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Title: The story of Mary Jones and her Bible
Author: Mary E. Ropes
Release date: January 16, 2026 [eBook #77715]
Language: English
Original publication: Chicago: Christian Witness Company, 1892
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF MARY JONES AND HER BIBLE ***
Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration]
THE STORY
OF
Mary Jones and Her Bible.
_BY MISS MARY EMILY ROPES._
NEW EDITION.
[Illustration]
_CHRISTIAN WITNESS COMPANY_
151 WASHINGTON STREET, CHICAGO. ILL.
COPYRIGHT, 1892
AMERICAN TRACT SOCIETY
PREFATORY NOTE.
THE narrative which follows has been carefully founded upon facts
obtained from the most trustworthy material—written and verbal—at the
disposal of the writer. Since its publication in 1882 the little book
has been extremely popular: versions in various languages have been
issued, and an American edition has been prepared. It need only be
added that the text of this edition has been read by the accomplished
authoress, that some statistical information has been added, and that a
considerable number of the illustrations are new.
INTRODUCTION.
BY REV. EDWARD W. GILMAN, D. D.,
SECRETARY OF THE AMERICAN BIBLE SOCIETY.
[Illustration]
NOT a long story this, but one full of pathos, of a little girl in
North Wales, a hundred years ago, who hoarded her pennies for six long
years that she might save enough to buy a Bible, and who then walked
twenty-five miles, from Llanfihangel to Bala, in her bare feet, to
procure the treasure which she had so long desired to own. We mark the
record of her desire and faith: "Oh if I had but a Bible of my own!"
"I must have a Bible of my own, if I save up for it for ten years."
"I shall never rest until I have a Bible of my own." "Though I have
waited so long, the time will come when I shall have my Bible." "Dear
Lord, let the time come quickly." The fulfilment of her cherished wish
rounds out the record of a personal incident and leads us to share the
maiden's joy that at last she became the owner of a Bible in her own
tongue.
But the pathos of the story is less important than its connection with
a great movement which has to do with the enlightenment and welfare of
all nations in all coming time.
"Behold, how great a matter a little fire kindleth." It may be only a
spark, but in one moment it becomes a blaze, and if rightly used, its
radiance and warmth yield a perpetual blessing. Mary Jones could not
prepare her weekly lesson for the Sunday school because in her father's
house there was neither Bible nor Testament. Every Saturday she walked
to a farm-house two miles away, because there only could she see a copy
of the sacred volume. Her parents were poor weavers, but even if they
had been well-to-do, Bibles in Welsh were not only costly, but rare,
and no one had yet conceived the idea of making the book so portable
and so cheap that a copy of God's Word might be found in every dwelling.
But when the story of Mary Jones became known through the Rev.
Mr. Charles, of Bala, who supplied her need, when it suggested to
God-fearing men the possible condition of thousands of youth in other
cottages in Wales, when it revealed to lovers of the Bible the intense
desire for the book felt by those who had never had it in their homes,
Christian sympathy was bound to make some response. Something must
be done. What could be done? Might not some association be formed to
print and distribute the Scriptures in Wales? "And if for Wales," said
the Rev. John Hughes, one of the Secretaries of the Religious Tract
Society, "why not for the world?"
The problem was solved; and so out of the needs and savings and prayers
of Mary Jones came in 1804 the British and Foreign Bible Society, an
organization catholic in its membership, based on reverence and love
for the Holy Scriptures, considerate of the wants of the humble and
needy, concentrating its efforts on one definite object, and with a
wide and far-reaching enthusiasm for the human race extending its
beneficence to all nations, whether Christian, Mohammedan, or pagan. No
wonder that the Committee of the Society cherish among their archives
the identical Bible which Mary Jones bought in 1800, with her autograph
attesting the fact of its purchase when she was sixteen years old.
The key-note of this first movement to supply the world with the Holy
Scriptures was sympathy "with the cry that was ascending all over Wales
for the Word of God;" but mingled with this tender regard for those who
craved the book must have been pity for those who had never even heard
of it, and a desire to share with them the blessings which the Bible
brings to mankind.
A few years ago a little boy in Connecticut, seven years of age, was
sick and nigh to death. He belonged to a "Sunbeam Circle," and had
his "mission box" in which his little contributions were treasured up
for the foreign field. At his request his mother opened the box that
he might see how much there was for "the poor heathen children," and
noticing a piece of newspaper among the pennies, she asked, "Why,
Miller, what is this? You don't want this in." "Oh yes, I do, mamma.
They are beautiful verses about God, and I want the heathen to have
them too; I know they will like them." "The Scriptures principally
teach what man is to believe concerning God and what duty God requires
of man;" and why shouldn't the heathen have them too? If for Wales, why
not for the whole world? It is interesting to note that in after years
Mary Jones was a constant contributor to the British Bible Society,
practising through life the self-denial she had learned in her youth,
and that on one occasion when a collection was made at Bryncrug for the
"China Million Testament Fund," a gold piece neatly wrapped up between
half-pence, and thus hidden until the money came to be counted, was
her expression of sympathy for the poor heathen. Mary was fortunate in
securing one copy of ten thousand which were printed in Oxford in 1799,
for they were all disposed of before one quarter of the country was
supplied. Since then the British Bible Society has printed more than
two and a half millions of volumes of Scripture for Wales alone, and
about fifty times as many for the world besides.
If a union of Churchmen and Dissenters in one society was a good
thing in England, why not in other parts of the world? The idea met
with favor in Europe and led to the formation of Bible Societies in
Germany, Prussia, and France; but nowhere was it taken up with greater
promptness and ardor than in America. British laws had denied to the
colonies the privilege of printing the Bible, so that when Mary Jones
was born, in 1784, one edition, and one only, of the authorized version
had ever been printed on this side of the Atlantic. When we consider
that the colonists were thus dependent on the king's printers for their
supplies, that the Revolutionary War had for a long time caused a
suspension of traffic, and that the country lacked facilities for the
production of large editions of the Bible, we can readily believe that
the experience of Mary Jones was often repeated here, especially in the
new settlements which were being made in the interior.
The necessities of our land were as urgent as those of Wales, and
following the example of England, local Bible Societies in great
numbers began to be formed. Philadelphia took the lead in 1808, and was
soon followed by Connecticut, Massachusetts, New York, and New Jersey.
Societies were organized as far south as Charleston, Beaufort, and
Savannah. Such men as Jedediah Morse of Charleston and Elias Boudinot
of New Jersey were earnest promoters of the movement. The interest of
these societies was enlisted in efforts to reach the inhabitants of
the great valley of the Mississippi. In 1812 Samuel J. Mills travelled
from Boston to Pittsburgh, and from there to New Orleans, exploring
the country on both sides of the Ohio and the Mississippi and noting
the needs and opportunities of the field. Again he went over the same
route, distributing Bibles and tracts.
A region so extended was too vast for the local societies, and to
promote harmony, efficiency, and economy they united, in 1816, to form
the American Bible Society. It was patterned after that in London,
on the same broad, catholic principle, with the same avowed object,
with the same world-wide aim. Responsible for a territory vastly more
extended than Great Britain, it pledged itself from the first to extend
its influence as far as possible to other lands, Christian, Mohammedan,
and pagan. Among its earliest publications were Scriptures for the
Indians of North America and the Spaniards of South America and Mexico.
It has enrolled thousands of auxiliary societies, and with their aid
has carried through four general efforts to visit every family in the
United States with the offer of the Holy Scriptures. As the nation
has acquired new territory in the South and West it has pushed on to
provide the Scriptures for the people of Texas and the great States
of the interior and the Pacific. In nominally Christian lands it has
been a pioneer of missions, preparing the way by the distribution of
the Scriptures for the founding of churches and the establishment of
evangelical institutions. As American missionaries have made their way
to pagan nations, reducing rude languages to writing and enriching them
with new versions of the Bible, it has stood by their side, giving
liberally to make their work effective and circulate the printed book.
Its Arabic Bible, in the sacred language of a hundred and twenty
millions of men, has found circulation in regions as remote as Western
Africa and the eastern shores of China. It has its agents resident
in the Turkish Empire, in Persia, China, and Japan, in Mexico and
Cuba and the various republics of South America, and under their care
more than three hundred colporteurs devote their lives to the work of
distributing the printed Bible.
Confidently relying on the providence of God, sustained by
contributions and legacies and prayers, aided by the willing
cooperation of unpaid workers, joining hand in hand with other
Societies that look for the evangelization of the world, considerate
always for the oppressed and ignorant, the needy and the blind, the
prisoner and the immigrant, the mariner and the soldier, the American
Bible Society seeks to hasten the time when the open Book shall be
found in every household in the land and in the world, and all men
shall rejoice in the glad tidings which it brings. And its friends may
well join with their brethren in Great Britain in honoring the memory
of the humble Welsh maiden whose quenchless love for God's Word was so
helpful at the outset of these heaven-blessed charities.
PREFACE TO THE ORIGINAL
EDITION.
THIS little book tells how one of the least of seeds has grown to be
greatest of trees. It was the earnest desire of the late Mr. William
Coles, of Dorking, who was through life a warm and liberal friend of
the British and Foreign Bible Society, to learn all he could about its
birth. At his suggestion the trustees of the College at Bala generously
presented Mary Jones's Bible to the Library of the Bible House in
London, where it may now be seen. He was very anxious that the story
should be re-told in a way likely to interest the young; and though he
did not live to see this volume published, he did from his deathbed see
and approve the draft submitted to him. A few days before his death he
wrote as follows: "The sketch came to me as a glorious finish to my
aspirations. I may never see the book, but from the bright Happy Land—I
shall be with Christ and know all."
It must not be forgotten that others besides Mr. Charles helped to
found the Bible Society. The Rev. Thomas Jones, curate of Creaton,
deserves specially to be mentioned. He was the "clergyman in Wales"
who is referred to in Owen's "History of the Society" (vol. i. p. 3),
as having interested himself for more than twelve years in calling
attention to the dearth of the Word of God in Wales. Let due honour be
done to him, and to others like him; but, above all, let Him be praised
who disposed His servants to establish an organization for distributing
the bread of life to the hungry multitudes of mankind.
THE BIBLE HOUSE,
_1st December,_ 1882.
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
I.—AT THE FOOT OF THE MOUNTAIN
II.—THE ONE GREAT NEED
III.—COMING TO THE LIGHT
IV.—TWO MILES TO A BIBLE
V.—FAITHFUL IN THAT WHICH IS LEAST
VI.—ON THE WAY
VII.—TEARS THAT PREVAIL
VIII.—THE WORK BEGUN
IX.—YOUTHFUL PROMISE FULFILLED
X.—HER WORKS DO FOLLOW HER
THE STORY OF MARY JONES
AND HER BIBLE.
[Illustration: A GLIMPSE OF CADER IDRIS.]
CHAPTER I.
AT THE FOOT OF THE MOUNTAIN.
O Shepherd of all the flock of God,
Watch over Thy lambs and feed them;
For Thou alone, through the rugged paths,
In the way of life canst lead them.
IT would be hard to find a lovelier, more picturesque spot than the
valley on the south-west side of Cader Idris, where nestles the little
village of Llanfihangel-y-Pennant. Above it towers the majestic
mountain with its dark crags, its rocky precipices, and its steep
ascents; while stretching away in the distance to the westward, lie
the bold shore and glistening waters of Cardigan Bay, where the white
breakers come rolling in and dash into foam, only to gather afresh, and
return undaunted to the charge.
The mountain, and the outline of the bay, and the wonderful
picturesqueness of the valley, are still much as they were a hundred
years ago. Still the eye of the traveller gazes in wonder at their wild
beauty, as other eyes of other travellers did in times gone by. But
while Nature's great landmarks remain, or undergo a change so gradual
as to be almost imperceptible, man, the tenant of God's earth, is born,
lives his brief life, and passes away, leaving only too often hardly
even a memory behind him.
And now as, in thought, we stand upon the lower slopes of Cader Idris,
and look across the little village of Llanfihangel, we find ourselves
wondering what kind of people have occupied those rude grey cottages
for the last century; what were their simple histories, what their
habits, their toils and struggles, sorrows and pleasures.
To those then who share our interest in the place and neighbourhood,
and in events connected with them, we would tell the simple tale which
gives Llanfihangel a place among the justly celebrated and honoured
spots of our beloved country; since from its soil sprang a shoot which,
growing apace, soon spread forth great branches throughout the earth,
becoming indeed a tree of life, whose leaves are for the healing of the
nations.
In the year 1792, nearly a hundred years ago, the night shadows had
fallen around the little village of Llanfihangel. The season was late
autumn, and a cold wind was moaning and sighing among the trees,
stripping them of their changed garments, lately so green and gay,
whirling them round in eddies and laying them in shivering heaps along
the narrow valley.
Wan and watery, the moon, encompassed by peaked masses of cloud that
looked like another ghostly Cader Idris in the sky, had risen, and now
cast a faint light across a line of jutting crags, bringing into relief
their sharp ragged edges against the dark background of rolling vapour.
