â€
answered Jacob.
“And you were always ready to do what
,
Â¥
he told you, and to ask no questions?†said
Mr. Gould.
“Of course, sir; though now and then, if I
thought it would be to his advantage to do
a thing in a different way, I told him so,â€
answered Jacob. “You see, I’ve been so long
on the farm, that I know, or ought to know,
just what the ground wants and likes.â€
“And what did Mr. Barton say to that ?â€
asked Isaae Gould.
“He generally told me to take my own
way,†said Jacob.
“That’s not just my way,†said My. Gould.
“You can drive a waggon, I suppose?†he
asked, abruptly.
12 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
“Certainly ; I can drive a team with any
carter in Hampshire,—may be in the country,â€
answered Jacob, proudly; for he prided him-
self on doing what few things he could do
thoroughly.
“ Ah, well, you'll do, I dare say,†said Mz
Gould, fixing his eye on Jacob. “T’ll engage
you at nine shillings a week, and now and
then I may put you in the way of making
another honest penny. Only remember,—
what I tell you to do, that you must do. I
don’t like being dictated to.â€
«Yes, sir, surely,†answered Jacob, un-
suspicious of evil. “I like to know what is
expected of me, and then, if it is right, I'll try
to do it as well as I can.â€
Isaac Gould winced as Jacob spoke; still,
after a little, he said to himself, “He’s poor,—
he'll do what I want him to do. Only I must
not alarm his prejudices, if he has any.â€
So Jacob was hired at nine shillings a week
as a yeneral labourer, and extra pay for extra
work, It sounded very well, as things went
in those days. He had not very far to go to
A Cottage Home. 13
uis work, which was a great thing. He was
ble even to come home to dinner. He might
mind his garden in his spare time. These
things, it is to be feared, blinded Jacob’s eyes
to the character of the man he had undertaken
to serve, even when, after a time, he began to
know more «bout him than he did when he
rst engaged himself.
14
CHAPTER IL
TEMPTATION. —
aaa
JsutrEE Farm did not flourish, for,
% although Jacob did his best, its new|
owner cared very little about it, andl
refused to lay out money to improve it. All.
he seemed to care for was a supply of oats and,
hay for his horses. That paid him best, he,
remarked, and so probably it did, for much
depended on the speed and endurance of his
horses. Jacob could scarcely believe the)
accounts he heard of the wonderfully rapid}
journeys they performed from the coast to}
London. He heard, too, a rumour, more than’
once, of the sort of freight the waggon carricd;!
but it was only a rumour, and he had no,
opportunity of looking under the tilt to find,
out whether or not it was true. The second
time after hearing the report, Jacob told.
Temptation. 15
Susan and her father. They talked the matter
over.
“T tell thee, Jacob, my son, don’t thee have
anything to do with the matter,†said Simon
Brand. “I have a notion that what he’s about
is agin the laws. You've heard speak of
smugglers at sea, who bring over silks, and
ribbons, and tea, and such like things from
France, and land them on the coast. There
would be no use for them to be left there, and
so they must be carried up to London; and
it’s men like Isaac Gould who does that sort
of thing. From what you tell me, I begin to
suspect that’s the way he makes his money,
He is a land smuggler. He receives the goods
from the sailor - smugglers, and is off with
them to London before it’s known that a
cargo has been run on the coast. I say again,
Jacob, have nothing to do with the matter.
It’s better to lose your place than run any
chance of having anything to do with the
smugglers,â€
“But, father, whatever people may say of
Isaac Gould, he has been a fair master to
. 16 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
Jacob; and it would never do for him to
go and set himself up against his opinion.â€
“T tell thee, daughter, the Bible says some-
where, ‘ Have no dealings with the workers of
iniquity, †observed Simon Brand, “I would
say, rather leave his service than do anything
contrary to the laws of God and the law of
the land.â€
“ But no one asks Jacob to do that,†replied
Susan. “What I am afraid of is that Isaac
Gould will some day go and turn him off, and
then he'll be thrown out of work, and what'll
become of me and the children and you,
father ?â€
“Consider the ravens, for they neither sow
nor reap; which neither have store-house nor
barns; and God feedeth them. How much
more are ye better than the fowls!’†said the
old man, quoting his favourite book. “It’s
just this, Jacob, we must have faith that God
will take care of us. We must do our duty,
and leave the rest to Him. He knows what
is best for us. Maybe He will let misfortune
overtake us, just to show us that we are
Temptation. 17
in the wrong way, and to lead us back to
Himself.â€
“T know—I know, father, all that,†said
Jacob; “but, somehow or other, there are
times when I can’t see the matter clearly.
I’ve sometimes felt, when wages were low and
food was dear, that I couldn’t stand it much
longer, and—â€
“That’s just what Satan wishes you to
do, Jacob,†said Simon, interrupting hin.
“Those that trust in God shall never be
confounded.â€
Simon, however, himself was to be sorely
tried, as were, indeed, his daughter and son-
in-law. Among Jacob's numerous family,
Little Ben, as he was called, a child about:
five years of age, was the old grandfather’s
greatest pet. He was a fair, curly - haired,
spirited, intelligent little fellow. Wherever
Simon went, little Ben accompanied him;
whenever he came home, little Ben took his
hat and stick, and placed them in their proper
places. The old man, after he had himself
learned the truth, showed even greater anxiety
cv
18 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
shan their parents to instruct his grand-
children. Little Ben, as soon as he could
understand the truths of Scripture, came in
for even a larger share than the rest of tho
old man’s care. It was at avery early age
that little Ben learned to lisp the name of
Jesus. Though he was too young to read
liimself, he liked to listen to his grandfather
reading out of the Bible, or to hear him tell
true stories out of it about Joseph and his
brethren, Moses and Samuel, and, more than
all, about Jesus. Little Ben began to wish to
read himself, and he begged his grandfather
to teach him. Simon, who had himself only
learned when an old man, set to work to teach
the little fellow. But eager as the master was
to impart knowledge, and the pupil to obtain
it, little Ben made but slow progress; for in
those days the pretty books which children
have now did not exist. There were none
with large print, which old Simon could place
on his knee and read while little Ben followed
his finger. Old Simon had no money to buy
a book; but he had a Bible which had origin-
Temptation. 19
ally cost ten times as much as a Bible would
at the present day. It had a dark. worm-
eaten leathern cover, and the leaves were very
much worn and stained ; but old Simon loved ’
it, and out of it he used to teach little Ben’
the letters and a few words. There was one
name Ben could soon find out, and he used to
point to it, and look up in grandfather's face,
and say, “Tell me about Jesus. What does
it say there?†All these sayings poor old
Simon afterwards remembered, and ever trea-
sured up.
