Part 7

_Andrew._ Then get into the empty flour binn.

He opened the door, and lifted up his bill-hook to strike the bear, but it fell lifeless upon the kitchen floor.

It was a very large animal and quite dead, one of its paws was nearly cut off, and its skull was split on the forehead. The threshold was covered with its blood.

When Andrew and the stranger were satisfied that the bear was quite dead, they drew it into the house and shut the door. When that was fast, the children, who had raised the lid of the binn to peep at what was going forward, ventured to come out, and look at the bear, but were still afraid to touch it.

“Well,” said the wife, “sit down and tell us all about this terrible business.”

The children crept close to their mother’s apron, as she sat by the fire; while the stranger related what had happened, as follows:

“I am called Mountain John. I deal in _amadou_,[B] and go about to collect mushrooms and fungus to make it. Last year I found a great many in the wood yonder, and I came there again this morning to look for some. About noon I sat down to rest on the hill, under the great oak, from whence you can see so far in every direction. While I ate a crust of bread, I admired the beautiful works of God; the lake, the valley, and the mountains. I thought of the power of that great God who made all things, and rejoiced as I sang His praises.--‘Well,’ thought I to myself, ‘I am poor, and possess nothing in this world but my pack and what it contains. When I die nobody will trouble themselves about me, and I shall be put under ground without being missed; but I know where my soul will go: I know in whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day, the great day of his appearing. He has never left me destitute as to the things of this world, much less will he leave me destitute as to heavenly things. My Saviour has prepared a place for me in his Father’s house. Why then, art thou cast down, O my soul? Why art thou disquieted within me? Is not he God over all, from everlasting to everlasting? and is he not my heavenly Father, seeing that he gave his only and well beloved Son as a ransom for my soul.’

“While my thoughts were engaged in this manner, I saw in the valley beneath me, a large animal running very swiftly through the bushes. At first I thought it was an ass that had strayed, but looking stedfastly at it, I saw it was a great bear followed by some hunters. The bear ran into the wood by the side of the lake, followed by the huntsmen and their dogs; presently I heard two guns fired, and I concluded that the bear was killed.

“‘This,’ thought I, ‘reminds me of the end of the wicked man. He, like that wild beast, for a time, goes about seeking what he may devour; he hides himself from the eyes of the world, as that beast did in the wood, and thinks he is quite safe. But God sees the sinner, and knows the proper time for punishing him; and, if he does not forsake his evil ways and turn to the Lord, he will be stricken, and perish without remedy. But those who love the Lord, and fear Him, are kept from harm; and the wicked, although more fierce and cruel than the lion, the tiger, or the bear, are not suffered to touch them; because, in the way in which they go,----’”

_Andrew._ Stop a moment, John; I will shew you the text in the Bible: here it is--in Isaiah, the 35th chapter. The prophet is speaking of the church of Christ, and he says, “An highway shall be there, and a way, and it shall be called, _The Way of Holiness_; the unclean shall not pass over it; but it shall be for those (that is, the ransomed of the Lord:) the wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein. No lion shall be there, nor any ravenous beast shall go up thereon, it shall not be found there; but the redeemed shall walk there.”

_John._ Yes, that is the passage which I remembered when I saw the bear. After resting myself, I began again to search for mushrooms and fungus, and I have reason to be thankful that I was pretty successful: my pack lies yonder in the wood, full of the finest mushrooms I ever saw. To be sure, I did not get them without trouble; I climbed several trees, and had to creep up and down some very steep places. At last I was benighted, and the moon had risen, when I found myself in the narrow path which leads through the midst of the wood, by the spring yonder. I was quite tired, so I sat down to rest; just as I was rising, I heard something rustling among the bushes; I did not stir, and presently I saw the great bear which I had seen in the morning, coming towards the spring.

_The Mother._ How frightened you must have been; did not you think it was all over with you?

_John._ Certainly, it is not very pleasant to find oneself, at night, alone in a wood with such a companion. At first I trembled, but God was pleased to strengthen my mind, and take away all my fear. I was no more afraid of the bear than as if he had been a ram or a goat.