In pleasant contrast to the night with its threatening gloom, a warm
light shone through the windows of one of the cottages that formed the
village. The light was caused by the blaze of a fire of dried driftwood
on the stone hearth, while in a rude wooden stand a rushlight burned,
throwing its somewhat uncertain brightness upon a loom where sat a
weaver at work. A bench, two or three stools, a rude cupboard, and a
kitchen-table—these, with the loom, were all the furniture.
[Illustration: A WELSH COTTAGE.]
Standing in the centre of the room was a middle-aged woman, dressed in
a cloak and the tall conical Welsh hat worn by many of the peasants to
this day.
"I am sorry you cannot go, Jacob," said she. "You'll be missed at the
meeting. But the same Lord Almighty who gives us the meetings for the
good of our souls, sent you that wheezing of the chest, for the trying
of your body and spirit, and we must needs have patience till He sees
fit to take it away again."
"Yes, wife, and I'm thankful that I needn't sit idle, but can still ply
my trade," replied Jacob Jones. "There's many a deal worse off. But
what are you waiting for, Molly? You'll be late for the exercises; it
must be gone six o'clock."
"I'm waiting for that child, and she's gone for the lantern," responded
Mary Jones, whom her husband generally called Molly, to distinguish her
from their daughter who was also Mary.
Jacob smiled. "The lantern! Yes," said he; "you'll need it this dark
night. 'Twas a good thought of yours, wife, to let Mary take it regular
as you do, for the child wouldn't be allowed to attend those meetings
otherwise. And she does seem so eager after everything of the kind."
"Yes, she knows already pretty nearly all that you and I can teach her
of the Bible, as we learnt it, don't she, Jacob? She's only eight now,
but I remember when she was but a wee child she would sit on your knee
for hours on a Sunday, and hear tell of Abraham and Joseph, and David
and Daniel. There never was a girl like our Mary for Bible stories, or
any stories, for the matter of that, bless her! But here she is! You've
been a long time getting that lantern, child, and we must hurry or we
shall be late."
Little Mary raised a pair of bright dark eyes to her mother's face.
"Yes, mother," she replied, "I was long because I ran to borrow
neighbour Williams's lantern. The latch of ours won't hold, and there's
such a wind to-night, that I knew we should have the light blown out."
"There's a moon," said Mrs. Jones, "and I could have done without a
lantern."
"Yes, but then you know, mother, I should have had to stay at home,"
responded Mary, "and I do so love to go."
"You needn't tell me that, child," laughed Molly. "Then come along,
Mary; good-bye, Jacob."
"Good-bye, father dear! I wish you could come too!" cried Mary, running
back to give Jacob a last kiss.
"Go your way, child, and mind you remember all you can to tell old
father when you come home."
Then the cottage door opened, and Mary and her mother sallied out into
the cold windy night.
The moon had disappeared now behind a thick dark cloud, and little
Mary's borrowed lantern was very acceptable. Carefully she held it,
so that the light fell upon the way they had to traverse, a way which
would have been difficult if not dangerous, without its friendly aid.
"'Thy Word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path,'" said
Mrs. Jones, as she took her little daughter's hand in hers.
"Yes, mother, I was just thinking of that," replied the child. "I wish
I knew ever so many verses like this one."
"How glad I should be if your father and I could teach you more; but
it's years since we learned, and we've got no Bible, and our memories
are not as good as they used to be," sighed the mother.
A walk of some length, and over a rough road, brought them at last to
the little meeting-house where the church members belonging to the
Methodist body were in the habit of attending.
They were rather late, and the exercises had begun, but kind farmer
Evans made room for them on his bench, and found for Mrs. Jones the
place in the psalm-book from which the little company had been singing.
Mary was the only child there, but her face was so grave, and her
manner so solemn and reverent, that no one looking at her could have
felt that she was out of place; and the church members who met there
from time to time, had come to look upon this little girl as one of
their number, and welcomed her accordingly.
When the meeting was over, and Mary, having relighted her lantern, was
ready to accompany her mother home, farmer Evans put his great broad
hand upon the child's shoulder, saying:
"Well, my little maid! You're rather young for these meetings, but the
Lord has need of lambs as well as sheep, and He is well pleased when
the lambs learn to hear His voice early, even in their tender years."
Then with a gentle fatherly caress the good old man released the child,
and turned away, carrying with him the remembrance of that earnest
intelligent face, happy in its intentness, joyful in its solemnity,
having in its expression a promise of future excellence and power for
good.
"Why haven't we a Bible of our own, mother?" asked Mary as she trotted
homeward, lantern in hand.
"Because Bibles are scarce, child, and we're too poor to pay the price
of one. A weaver's is an honest trade, Mary, but we don't get rich
by it, and we think ourselves happy if we can keep the wolf from the
door, and have clothes to cover us. Still, precious as the Word of God
would be in our hands, more precious are its teachings and its truths
in our hearts. I tell you, my little girl, they who have learned the
love of God, have learned the greatest truth that even the Bible can
teach them; and those who are trusting the Saviour for their pardon and
peace, and for eternal life at last, can wait patiently for a fuller
knowledge of His word and will."
"I suppose you can wait, mother, because you've waited so long that
you're used to it," replied the child; "but it's harder for me. Every
time I hear something read out of the Bible, I long to hear more, and
when I can read it will be harder still."
Mrs. Jones was about to answer, when she stumbled over a stone, and
fell, though fortunately without hurting herself. Mary's thoughts were
so full of what she had been saying, that she had become careless in
the management of the lantern, and her mother not seeing the stone, had
struck her foot against it.
"Ah, child! It's the present duties after all that we must look after
most," said Molly, as she got slowly up; "and even a fall may teach us
a lesson, Mary. The very Word of God itself, which is a lamp to our
feet, and a light to our path, can't save us from many a tumble if we
don't use it aright, and let the light shine on our daily life, helping
us in its smallest duties and cares. Remember this, my little Mary."
And little Mary did remember this, and her after life proved that she
had taken the lesson to heart—a simple lesson, taught by a simple,
unlearned handmaid of the Lord, but a lesson which the child treasured
up in her very heart of hearts.
[Illustration: Chained Bibles.]
CHAPTER II.
THE ONE GREAT NEED.
For this I know, whate'er of earthly good
Fall to the portion of immortal man,
Still unfulfill'd in him is God's great plan.
And Heaven's richest gift misunderstood,
Until the Word of Life—exhaustless store
Of light and truth—be his for evermore.
[Illustration] IN the homes of the poor, where the time of the elder
members of the family is precious, they being the bread-winners of the
household, the little ones learn to be useful very early. How often we
have known girls of six to take the entire charge of a younger brother
and sister, while many children of that age run errands, do simple
shopping, and make themselves of very real and substantial use.
Such was the case in the family of Jacob Jones. Jacob and Molly were
engaged in weaving the woollen cloth, so much of which used to be
made in Wales. Thus many of the household duties devolved upon Mary;
and at an age when children of richer parents are amusing themselves
with their dolls or picture-books, our little maid was sweeping, and
dusting, and scrubbing, and digging and weeding.
It was Mary who fed the few hens, and looked for their eggs, so often
laid in queer, wrong places, rather than in the nest.
It was Mary who took care of the hive, and who never feared the
bees; and it was Mary again, who, when more active duties were done,
would draw a low stool towards the hearth in winter or outside the
cottage door in summer, and try to make or mend her own little simple
garments, singing to herself the while in Welsh, a verse or two of the
old-fashioned metrical version of the Psalms, or repeating texts which
she had picked up and retained in her quick, eager little brain.
In the long, light summer evenings, it was her delight to sit where
she could see the majestic form of Cader Idris with its varying lights
and shadows, as the sun sank lower and lower in the horizon. And in
her childish imagination, this mountain was made to play many a part,
as she recalled the stories which her parents had told her, and the
chapters she had heard read at chapel.
Now, Cader Idris was the mountain in the land of Moriah whither the
patriarch was sent on his painful mission; and Mary would fix her great
dark eyes upon the rocky steeps before her, until she fancied she could
see the venerable Abraham and his son toiling up towards the appointed
place of sacrifice, the lad bearing the wood for the burnt-offering.
More and more vividly the whole scene would grow upon the child's
fancy, until the picture seemed to be almost a reality, and she could
imagine that she heard the patriarch's voice borne faintly to her ear
by the breeze that fanned her cheek—a voice that replied pathetically
to his son's question, in the words, "My son, the Lord will provide
Himself a lamb for the burnt-offering."
Then the scene would change; night was drawing near, and Cader Idris
assuming softer outlines, was the mountain where the Saviour went to
pray.
Leaving the thronging multitude who had been dwelling upon His every
word—leaving even His disciples whom He so loved, there was Jesus—alone
save for the Eternal Father's presence—praying, and refreshing thus His
weary spirit, after the work and trials and sorrows of the day.
"If I'd only lived in those days," sighed little Mary, sometimes, "how
I should have loved Him! And He'd have taught me, perhaps, as He did
those two who walked such a long way with Him, without knowing that it
was Jesus; only I think 'I' should have known Him, just through love."
Nor was it only the mountain with which Mary associated scenes from
sacred history or Gospel narration. The long, narrow valley in the
upper end of which Llanfihangel was situated, ran down to the sea at no
great distance by a place called Towyn. And when the child happened to
be near, she would steal a few moments to sit down on the shore, and
gaze across the blue-green waters of Cardigan Bay, and dream of the Sea
of Galilee, and of the Saviour who walked upon its waters—who stilled
their raging with a word, and who even sometimes chose to make His
pulpit of a boat, and preach thus to the congregation that stood upon
the shore and clustered to the very edge of the water, so that they
might not lose a word of the precious things that He spoke. It will be
seen, therefore, that upon Mary's mind a deep and lasting impression
was made by all that she had heard; and child though she might be in
years, there were not wanting in her evidences of an earnest, energetic
nature, an intelligent brain, and a warm, loving heart.
It is by the first leaves put forth by the seedling that we discern
the nature, and know the name of the plant; and so in childhood, the
character and talents can often be detected in the early beauty of
their first unfolding and development.
One afternoon, when Jacob and his wife were seated at their looms, and
Mary was sewing a patch into an almost worn-out garment of her own, a
little tap at the dour was followed by the entrance of Mrs. Evans, the
good farmer's wife, a kind, motherly, and in some respects superior
woman, who was looked up to and beloved by many of the Llanfihangel
villagers.
"Good day to you, neighbours!" she said, cheerily, her comely face all
aglow. "Jacob, how is your chest feeling? Bad, I'm afraid, as I haven't
seen you out of late. Molly, you're looking hearty as usual, and my
little Mary, too—Toddles, as I used to call you when you were not much
more than a baby, and running round on your sturdy pins as fast as many
a bigger child. Don't I remember you then! A mere baby as I said, and
yet you'd keep a deal stiller than any mouse if your father there would
make up a story you could understand, more particular if it was out
of the Bible. Daniel and the Lions, or David and the Giant, or Peter
in the Prison—these were the favourites then. Yes, and the history of
Joseph and his brethren, only you used to cry when the naughty brothers
put Joseph in the pit, and went home and told Jacob that wicked lie
that almost broke the old man's heart."
"She's as fond of anything of that sort now as she was then," said
Jacob Jones, pausing in his work; "or rather she's fonder than ever,
ma'am. I only wish we were able to give her a bit of schooling. It
seems hard, for the child is willing enough, and it's high time she
was learning something. Why, Mrs. Evans, she can't read yet, and she's
eight years old!"
Mary looked up, her face flushing, her eyes filled with tears.
"Oh! If I only could learn!" she cried, eagerly. "I'm such a big girl,
and it's so dreadful not to know how to read. If I could, I would read
all the lovely stories myself, and not trouble any one to tell them."
"You forget, Mary, we've no Bible," said Molly Jones, "and we can't
afford to buy one either, so dear and scarce they are."
"Yes," replied Mrs. Evans, "it's a great want in our country; my
husband was telling me only the other day that the scarcity of Welsh
Bibles is getting to be spoken of everywhere. Even those who can afford
to pay for them get them with difficulty, and only by bespeaking them;
and poor people can't get them at all. But we hope the Society for
Christian Knowledge in London may print some more soon; it won't be
before they're wanted.
"But with all this talk, Mrs. Jones," continued the farmer's wife, "I
am forgetting my errand in coming here, and that was to ask if you'd
any new-laid eggs. I've a large order sent me, and our hens are laying
badly, so that I can't make up the number. I've been collecting a few
here and there, but I haven't enough yet."
"Mary knows more about the hens and eggs than I do," said Molly,
looking at her little daughter, who had not put a stitch into her patch
while the talk about Bibles had been going on, and whose cheeks and
eyes showed in their deepened colour and light how much interested she
had been in what had been said.
But now the child started half guiltily from her low seat, saying,
"I'll get what we have to show you, Mrs. Evans."