The winter had gone; spring had come,
and made the green grass spring up with its
genial showers and warm suns, and hay-
making had begun. Now it was that a great
calamity fell upon the family. Little Ben
ran out unobserved one day into the fields ;
and a waggon load of hay fell over upon him,
and buried him. When he was discovered,
he was dead. It was a sad scene, upon which
we need not dwell, and a terrible shock to his
mother. Many days passed before she re-
covered her composure,
20 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
The body of little Ben lay on the bed in
the corner of the upper room he had occupied
in his life-time. The women of the family
were sitting silent and sad with old Simon :
mourning his loss, for Jacob and the elder
boys had to return to the fields to their:
labour. Their services were of too much
value at that time to permit of their remain-_
ing at home. Simon was in vain endeavour-
ing to comfort his daughter. She thought
that it was hardhearted in him even to make
the attempt.
“Yes, father, yes; I am pretty sure that
he has gone to heaven; but how do I know
that Iam to go there?†she answered, in an
almost vexed tone.
“ Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou
shalt be saved, thou and thy house,†said a
stranger who had at that moment entered the
cottage. Susan got up and offered him. a
chair, for there was something in his manner
and the expression of :his countenance’ which~
gave her confidence; but she said nothing:
Her eyes were still red with crying, and so
Temptation. 21
the stranger saw that something sad had
happened. He inquired gently. They told
him.
“ Ah, sir!†added Simon, “he’s gone home
—gone to be with Jesus—with Jesus whom
he loved. Young as he was, he loved to
hear me talk about Jesus.â€
“Blessed are they who die in the Lord,â€
said the stranger, turning to Susan. “ You
are a mother, and you feel as a mother sorrow
for the loss of your young child; but surely
as a Christian you may rejoice that he is safe
with Jesus. He cannot come to you, but te
may go to him.â€
In those days there lived in that part of
Hampshire a minister of the gospel who
might truly have been called a servant of
God, for to God’s service he devoted his life
and strength. I will not give his name; it is
written in heaven, where he now is, with the
glorious company of the saints. This was the
stranger. He had come to ask but for a cup
of cold water to soften the crust of bread he
carried in his pocket. Much more now did
22 Lsaac Gould, the Wuggorer.
he say to console and instruct the weeping
mother. Susan gradually recovered her
spirits; but her heart, she was compelled to
confess, was like the stony ground in which
the good seed took no root. Old Simon
mourned, yet not as one without hope.
Jacob went as usual about his daily busi-
ness, but his heart was sad and heavy, and as
difficulties and troubles seemed sometimes to
increase about him, he was almost tempted to
believe that God had forsaken him. He was
in that despondent mood which Satan is ever
ready to take advantage of.
One day his master, Isaac Gould, sent for
him. “Jacob, I have some work for you, my
man,†he said, ina kindly tone. “It will put
ten shillings in your pocket, maybe a pound
or more. There is a waggon of mine which I
wish to have driven by a careful man up to
London. I have chosen you, for I can trust
vou. I want you to start to-night. Go down
to the head of Oyster Creek by half- past
eleven, and take charge of it. There's nothing
Temptution. 23
wrong: nuw don’t be afraid. Come and see.
Well, there are three pounds for you if you
do the job properly. I say there is no harm.
Are you, or are you not, my servant, Jacob
Dixon ?â€
“Yes, I am; and I trust to your word,â€
answered Jacob. “You'll bear me harmless
if anything goes wrong ?â€
“Of course—of course; no fear about that,â€
answered Isaac Gould, hurriedly. “ You'll
go, at all events ?â€
“T’ve promised,†said Jacob, in a low
voice. “I'll not be off from what I said.â€
“When you meet the waggon you have
only to say that you are my man, and all will
be right,†said Mr. Gould.
Isaac Gould took care that Jacob should
not escape from his promise. He sent word
up to Mrs. Dixon that he wanted Jacob's help
for a particular purpose, and that he would
not be home for tio, or it might be three
days, as he had to go up to London and back
first. Susan received the message late in the
evening. She would even then have set off
24 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
to see her husband, and learn what it was he
was expected to do, but the boy who brought
the message said that he had Inft Ashtree
Farm some time before, and that he did not
know where he was gone. Old Simon was also
very anxious when he heard that Jacob had
at length undertaken to engage in one of Mr.
Gould’s secret jobs, of which he had had so
great a suspicion.
“T warned him—I warned him to have no
dealings with the ungodly,†said the old man,
sadly. “It would have been better far to
have sought work in another »nlave than
to have undertaken to serve such a ma‘ ter.â€
Meantime poor Jacob, against his better
judgment, proceeded on his way to the head
of Oyster Creek. ~ It was near the appoin‘ed
hour as he approached the spot. His heart
misgave him as he thought of the character
of the place, its peculiar loneliness and bad
reputation.
