For the Young.
A GENTLEMAN was one day visiting some destitute families in one of the poorest parts of London. After climbing a number of stairs, which led to the top of one of the houses, he observed a ladder leading to a door close upon the slates. He thought it most unlikely that any living being would be found living there, but in order to satisfy himself, he resolved on ascending the ladder. On reaching the door he found it so low, that he was obliged to stoop before he could enter. “Is there any one here?” he inquired.
“Come in,” answered a feeble voice.
He entered, and found a little boy the solitary tenant of this wretched home. There was no bed — no furniture of any kind. Some straw and shavings in one corner formed the poor little fellow’s seat by day and his couch by night.
“Why are you here?” inquired the kind visitor. “Have you a father?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you a mother?”
“No, sir; mother is in the grave.”
“Where is your father? You must surely weary very much for his coming home in this dark, solitary place.?”
“No, sir,” replied the boy sorrowfully. “My father gets drunk. He used to send me out to steal, and whatever I stole he spent in drinking.”
“Does he not make you do so still?”
“I went,” replied the boy, “to a school where I was told about heaven and hell — that Jesus Christ came to save sinners; and I believed on him, and resolved, from that time, I would steal no more. Now,” continued the little sufferer, “my father himself steals, and then gets tipsy; and then he gets angry at me, and is cruel to me, because I will no longer steal.”
“Poor little boy!” said the gentleman, deeply interested in the sad history. “I am sorry indeed for you. You must feel very lonely here.”
“No,” said the other with a smile on his face; “I am not alone. God is with me; Christ is with me. I am not alone!”
The gentleman took out his purse and gave him a small trifle, promising that he would come back again and see him on the morrow.
“Stop!” said the little fellow, as his kind visitor was preparing to go down the ladder, “I can sing.” And so saying, he commenced, in simple strains, the little hymn with which he loved to cheer his solitude: —
“Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
Look upon a little child.”
The gentleman was touched with the tale of distress, and the character of the desolate child; and next day he told the case to a lady he knew would feel interested in him. The lady requested that he would kindly accompany her to the boy’s dwelling, to which he readily consented. Taking along with her a bundle of clothes which might be useful to him, they made their way together up the dark stairs of the house, till they reached the ladder. On ascending the steps and coming to the door, they knocked; but there was no reply they knocked again; still no reply! Again; but still no voice as before, calling “Come in.” The gentleman opened the door. The bed, the straw, the shavings were just as he had left them. The body was there, too; but he was DEAD! The boy lay on the bed of straw; but the spirit had fled away to Jesus, and everlasting rest.