Presently she came in with a little basket containing about a dozen
eggs. The farmer's wife put them into her bag, then patting Mary's pink
cheeks rose to take her leave, after paying for the eggs.
"And remember this, little maid," she said kindly, when after saying
good-bye to Jacob and Molly, she was taking leave of Mary at the door.
"Remember this, my dear little girl; as soon as you know how to read
(if by that time you still have no Bible) you shall come to the farm
when you like, and read and study ours—that is, if you can manage to
get so far."
"It's only two miles, that's nothing!" said sturdy Mary, with a glance
down at her strong little bare feet. "I'd walk further than that for
such a pleasure, ma'am." Then she added with a less joyful ring in her
voice, "At least I would, if ever I 'did' learn to read."
"Never mind, little woman! The likes of you wasn't made to sit in the
dark always," replied Mrs. Evans in her cheery, comfortable tones.
"The Lord made the want, and He'll satisfy it; be very sure of that.
Remember, Mary, when the multitude that waited on the Saviour were
hungry, the Lord did not send them away empty, though no one saw how
they were to be fed; and He'll take care you get the bread of life
too, for all it seems so unlikely now. Good-bye, and God bless you, my
child!" And good Mrs. Evans, with a parting nod to the weaver and his
wife, and another to Mary, went out, and got into her little pony-cart,
which was waiting for her in the road, under the care of one of the
farm-boys.
Mary stood at the door and watched their visitor till she was out of
sight. Then, before she closed it, she clasped her small brown hands
against her breast, and her thoughts formed themselves into a prayer
something like this:
"Dear Lord, who gavest bread to the hungry folk in the old time, and
didst teach and bless even the poorest, please let me learn, and not
grow up in darkness."
Then she shut the door and came and sat down, resolving in her childish
heart that if God heard and answered her prayer, and she learned to
read His Word, she would do what she could, all her life long, to help
others as she herself had been helped.
How our little Mary kept her resolution will be seen in the remaining
chapters of this simple narrative.
[Illustration: _Tail-piece from Coverdale's New Test., 1538,_
_in the Library of the Bible Society._]
[Illustration: LLAN-Y-CIL BAY, BALA LAKE.]
CHAPTER III.
COMING TO THE LIGHT.
O thou who out of the darkness
Reachest thy trembling hand,
Whose ears are open to welcome
Glad news of a better land;
Not always shalt thou be groping,
Night's shadows are well-nigh past:
The heart that for light is yearning
Attains to that light at last.
TWO years had passed away since Mrs. Evans's visit, as recorded in the
preceding chapter, and still little Mary's prayer seemed as far as ever
from being answered.
With the industry and patience of more mature years the child went
about her daily duties, and her mother depended upon her for many
things which do not generally form part of a child's occupations. Mary
had less time for dreaming now, and though Cader Idris was still the
spot with which her imagination associated Bible scenes and pictures,
she had little leisure for anything but her everyday duties. She still
accompanied her mother to the meetings, and from so continually coming
into contact with older people, rather than with children of her own
age, the child had grown more and more grave and earnest in face and
manner, and would have been called an old-fashioned girl if she had
lived in a place where any difference was known between old fashions
and new.
It was about this time that Jacob Jones came home one evening from
Abergynolwyn—a village two miles away from Llanfihangel—where he had
been disposing of the woollen cloth which he and Molly had been making
during the past months.
Jacob had been away the greater part of the day, yet he did not seem
tired. His eye was bright, and his lips wore a smile as he entered the
cottage and sat down in his accustomed place in the chimney corner.
Mary, whose observant eye rarely failed to note the least change in her
father's face and manner, sprang towards him, and stood before him,
regarding his bright face searchingly.
"What is it, father?" she said, her own dark eyes flashing back the
light in his. "Something pleasant has happened, or you wouldn't look
like that!"
"What a sharp little girl it is!" replied Jacob, fondly, drawing the
child nearer and seating her upon his knee. "What a very sharp little
woman to find out that her old dad has something to tell!"
"And is it something that concerns me, father?" asked Mary, stroking
Jacob's face caressingly.
"It 'is' something that concerns you most of all, my chick, and us
through you."
"What can it be?" murmured Mary, with a quick, impatient little sigh.
"What is it, father?" asked Mrs. Jones. "We both want to know."
"Well," replied Jacob, "what would you say, Molly dear, to our little
daughter here becoming quite a learned woman, perhaps knowing how to
read, and write, and cipher, and all a deal better than her parents
ever did before her?"
"Oh, father!"
The exclamation came from Mary, who in her excitement had slipped from
Jacob's knee, and now stood facing him, breathless with suspense, her
hands closely clasped.
Jacob looked at her a moment without speaking; then he said tenderly:
"Yes, child, there 'is' a school to be opened at Abergynolwyn, and a
master is chosen already; and as my little Mary thinks nought of a two
miles' walk, she shall go, and learn all she can."
"Oh, father!"
"Well," rejoined Jacob, now laughing outright, "how many 'Oh fathers!'
are we going to have? But I thought you'd be glad, my girl, and I was
not wrong. You are pleased, dear, aren't you?"
There was a pause; then Mary's reply came, low spoken, but with such
deep content in its tones.
"Pleased, father? Yes, indeed, for now I shall learn to read the Bible."
Then a thought struck her, and a shadow came across the happy face as
she said:
"But, mother, perhaps you won't be able to spare me?"
"Spare you? Yes, I will, child, though I can't deny as how it will be
difficult for me to do without my little right hand and help. But for
your good, my girl, I would do harder things than that."
"Dear, good mother!" cried Mary, putting an arm about Molly's neck and
kissing her. "But I don't want you to work too hard and tire yourself.
I'll get up an hour or two earlier, and do all I can before I start
for school." Then as the child sat down again to her work, her heart,
in its joyfulness, sent up a song of thanksgiving to the Lord who had
heard her prayer, and opened the way for her to learn, that she might
not grow up in darkness.
Presently Jacob went on:
"I went to see the room where the school is to be held, and who should
come in while I was there but Mr. Charles of Bala. I'd often heard of
him before, but I'd never seen him, and I was glad to set eyes on him
for once."
"What may he have looked like, Jacob?" asked Molly.
"Well, Molly, I never was a very good one for drawing a portrait, but
I should say he was between forty and fifty years old, with a fine big
forehead which doesn't look as though it had unfurnished apartments to
let behind it, but quite the opposite, as though he had done a sight
of thinking, and meant to do a great deal more. Still his face isn't
anything so 'very' special till he smiles, but when he does it's like
sunshine, and goes to your heart, and warms you right through. Now I've
seen him, and heard him speak, I can understand how he does so much
good. I hear he's going about from place to place opening schools for
the poor children, who would grow up ignorant otherwise."
[Illustration: THE REV. THOMAS CHARLES, OF BALA.
(_From the painting in the Bible House._)]
"Like me," murmured Mary, under her breath.
"And who's the master that's to be set over the school at
Abergynolwyn?" asked Molly.
"I heard tell that his name is John Ellis," replied Jacob; "a good man,
and right for the work, so they say; and I hope it'll prove so."
"And how soon is the school to open, Jacob?" asked his wife.
"In about three weeks, I believe," answered Jacob. "And now, Mary my
girl, if you can bring yourself to think of such a thing as supper,
after what I've been telling you, suppose you get some ready, for I
haven't broke my fast since noon."
The following three weeks passed more slowly for little Mary Jones
than any three months she could remember before. Such childishness
as there was in her seemed to show itself in impatience; and we must
confess that her home duties at this time were not so cheerfully or
so punctually performed as usual, owing to the fact that her thoughts
were far away, her heart being set on the thing she had longed for so
earnestly.
"If 'this' is the way it's going to be, Jacob," said Molly to her
husband one evening, "I shall wish there had never been a thought of
school at Abergynolwyn. The child's so off her head that she goes about
like one in a dream; what it'll be when that school begins, I daren't
think."
"Don't you fret, wife," replied Jacob smiling. "It'll all come right.
Don't you see that her poor little busy brain has been longing to grow,
and now that there's a chance of its being fed, she's all agog. But
you'll find, when she once gets started, she'll go on all right with
her home work as well. She's but ten years old, Molly, after all, and
for my own part, I'm not sorry to see there's a bit of the child left
in her, even if it shows itself this way, such a little old woman as
she's always been!"
But this longest three weeks that Mary ever spent came to an end at
last, and Mary began to go to school, thus commencing a new era in her
life.
Fairly hungering and thirsting after knowledge, the child found her
lessons an unmixed delight. What other children call drudgery was to
her only pleasure, and her eagerness was so great that she was almost
always at the top of her class; and in an incredibly short space of
time she began to read and write.
The master, who had a quick eye for observing the character and talents
of his pupils, soon remarked Mary's peculiarities, and encouraged her
in her pursuit of such knowledge as was taught in the school; and
the little girl repaid her master's kindness by the most unwearied
diligence and attention.
Nor while the brain was being fed did the heart grow cold, or the
practical powers decline. Molly Jones had now no fault to find with
Mary's performance of her home duties. The child rose early, and did
her work before breakfast; and after her return from school in the
afternoon she again helped her mother, only reserving for herself time
enough to prepare her lessons for the next day.
At school she was a general favourite, and never seemed to be regarded
with jealousy by her companions, this being due probably to her genial
disposition, and the kind way in which she was willing to help others
whenever she could.
One morning a little girl was seen to be crying sadly when she reached
the schoolhouse, and on being questioned as to what was the matter, she
said that on the way there, a big dog had snatched at the little paper
bag in which she was bringing her dinner to eat during recess, and had
carried it off, and so she should have to go hungry all day.
Some of the scholars laughed at the child for her carelessness, and
some called her a coward, for not running after the dog and getting
back her dinner; but Mary stole up to the little one's side, and
whispered something in her ear, and dried the wet eyes, and kissed the
flushed cheeks, and presently the child was smiling and happy again.
But when dinner-time came, Mary and the little dinnerless maiden sat
close together in a corner, and more than half of Mary's provisions
found their way to the smaller child's mouth.
The other scholars looked on, feeling somewhat ashamed, no doubt, that
none but Mary Jones had thought of doing so kind and neighbourly an
action, at the cost of a little self-denial. But the lesson was not
lost upon them, and from that day Mary's influence made itself felt in
the school for good.
In her studies she progressed steadily, and this again gave opportunity
for the development of the helpful qualities by which, from her
earliest childhood, she had been distinguished.
On one occasion, for instance, she was just getting ready to set off
on her two miles journey home, when she spied in a corner of the now
deserted schoolroom a little boy with a book open before him, and a
smeared slate and blunt pencil by its side. The poor little fellow's
tears were falling over his unfinished task, and evidently he was in
the last stage of childish despondency. He had dawdled away his time
during the school hours, or had not listened when the lesson had been
explained, and now school discipline required that he should stay
behind when the rest had gone, and attend to the work which he had
neglected.
Mary had a headache that day, and was longing to get home; but the
sight of that tearful, sad little face in the corner banished all
thought of self, and as the voices of the other children died away in
the distance, she crossed the room, and leaned over the small student's
shoulder.
"What is it, Robbie dear?" said she in her old-fashioned way and
tender, low-toned voice. "Oh, I see, you've got to do that sum! I
mayn't do it for you, you know, because that would be a sort of
cheating, but I can tell you how to do it yourself, and I think I can
make it plain."
So saying, Mary fetched her little bit of wet rag, and washed the
slate, and then got an old knife and sharpened the pencil.
"Now," said she, smiling cheerily, "see, I'll put down the sum as it is
in the book." And she wrote on the slate in clear, if not very elegant
figures, the sum in question.
Thus encouraged, Robbie gave his mind to his task, and with a little
help it was soon done, and Mary with a light heart, which made up for
her heavy head, trotted home, very glad that what she was herself
learning could be a benefit to others.
Not long after the commencement of the day school, a Sunday school
also was opened, and the very first Sunday that children were taught
there, behold our little friend as clean and fresh as soap and water
could make her, and with bright eyes and eager face, showing the keen
interest she felt, and her great desire to learn.
That evening, after service in the little meeting-house, as the
farmer's wife, good Mrs. Evans, was just going to get into her
pony-cart to drive home, she felt a light touch on her arm, while a
sweet voice she knew said, "Please, ma'am, might I speak to you a
moment?"
"Surely, my child," replied the good woman, turning her beaming face on
little Mary, "what have you got to say to me?"
"Two years ago, please ma'am, you were so kind as to promise that when
I'd learned to read I should come to the farm and read your Bible."
"I did, I remember it well," answered Mrs. Evans. "Well, child, do you
know how to read?"
"Yes, ma'am," responded Mary; "and now I've joined the Sunday school,
and shall have Bible lessons to prepare, and if you'd be so kind as to
let me come up to the farm one day in the week—perhaps Saturday, when
I've a half-holiday—I could never thank you enough."
"There's no need for thanks, little woman, come and welcome! I shall
expect you next Saturday; and may the Lord make His Word a great
blessing to you!"