“T am afraid that it is some smuggling
work but it is too iate to turn back,†he said
to himself. Alas! he not only suspected that
Temptation. 25
it was smuggling work, but felt that he ought .
never to have undertaken it—no, not even
had his family been starving. Never do ill
that good may come of it. Was he not a
Christian? Could he not trust to God’s pro-
mises? Had God not said that not a sparrow
falls to the ground but He knoweth it?
And did he not feel that he and his were of
more value than many sparrows ?
These thoughts passed rapidly through his
mind as he hastened on. Even then he might
turn back: but he had pledged his word that
he would carry out the orders he had received.
He had not long to wait before he heard the
sound of waggon wheels approaching, ap-
parently as if they had only just begun to
move. Ina short time a light waggon drawn
by four active horses appeared, but what was
Jacob’s surprise to see a dozen or more well-
armed men accompanying it.
“Fillo, mate! Are you the man we were
to expect ?†asked the leacler.
“JT am Mr. Gould’s man,†answered Jacob,
as he had been instructed.
26 Lsaae Gould, the Waggoner.
“All right. Jump up, and take charge of
the waggon,†said the man—a sailor, by his
appearance, as far as Jacob could judge of it
in the moonlight. “We don’t intend to leave
you, however, just yet. Drive on.â€
Jacob did as he was ordered. A man who
had before been driving got down, and the
whole party proceeded on at a rapid rate.
“You've a mate in charge of the waggon
inside, so you'll have no trouble. All you
have to do is to drive on as steadily and
quickly as you can towards London,†observed
the leader of the party. Scarcely a word was
spoken by the armed men.
They had gone about three miles, when the
sound of horses’ hoofs on the hard ground
was heard. “Push on—push on!†cried the
leader. “Perhaps they are not after us.â€
Jacob lashed on the horses as ordered. Ife
now knew too well that he was engaged in
some important smuggling transaction. The
horsemen quickly came up with the waggon.
As they did so, the men guarding it faced
about and deliberately fred at them. Then
Temptation. 27
arose loud shouts and cries. The horsemen
dashed on—swords clashed—pistol shots were
exchanged, ‘The traces were cut—the waggon
was stopped in spite of Jacob’s frantic efforts
todrive on. Still his companions continued
to fight, in the hopes of driving off the
revenue men. Jacob was on the point of
leaping from his seat when a shot struck him,
and he fell back into the waggon. Several of
the smugglers were shot or cut down at the
same time, and the remainder, finding that all
hope of success was lost, attempted to escape
over the banks on either side and into the
woods beyond. Some succceded, but others
were made prisoners. The waggon, with ity
valuable contents, was seized—silks, ribbons,
jewellery, anda variety of other goods, in that
day contraband, brought over from France.
The whole was Isaac Gould’s venture. He
had before suffered some severe losses; he
was now a ruined man.
28
CHAPTER If.
A GREAT CHANGE.
A2HE news of the capture of the waggon
sos as well as of a smuggling vessel, laden
with some of his property, reached
Isaac Gould as he was sitting alone in his
parlour with a tankard of strong ale before
him and a pipe in his mouth. He had con-
sidered himself very clever, for he had made
arrangements which guarded him from. the
risk of being brought to justice should his
schemes miscarry; though, as it turned out,
they could not prevent him from being
ruined. He thought, indeed, that he had
made everything secure, and, as has been
seen, he did not hesitate to lead others into
temptation. The same minister of the gospel
who had visited Jacob Dixon’s cottage had
also called at his house, and had spoken
A Great Change. 29
words of gentle counsel and earnest warning,
So explicit had he been, that Isaac thought
that he must be acquainted with his own
proceedings. “The day may come, my friend,â€
the minister had said to him, “when you will.
look on the dross you are now so eagerly
collecting, regardless of the means you employ,
not only as utterly valueless, but as the cause
of your soul’s destruction. Turn from your
evil ways; seek the Lord while He may be
found; call upon Him while He is near, ask
for the grace of the Holy Spirit that He may
deliver you.†After the good minister had
proceeded on his way, Isaac Gould could not:
‘help reflecting on the words he had heard;
but the arrangements for his long-contem-
plated venture, which was, he hoped,.to raise
him to affluence, had been made, and his
plans soon drove these uncongenial thoughts
from his mind. Now, however, they. came
back unbidden with considerable force. °
““What of Jacob?†he asked of the man-
who brought him the intelligence, and who
was one of those who had escaped.
30 Isuae Gould, the Waggoner.
“Shot down, poor fellow; killed by the
king’s troopers just before they took pos-
session of the waggon. I watched them from
the wood till all was over, and then I camo
on to tell you.â€
“Poor fellow ! poor wife and fatherless chil-
dren! that’s all my doing,†muttered Isaac
Gould to himself. “And I myself am a
ruined man—utterly ruined. I who thought
that I was going to be as rich as any gentle-
man in the country. Fool that I was—fool !â€
and he struck his forehead with his clenched
fist in a way to make the man, who was still
in the room, start, and fancy that he was
going to do himself some injury.
“Don’t take on so, Master Gould,†said
the man. “These sort of things will happen,
and youre the man to pick up again, no
fear.â€
“What, you there, Jobson; I thought you
were gone!†exclaimed Isaac Gould, re-
covering himself. “No—no—no, don’t talk —
of picking up to me—I’m a ruined man, I
tell you; though, as I’ve no wife, nor children,.
A Great Change. 31
it doesn’t matter; but, Jobson, you used to be
a good-natured fellow, and here, I want you
to take these few shillings up to poor Mrs.