_Andrew._ But what did you do?

_John._ I left my pack and slipped behind a tree; and, while the bear was drinking, I got away softly from one tree to another; I had reached the skirt of the wood, close to your house, and was about to run for shelter; when, all at once, I found the bear was close behind me. It was no use then trying to run from him, so I turned round, and, praying to God to preserve my life, I waited for him. He was close upon me, and in a moment he rose upon his hind legs to seize me, uttering a frightful howl. As I said, I had prayed for strength, and snatching up a large stone which lay close by me, I struck him on the nose with all my force, and knocked him backwards. I jumped upon his neck, and continued striking him on the nose, while he tried to ward off the blows with his paws. I was nearly spent, when God sent you just in time to save my life, and enabled you after a short struggle to wound him mortally with your bill-hook.

_Andrew._ It reminds me of the history of David. How kind of the Lord to take away your fear, and make you determine to attack the bear first, and then to guide your hand to strike him on the nose, which is a very tender part in that animal. This, indeed, was the work of God’s providence; and remember this, children, it is a proof that the Lord always protects those who trust in him.

_Mother._ How glad I am, Andrew, that you did not go to the mill this evening, as you intended. How providential that you staid at home, else what would have become of John!

_John._ Ah, my good woman, I am accustomed to experience, that God knows all things, and directs all things, and that there is nothing forgotten, or too trifling for him to notice, when it concerns his people. I was taught this when I was not older than your boy, and by his grace I now know that he has redeemed me by his own precious blood, and made me one of his children. Therefore I can trust him with my body and my soul, which are his.

_Andrew._ My dears, remember what this good man has told us. You see that he trusted in God, because he believed in him as the Saviour, and you see how the Lord has just now preserved him from a terrible death.

The eldest child then rose, went to John, and took hold of his hand. John lifted him upon his knees, and said, “Well, my boy, will not you trust in our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ? Tell me, should you not like to resemble David when he was a little boy?”

The child hung down his head, and said “Yes,” in a low tone of voice. He then looked at his mother, who patted him on the head, saying, “O yes, I do hope that my dear Henry has already learned something of the goodness of the Lord, and that he tries to do His will.”

_J._ But would he be afraid if he saw a great bear coming?

Henry replied, “How could I help being afraid of him? he is so big and so fierce. Why, he would have knocked me to pieces with one blow of that great paw yonder.”

_J._ Yes, we are all exposed to dangers of various kinds and often if we escape from one we may fall into another, “as if a man did flee from a lion, and a bear met him;” but, my boy, trust in the Lord, and neither a bear nor that “roaring lion,” which goes about seeking whom he may devour, even the devil, as we read in the epistle of St. Peter, will be able to hurt you. He who watches over your soul is able to keep you from evil and danger. He preserved me when I was about your age, and has done so again to-day.

_H._ What! did you fight a bear when you were no bigger than I am?

_J._ No, my boy; but I was wonderfully preserved when I fell from the top of a very lofty precipice.

“How was it?” said both the children at once. “Do tell us all about it.”

_J._ In the country where I was born, which is many miles from this place, there is a very high mountain. One side of it is quite a precipice, and people go thither to hunt the Chamois and the Marmots, which abound in that place. One day I went there with some of my companions, and we saw a Marmot creep into a cleft in the side of the rock.

I was one of the most courageous of the band and was foolhardy enough to say, “I’ll go and pull him out of his hole.” “No, no, John,” they all cried out, “it is not safe; his hole is on the edge of the precipice; if your foot slips nothing can save you.” They tried all they could to dissuade me, but in vain--I was rash enough to determine to have my own way.

I let myself down over the edge of the rock. The Marmot was just within his hole, behind a plant of wild geranium. I saw him plain enough, and determined to try to reach him, though I was hanging over a precipice a thousand feet deep.