Mrs. Evans held Mary's hand one moment with a cordial pressure; then
she got into her cart, and the pony started off quickly towards home,
as though he knew that old Farmer Evans was laid up with rheumatism,
and that his wife wished to get back to him as soon as possible.
[Illustration: A Bit of Bala Lake.]
CHAPTER IV.
TWO MILES TO A BIBLE.
'Tis written, man shall not live alone,
By the perishing bread of earth;
Thou givest the soul a richer food
To nourish the heavenly birth.
And yet to our fields of golden grain
Thou bringest the harvest morn;
Thine op'ning hand is the life of all,
For Thou preparest them corn.
[Illustration] MR. EVANS'S farm was a curious old-fashioned place. The
house was a large, rambling building, with many queer ups and downs,
and with oddly-shaped windows in all sorts of unexpected places. And
yet there was an aspect of homely comfort about the house not always to
be found in far finer and more imposing-looking residences. At the back
were the out-buildings—the sheds and cow-houses, the poultry-pen, the
stables and pig-sties; while stretching away beyond these again were
the home paddock, the drying-ground, and a small enclosed field, which
went by the name of Hospital Meadow, on account of its being used for
disabled animals that needed a rest.
With the farmer himself we made acquaintance two years ago at the
meeting, when he spoke so kindly to Mary; and he was still the same
good, honest, industrious, God-fearing man, never forgetting in the
claims and anxieties of his work, what he owed to the Giver of all,
who sends His rain for the watering of the seed, and His sun for the
ripening of the harvest.
Nor did he—as too many farmers are in the habit of doing—repine at
Providence, and find fault with God's dealings if the rain came down
upon the hay before it was safely carried, or if an early autumn gale
laid his wheat even with the earth from which it sprang, ere the sickle
could be put into it. Nor did he complain and grumble even when disease
showed itself among the breed of small but active cattle of which he
was justly proud, and carried off besides some of his fine sheep,
destined for the famous Welsh mutton which sometimes is to be found on
English tables.
In short, he was contented with what the Lord sent, and said with Job,
when a misfortune occurred, "Shall we receive good at the hands of the
Lord, and shall we not receive evil?"
Of Mrs. Evans we have already spoken, and if we add here that she was a
true helpmeet to her husband, in matters both temporal and spiritual,
that is all we need say in her praise.
This worthy couple had three children. The eldest was already grown
up; she was a fine girl, and a great comfort and help to her mother.
The younger children were boys, who went to a grammar school in a town
a mile or two away: they were manly, high-spirited little fellows,
well-trained, and as honest and true as their parents.
Such, then, was the family into which our little Mary was welcomed with
all love and kindness. She was shy and timid the first time, for the
farm-house was a much finer place than any home she had hitherto seen;
and there was an atmosphere of warmth, and there were delicious signs
of plenty, which were unknown in Jacob Jones's poor little cottage,
where everything was upon the most frugal, not to say meagre, scale.
But Mary's shyness did not last long; indeed it disappeared wholly soon
after she had crossed the threshold, where she was met by Mrs. Evans
with a hearty welcome and a motherly kiss.
"Come in, little one," said the good woman, drawing her into the cosy,
old-fashioned kitchen, where a kettle was singing on the hob, and an
enticing fragrance of currant shortcake, baking for an early tea,
scented the air.
"There, get warm, dear," said Mrs. Evans, "and then you shall go to the
parlour, and study the Bible. And have you got a pencil and scrap of
paper to take notes if you want them?"
"Yes, thank you, ma'am, I brought them with me," replied Mary.
For a few minutes she sat there, basking in the pleasant, cheery glow
of the fire-light; then she was admitted to the parlour, where, on the
table in the centre of the room, and covered reverently with a clean
white cloth, was the precious book.
It must not be thought from the care thus taken of it that the Bible
was never used. On the contrary, it was always read at prayers night
and morning; and the farmer, whenever he had a spare half-hour, liked
nothing better than to study the sacred book, and seek to understand
its teachings.
"There's no need to tell you to be careful of our Bible, and to turn
over the leaves gently, Mary, I'm sure," said Mrs. Evans; "you would do
that anyway, I know. And now, my child, I'll leave you and the Bible
together. When you've learned your lesson for Sunday school, and read
all you want, come back into the kitchen and have some tea before you
go."
Then the good farmer's wife went away, leaving Mary alone with a Bible
for the first time in her life.
Presently the child raised the napkin, and, folding it neatly, laid it
on one side.
Then, with trembling hands, she opened the book, opened it at the
fifth chapter of John, and her eyes caught these words, "Search the
scriptures; for in them ye think ye have eternal life: and they are
they which testify of Me."
"I will! I will!" she cried, feeling as if the words were spoken
directly to her by some Divine voice. "I will search and learn all I
can. Oh, if I had but a Bible of my own!" And this wish, this sigh for
the rare and coveted treasure, was the key-note to a grand chorus of
glorious harmony which, years after, spread in volume, until it rolled
in waves of sound over the whole earth. Yes, that yearning in a poor
child's heart was destined to be a means of light and knowledge to
millions of souls in the future. Thus verily has God often chosen the
weak things of the world to carry out His great designs, and work His
will. And here, once more, is an instance of the small beginnings which
have great results—results whose importance is not to be calculated on
this side of eternity.
When Mary had finished studying the Scripture lesson for the morrow,
and had enjoyed a plentiful meal in the cosy kitchen, she said good-bye
to her kind friends, and set off on her homeward journey, her mind full
of the one great longing, out of which a resolution was slowly shaping
itself.
It was formed at last.
"I 'must' have a Bible of my own!" she said aloud, in the earnestness
of her purpose. "I must have one, if I save up for it for ten years!"
And by the time this was settled in her mind the child had reached her
home.
Christmas had come, and with it some holidays for Mary and the other
scholars who attended the school at Abergynolwyn; but our little
heroine would only have been sorry for the cessation of lessons, had
it not been that during the holidays she had determined to commence
carrying out her plan of earning something towards the purchase of a
Bible.
Without neglecting her home duties, she managed to undertake little
jobs of work, for which the neighbours were glad to give her a trifle.
Now it was to mind a baby while the mother was at the wash-tub. Now to
pick up sticks and brushwood in the woods for fuel; or to help to mend
and patch the poor garments of the family for a worn, weary mother, who
was thankful to give a small sum for this timely welcome help.
And every halfpenny, every farthing (and farthings were no unusual fee
among such poor people as those of whom we are telling) was put into a
rough little money-box which Jacob made for the purpose, with a hole in
the lid. The box was kept in a cupboard, on a shelf where Mary could
reach it, and it was a real and heartfelt joy to her when she could
bring her day's earnings—some little copper coins, perhaps—and drop
them in, longing for the time to come when they would have swelled to
the requisite sum—a large sum unfortunately—for buying a Bible.
It was about this time that good Mrs. Evans, knowing the child's
earnest wish, and wanting to encourage and help her, made her the
present of a fine cock and two hens.
"Nay, nay, my dear, don't thank me," said she, when Mary was trying to
tell her how grateful she was; "I've done it, first to help you along
with that Bible you've set your heart on, and then, too, because I love
you, and like to give you pleasure. So now, my child, when the hens
begin to lay, which will be early in the spring, you can sell your
eggs, for these will be your very own to do what you like with, and you
can put the money to any use you please. I think I know what you'll do
with it," added Mrs. Evans, with a smile.
But the first piece of silver that Mary had the satisfaction of
dropping into her box was earned before she had any eggs to sell, and
in quite a different way from the sums which she had hitherto received.
She was walking one evening along the road from Towyn, whither she had
been sent on an errand for her father, when her foot struck against
some object lying in the road; and, stooping to pick it up, she found
it was a large leather purse. Wondering whose it could be, the child
went on, until, while still within half a mile from home, she met a
man walking slowly, and evidently searching for something. He looked
up as Mary approached, and she recognized him as Farmer Greaves, a
brother-in-law of Mrs. Evans.
"Ah! Good evening, Mary Jones," said he; "I've had such a loss! Coming
home from market I dropped my purse, and—"
"I've just found a purse, sir," said Mary; "is this it?"
"You've found a purse?" exclaimed the farmer, eagerly. "Yes, indeed,
my dear, that is mine, and I'm very much obliged to you. No, stay a
moment," he called after her, for Mary was already trudging off again.
"I should like to give you a trifle for your hon—I mean just some
trifle by way of thanks."
As he spoke, his finger and thumb closed on a bright shilling, which
surely would not have been too much to give to a poor child who had
found a heavy purse. But he thought better (or worse) of it, and took
out instead a sixpence and handed it to Mary, who took it with very
heartfelt thanks, and ran home as quickly as possible to drop her
silver treasure safely into the box, where it was destined to keep its
poorer brethren company for many a long year.
But the Christmas holidays were soon over, and then it was difficult
for Mary to keep up with her daily lessons, and her Sunday school
tasks, the latter involving the weekly visits to the farm-house for
the study of the Bible. What with these and her home duties, sometimes
weeks passed without her having time to earn a penny towards the
purchase of the sacred treasure.
Sometimes, too, she was rather late in reaching home on the Saturday
evenings, and now and again Molly was uneasy about her. For Mary would
come by short cuts over the hills, along ways which, however safe in
the daytime, were rough and unpleasant, if not dangerous, after dark;
and in these long winter evenings the daylight vanished very early.
It was on one of these occasions that Molly and Jacob Jones were
sitting and waiting for their daughter.
The old clock had already struck eight. She had never been so late as
this before.
"Our Molly ought to be home, Jacob," said Molly, breaking a silence
disturbed only by the noise of Jacob's busy loom. "It's got as dark
as dark, and there's no moon to-night. The way's a rugged one, if she
comes the short cut across the hill, and she's not one to choose a
long road if she can find a shorter, bless her! She's more than after
her time. I hope no harm's come to the child," and Molly walked to the
window and looked out.
"Don't be fretting yourself, Molly," replied Jacob, pausing in his
work; "Mary's out on a good errand, and He who put the love of good
things in her heart will take care of her in her going out and in her
coming in, from henceforth, even for evermore."
Jacob spoke solemnly, but with a tone of conviction that comforted
his wife, as words of his had often done before; and just then a
light step bounded up to the door, the latch was lifted, and Mary's
lithe young figure entered the cottage, her dark eyes shining with
intelligence, her cheeks flushed with exercise, a look of eager
animation overspreading the whole of her bright face and seeming to
diffuse a radiance round the cottage, while it shone reflected in the
countenances of Jacob and Molly.
"Well, child, what have you learned to-day?" questioned Jacob. "Have
you studied your lesson for the Sunday school?"
"Ay, father, that I have, and a beautiful lesson it was," responded the
child. "It was the lesson and Mr. Evans together that kept me so late."
"How so, Mary?" asked Molly. "We've been right down uneasy about you,
fearing lest something had happened to you."
"You needn't have been so, mother dear," replied the little girl, with
something of her father's quiet assurance. "God knew what I was about,
and He would not let any harm come to me. Oh, father, the more I read
about Him the more I want to know, and I shall never rest until I've a
Bible of my own. But to-day I've brought home a big bit of the farmer's
Bible with me."
"What do you mean, Mary? How could you do such a thing?" questioned
Molly in amazement.
"Only in my head, mother dear, of course," replied the child; then in a
lower voice she added, "'and my heart.'"
"And what is the bit?" asked Jacob.
"It's the seventh chapter of Matthew," said Mary. "Our Sunday lesson
was from the first verse to the end of the twelfth verse. But it was so
easy and so beautiful that I went on and on, till I'd learned the whole
chapter. And just as I had finished, Mr. Evans came in and asked me if
I understood it all; and when I said there were some bits that puzzled
me, he was so kind and explained them. If you like, mother and father,
I'll repeat you the chapter."
So Jacob pushed away his work, and took his old seat in the chimney
corner, and Molly began some knitting, while Mary sat down on a stool
at her father's feet, and beginning at the first verse, repeated the
whole chapter without a single mistake, without a moment's hesitation,
and with a tone and emphasis which showed her comprehension of the
truths so beautifully taught, and her sympathy with them.
"Mark my words, wife," said Jacob that night, when Mary had gone to
bed, "that child will do a work for the Lord before she dies. See you
not how He Himself is leading and guiding His lamb into green pastures
and beside still waters? Why, Molly, when she repeated that verse,
'Ask, and ye shall receive,' I saw her eyes shine, and her cheeks glow
again, and I knew she was thinking of the Bible that she's set her
heart on, and which I doubt not she's praying for often enough when we
know nothing about it. And the Lord He will give it her some day. Of
that I'm moral certain. Yes, Molly, our Mary will have her Bible!"
[Illustration: _"The Word of the Lord endureth for ever."_
_From a Bible in the Society's Library (C. Barker, 1585)._]
CHAPTER V.
FAITHFUL IN THAT WHICH IS LEAST.
Since this one talent Thou hast granted me,
I give Thee thanks, and joy, in blessing Thee
That I am worthy any.