Dixon—Jacob’s wife, you know. ‘Tell her
what has happened, and try and speak a few
words of comfort to her—I couldn’t even if
my life depended on’t.â€
“As to that, it isn’t much I can say in the
way of comfort,†replied Jobson; “but Dll do
as you tell me.â€
| “Yes, yes; there’s a good fellow,†said
jIsaac-Goyld, who wished to be alone again,
jand wanted therefore to get rid of Jobson.
| When Isaac Gould said that he was ruined,
jhe scarcely realised the fact that he was so—
imosi completely. He had not only embarked
|all the money he possessed in his late ven-
iture; but in his eagerness to make a large
ortune had borrowed considerable sums on
he security of his farm. The whole venture
iad been seized, and that must likewise be
given up. He was, therefore, penniless, and
rust begin the world anew. Well, he coull
Inve a waggon now as well as: he could
82 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
twenty years ago. Still it was a very
bitter pill he had to swallow. He supposed
that he had made some mistake, though
what it was exactly he could not tell. Some
weeks passed by, creditors came around him,
his property was seized, even to the watch in
his pocket, and he went forth into the world
broken in fortune and character—for the
cause of his ruin was well known. He had
been a hard man, he had no friends, and few
pitied him.
It was at this juncture, as he was on his
way to the roadside inn, where he purposed
seeking shelter, that he again met the good
minister who had once before visited him.
“Friend, 1 think I remember you; you look
downcast and sad. Tell me the cause of your |
grief,†said the minister.
Isaac Gould at that moment felt the want
of a friend—he wished for sympathy, yet whe
knowing the truth would afford it? Still he
felt constrained to open his mind to the good
man, whose character he well knew. He did
so, and told him all that had occurred: how
A. Great Change. 33
he had systematically broken the laws, and.
been the cause of several people losing their
lives; and how he had been guilty of many
other evil deeds.
“Repent, and turn to the Lord your God.
He is merciful and compassionate, and willing
to forgive all who come to Him in true peni-
tence, through Christ Jesus: not otherwise,
though, my friend, I am bound to tell you.â€
It was not likely that Isaac Gould would
take in these glorious truths at once. The
longer a person has remained in darkness the
more difficult he finds it to see in the light.
Still by God’s grace they made way in his
heart. On many a lonely journey did he
reflect upon them. He began to see that he
was a sinner, that even had he not done the
many things he knew to be wrong, that he
would still have been a sinner, and justly
condemned; and then he grasped the great
truth that Jesus came not to call the righteous
(the self-righteous), but sinners (who discover
themselves to be such) to repentance. The
progress, thus begun, continued till Isaac
p 19
34 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
Gould was a changed man, and had learned
to bless the day that he was stripped of his
worldly, ill-gotten wealth, and to love the
minister who had been the means of his con-
version. Gladly would he have made repara-
tion for the errors and crimes of the past, but
in his position it was impossible; and_ it
remained the bitterest thought of his life
how much evil he had done, the consequences
of which could never be remedied.
CHAPTER IV.:
A STRUGGLE TO LIVE.
CIN vain Susan Dixon waited for thc
return of her husband. The boy ar.
rived with the last message he sent
~ that he would not be back home, perhaps,
for some days; but Jobson, who had promised
Tsaac Gould that he would carry the account
of Jacob’s death, did not make his appearance
at the cottage. On his way he stopped at a
public-house to drink, and while there was
seized by a party of the revenue men in
pursuit of the fugitive smugglers, and being
recognised was carried to prison, and .ulti-
mately sent off to. sea. Day after day passed
by, and Jacob did not come. Both Susan and
her old father began to fear that some evil
had befallen him. Usually, it is said that
bad news travels fast. In this instance, how-
36 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
ever, it was some time before Susan heard the
report of the capture of Isaac Gould’s smug-
gling vessel and waggon, and of her husband’s
probable death; for as the smugglers who
had remained with the waggon had been
captured, and the rest kept out of the way,
she could obtain no certain particulars. There
were no railroads in those days, and the post-
office was managed in a very different way to
what it is at present—so that letters often
miscarried. Simon Brand felt his son-in-
law’s loss very acutely. He had a great
affection for him, and he mourned that one
he believed to be so truly religious shou'd
have been led to join in an illegal undertaking.
“Alas! alas! how frail is human nature;
Jacob trusted in this matter to his own.
strength, and fell. May the Lord have had
mercy on him! Ah! we never can know what
we may do—how low in sin we may sink, if
we trust in our own strength.†Susan. grieved
even more than her, father—she was also
broken in spirit. She asked at first why
this misfortune had befallen her?- what had’
A Struggle to Live. 37
she done to deserve it? Then she began to
despair, and, feeling her unworthiness, to fear
lest further evil should come upon her.
“Oh, sister! what are those sad words you
are speaking?†said a voice, one day, at the
cottage door, which was ajar, when she was
complaining; and pushing it open, the good
minister who had visited the family when
little Ben lay dead, entered the room. “Yes,
we all deserve punishment; the best man
alive would be a child of wrath were it not
for the loving Saviour who stands ‘between
him and an offended God; but yet ‘God so
loved the world, that He sent His only be-
gotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him
might not perish, but have everlasting life.â€
This affliction may be designed in love, and
not inanger. Trust in God. Not a sparrow
falls to the ground but He knows it: are not
you of more value than many sparrows?†.
“Maybe, sir, that good people are; but I’m
a good -for-nothing, careless woman ; God
can’t care for such as me!†exclaimed Susan,
wringing her hands,
9
38 Isaac Gould, the Wugyoner.
“Listen to me, Susan Dixon,†said the
minister, solemnly. “There is no one good-—
no, not one. In God’s sight we are all unclean,
and desperately wicked. What He requires is
repentance and faith. We may come to Him
‘hrough Jesus Christ, assured that whosoever
cometh to Him, He will in no wise cast out.
fe regards us, sinners though we be, with
love surpassing that which any human being
can feel. To those who love Him aftlictions
are sent only to perfect and bring them closer
to Him, All things work together for good
to them that love God. Go to Him, then, in
prayer, throw all your cares on Him, for He
eareth for you; and believe that, whatever He
sends you, it is in love, for your eternal good.â€
Susan was touched by the minister’s cor-
forting words. She felt she had not acted as
if she had a compassionate, loving Saviour,
ever ready to hear her prayers and to give
her relief, and she determined in future to
go to Him, nothing doubting. The minister
remained with her and her father for some
time, affording much comfort and advice.