I ought to have given up this foolish design, and to have remembered that there is no real courage in exposing oneself to a useless danger. But I was young and foolish. I then knew nothing of the Lord. I thought my life was in my own power, and that I might do whatever I chose. Well, I rested one foot upon a stone, I bent forward, and stretched out my arm to lay hold of the Marmot. All at once I was gone! I recollected nothing more till I found myself in the cottage of a charcoal burner, lying upon his bed. I was in pain all over, and my mother was watching me.

_H._ How did this happen? Did the charcoal burner live under the rock, and catch you as you fell?

_J._ No, my boy; he lived a good way off, in the forest. But listen to an account of what the Lord did for me, poor, miserable, and foolish creature that I was. My head became giddy--I fell. My companions saw me go headlong from the top of the precipice, and ran homewards, crying out that I was killed. As soon as they arrived in our village, my mother and all the people ran out. They concluded I was dashed to pieces, and she went immediately, with two of the neighbours, to seek for my remains. When she came near the fatal spot, weeping bitterly, and every moment expecting to find the shattered body of her dear child, she saw a tall, stout man, the charcoal burner, coming from behind a great mass of rock with me in his arms. My mother has often told me about it. My dear mother; she is now in heaven.--[Tears came into his eyes as he spoke, and he added,] She was so kind to me, she taught me to love and fear God. [After a few minutes’ silence he went on.] My dear mother has often told me that when she saw me in the man’s arms, a thought darted into her mind, as if a voice said, “I have preserved him, it is my doing!” She ran forward, exclaiming, “O, my good man, where did you find him?” “Don’t stop me,” said the man; “come along, he still breathes.” A neighbour helped him; they hastened to his cottage, and, putting me upon his bed, they did all they could to bring me to myself.

My mother watched over my body. I was then beginning to recover a little. O how glad they were! The charcoal burner joined his hands, and said, “O Lord, thou hast preserved his life, may it be for thy glory!” “Amen,” said my mother. As for me, I seemed to be in a dream. They undressed me, and put me to bed, and it was several days before I could be moved. I could not even bear that any one should speak to me. I was then carried home, and I suffered much pain for nearly two months. But God is just, and I deserved all that I had undergone.

_M._ You have not told us how the charcoal burner found you.

_J._ This good man, who was a second father to me, and who, I trust, is now in heaven, was in the forest, at the foot of the mountain, looking for wood fit for charcoal, when he heard a noise in the air, like the flying of a large bird, and, looking up, he saw something caught in a branch of a large pine tree, about a hundred yards distant. Upon viewing it more attentively he saw it was a boy hanging by the skirt of his jacket, which had caught on the branch.

It was almost impossible to get to the place where this tree grew, among the rocks, and still harder to reach the end of the branch; but this good man thought the same arm of the Lord which supported Jonathan, when he climbed up the sharp (or steep) rock upon his hands and feet, (1 Sam. xiv. 13.) would support him. He climbed up the rock with much difficulty, and at length reached the pine tree, and laying at full length along the branch he could just reach the skirt of my jacket; and then creeping backwards he put one arm round the trunk of the tree, and held me in the other, and thus contrived to slip down.

He has told me that at first he thought I was dead, and was going to leave me among the branches till he went for ropes and a ladder; but, while he was considering if he should do so, he thought he heard me sigh, and putting his face close to mine he found that I still breathed. He then took courage, having prayed to God to enable him to descend in safety with his burden. The Lord heard his prayer,--and my days were thus lengthened.

You now know why I am called _Mountain John_. I like the name, for it always reminds me that God held me aloft in the midst of the abyss into which I had fallen, and that the prayer of my preserver, and of my dear mother, was, “May the Lord have preserved him for His glory!”

_A._ Let us also trust that it is for His glory that he has preserved us this day. Let us take courage, from this instance of his care over us; and I would believe that God has sent you to our cottage that we may love each other for his sake, and that these children may learn and perceive that those whom the Lord protects are well guarded, and that all deliverance comes from Him alone.

