An Extract.
ONE bright morning, many years ago, a lady who lived in Burmah, was sitting in the verandah of her house. Lying before her, on the table, was a long palm-leaf book, covered with a number of round looking scratches: she was trying to make out the curious words, but it dazzled her eyes very much, and, no doubt, it was a relief to her to look off from her book now and then, and see some of the pretty things which were near the house.
There was a Cape jessamine growing close by, which filled the air with its sweet smell. Upon one of its rich white blossoms a beautiful beetle, with wings of green and gold, was balancing himself; while a gay plumed bird, with a kind of feathery crown upon its head, was busy among the grass beyond.
Not far from the verandah was a high hedge, and, on the other side of it, a school-house; but a different one from yours. It was made of poles, with nothing more than a bamboo roof at the top. From this place there came a sound of mingled voices―very cheerful, very earnest. The lady was pleased to find that her native schoolmaster was doing his duty, and that the tawny little ones were getting on with their “talk.”
As the lady once more bent over her book, all smeared with oil to make the curious letters appear, and was trying, though growing tired, to make out the round scratches, a strange looking figure made its way through an opening in the hedge, which served as a gate-way to the school. It was a little rough-haired boy, with a dirty cotton plaid thrown over him. “Does Jesus live here?” said he, scarcely stopping to draw breath; and at the same time, without being asked, he ran up the steps of the house, and threw himself at the lady’s feet.
“What do you want with Jesus Christ?” said the lady.
“I want to see Him; I want to confess to Him,” said the poor boy.
“Why, what have you been doing that you want to confess to Him?”
“Does He live here?” asked the boy very anxiously; and then added, “Doing? why I tell lies, I steal, I do everything bad, I am afraid of going to hell, and I want to see Jesus Christ; for I hear a man say, that Jesus Christ can save us from hell. Oh, tell me where I can find Him!”
“But He does not save people from hell if they continue to do wickedly,” said the lady; for she wished him to know that he must not only confess his sins, but forsake them.
“I want to stop doing wickedly,” replied the boy, “but I cannot stop: but not know how to stop. The evil thoughts are in me, and the bad deeds come out of evil thoughts. What shall I do?”
“You cannot see Jesus Christ now,” said the lady, and the boy began to cry, “but,” added she, “I am His humble friend and follower, and He has sent me to teach those who wish to escape from hell, how they may do so.”
The boy’s face brightened up, and he seemed very glad. “Tell me, oh! tell me,” said he.
“Only ask your Master, the Lord Jesus Christ, to save me, and I will be your servant―your slave for life. Do not be angry! do not send me away! I want to be saved―saved from hell.”
The lady, you may be sure, was not likely to be angry, nor take him to be a slave. She freely told him what he wished to know. The next day this wild heathen boy was seated in the bamboo school, listening to the pious instructions of a kind teacher.
Years rolled away, and the lady could not be found in the Burmese house, for she had gone to dwell in one of the many mansions which Jesus had prepared for them that love Him. But there was a dark brown man in Burmah, lying upon a couch, in a high fever. He was turning from side to side in great pain. He was lying. Suddenly his face began to look cheerful, his eyes were bright, but then as suddenly became dim, and he, too, was gone to live with Christ in glory. It was the jungle boy. He had found Christ, confessed and forsaken his sins, and he died trusting in what He had done to save him from hell.