A Struggle to Live. 39
How to support her family was, however, a
source of great anxiety to. poor Susan, and a
sore trial to her new-found faith, Still she
prayed and trusted, Anne had got into a
very nice place ; but her wages were low, and
she could send home very little to help her
mother. Susan would have liked to have got
Sarah out in service, but she could ill spare
her, The two eldest boys just got enough to
find them in bread and cheese and shoes; so
she must make enough to find food and
clothing for the rest, and to pay rent and.
taxes, She would try to get some washing to
do—to take in work, or to go out charing in
the neighbouring town. Accordingly she
went there the next day in search of employ-
ment, She told her story to many people,
but some spoke coldly and even harshly to
her; and though others were kind, she re-
turned home much dispirited, with only a
few articles to wash, which were required
immediately. It was not till she knelt down
by her bedside that night to pray, that she
felt her heart comforted, and remembered
40 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
that she had a loving Friend in heaven ever
watching over her.
Old Simon was very anxious to get work—
to hoe weeds and such like employment,—but
as he could not walk that was out of the
question. One day a gipsy, with a large
bundle of rushes on his back, was about to
pass his door, when a thought struck him,
and he called to the man, “What do you
make with those?†he asked.
“ Baskets, master,†was the answer.
“T am old, and unable to walk—there is
me and my daughter and her children, and
a hard matter we find it to live. Will you
teach me to make baskets ?â€
«Ay, that I will,†answered the man,
promptly. “Don’t be surprised; I wouldn’t
always have done so. I was once a wild
heathen gipsy ; but a good minister came to
our camp one day, and told us about One
who came on earth to do good to those He
-had made His fellow-creatures; and I was so
touched that since then I have tried to do
good for love of Him, instead of the harm
A Struggle to Inve. 41
which I once took pride in doing. I'll teach
you, and glad.â€
The gipsy was as good as his word, His
camp was pitched near the neighbouring
town, and every evening, for two or three
weeks, he came over and gave Simon so good
a lesson in basket-making, that the old man
was soon able to make a basket as well as he
could. He showed also Susan’s three boys
where they could get the rushes, and how to_
dry and prepare them; and, finally, he took
thein into the town, and introduced them to
fishmongers and grocers, and to many private
people who were likely to purchase the baskets.
Old Simon was very industrious. He used
up all the rushes the boys could collect, and
made almost as many baskets as they could
sell; but, of course, while they were collect-
ing rushes and selling the baskets, they could
not be employed in their more regular occu-
pations; so that the profit was, after all, but
very small. Then, also, people did not
always want rush baskets, and rushes did
not grow at all times in the year fit for use.
42 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
Still, old Simon and the boys laboured on ;
and Susan and the girls did what they could
to support the family—taking in washing
and needle-work, and going out charing.
Susan was thankful that she had learned to
do these things when she was in service.
The laundry-maid at the house where Susan
had once lived had been kind to her, and
Susan had constantly helped her—though it
was not her proper business—till she had
learned to wash and iron perfectly well; she
had also been very diligent in learning to sew,
and as she had been under-housemaid, she
understood charing thoroughly. So, if young
people of all ranks would take advantage of
the opportunities offered them of learning to
do various things, which may not appear
perhaps absolutely necessary at the time,
they would find it a very great advantage
in after life.
The afflictions Susan Dixon was suffering
were improving her character. She was con-
scious of this herself. Though she worked
harder than she had ever done, she found
A Struggle to Live. 43
more time to pray and to read the Scriptures,
and to attend God’s house of prayer. She
listened more attentively than before to the
sermons and exhortations she heard; and
was more gentle and loving in her family.
She thought herself perfectly resigned to her
lot. She was, however, to undergo more
trials. Her father fell ill, and was unable to
sit up and make baskets. He bore his sutter-
ings calmly and unrepiningly, his only regret
being that he could not assist as before in
supporting the family. Her eldest boy next
hurt his leg, and could not go out to work;
the younger children took the measles, and
she also fell ill herself. Day after day she
hoped to get better, and to be able to go out
to work; but in the meantime she had to
get into debt, which in all her poverty she
had hitherto avoided. Then she had the
doctor to pay; for she belonged to no club,
and the present system for relieving the poor
did not exist. At length she saw starva-
tion staring her in the face. Her children
often now cried for food, and she had none to
44 Isaac Gould, the “Vaggoner.
give them. Winter was coming on. What
should she do? ‘In her listress, she thought
of her husband’s brother Thomas, He was
well able to relieve her, and might do so if
she could find out where he lived. She
thought that she might do so if she could get
into the town. Ill as she was, she determined
to go; some of the people for whom she had
worked might also give her some food for her
little ones. What will not a mother do for
her children ?
The days were getting short—the distance
considerable. She obtained without difficulty
some broken food from some, and money from
others, with which to buy necessaries—for
her credit was exhausted at the shops ; but
she could not learn where Thomas Dixon
lived. - Some people thought it was in London,
but could not tell for certain. She was on
her way back, much disappointed, and feeling
weak and ill.
had come on, and darkness was approaching,
She thought that she should never reach
home; still she tried to exert herself. In
A Struggle to Live. 45
spite of her resolution she was almost sinking
to the ground when the sound of the bells of
a team of waggon horses struck her ear. The
waggon soon came lumbering up. It was
such as was in general use in those days—very
different to the trim vehicle to be seen at
present on the highway. The waggoner, in
a smock frock, with his long whip in his hand,
zame sauntering along by its side—now talk-
ing to his horses, now giving them a gentle
flip with the whip. _ “ What’s the matter,
missus?†he asked, in-a kind tone; which.
prompted her to tell him that she felt very
ill, and thought that she could scarcely get
home. He asked her, in return, her name,
and where she lived.
