I HEARD a story long ago, of which I am often reminded when looking on a group of happy children. Perhaps if you hear it, you will value the many privileges you enjoy, more highly than you have done. A little chimney-sweep went over from Savoy to London, many years since, to engage in his toilsome work. He had no means of obtaining an education, but his desire was so great for learning that he was always on the watch for an opportunity, hoping in some way to secure what he so much wanted. One morning as he was going to his work he passed a number of boys at their play. The first thing that attracted his attention was a long row of their school books hanging on a fence. He went to them, and taking up a book, began wistfully turning over the leaves, though he could not read at all. Very soon one of the boys came to him, and, in a surly tone, asked him what he was about. The little chimney-sweep answered mildly, and taking a marble from his pocket gave it to the school-boy, asked to be allowed to look at the pages, in which he was interested. The privilege was granted. When the boys were done playing, and were about to leave the ground, the poor Savoyard asked the owner of the book to read a few lines to him, which request was complied with. A new thought entered his mind, and he made this proposal—that he would give this boy a marble for every letter he would teach him. To his great joy, the school-boy consented, and morning after morning they might have been seen together. The chimney-sweep was an apt scholar. He began to be encouraged, but one day the school-boy told him that he could instruct him no more, for his sooty fingers soiled the books and his parents had forbidden it. The poor chimney-sweep turned sadly away. In a moment all his hopes were blasted. The disappointment was almost too great for him to bear, but as he went down the street, he passed the gate of a church-yard. The tombstones stood near the entrance, and he could see the letters on them— “In memory of,” etc.
He went in, and as he laid his fingers upon the letters cut in the marble, he thought, “Nobody will blame me for studying here. My sooty fingers won’t stain these letters, and if they do, the next rain will wash them clean.” Again he went to the school-boy, and he, with several of his mates, agreed to teach the chimney-sweep in turn, and day after day he went with some of those boys into the church-yard, and in that sad school he learned the alphabet, but these boys became deeply interested in their little sooty scholar, and through their influence, friends multiplied about him. He was brought into the Sunday-school. There he learned to read the Bible, and as he read he loved it.
He stored it up in his heart as a precious treasure. He became a happy Christian boy, and lived to be a useful, faithful, Christian man. As you think, dear children, of the long and weary path that poor chimney-sweep had to take—how hard he had to struggle before he could reach anything like you enjoy—does it not make you feel grateful for all these blessings? Think of your happy home, of your Bible, and of the many good books and papers placed in your hands, and of your Sunday-school, and ask yourselves each one, “Am I faithfully improving these privileges? Am I grateful for them? Can I give a good account concerning them when I am called to answer to Him who has filled my path with blessings?”
“Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.” (Col. 5:2.)
ML 10/27/1912