I would not hide or bury it, but rather
Use it for Thee and Thine, O Lord and Father
And make one talent many.
[Illustration] WE may be sure that various were the influences
tending to mould the character of Mary Jones during the years of her
school-life, confirming in her the wonderful steadfastness of purpose
and earnestness of spirit for which she was remarkable, as well as
fostering the tender and loving nature that made her beloved by all
with whom she had to do.
Her master, John Ellis (who afterwards was stationed at Barmouth),
seems to have been a conscientious and able teacher, and we may infer
that he took no small part in the development of the mind and heart of
a pupil who must always have been an object of special interest from
her great intelligence and eagerness to learn.
But as the years passed, the time came for John Ellis to change his
sphere of labour. He did so, and his place was taken by a man, a sketch
of whose story may perhaps not inappropriately be given here, as that
of the teacher under whom Mary Jones was being Instructed at the time
when a great event occurred in her history, an event the recounting of
which we leave for the next chapter.
The successor to John Ellis was Lewis Williams, a man who from a low
station in life, and from absolute ignorance, rose to a position of
considerable influence and popularity, from an utterly heedless and
godless life, to be a God-fearing and noble-minded Christian.
He was a man of small size, and from all that we can learn of his
intellect and talents we can hardly think that they were of any
high order. But what he lacked in mental gifts, he made up in iron
resolution, in a perseverance which was absolutely sublime in its
determination not to be baffled.
He was born in Pennal in the year 1774; his parents were poor, but of
them nothing further is known.
Like other boys at that time, and in that neighbourhood, he was wild
and reckless, breaking the Sabbath continually, and otherwise drawing
upon himself the censure of those with whom he was acquainted.
But when he was about eighteen years old, he chanced on one occasion to
be at a prayer-meeting, when a Mr. Jones, of Mathafarn, was reading and
expounding the fifth chapter of the Epistle to the Romans.
The word of God, thus made known to Lewis Williams in perhaps a fresh
and striking manner, was the means of carrying home to his hitherto
hard heart the conviction of sin; and a change was from that time
observed in him, which gradually deepened, until none could longer
doubt that he had become an earnest and consistent Christian.
On the occasion of his requesting to be admitted to membership in a
little Methodist church at Cwmllinian, he was asked (probably as one
of the test questions), "If Jesus Christ asked you to do some work for
Him, would you do it?" His answer gives us the key to his success: "Oh
yes; 'whatever' Jesus required of me I would do 'at once.'"
Such was the commencement of the religious life of this most singular
man.
Some years after, when in service at a place called Trychiad, near
Llanegryn, he could not but notice the ignorance of the boys in the
neighbourhood, and, burning with zeal to perform some direct and
special work for his Heavenly Master, he resolved to establish there a
Sunday school, and a week-night school besides, if possible, in order
to teach the lads to read.
This would have been praiseworthy, but still nothing remarkable in
the way of an undertaking, had Lewis Williams received any sort of
education himself. But as he had never enjoyed a day's schooling in his
life, and could hardly read a word correctly, the thought of teaching
others seemed, to say the least, rather a wild idea.
But how often the old proverb has been proved true that where there
is a will there is a way; and once more was this verified in the
experience of Lewis Williams.
Owing to the young man's untiring energy and courage, his school was
opened in a short time, and he began the work of instruction, teaching,
we are told, the alphabet to the lowest class by setting it to the tune
of "The March of the Men of Harlech."
Dr. Moffat, we know, tried the same plan of melody lessons forty years
later, with a number of Bechuana children, teaching them their letters
to the tune of "Auld Lang Syne" with wonderful facility and success.
But Lewis Williams, if he set up for a schoolmaster at all, could
hardly confine his instructions to the lowest class in the school; yet
in undertaking the teaching of the older boys, he was coming face to
face with an obstacle which might well have seemed insurmountable to
any one whose will was less strong or courage less undaunted.
The master could not read, or at least he could neither read fluently
nor correctly, yet he had bound himself to teach reading to the lads in
his school.
Painfully mindful of his deficiencies, he used, before commencing his
Sunday school exercises or his evening classes, to pay a visit to a
good woman, Betty Evans by name, who had learned to read well. Under
her tuition, he prepared the lessons he was going to give that day or
the next, so that in reality the master of that flourishing little
school was only beforehand with his scholars by a few hours.
At other times he would invite a number of scholars from an endowed
high school in the neighbourhood, to come for reading and argument.
With quiet tact and careful foresight, he would arrange that the
subject taken for reading and discussion should include the lesson
which he would shortly have to give.
While the reading and talk went on, he listened with rapt attention.
The discussions as to the meaning or pronunciation of the more
difficult words were all clear gain to him, as familiarizing his mind
with what he desired to know.
But none of these youths meeting thus had an inkling that the man who
invited them, who spoke so discreetly, and listened so attentively, was
himself a learner, and dependent upon them for the proper construction
of phrases, or for the correct pronunciation of words occurring in his
next day's or week's lessons.
The school duties were always commenced with prayer, and as the master
had a restless, unruly set of lads to do with, he invented a somewhat
peculiar way of securing their attention for the devotions in which he
led them.
Familiar with military exercises through former experiences in the
militia, he would put the restless boys through a series of these, and
when they came to "stand at ease," and "attention!" he would at once,
but very briefly and simply, engage in prayer.
While Lewis Williams was thus hard at work at Llanegryn, seeking to win
hearts to the Saviour, and train minds to serve Him, it happened that
Mr. Charles of Bala, intending to preside at a members' meeting to be
held at Abergynolwyn, arrived at Bryncrug the evening before, and spent
the night at the house of John Jones, the schoolmaster of that place.
In the course of conversation with his host, Mr. Charles asked him if
he knew of a suitable person to undertake the charge of one of his
recently established schools in the neighbourhood. John Jones replied
that he had heard of a young man at Llanegryn, who taught the children
both on week-nights and Sundays; "but," added the schoolmaster; "as I
hear that he himself cannot read, can hardly understand how he is able
to instruct others."
"Impossible!" exclaimed Mr. Charles. "How can any one teach what he
does not himself know?"
"Still, they say he does so," replied John Jones.
Mr. Charles at once expressed a wish to see this mysterious instructor
of youth, who was reported as imparting to others what he did not
himself possess. The next day, accordingly, summoned by John Jones,
our young schoolmaster made his appearance. His rustic garb, and the
simplicity of his manner, gave the impression of his being anything but
a pedagogue, whatever might have been said of him.
"Well, my young friend," said Mr. Charles, in the genial pleasant way
that was natural to him, and that at once inspired with confidence all
with whom he had to do, "they tell me you keep a school at Llanegryn
yonder, on Sundays and week-nights, for the purpose of teaching
children to read. Have you many scholars?"
"Yes, sir, far more than I am able to teach," replied Lewis Williams.
"And do they learn a little by your teaching?" asked Mr. Charles, as
kindly as ever, but with a quaint smile lurking round his mouth.
"I think some of them learn, sir," responded the young teacher, very
modestly, and with an overwhelming sense of his own ignorance—a
consciousness that showed itself painfully both in his voice and manner.
"Do you understand any English?" questioned Mr. Charles.
"Only a stray word or two, sir, which I picked up when serving in the
militia."
"Do you read Welsh fluently?"
"No, sir, I can read but little, but I am doing my very best to learn."
"Were you at a school before beginning to teach?" asked Mr. Charles,
more and more interested in the young man who stood so meekly before
him.
"No, sir. I never had a day's schooling in my life."
"And your parents did not teach you to read while you were at home?"
"No, sir, my parents could not read a word for themselves."
Mr. Charles opened his Bible at the first chapter of the Epistle to the
Hebrews, and asked Lewis Williams to read the opening verses.
Slowly, hesitatingly, and with several mistakes, the young man
complied, stumbling with difficulty through the first verse.
"That will do, my lad," said Mr. Charles; "but how you are able to
teach others to read, passes my comprehension. Tell me now by what plan
you instruct the children."
Then the poor young teacher described the methods to which he had
recourse for receiving and imparting instruction; he gave an account
of his musical A B C; the lessons given to himself by Betty Evans; the
readings and discussions of the grammar school boys; and the scholars
playing at "little soldiers."
As Lewis Williams proceeded with his confessions (for such they
appeared to him), Mr. Charles, with the discernment which seems to have
been one of his characteristics, had penetrated through the roughness
and uncouthness of the narrator to the real force of character and
earnestness of the man. He saw that this humble follower of the
Saviour had earnestly endeavoured to improve his one talent, and work
with it in the Master's service, and that he only needed help in the
development of his capacity, to render him a most valuable servant of
Christ. He recommended him therefore to place himself for a time under
the tuition of John Jones, and thus fit himself for efficient teaching
in his turn.
During the following three months, Lewis Williams followed the advice
of Mr. Charles; and this was all the schooling that he ever had.
His self-culture did not, however, cease with the help gained from John
Jones. Every hour he could spare was devoted to study, in order to fit
himself for one of the schoolmasters' places under Mr. Charles' special
control and management. And we are told that in order to perfect
himself further in reading, he used to visit neighbouring churches, to
study the delivery and reading of the ministers presiding there.
His earnest desire was gratified at last, for in the year 1799—that
is, when he was about twenty-five years of age—he was engaged by Mr.
Charles as a paid teacher in one of his schools. He was removed to
Abergynolwyn a year later, and here, among his pupils, was our young
friend Mary Jones.
In his subsequent years of work he was the means of establishing many
new schools, and of reviving others which were losing their vitality;
and at length, he even became a preacher, so great was his zeal in his
Master's service, and so anxious was he that all should know the truth
and join in the work of the Lord.
He died in his eighty-eighth year, followed by the sincere gratitude
and deep love of the many whom he had benefited.
Our story now returns to Mary Jones, who at the time that Lewis
Williams became schoolmaster at Abergynolwyn, was nearly sixteen years
old.
She was an active, healthy maiden, full of life and energy, as earnest
and as diligent as ever. Nor had her purpose faltered for one moment
as regarded the purchase of a Bible. Through six long years she had
hoarded every penny, denying herself the little indulgences which the
poverty of her life must have made doubly attractive to one so young.
She had continued her visits to the farm-house, and while she there
studied her Bible lessons for school, her desire to possess God's Holy
Book for herself grew almost to a passion.
What joy it would be, she often thought, if every day she could read
and commit to memory portions of Scripture, storing her mind and heart
with immortal truths. "But the time will come," she had added, "when I
shall have my Bible. Yes, though I have waited so long, the time will
come." Then on her knees beside her little bed she had prayed aloud,—
"Dear Lord, let the time come quickly!"
As may be supposed, Mary was the great pride and delight of her
parents. She was more useful, more her mother's right hand than ever;
and her father, as he looked into her clear, honest, intelligent dark
eyes, and heard her recite her lesson for school, or recount for his
benefit all the explanations to which she had that day listened,
thanked the Lord in his heart, for his brave, God-fearing child, and
prayed that she might grow up to be a blessing to all with whom she
might have to do in the future.
[Illustration: _"If a man love me, he will keep my words."_
_Tail-piece from Coverdale's New Test. (1538) in the Society's Library._]
CHAPTER VI.
ON THE WAY.
A strong, brave heart, and a purpose true,
Are better than wealth untold,
Planting a garden in barren ways,
And turning their dust to gold.
[Illustration] "O MOTHER! O father! Only think! Mrs. Evans has just
paid me for that work I did for her, and it is more than I expected;
and now I find I have enough to buy a Bible. I'm so happy I don't know
what to do."
Mary had just come from the farm-house, and now as she bounded in with
the joyful news, Jacob stopped his loom, and held out both hands.
"Is it really so, Mary? After six years' saving! Nay then, God be
thanked, child, who first put the wish into your heart, and then gave
you patience to wait and work to get the thing you wanted. Bless you,
my little maid," and Jacob laid a hand solemnly upon his daughter's
head, adding in a lower tone, "and she shall be blest!"
"But tell me, father dear," said Mary after a little pause, "where
am I to buy the Bible? There are no Bibles to be had here or at
Abergynolwyn."
"I cannot tell you, Mary, but our preacher, William Huw, will know,"
replied Jacob; "you will do well to go to him to-morrow, and ask how
you're to get the book."
Acting upon her father's suggestion, Mary accordingly went the next
day to Llechwedd to William Huw, and to him she put the question so
all-important to her. But he replied that not a copy could be obtained
(even of the Welsh version published the year before) nearer than of
Mr. Charles of Bala; and he added that he feared lest all the Bibles
received by Mr. Charles from London had been sold or promised months
ago.
This was discouraging news, and Mary went home, cast down indeed, but
not in despair. There was still, she reflected, a chance that one copy
of the Scriptures yet remained in Mr. Charles's possession; and if so,
that Bible should be hers.
The long distance—over twenty-five miles—the unknown road, the
far-famed, but to her, strange minister, who was to grant her the boon
she craved—all this, if it a little frightened her, did not for one
moment threaten to change her purpose.