“Get in here, Mrs. Dixon,†he said, in a
low voice, lifting her into the waggon. “I'll
take you home. It’s food you want just now.
Here’s some bread and bacon.â€
Susan felt much revived by the food, and
the waggoner drew from her an account of
what she had suffered,—the illness of her father
and her children—her disappointment at not
46 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
finding out where her brother-in-law resided
—and her fears for the future,
The waggoner listened attentively, and
asked her many other questions. He stopped
his horses at length close to her cottage, and
as he helped her out of the waggon, put some
coin into her hand, which he had hurriedly
done up in a piece of paper.
“Here’s a trifle to help you along, Mrs.
Dixon, for the present,†he said. “It’s little
enough ; but it’s all I’ve got by me. Don’t
thank me. You owe me no thanks; that
you don’t. I'll come, may be, to you again
some day; but I shall not be back this way
for a long time to come. It 1s not a part of
the country I am fond of. If I can I will
find out where Thomas Dixon lives the next
time lamin London. Trust to that! There,
good-bye. Never mind who I am. Don't
thank me, either. No! no! no! Crood-bye.â€
And the waggoner, having seen Susan
enter the gardeu gate, put his horses into a
trot, and the waggon soon disappeared in the
darkness,
CHAPTER Y.
A FRIEND IN NEED.
se did not even look at the package
S29 the waggoner had given her till she
had supplied her father and children
with some of the food she had brought. Jt
was thankfully received, for scarcely a mouth-
ful had passed their lips that day. What was
her surprise when she did look at the package,
to find two golden guineas, as much coin in
silver, and several copper pieces, showing that
the waggoner, without stopping to count his
money, had taken ail he had in his pocket
and given it to her. It might, indeed, truly
be called a God-send. She was also grateful
to the stranger, and hoped some time to be
able to thank him. She had now the means
of paying some of her debts, and of procuring
the nourishing food which her children so
48 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
much required. Weeks passed by; her money
_ was nearly all expended, and she still had the
doctor and many people to pay. She was
rarely able to take work, even when she could
get it. Her further efforts to hear of her
brother-in-law were ineffectual. She scarcely
thought that the strange waggoner would be
more successful, and she at last gave up all
hopes on the subject. Her good old father,
in spite of his own sufferings, did his best to
support and encourage her by reminding her
of God’s gracious promises, and by urging her
to put her trust in Him. She did so trust,
though she did not see how she was to be
relieved. Her faith was sorely tried. The
cottage had been long in a dilapidated con-
dition, and several of the beams now proved
to be rotten, and gave way, threatening to let
the roof fall about the heads of the inmates,
The wmter began with unusual severity.
Food was scarce; but that might seem to be
a matter of little consequence to poor Susan,
as she had no money to buy any. She might
get further credit from those tradesmen: she
A Friend un Need. 49
had paid; and though it went sorely against
her feelings to beg, she might get a little
assistance from people in the town. Still
even this would scarcely give food enough for
the family, and she would have nothing to
buy fuel, or shoes, or clothing, or to pay for
propping up her tottering habitation. The
two boys, at this season, could get no em-
ployment, and the small amount Anne could
send home, after greatly stinting herself, went
but very little way. Oh, how little do the
well-to-do think of, or even know, the suffer-
ings the poor are called on to endure.
Snow covered the ground; there was no
food in the house; but a few sticks of firing
The roof was sinking more and more. The
icy wind came through the crevices and
eracks which of late had appeared in the
walls, The old man and his grandchildren
sat round the scanty fire, made up of sticks
and turf, the last that had been collected, and
now, while the snow lay thickly on the ground,
more were not to be procured. Susan was
putting on her bonnet and shawl, saying that,
E 19
50 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
in spite of the weather, she must go into the
town to beg for food, when the jingling of
bells was heard through the frosty air ap-
proaching the cottage. The pleasant sound
grew nearer and nearer, and ceased when
close at hand. In another minute the voice of
the strange waggoner was heard asking for
admittance. Mrs. Dixon knew it at once.
He was warmly clad, and his hat was drawn
lown over his eyes to shield his face from the
weather. It had, of course, also the effect of ig
concealing his features.
“Weil, Mrs. Dixon, I’ve good news for you.
[ have found him, and have come to you at
his desire,†he said, standing in the middle of
the room, without removing his hat.
“Who, who?†asked Mrs, Dixon.
“Mr. Thomas Dixon,†answered the wag-
goner, “He has sent me to fetch you, for he
is too infirm to move himself; and from the
look of this house the sooner you get out of
it the better.â€
Susan was too much astonished, for some
moments to speak, Gradually she under-
A Friend in Need. 61
stood that her brother-in-law had sent for her
and her children and her father; but when
the thought came that she and they must
immediately quit the cottage where she had
lived many happy years with her husband,
and in which all her little ones had been
born, she burst into tears. It was very
natural. The waggoner did not seem at all
surprised, nor did he for some time attempt to
comfort her. At length, however, he spoke,
and urged her to lose no more time, as the
days were short, and he hoped to travel some
distance before the night. Immediately she
stopped her tears, and exclaimed,
“Oh, what a thankless creature you must
have thought me! Now 1 know you. It was
you who brought me home that night, and
gave me the paper of money. It saved all
our lives, that it did. I am grateful, that I
am, believe me.â€
“Don’t talk about it, Mrs. Dixon. I can’t
tell you what a satisfaction it was to me
giving you that money. If I had had ten
times as much it would have been still
52 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
greater. I owed it to you, and much more,
so I pray you don’t talk about it; but now,
as I said before, make haste to go witli’ ine.