They then knelt down together in prayer--Mountain John passed the night with Andrew, and in the morning they carried the bear to the next city, where they sold it for a good price. At this John was much pleased; and Andrew said, “If the bear was killed by my bill-hook, it was for your preservation that God directed me to strike, and the remembrance of your visit will, I trust, be better to us than the treasures of this world.”

HYMNS FOR CHILDREN.

William and his sister Jane were returning home. They were singing as they walked along. At a turning of the road they saw a gentleman sitting upon the bank; he was writing in his pocket book.

“My dears,” said the gentleman, “you are singing very merrily.”

The children stopped and were silent.

_G._ Do not let me stop your singing: go on, I shall like to hear you.

“Oh, Sir,” said William, “the song is not worth your hearing.”

_G._ Why not, it pleases you, so perhaps it may please me. What was it about?

_J._ It was a song which one of our cousins taught us yesterday.

_G._ How does it begin?

William then sang the first verse of a song. It was foolish though not wicked.

_G._ I am sorry it is not about something better. God has given you a good voice, and a good memory. Cannot you employ them better?

_W._ Why, Sir, there is no harm in the song. Surely we may sing sometimes.

_G._ Yes, my boy, singing is as lawful to man as to the lark yonder: but ought not the songs we sing to be different from those of a bird?

_J._ O, Sir, the birds sing because they are pleased. I do not know that they mean any thing. They sing to amuse themselves.

_G._ Well, but we have sense and reason which birds have not. Should not our songs be different from theirs?

_W._ Yes, Sir, our songs are about something.

_G._ Do you suppose the sweet song which you hear from the lark has no meaning?

_W._ I do not know, Sir; it is not like our songs.

_G._ Certainly not; but do not the beautiful notes of the bird lead you to think of him who made the bird, and who gave it that sweet voice?

_W._ Yes, Sir; we know that it was God who made the birds, and beasts, and all things, and enabled them to sing.

_G._ And is it not God who gave you the ability to sing? Your powers, as well as those of the birds, came from God, who created all things. You know this, but the lark does not: this makes a great difference between you and the bird.

_W._ But we do not sing as he does: what we sing has a meaning.

_G._ Where is the great difference? The bird sings for its pleasure; I think you only sing to amuse yourselves.

_J._ But we need not sing for sorrow.

_G._ There are sorrowful songs; but we generally sing to express our joy. Still there should be a difference between our joy and that of birds. If we know God, and love him with our hearts, we shall remember him in our joy, for we are his work and belong to him. We should do all things for his glory; the Bible tells us so. The Apostle says: “You are bought with a price, (meaning the sufferings which Christ endured for his people,) therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s.” (1 Cor. vi. 20. see also Eph. ii. 10. 2 Cor. v. 17.)

_W._ But, Sir, how can a song be to the glory of God? Do you mean psalms? they are so long and so dull.

_G._ Let us suppose that the lark knew who made and who loved it. Would it sing differently from its usual manner?

_W._ Is not that its proper way of singing, Sir?

_G._ Yes; but you spoke of its song as being merely to please itself. Now, if the lark knew its Maker, would not it address its songs to him; perhaps it may do so more than we are aware.

_J._ Ah, Sir, I think I know what you mean. You mean that when we sing, we should remember God sees us, and never sing any thing which may be displeasing to him.

_G._ Yes, that is what I mean; for as we ought not to _say_ any thing that is wrong, it is very plain we ought not to _sing_ any thing improper. But it is not enough merely to abstain from what is wrong; we ought also to do what is right.

_W._ Then we ought to sing about God?

_G._ Are you surprised at that, my boy? Should not those beings whom God has made, live to his glory? Our Lord himself said, “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.” (Matt. xxii. 37. see also Deut. xiii. 3.) Then is it not right that we should sing to the praise and glory of his grace?

_J._ But, Sir, we are not always at church? and when we are merry and gay, it would be very strange to sing as we do at church.

_G._ My dear children, when we are at church, it is to worship God, and hear his word, and for that reason the psalms are solemn and grave. But there are other songs, which we may sing to the praise of God.[C]

_W._ What are they, Sir? I never heard any such.