Even Jacob and Molly, who at first, on account of the distance,
objected to her walking to Bala for the purchase of her Bible, ceased
to oppose their will to hers; "for," said good Jacob to his wife, "if
it's the Lord answering our prayers and leading the child, as we prayed
He might, it would ill become us to go against His wisdom."
And so our little Mary had her way, and having received permission for
her journey, she went to a neighbour living near, and telling her of
her proposed expedition, asked if she would lend her a wallet to carry
home the treasure should she obtain it.
The neighbour, mindful of Mary's many little acts of thoughtful
kindness towards herself and her children, and glad of any way in which
she could show her grateful feeling and sympathy, put the wallet into
the girl's hand, and bade her good-bye with a hearty "God speed you!"
The next morning, a fresh, breezy day in spring, in the year 1800,
Mary rose almost as soon as it was light, and washed and dressed with
unusual care; for was not this to be a day of days—the day for which
she had waited for years, and which must, she thought, make her the
happiest of girls, or bring to her such grief and disappointment as she
had never yet known?
Her one pair of shoes—far too precious a possession to be worn on a
twenty-five mile walk—Mary placed in her wallet, intending to put them
on as soon as she reached the town.
Early as was the hour, Molly and Jacob were both up to give Mary her
breakfast of hot milk and bread, and have family prayer, offering a
special petition for God's blessing on their child's undertaking, and
for His protection and care during her journey.
This fortified and comforted Mary, and, kissing her parents, she
went out into the dawn of that lovely day—a day which lived in her
remembrance till the last hour of her long and useful life.
She set out at a good pace—not too quick, for that would have wearied
her ere a quarter of her journey could be accomplished, but an even,
steady walk, her bare brown feet treading lightly but firmly along
the road, her head erect, her clear eyes glistening, her cheek with a
healthy flush under the brown skin. So she went—the bonniest, blithest
maiden on that sweet spring morning in all the country round.
[Illustration: CADER IDRIS.]
Never before had everything about her looked to Mary as it looked on
that memorable morning. The dear old mountain seemed to gaze down
protectingly upon her. The very sun, as it came up on the eastern
horizon, appeared to have a smile specially for her. The larks soared
from the meadow till their trilling died away in the sky, like a
tuneful prayer sent up to God. The rabbits peeped out at her from leafy
nooks and holes, and even a squirrel, as it ran up a tree, stopped
to glance familiarly at our little maiden, as much as to say, "Good
morning, Mary; good luck to you!" And the girl's heart was attuned to
the blithe loveliness of nature, full of thankfulness for the past and
of hope for the future.
And now, leaving our heroine bravely wending her way towards Bala, we
will Just record briefly the history of that good and earnest man on
whom the child's hopes and expectations were this day fixed, and who
therefore, in Mary's eyes, must be the greatest and most important
person—for the time—in the world.
But apart from the ideas and opinions of a simple girl, Thomas Charles
of Bala was in reality a person of great influence and high standing
in Wales, and had been instrumental in the organization and execution
of much important and excellent work, in places where ignorance and
darkness had hitherto prevailed. Hence the name (by which he often
went) of "the Apostolic Charles of Bala."
He was now about fifty years of age, and had spent twenty years in
going about among the wildest parts of Wales, preaching the Word of
Life, forming schools, and using his great and varied talents wholly in
the service of his Master.
At the age of eighteen he had given himself to the Saviour, and his
first work for the Lord was in his own home, where he was the means of
instituting family worship and exerting an influence for good none the
less powerful that it was loving and gentle.
His education was begun at Carmarthen, and continued at Oxford, and
we learn that the Rev. John Newton was a kind and good friend to
him during a part of his student life, and that on one occasion his
vacation was spent at the house of this excellent man.
The Rev. Thomas Charles became an ordained minister of the Church of
England in due course, but owing to the faithful and outspoken style of
his preaching, many of his own denomination took offence and would not
receive him; so he seceded from the Church of England and joined the
Welsh Calvinistic Methodists; but his greatest work hitherto had been
the establishment of Day and Sunday Schools in Wales. The organization
of these, the selection of paid teachers, the periodical visiting and
examination of the various schools, made Mr. Charles's life a very
busy one. But as he toiled on, he could see that his labour was not
in vain. Wherever he went, carrying the good news, proving it in his
life, spending all he was and all he had in the service of Christ,—the
darkness that hung over the people lifted, and the true light began to
shine.
The ignorance and immorality gave place to a desire for knowledge
and holiness, and the soil that was barren and stony became the
planting-place of sweet flowers and pleasant fruits.
Such, in brief, was the man—and such his work up to the time of Mary
Jones's journey to Bala.
About the middle of the day Mary stopped to rest and to eat some food
which her mother had provided for her. Under a tree in a grassy hollow
not far from the road, she half reclined, protected from the sun by
the tender green of the spring foliage, and cooling her hot dusty feet
in the soft damp grass that spread like a velvet carpet all over the
hollow.
Ere long too she spied a little stream, trickling down a hill on its
way to the sea, and here she drank, and washed her face and hands and
feet, and was refreshed.
Half an hour's quiet rested her thoroughly, then she jumped up, slung
her wallet over her shoulder again, and recommenced her journey.
The rest of the way, along a dusty road for the most part, and under a
warm sun, was fatiguing enough; but the little maiden plodded patiently
on, though her feet were blistered and cut with the stones, and her
head ached and her limbs were very weary.
Once a kind cottager, as she passed, gave her a drink of butter-milk,
and a farmer's little daughter, as Mary neared her destination, offered
her a share of the supper she was eating as she sat in the porch in the
cool of the evening; but these were all the adventures or incidents in
Mary's journey till she got to Bala.
On arriving there, she followed out the instructions that had been
given her by William Huw, and went to the house of David Edwards, a
much respected Methodist preacher at Bala.
This good man received her most kindly, questioned her as to her motive
in coming so far, but ended by telling her that owing to Mr. Charles's
early and regular habits (one secret of the large amount of work which
he accomplished), it was now too late in the day to see him.
"But," added the kind old man, seeing his young visitor's
disappointment, "you shall sleep here to-night, and we will go to Mr.
Charles's as soon as I see light in his study-window to-morrow morning,
so that you may accomplish your errand in good time, and be able to
reach home before night."
With grateful thanks Mary accepted the hospitality offered her, and
after a simple supper, she was shown into the little prophet's chamber
where she was to sleep.
There, after repeating a chapter of the Bible, and offering an earnest
prayer, she lay down, her mind and body alike resting, her faith sure
that her journey would not be in vain, but that He who had led her
safely thus far, would give her her heart's desire.
And the curtains of night fell softly about the good preacher's humble
dwelling, shadowing the sleepers there; and the rest of those sleepers
was sweet, and their safety assured, for watching over them was the
God of the night and the day—the God whom they loved and trusted, and
underneath them were the Everlasting Arms.
[Illustration: A CORNER OF BALA LAKE.]
[Illustration: BALA.]
CHAPTER VII.
TEARS THAT PREVAIL.
Often tears of joy and sorrow meet;
Marah's bitter waters turn'd to sweet.
BALA is even now a quiet little town, situated near the end of Bala
Lake, on the north side of a wide, cultivated valley. A hundred years
ago, it was more quiet and rural still. The scenery is pastoral in its
character, hilly rather than mountainous, but well wooded and watered.
The town is a favourite resort of people fond of shooting and fishing.
Altogether it is a pretty, cheerful, healthy spot, but wanting in the
imposing grandeur and rugged beauty of many other parts of North Wales.
Such, then, was the place to which our little heroine's weary feet had
brought her on the preceding evening, and such was the home—for the
greater part of his life—of Thomas Charles of Bala.
Mary's deep, dreamless sleep was not broken until her host knocked at
her door at early dawning.
"Wake up, Mary Jones, my child! Mr. Charles is an early riser, and will
soon be at work. The dawn is breaking; get up, dear!"
Mary started up, rubbing her eyes. The time had really come, then, and
in a few minutes she would know what was to be the result of her long
waiting.
[Illustration: BALA LAKE.]
Her heart beat quicker as she washed and dressed, but her excitement
calmed when she sat down for a minute or two on the side of her bed,
and repeated the 23rd Psalm.
The sweet words of the royal singer were the first that occurred to
her, and now, as she murmured "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not
want," she felt as though she were of a truth being watched over and
cared for by a loving Shepherd, and being led by Him.
She was soon ready, and David Edwards and his guest proceeded together
to Mr. Charles's house.
"There's a light in his study," said the good old preacher. "Our
apostle is at his desk already. There are not many like him, Mary;
always at work for the Master. The world would be better had we more
such men."
Mary did not reply, but she listened intently as David Edwards knocked
at the door. There was no answer, only the tread of a foot across the
floor above, and the next moment the door opened, and Mr. Charles
himself stood before them.
"Good morning, friend Edwards! And what brings you here so early? Come
in, do," said the genial, hearty voice, which so many knew, and had
cause to love. Then, as David Edwards entered, Mr. Charles noticed the
little figure behind him in the doorway.
A rather timid shrinking little figure it was now, for Mary's courage
was fast ebbing away, and she felt shy and frightened.
A few words of explanation passed between the old preacher and Mr.
Charles; then Mary was invited to enter the study.
"Now, my child," said Mr. Charles, "don't be afraid, but tell me all
about yourself, where you live, and what your name is, and what you
want."
At this Mary took courage and answered all Mr. Charles's questions,
her voice (which at first was low and tremulous) strengthening as her
courage returned. She told him all about her home and her parents, her
longing when quite a child for a Bible of her own, then of the long
years during which she had saved up her little earnings towards the
purchase of a Bible—the sum being now complete.
Then Mr. Charles examined her as to her Scripture knowledge, and
was delighted with the girl's intelligent replies, which showed how
earnestly and thoroughly she had studied the Book she loved so well.
"But how, my child," said he, "did you get to know the Bible as you do,
when you did not own one for yourself?"
Then Mary told him of the visits to the farm-house, and how, through
the kindness of the farmer and his wife, she had been able to study her
Sunday school lessons, and commit portions of Scripture to memory.
As she informed Mr. Charles of all that had taken place, and he began
to realize how brave, and patient, and earnest, and hopeful she had
been through all these years of waiting, and how far she had now come
to obtain possession of the coveted treasure, his bright face became
overshadowed, and, turning to David Edwards, he said, sadly, "I am
indeed grieved that this dear girl should have come all the way from
Llanfihangel to buy a Bible, and that I should be unable to supply her
with one. The consignment of Welsh Bibles that I received from London
last year was all sold out months ago, excepting a few copies which I
have kept for friends whom I must not disappoint. Unfortunately the
Society which has hitherto supplied Wales with the Scriptures declines
to print any more, and where to get Welsh Bibles to satisfy our
country's need I know not."
Until now, Mary had been looking up into Mr. Charles's face, with her
great, dark eyes full of hope and confidence; but as he spoke these
words to David Edwards, and she noticed his overclouded face, and began
to understand the full import of his words, the room seemed to her to
darken suddenly, and, dropping into the nearest seat, she buried her
face in her hands, and sobbed as, perhaps, few girls of her age had
ever sobbed before.
It was all over, then, she said to herself—all of no use—the prayers,
the longing, the waiting, the working, the saving for six long years,
the weary tramp with bare feet, the near prospect of her hopes being
fulfilled, all, all in vain! And to a mind so stocked with Bible texts
as hers, the language of the Psalmist seemed the natural outburst for
so great a grief, "Hath God forgotten to be gracious? Hath He in anger
shut up His tender mercies?" All in vain—all of no use! And the poor
little head, lately so erect, drooped lower and lower, and the sunburnt
hands, roughened by work and exposure, could not hide the great hot
tears that rolled down, chasing each other over cheeks out of which the
accustomed rosy tint had fled, and falling unheeded through her fingers.
There were a few moments during which only Mary's sobs broke the
silence; but those sobs had appealed to Mr. Charles's heart with a
pathos which he was wholly unable to resist.
With his own voice broken and unsteady, he said, as he rose from his
seat, and laid a hand on the drooping head of the girl before him: "My
dear child, I see you 'must' have a Bible, difficult as it is for me to
spare you one. It is impossible, yes, simply impossible, to refuse you."
In the sudden revulsion of feeling that followed these words, Mary
could not speak; but she glanced up with such a face of mingled rain
and sunshine—such a rainbow smile—such a look of inexpressible joy and
thankfulness in her brimming eyes, that the responsive tears gushed to
the eyes—both Mr. Charles and David Edwards.
Mr. Charles turned away for a moment to a book-cupboard that stood
behind him, and opening it, he drew forth a Bible.
Then, laying a hand once more on Mary's head, with the other he placed
the Bible in her grasp, and, looking down the while into the earnest,
glistening eyes upturned to him, he said:
"If you, my dear girl, are glad to receive this Bible, truly glad am I
to be able to give it to you. Read it carefully, study it diligently,
treasure up the sacred words in your memory, and act up to its
teachings."