You can’t stay here, that’s very certain.
Your bedding and anything you can pack up
shall go with you, and I will arrange with a
friend of mine who lives not far off to come
and remove the other things, and take charge
of them till they can be sold to advantage.â€
A poor person’s packing-up does not take
long. The children quickly put on the -few
additional articles of clothing they possessed.
Simon had not parted, even in their extre-
mity, with his long, warm, threadbare, yet
still decent Sunday suit. While they were
getting ready the waggoner brought out
some dressed meat, and bread and cheese,
and other things from the waggon, an ample
supply, and spread them on the table. As he
was thus employed, old Simon touched him
on the arm, and said, looking up in his face,
“Tam right sure I know you, and yet I can-
not make it out. You used to be a very
different man to what you now seem,â€
A Friend in Need. 53
“Yes, father, I am, through God's grace, a
very different man to what I once was. The
things I once hated I now love; the things I
loved I now hate,†answered the waggoner, in
a low voice. “ When I tell you who showed
me the right way, you will believe me ; but
do not let your daughter know; she would
have good reason to mistrust me if she did.
Alas! alas! how impossible it is to undo an
evil deed! the consequences are always com-'
ing up before us.â€
All the proposed arrangements were soon
concluded. The waggon was lined with the
bedding, which rendered it tolerably warm, as
was much required in that cold weather. A
couple of sheets contained all the rest of their
worldly wealth, with the exception of a few
articles of furniture, a little crockery, and two
or three pots and pans. These things were
placed in the most secure part of the cottage,
where, should the roof fall in, they might
escape destruction. Now all was ready.
They paused on the threshold, where Simor.
offered up a prayer that in their journey they
54 Isaac Gould, the Waggozer.
might be protected, and that the move they
were about to make might be to their spi-
ritual as well as to their temporal advantage.
Susan would not allow herself again to give
way to her feelings. The children, very
naturally, could think only of going to see
their rich uncle near big London town. ‘The
door was closed and locked, and Susan and
Simon, and the girls and younger children
entered the waggon.
Slowly the big, lumbering vehicle began to
move over the snow. Jt was heavy work for
the horses, as the steam which was soon seen
to ascend from them in the pure fresh air
proved. They were likely to be on their
journey fully four days before they could
reach their destination. They slept at night
at nice decent inns, where they were made
as comfortable as if they had been people of
importance, the waggoner attending to all
their wants with the greatest care. Two days
had passed before Susan had a perfect view
of his features, and then, as it happened, he
was off his guard. She immediately ox-
A Friend in Need. . 55
claimed, “I am certain, Mr. Gould, that it is
you. You have been very, very kind, and so
I talk freely to you. You saw my husband
after 1 did. Can you tell ine what became of
him, for I have heard only a report of his
death 2â€
“You are right, Mrs. Dixon, I am Isaac
Gould, once most miserable, but, thanks be to
God, I have no longer cause to grieve, except
when I look on the past, which 1 cannot
recall. I pray you, therefore, do not, speak
to me about it.â€
After this, of course, Mrs. Dixon refrained
from speaking of her husband to Isaac Gould.
He said that he had now for many months
since his ruin returned to his early occupa-
tion, and though under altered circumstances,
it gave him little more than enough to buy
food and clothing,
The waggon at length reached Thomas
Dixon’s residence. Jt, was a villa a little
distance from London, which was far plea-
santer to people bred in the country than a
house in the erowded, noisy streets. He was
56 Isaae Gould, the Waggoner.
a bachelor, much older than Jacob, and was
kind and gentle in his manner toward his
poor, newly-discovered relatives. He told
Susan that his house was to be her home as
long as she chose to occupy it, and that she
must forthwith get a new rig-out for herself
and her children, What a change for them
all from their tumble-down cottage to that
warm, cosy abode! Simon had need often to
whisper into Susan’s ear, “Beware! beware !
How hardly shall a rich man enter into the
kingdom of heaven.â€
The change from poverty and starvation to
comparative opulence and plenty was a very
great trial, not only to Susan but to her
children, Thomas Dixon was really anxious
to do what was best for his nephews and
nieces ; but he was sorely puzzled about the -
matter, Anne was sent for from service.
She was the most polished of the family.
The boys were honest, good lads, but country
bred, and rough in the extreme. Over and
over again Thomas Dixon asked himself what
he should do with them; and they, too,
A Friend in Need. 57
accustomed to labour, after they had seen
the sights of London, began to grow weary
of idleness, and were not as happy as might
have been expected.
Spring had again returned, when one day
Isaac Gould made his appearance at the house,
desiring to see Mr. Dixon privately. After
being for some time closeted with him, he
paid a visit to old Simon Brand, and finally
they all together went to the room where
Mrs, Dixon was sitting working.
“JT have something I wish to tell you, Mrs.
Dixon,†said Isaae Gould, with some hesita-
tion in his voice. “You know how it was
through me that your poor husband was led
to take part in a smuggling business, while
engaged in which he was shot. No one,
however, actually saw him die; and what I
want to say is that there are some doubts
whether he was killed. Now I tell you I
believe that I shall be still more rejoiced to
find that he was not killed than even you can
be; for I have always felt that his death must
be placed at my door. The greatest wish J
58 Isaac Gould, the Waggoner.
have ever had is that your husband might
have escaped.â€
“Oh! is he alive? is Jacob really coming
back?†exclaimed Mrs. Dixon, starting up,
and seizing Isaac Gould’s hands.
