IT was a cold cheerless day in October, 1865, and " Auld Reekie," more than ordinarily enveloped in mist for the time of the year, was sullenly submitting to be drenched with rain, and pierced by the cold east blasts that came fresh from the northern ocean. Without, all was wet, cold, and dirty; within, everything was as bright, tidy, and clean as the usual autumnal expenditure of soap, paint, and whitewash could render the ward, while a blazing fire at each end diffused a genial glow of warmth, all the more enjoyable from the contrast visible through the newly-cleaned windows. A good many of the beds bad each its occupant, but still there was room for more ere the complement of eighteen was attained.
The hour was drawing near for the arrival of the visiting Physician when two young men entered the ward, and the elder, addressing me, said, " Would you be kind enough to prescribe for my friend, Sir; he has a bad cold and cough?" Turning to see his companion, I beheld a youth of seventeen, whose face made a lasting impression on me, from its rare expression and almost feminine beauty. Fair as a woman, with a soft, speaking, gray eye, a finely chiseled Grecian nose, and every other feature in exquisite proportion, he seemed not a subject for hospital treatment, had not a delicate tell-tale blush in the center of each check given a clue to mischief, needing prompt attention. After a question or two and a cursory examination, I determined to induce him to remain in the Infirmary, and accordingly urged him to do so. He hesitated, saying he had come from London for a little change and holiday, and to be in ward would be no holiday, and he did not think he was ill enough to necessitate this. There was some truth in this, but I was so interested in him that I alluded to the inclement weather as making it imprudent for him to go much out with his then symptoms, &c.; so, after a little pressure, in which his friend joined, he consented to come in the next day at noon.
On Saturday, Alexander U——entered the ward at the appointed hour, and at the usual evening visit, having seen my other patients, I proceeded to make a careful examination of his chest. The apex of each lung gave the faintest indication of that dire disease which I suspected from his cheek-consumption.
A question or two drew out the family history. His mother had died of consumption, and he had lost four brothers through the same fatal scourge, each of them having died, he said, within six weeks of falling ill, and then added, " I'm much afraid I'm going the same way, Sir."
" Indeed, why should you think this?"
" Oh, they all began just like me, and, somehow, I don't think I'll get better... Do you think so, Doctor?"
" Well, Alexander, your family history is certainly very bad, but, as your trouble has been detected thus early, I hope, with proper treatment, it may be arrested."
He looked incredulous but thankful, and, perceiving that he was beginning to have some confidence in me, I continued, "Supposing you don't get better, Alexander, what then? Are you ready to die?"
" I ready? Oh, no, Sir; I'm not ready. If I were to die just now, I know I should be lost forever."
"Then you have thought about your soul sometimes, I should judge from what you say?"
No, Sir; I can't say I ever thought seriously, though I was well brought up. I had godly parents, and a praying mother, but she's dead long since and gone to heaven, I believe (and here the remembrance of a mother's faith and piety caused the tears to fill his eyes). I got good instruction when I was a boy, but I left my home some time since and went to London, where I've been a clerk."
" And what happened in London?"
"Well, Sir, I'll tell the truth. I got amongst ungodly comrades, very soon I became dissipated and wild, and I believe it's my reckless life that has brought my illness on. It's all my own fault, I can blame no one but myself; I deserve punishment for my sins, and there's no chance for me to be saved, for I know I'm only a wicked sinner."
" But would you not like to be saved?'
" Yes, indeed, Sir; but there's no salvation for the like of me."
"There is where you are wrong. Did you never hear the word 'This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners'? You are the very one that Jesus wants and came for. He is a Savior, and you are a sinner. They are just suited to each other. The sinner needs a Savior to save him, and the Savior is on the look out for the sinner to save. More, He died for the sinner. The 8th verse of Rom. 5 says, ' God commendeth his love toward us, in that, while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.' Now, don't you believe that Jesus died for you?"
" I believe He died for you, Sir, for you are a good man, but He could not have died for a wretch like me."
"Wrong again, Alexander. It was not for the good Jesus died, for `none is good save One, that is, God,' and `there is none that doeth good, no, not one.' So you see 1 am not good, neither are you, and yet Jesus died for us. The reason why He died was that He loved us, as Paul said, Who loved me, and gave himself for me.' O, think of His love, and trust Him. There is in Him now a free, full salvation, if you will only receive Him. What say you, will you turn to Him now, and trust Him? He died for sinners, but, having completely finished the work of atonement, He rose the third day, in proof of the value of His work, and now, alive in glory, He is waiting to receive, bless, and save you, just as He saved the thief on the cross."
" Oh, Sir, it's all for the like of you, but not for me."
I shall never forget that night, nor Alexander's face, as I passed on to tell him more of the grace and love of Jesus. Lying flat on his back, with compressed lips, heaving nostril, and eyes bathed in tears fixed on me, he listened truly for life. Every word seemed to enter his soul; while, the more he heard of the Lord's love, only the more deep became the sense of his own guilt. I had no need to press decision on him, he was only too anxious to be decided. By this time it was getting late, and the lights in the ward had been lowered, so I was about to bid him good night and depart, when he said, "Please, Sir, won't you pray with me before you go? I am so much obliged to you for speaking with me, but I'd so like if you would pray."
This I did, looking to the Lord that His blessing might fall that night on the awakened lad. Scarcely had I finished, ere he grasped my hand and exclaimed, " Thank you, Sir. Good night. I'll not sleep till it's settled."
I bade him good night, and retired to my bed.