And then, as Mary, quite overcome with delight and thankfulness, began
once more to sob, but softly, and with sweet, happy tears, Mr. Charles
turned to the old preacher, and said, huskily, "David Edwards, is not
such a sight as this enough to melt the hardest heart? A girl, so
young, so poor, so intelligent, so familiar with Scripture, compelled
to walk all the distance from Llanfihangel to Bala (about fifty miles
there and back) to get a Bible! From this day I can never rest until I
find out some means of supplying the pressing wants of my country that
cries out for the Word of God."
[Illustration: MR. CHARLES'S HOUSE AT BALA.]
Half an hour later, Mary Jones, having shared David Edwards's frugal
breakfast, set off on her homeward journey.
The day was somewhat cloudy, but the child did not notice it; her
heart was full of sunshine. The wind blew strongly, but a great calm
was in her soul, and her young face was so full of happiness that the
simple folk she met on the way could not but notice her as she tripped
blithely on, her bare feet seeming hardly to press the ground, her eyes
shining with deep content, while the wallet containing her newly-found
treasure was no longer slung across her back, but clasped close to her
bosom.
The sun rose and burst through the clouds, glorifying all the
landscape; and onward steadily went Mary, her heart, like the lark's
song, full of thanksgiving, and her voice breaking out now and again
into melody, to which the words of some old hymn or of a well-known and
much-loved text set themselves, without an effort on the girl's part.
On, still on, she went, heeding not the length and weariness of the
way; and the afternoon came, and the sun set in the western heavens
with a glory that made Mary think of the home prepared above for God's
children; that heaven with its walls of jasper, and its gates of pearl,
and its streets of gold, and its light that needs nor sun nor moon, but
streams from the Life-giving Presence of God Himself.
That evening Jacob and his wife were seated waiting for supper and
for Mary. What news would the child bring? How had she sped? Had she
received her Bible? These were some of the questions which the anxious
parents asked themselves, listening the while for their daughter's
return after the fatigues and possible dangers of her fifty miles' walk.
But the worthy couple were not long kept in suspense.
Presently the light step which they knew so well, approached the
cottage; the latch was lifted, and Mary entered, weary, foot-sore,
dusty and travel-stained indeed, but with happiness dimpling her cheeks
and flashing in her eyes. And Jacob held out both arms to his darling,
and as he clasped her to his heart, he murmured in the words of the
prophet of old, "Is it well with the child?" And Mary, from the depths
of a satisfied heart, answered solemnly, but with gladness, "It is
well."
We sometimes see—and particularly in the case of young people—that
great eagerness for the possession of some coveted article is followed
by indifference when the treasure is safely in their hands. It was not
so, however, with Mary Jones. The Bible for which she had toiled, and
waited, and prayed, and wept, became each day more precious to her. The
Word of the Lord was indeed nigh unto her, even in her mouth and in her
heart.
Chapter after chapter was learned by heart, and the study of the Sunday
school lessons became her greatest privilege and delight.
If a question were asked by the teacher, which other girls could not
answer, Mary was always appealed to, and was invariably ready with a
thoughtful, intelligent reply, while in committing to memory not only
chapters, but whole books of the Bible, she was unrivalled both in the
school and neighbourhood.
Nor was this all. For though to love, and read, and learn the Bible are
good things, this is not the sum of what is required by Him who has
said "If ye love Me, 'keep' My commandments."
Mary's study of the Word of God did not prevent the more than ever
faithful discharge of all her duties. Her mother, who had at one time
feared that Mary's desire for book learning, and longing to possess
a Bible of her own, might lead her to the neglect of her practical
duties, was surprised and delighted to see that, although there was a
change indeed in the girl, it was a change for the better.
The holy truths that sank into her heart were but the precious seed
in good ground, which brings forth fruit an hundredfold; and the more
entire the consecration of that young heart to the Lord, the sweeter
became even the commonest duties of life, because they were done for
Him.
Not very long after Mary's visit to Bala, she had the great pleasure
of seeing again the kind friend with whom, in her memory, her beloved
Bible would now always be associated.
Mr. Charles, in the course of his periodical visits to the various
villages where his circulating schools were established, came to
Abergynolwyn, to inspect the school there under the charge of Lewis
Williams, and by examining the children personally, to assure himself
of their progress.
Among the bright young faces upturned to him, his observant eye soon
caught sight of one countenance that he had cause to remember with
special and with deep interest; and the interest deepened still more,
when he found that from her alone all his most difficult questions
received replies, and that her intelligence was only surpassed by the
childlike humility which is one mark of the true Christian.
We may be very sure that Mr. Charles did not miss this opportunity of
saying a few kind words to his young friend; and that Mary in her turn
treasured them up, and remembered them through the many years and the
various events of her after life.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: BALA LAKE.]
CHAPTER VIII.
THE WORK BEGUN.
Henceforward, then, the olive-leaf plucked off,
Carried to every nation,
Shall promise be of re-awakening life,
Our sinful world's salvation.
WE have seen that the incident recorded in the last chapter made a
deep impression upon the mind and heart of Mr. Charles. The thought of
that bare-footed child, her weary journey, her eagerness to spend her
six years' savings in the purchase of a Bible; then her bitter tears
of disappointment, and her sweet tears of joy—all these came back to
his recollection again and again, came blended with the memory of the
ignorance and darkness of too many of his countrymen, and with the cry
that was ascending all over Wales for the Word of God.
The girl's story was only an illustration of the terrible sense of
spiritual death that prevailed during this famine of Bibles; and none
could know so well as this good man—whose influence was, from the
nature of his work, very widely diffused—how deep a want lay at the
root of the people's degradation and impiety, against which he seemed,
with all his earnest striving, to be making such slow progress. What
wonder, then, that the question how to secure the publication of
sufficient copies of God's Word for Wales, occupied his mind almost
without cessation?
In the winter of 1802, Mr. Charles visited London, full of his one
great thought and purpose, though not as yet seeing how it was to be
accomplished.
It was while revolving the matter in his mind one morning, that the
idea occurred to him of a Society for the diffusion of the Scriptures,
a society having for its sole object the publication and distribution
of God's Holy Word.
Consulting with some of his friends who belonged to the Committee of
the Religious Tract Society, he received the warmest sympathy and
encouragement, and was introduced at their next meeting, where he spoke
most feelingly and eloquently about Wales and its poverty in Bibles,
bringing forward the story which forms the subject of our little
book, and which gave point and pathos to his appeal on behalf of his
countrymen.
Nor was the appeal without effect. A thrill of sympathy with a people
that so longed and thirsted for the Word of God, ran through the
assembled meeting. An earnest desire took possession of Mr. Charles's
hearers to do something towards supplying the great need which he so
touchingly advocated; and the hearts of many were further stirred,
and their sympathies quickened, when one of the secretaries of the
Committee, the Reverend Joseph Hughes, rose, and in reply to Mr.
Charles's appeal for Bibles for Wales, exclaimed enthusiastically: "Mr.
Charles, surely a society might be formed for the purpose; and if for
Wales, why not for the world?"
This noble Christian sentiment found an echo in the hearts of many
among the audience, and the secretary was instructed to prepare a
letter inviting Christians everywhere, and of all denominations, to
unite in forming a society having for its object the diffusion of God's
Word over the whole earth.
Two years passed in making known the purpose of the Committee, and in
necessary preliminaries, but in the month of March, 1804, the British
and Foreign Bible Society was actually established, and at its first
meeting the sum of £700 was subscribed.
Unfortunately Mr. Charles was unable to be present at this meeting.
He was hard at work at home in Wales, but he heard the news with
the greatest joy; and it was owing to his exertions and to those of
his friends, as well as to the efforts of other Christian workers
who deeply felt the great need of the people at this time, that the
contributions in Wales amounted to nearly £1,900; most of this sum
consisting of the subscriptions and donations of the lower and poorer
classes.
In the foundation of the Bible Society all denominations met, and were
brought thus into sympathy by a common cause, and an earnest wish to
serve one common Master. Hence we see representatives of all Christian
Churches working together for the good and enlightenment of the world.
Meanwhile, wherever Mr. Charles was at work, wherever his influence
extended, there was awakened the longing, and thence arose the
petition, for the Word of Life; and wherever he told the story, either
on Welsh or English platforms, of the little maiden of Llanfihangel,
the simple narrative never failed to carry home some lessons to the
heart of each hearer.
[Illustration: MONUMENT TO MR. CHARLES AT BALA.]
Great was the joy and thankfulness of this single-minded and
hard-working minister of Christ, when he learnt that the first
resolution of the Committee of the Bible Society was to bring out an
edition of the Welsh Bible for the use of Welsh Sunday schools; and his
delight was greater still when the first consignment of these Bibles
reached Bala in 1806.
Among the most useful workers in the early years of the Bible Society
was the Reverend John Owen, who soon became one of its secretaries, and
proved a most earnest and able promoter of the glorious enterprise.
Associated also with this time of the great Society's childhood are
the honoured names of Steinkopff, of Wilberforce, and of Josiah Pratt;
while in Wales, among its earliest supporters, were Dr. Warren, Bishop
of Bangor, and Dr. Burgess, Bishop of St. David's, who united cordially
with Mr. Charles and others in the good work. As to Mr. Charles
himself, he evinced the deepest interest in the new spheres of labour
and usefulness opening in all directions,—an interest which showed
itself in many practical ways up to the time of his death.
But in following the operations of the Bible Society, we must not
forget our friend Mary Jones, who during this time had passed from
early girlhood to womanhood.
On leaving school, she worked as a weaver, and we conclude that she was
still living with her parents.
Of one thing we may be sure: that her precious Bible was as dear to her
as ever, and that she was intensely interested in the founding of the
Bible Society, and in the news of the first edition of Welsh Bibles
having been received at Bala.
But in addition to her weaving, and the household help she gave her
mother, who was not so well or strong as formerly, Mary had developed a
talent for dressmaking, which stood her in good stead when she wished
to earn a little extra money.
All who could afford it came to her to cut out and make their dresses,
and though Mary never wasted a moment, she sometimes found it quite
difficult to do during the day all that she had planned.
As for Jacob, he was more and more a martyr to asthma, and when the
winter winds and fogs came his sufferings were very great, though they
never exceeded the quiet patience and fortitude with which he bore his
affliction—bore it, as he said, "for the dear Lord's sake," who had
borne so much for him.
Occasionally Mr. Charles would visit Abergynolwyn, and every now and
then Llanfihangel, and at such times he and Mary Jones met again, and
she would learn from him how the Society in London was going on—that
great London which was a strange, distant, untried world to her, such
vague ideas had she of its size and its distance from the little,
quiet, secluded place where she lived.
And so, up in London, the great tree of life went on spreading, and
growing, while the root from which it had sprung remained in Wales
unperceived almost beneath the soil. And thus we see in this life that
God has need of the high and the lowly, the great and the small, the
gold and the baser metal; and "out" of all, and "through" all, and "in"
all, He works His wondrous way, and permits His creatures to join, as
it were, with Him in the turning of the world from darkness to His
marvellous light.
[Illustration: _Manet._ _"It remains."_
(_From a Bible in the Society's Library._)]
[Illustration: LLAN-Y-CIL CHURCH.
(_The Burial-place of the Rev. Thomas Charles._)]
CHAPTER IX.
YOUTHFUL PROMISE FULFILLED.
Nurtured and nursed of Heaven, the blossom bloom'd,
Until an open flower
With buds around it, gazed upon the sun,
Or drank the shower;
Nor did forget, in this the blooming time,
The fragrance due
To Him who gives to Nature all her wealth,
To flowers their hue.
WHEN next we glance at our heroine of Llanfihangel, she is Mary Jones
no longer. A great change has come over her surroundings, and her
school work and her old home life with her parents are things of the
past. For she has married a weaver, Thomas Lewis by name, and is living
at the village of Bryncrug, near Towyn, not very far from Llanfihangel.
But the difference in circumstances has not changed the character of
Mary, save as the advancing summer may be said to change the fruit by
ripening it.
So dutiful and devoted a daughter as Mary had ever proved herself,
would hardly have left her parents while she could minister to the
wants of their declining years, work for them, and be their great joy
and comfort. So it is only reasonable to suppose that ere she married,
both good old Jacob and his wife had been laid to rest, and that Mary,
in casting in her lot with Thomas Lewis, whom possibly she had known
for many years, would be neglecting no duty that could be required from
a loving daughter.
But here, at Bryncrug, with a husband and children of her own, and the
care of a home for which she alone was responsible, with new duties,
and fresh cares, Mary's love for her Bible had grown, not diminished.
Other things had changed—companionships, home influences, claims,
interests—but the Sacred Word remained to her unaltered, except that
every day it grew more into her heart, and became more one with her
life, yielding her, in answer to careful study, and earnest prayer for
God's Spirit of enlightenment, deep meanings of truth and sweetness
which had hitherto been unperceived.