_G._ The Bible tells us: “Is any merry? let him sing psalms;” (James v. 13.) but it also says, “Speaking to yourselves in psalms and hymns, and spiritual songs, singing and making melody in your hearts to the Lord.” (Eph. v. 19.) There are hymns as well as psalms which you may sing.

_J._ Can you tell us one of them, Sir? Are they pretty?

_G._ I will read you one which I have just written.

_J._ Oh, Sir, pray do; what is it about?

_G._ Do you see the shepherd down in the meadow yonder, under the oaks?

_J._ He lives at that farm-house under the hill.

_G._ When I saw him taking care of his sheep and lambs, I thought of what the Scriptures tell us about our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, whom the prophet Isaiah (ch. xl. 11.) thus describes: “He shall feed his flock like a shepherd; he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom.”

_J._ And did you write a song about it?

_G._ Something like it, my girl. I have said how happy the lambs belonging to this good shepherd should be under his care; and I have written it as if He were a shepherd speaking to his sheep.

_W._ Why, Sir, you said our song was silly because it was about a dog.

_G._ If your song had spoken of the faithfulness of the dog to his master, as reminding us of our duty to God, I should have been better pleased with it. You will find that what the shepherd in my song is represented as saying, is to remind you of the loving-kindness of Christ the good shepherd, and how attentive we should be to his word, if we belong to his flock.

_J._ I should like to hear the song. Do read it to us if you please, Sir.

_G._ Listen then to

THE SHEPHERD’S SONG.

Come, little lambs, and feed Safe in the fertile mead, Where gentle waters pass, Amidst the flow’rs and grass: Your Shepherd’s hand and crook are near: Here rest in peace, exempt from fear.

Go not, my lambs, astray In any devious way; The savage wolves will leap Upon the wand’ring sheep: Here, in this pleasant pasture rest, With plenty, peace, and safety blest.

Can that poor lamb rejoice, Who will not hear my voice? But though of danger told, Resolves to leave the fold?-- The wolf has seized him--hear his cries, The wand’rer groans--the wand’rer dies.

Oh, lovely lambs, beware How you despise my care, And quit the happy meads To which your Shepherd leads; I will protect you night and day, Then never from your Shepherd stray.

My little lambs, like you, I have a Shepherd too, Who keeps me in his fold-- Whose love can ne’er be told-- Who guides me by his crook and rod-- My Shepherd is--my Saviour God.

_W._ I think, Sir, I know what you mean. It is prettier than our song; and what it tells us is of great consequence: it is very different from what I expected.

_J._ Sir, it is prettier than any song I ever heard; I like the last verse very much indeed.

_G._ Do you really like that verse the best?

_J._ Yes, Sir; it is about our blessed Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, the Son of God: he is the best of shepherds.

_G._ Certainly he is: but if you really think so, you will like to sing about him, instead of the common foolish songs. Those who love Christ will delight to sing to his praise and glory.

_W._ Jane, I have made up my mind; we will not learn any more of cousin Sally’s foolish songs; at least I will not.

_J._ Nor I.

_G._ But you are able to sing, and you like to sing: what will you do?

_J._ Sir, if you will let us have that song about the shepherd, we will learn it.

_G._ Yes, my dears, you shall have it, and here is a little book with a great many pretty hymns or divine songs; but before you begin to learn any, you must ask your parents’ leave.

_J._ Sir, I am quite sure our mother will like them, for she told us yesterday, that she did not think the songs our cousin was teaching us were pretty ones, and that she would rather we learned to sing psalms.

_G._ I am glad to hear this, and if you come to my house some day, I shall be well pleased to find that you can sing some of the pretty hymns in that book; and there is a lady at my house who will teach you the tunes if you are at a loss.

_W._ Thank you, Sir; are all the songs in this book as pretty as that one about the shepherd?

_G._ Some of them are more serious, my boy; and it is right to learn hymns of various sorts, if they all tell us of the Saviour.

_J._ Are they all hymns?