“T think that the best thing is to let him
tell you himself; for if you are prepared to
receive him, I hope that in a short time we
shall be able to bring him to you,†answered
Isaac Gould, his voice faltering, and the tears
starting to his eyes. “Praised be God for all
His mercies !â€
He rushed out of the house, and in three
minutes returned with a weather - beaten,
sailor-like looking man, who was very soon
in Susan’s arms. It is sufficient to say that
Jacob Dixon had recovered from his wound ;
that a letter he wrote home had miscarried ;
that he had been compelled to go on board a
man-of-war just sailing for a distant foreign
station. On his return home, he found his
cottage deserted and in ruins, but being
referred to Isaac Gould’s fricnd, he learned
ail that had occurred.
A Friend in Need. 59
Neither Jacob nor any of his family had a
desire to be idle, and his brother, knowing
his tastes, purchased a gcod-sized farm for
him, which he, with the aid of his children,
was well able to cultivate. His second boy,
however, was so taken with the account of the
wonders he had seen, that he begged to serve
His Majesty King George at sea, and turned
out a first-rate sailor.
The family were generally prosperous; but
happily neither he nor his wife nor children
forgot in their prosperity the lessons they
had learned in their adversity, and were able
heartily to thank their merciful God for the
abundant goodness He had shown them.
THE
SPARK AND THE pLAME.
— Vy atteote
Ace all know what a comfort it is to have
WW 9 fire when cold weather comes, and
the wind blows keen and chilly. But.
suppose, after a cheerful evening, when you
were snug and warm in bed, a blazing coal or
a spark should have flown into the room, anc
burnt on while nobody was near, till you were
awakened by the crackling noise and the
smoke caused by the house being in flames.
You rush out in terror and dismay, just in
time to see the roof of the house fall in, and
all the property destroyed. “What!†you
exclaim, “can this dreadful work all come
from that little fire by which I sat last even-
ing? Is it possible that that little fire could
do so much mischief ¢â€
.
The Spark and the Flame. 61
There’ were once two boys who were
brothers. They had grown up together, but
one was better than the other. It happened
one day that they were out in the fields
together, and a little spark of sin, in the form
of jealousy, came into the elder one’s heart.
He did not check it, The spark burnt on to
anger; and, just as smoke shows when there
is fire within, so his face was. dark and
clouded, and showed that anger was there.
But soon it blazed out into rage, and Cain
lifted up his hand, seized a club, and killed
his brother, Ah! he did not at first mcan to
do this; no, but neither did he check the
fire of anger, so that it became his master,
and destroyed him.
I will tell you of two other persons; they
were husband and wife. At the time they
lived, Christians were very self-denying, and
were ready to give up a great deal of their
property, and sometimes their lives even, for
the cause of Christ. These two persons
wished to be thought very good, though they
were not ready to make the real sacrifice ; ©
62 The Spark and the Flame.
a spark of sin in the form of deceit sprung up
in their hearts, and they began to say to each
other—* What can we do to make people
think that we are giving up all for Christ,
without actually doing it?†Now they were
rich people, and possessed some land, so they
consulted together how they might deceive
about this. Was not this like blowing the
fire and making it blaze? And so it did, for
at last they agreed together to tell a direct
lie, You, no doubt, remember what the lie
was which Ananias and Sapphira told, and
what followed; how it was no sooner uttered
than the hand of God fell on them and
destroyed them both.
There is one other character in which the
spark of sin took the form of covetousness, or
the love of money. This man joined himself
to a band of humble men, who cared so little
about money that they put all that each one
possessed into a bag, for general use; and
this man begged that he might carry the bag,
and keep it for the rest. By degrees covet-
ousness burnt out all his feelings of affection,
The Spark and the Flame 63
He loved money better than anything else,
and when the temptation came, “Deliver up
your Master to us, and we will give you
thirty pieces of silver,’—that Master from
whom he had received nothing but love and
tenderness, — instead of shrinking from the
horrible proposal, he yielded. The fire of
covetousness had been burning so long that
he could not check it, and so it raged on to
his destruction, for you all know the fearful
end of Judas: “He went and hanged him-
self.â€
In these three instances I have shown you
how sin is like a fire. If you will take your
Bibles and search there, you will find many
others; and if you read the history of your
own country, or of other nations, you will see,
in the lives of wicked men you meet with
there, how sin is like a fire. We shall find,
too, that the men who did such evil deeds
did not become bad all at once. Oh no; if
we could go to them and hear their accounts
of themselves, we should find that there wag
a time when sin was but as a spark in their
64 The Spark and the Flame.
hearts, and that if they had checked it then,
they might have been happy men.
Now there is one thing I want to impress
upon your minds. You all possess the spark
of evil in your hearts ; you know it is so, for
you feel there is always a readiness to do
wrong within you. Oh, then, be careful to
check it in the beginning. Look into your
“hearts, and see whether it is most likely to
break out into anger, or lying, or selfishness,
and set to work at once (asking for the help
of God’s Holy Spirit) to put out the sin,
whatever it may be.
LONDON: KNIGHT, PRINTER, MIDDLE STREET, B.C
Setma, the Turkish Captives i
Show Your Colours.
True and Fatse pore
Always too Late.
Lhe Patched Frock
The Story he was Told
Soldier Sam,
Stephen Grattan’s Faith.
David the Scholar,
Tired of Home.
The Stolen trovey.
Be Telen’s Stewardship.
Pat Riley’s Vriends.
Olive Crowhurst. :
The White Feather. :
| Steenic Alioway’s Adventures.
Angel's Christmas.
Cottage Life; its Lights and
Shadows,
Lhe Raven's Feather.
Aunt Mitfy’s Diamonds and
Our Cousin from India.
My Lady’s Prize and Ejjie’s a
Letter,
flow the Golden Hagle was
Caught,
Emily's Trouble and what it
taught her.
The Adopted Son,