If Mary's life was a busy one during the years spent at Llanfihangel,
doubly so was her life here at Bryncrug. But the same quiet energy
and steadfastness of purpose for which she had ever been remarkable
still pervaded all that she did, making every duty, however humble and
homely, a service for Christ, while by her consistent Christian walk
and example she influenced for good all that were about her.
[Illustration: BRYNCRUG, NORTH WALES.]
If a neighbour's child wished to have a Sunday school lesson explained,
she invariably came to Mary, who could always spare a few minutes to
give the instruction that had been so precious to her in her youthful
days. And her intimate knowledge of the Bible gave her a very clear
way of explaining its truths, while her insight into character, and
her sympathetic nature, made her a wise counsellor and an acceptable
teacher.
If, again, a friend wanted a hint or two in the making of a new dress,
or advice as to the management of her bee-hives, Mary was always the
authority appealed to, as being the most capable, as well as the
kindest of neighbours, and ever ready to lend a helping hand, or speak
a helpful word.
Thus in Bryncrug she was winning for herself the love and confidence of
her fellow-creatures, and showing forth in life and character the glory
of that Saviour whose faithful handmaid she tried to be.
We have just alluded to the fact of her being an authority in the
management of bees, and she was justly considered so, as her success
with her own bee-hives sufficiently proved.
That success was simply remarkable, both as to the large number of
hives, and their profitable results.
The attracting power and influence which Mary seemed to exercise over
people appeared to extend even to her bees; but, be this as it might,
we are told that whenever she approached the hives, her reception by
her winged subjects was nothing less than royal, such was the loyalty
and enthusiasm of these sensible, busy little honey-makers.
The air would be thick with buzzing swarms, and presently they would
alight upon her by hundreds, covering her from head to foot, walking
over her, but never attempting to sting, or showing any feeling but
one of absolute confidence and friendliness. She would even catch a
handful of them as though they had been so many flies—but softly, so
as not to hurt them—and they never misunderstood her, or offered her
the slightest injury. In short, there seemed to be a sort of tacit
agreement between Mary and her bees, and they were apparently proud and
pleased that a part of what they were the means of earning should go
towards the support of God's work in the world. For Mary divided the
proceeds thus:
The money brought by the sale of the honey was used for the family and
household expenses, but the proceeds of the wax were divided among the
societies which, poor as she was, Mary delighted to assist.
Among these, foremost in her estimation stood the British and Foreign
Bible Society, with the establishment of which she had been so closely
connected, and she was never happier than when she could spare what for
her was a large sum, to help in sending the Word of God—so precious to
her own heart—over the world.
Mary was also much interested in the Calvinistic Methodist Missionary
Society—a Society founded by the denomination to which she had, for
so many years, belonged; and many a secret self-denial could have
borne witness to her generosity in giving of her substance for the
furtherance of the Gospel.
On one occasion we are told that, when a collection was made at
Bryncrug for the "China Million Testament Fund," in the year 1854,
a ten shilling gold piece was found in the collection plate, neatly
wrapped up between half-pence, and thus hidden until the money came to
be counted.
This was Mary's gift, the outcome of a loving, generous heart touched
by God's love and the spiritual wants of her fellow-creatures.
Mary was sitting at her cottage door one day, when a neighbour, Betsy
Davies, came up. "Good day, Mary," said she; "may I come and sit with
you for an hour this afternoon? I've a dress I must alter for my eldest
girl, and I don't see how to begin, so I thought may be you'd be good
enough to show me."
"Yes, that I will, with pleasure," replied Mary. "My children are all
at school, and my husband has gone to Towyn, so I have a quiet hour or
two before me. Let me see your work, Betsy."
Betsy Davies laid the garment over Mary; knee, and Mary's eyes, quick
and intelligent as ever, saw in a moment or two what was needed.
"That's not a difficult job," said she pleasantly, "nor yet a long one.
Just unpick that seam, Betsy, and I'll pin it for you as it ought to
be; then if you let down the tuck in the skirt, you'll have it long
enough, and as for the rent in the stuff, I think I've got some thread
about the right colour with which you can darn it up. I will show you,
my dear, how I darn my little Mary's dresses when she tears them, as
she does very often, playing with her brothers. Yours can be mended
just in the same way, and you'll see the place will hardly show at all."
When the two women had settled down to their work, Betsy said, "I wish
you'd tell me, Mary, how you manage to get on as you do. You can't be
rich people, your husband being only a weaver like mine and like most
of the others here, and yet you never get into debt, and you always
seem to have enough for yourselves, and what's more wonderful still,
you've enough to give away something too; I must say I can't understand
it!"
"I don't think there's anything very hard to understand," said Mary,
smiling. "If by great care and a little self-denial we can contribute
something of our substance to help on God's work, it is surely the
greatest joy we can have."
"Yes, that's all very well," replied Betsy, "but I never have anything
to contribute; and yet I haven't as many children as you, and so my
family and housekeeping doesn't cost so much."
"It's like this, Betsy dear," said Mary, "we ask ourselves—I mean my
husband, and my children, and I, all of us—'What can we do without?'
And one and another is willing to give up some little indulgence,
and so we save the money. This we put into a box which we call the
treasury, and whenever we add anything to what we keep there, we think
of the widow who cast into the treasury of the temple her two mites,
and of our Lord's kind, tender words about her."
"But what sort of things can you give up?" asked Betsy. "We poor folk,
it seems to me, don't have any more than just the necessaries of life,
and one can't give up eating and drinking, or go without clothes to our
backs."
"Yet I think if you consider a bit, you'll see there are some trifles
which are not really needful, though they may be pleasant," replied
Mary. "Now for instance, Thomas had always been used to a pipe and a
bit of tobacco in an evening after his work was done; but when we were
all wondering what we could give up for our dear Lord's sake, he said,
'Well, wife, I'll give up my smoke in the evenings.' And I tell you,
Betsy, the tears came into my eyes when I heard that, knowing that my
husband's words meant a real sacrifice. Then our eldest son, wishing to
imitate his father, cried out, 'And I've still got that Christmas box
my master gave me last winter, and I'll give that.' And Sally, she gave
up the thought of a new hat ribbon I'd promised her, and she sponged
and ironed her old one instead, and wore it, feeling prouder than if it
had been new. And as for little Benny, he was all one day picking up
sticks in the wood to earn a penny, and that was his gift."
"And you yourself?" asked Betsy, with interest.
"Oh, I have the wax that my bees make; and the money that I got by
selling that went into the treasury, as well as any other small sum I
did not actually need. And this I must say, Betsy, we have never really
suffered for the want of anything we have given to God; and He repays
us with such happiness and content as He alone can give."
"That I can well believe," rejoined Betsy, "for I never hear you
grumble, or see you look cross or discontented like the rest of the
neighbours, and as I do myself only too often. Well, Mary," she
continued, "I mean to try your plan, though it will come very hard at
first, as I'm not used to that sort of saving."
"I think I got used to it when I was a child, putting away my little
mites of money towards buying a Bible," rejoined Mary. "For six years I
put by all my little earnings, and since then it has come natural."
"You did get your Bible, then?"
"Yes, indeed; this is the very one," and rising from her seat Mary took
the much prized volume from the little table in the cottage, and put it
into her visitor's hands.
Betsy looked at it, inside and out, then handed it back saying, "I
really believe, Mary, that this Bible is one of the reasons why you
are so different from all the rest of us. You've read and studied and
learnt so much of it, that your thoughts and words and life are full of
it."
And Mary turned her bright dark eyes, now full of happy tears, upon her
companion, and answered in a broken voice—
"O Betsy dear, if there is a little, even a little truth in what you
kindly say of me, I thank God that in His great mercy and love He
suffers me, poor and weak and simple as I am, to show forth in my small
way His glory, and the truth of His blessed Word."
[Illustration: _Nunquam Frustra._ _"Never in Vain."_
(_From a Bible in the Society's Library._)]
[Illustration: RUINS OF MARY JONES'S COTTAGE.]
CHAPTER X.
HER WORKS DO FOLLOW HER.
O mighty tree, o'ershadowing all the earth,
In loneliest wilds thy seedling had its birth.
NOW our narrative nears its close. The last glimpse of our friend Mary
shows us an aged woman clad in the curious old Welsh dress.
She holds in one hand a staff for the support of her trembling limbs,
once so active and nimble; while with the other she clasps to her side
her beloved Bible, the companion of so many years, the consoler and
comforter, the guide and teacher of her life.
[Illustration: MARY JONES IN HER LATER YEARS.]
How much of joy or of sorrow, of trial or of what the world calls
success, had fallen to Mary's lot during her long life of eighty-two
years, we know not. We learn that she had eight children, several of
whom may have died in early life. One son, we believe, is living now
[1882], having made his home in America.
Little as we know, however, of Mary's actual experiences, it was
impossible that during her married life she should not have learned
what deep sorrow meant, as it is almost certain that she survived
several of her children, and quite certain that her husband too died
before she did.
Still, since we are taught that God's children do not sorrow as those
without hope, so we are sure that the childlike, trusting spirit of
this handmaid of the Lord was as ready to suffer as to do the will of
the Divine Master, and that however deep the affliction, there was
no bitterness in the grief, no despair in the tears that watered the
graves of loved ones gone before.
Feeble and tottering was now our once bright, bonny, blithe maiden, but
it was only physically that Mary was altered. She was still the same
brave, simple-hearted, earnest, faithful follower of Christ. Time with
its changes, in parting her from most of those whom she loved on earth,
had not separated her from the love of Jesus, or taken away her delight
in the Word of the Lord that endureth for ever.
Indeed she loved her Bible better even than of old, for she understood
it more fully, and had proved its truth beyond all doubting, again and
again, in her daily life for so many years.
Can we doubt, then, that when the summons came, and she heard the voice
which she had known and loved from childhood, saying to her "Come up
higher!" she had no fears, no shrinking, but felt that surely since
goodness and mercy had followed her all the days of her life, she
should dwell in the house of the Lord—that house above, not made with
hands—for ever.
Mary Jones died December the 28th, 1866, at the good old age of
eighty-two. We have no particulars of her last moments, save that on
her deathbed she bequeathed her precious Bible to the Rev. Robert
Griffiths, who in his turn bequeathed it to Mr. Rees.
This Bible, which is now in the possession of the British and Foreign
Bible Society, is a thick octavo, of the edition published by the
Society for the Promotion of Christian Knowledge, in 1799—the last
edition of the Welsh Bible previous to the establishment of the Bible
Society.
The volume contains, in addition to the actual text of the now
recognized and authorized Scripture, John Cannes' marginal references,
the Apocrypha, the Book of Common Prayer, a metrical version of the
Psalms by Edmund Prys, and various Church tables. It also contains,
in Mary Jones's handwriting—in perhaps the first English that she
had learned—a note that she bought it in the year 1800, when she was
sixteen years old.
[Illustration]
So, full of days, and like Dorcas of old, of good works, Mary Jones
passed away from earth to the rest that remaineth for the people of
God, a sheaf of ripe corn safely garnered at last in the heavenly
granary.
[Illustration: GRAVE OF MARY JONES.
_Probably the year of the death of Mary Jones should have been given as_
_1866, as on p. 144, since she was born in 1784._]
She was buried in the little churchyard at Bryncrug, and a stone has
been raised to her memory by those who loved to recall the influence of
her beautiful life, and the important if humble part she had taken in
the founding of the great work of the British and Foreign Bible Society.
As it is only by a view of the mighty-stemmed, wide-spreading oak
that we can judge of the acorn's potency, its wealth of hidden and
concentrated power, so we can hardly appreciate the great importance of
the simple narrative which here stands recorded, unless we cast a brief
glance over some of the details of the glorious work that arose from
the small beginnings which form the subject of our story.
It is an undeniable fact that the idea of the establishment of the
British and Foreign Bible Society laid fast hold of the public mind
in Great Britain—a hold which extended with marvellous rapidity, as
will be seen when we say that while during the first year the money
expended in the operations of the Committee amounted to 691_l._; in
the eleventh year its expenditure had grown to 81,000_l._, swelling in
the fifty-first year to 149,000_l._, while in 1890 the sum reached the
enormous proportions of nearly 228,000_l._
[Illustration: FAC-SIMILE OF WRITING ON THE BIBLE.]
During the first three years following the establishment of the
Society, it circulated 81,000 Bibles and Testaments, while in the
year 1890 its distribution of Bibles, Testaments, and single books of
Scripture, amounted to 3,792,263.
When the Society was founded, the Bible existed in less than fifty
languages. Since then, by its agency, versions have been published in
no less than 291 languages.
But these figures bewilder the mind, and it may be more interesting to
see how the books have been distributed.
When from any fresh place the request comes for a supply of the
Scriptures, special inquiries are instituted and all possible
information obtained. The most accurate and trustworthy is supplied
by missionaries labouring in the country whence the petition has been
sent. It is the missionaries, too, who are for the most part the best
qualified to translate the Divine Word, and the most ready to undertake
this difficult but honourable task. When the translation is complete,
the Society prints and sends over, free of cost, as many copies as are
necessary for the mission work.
The thankful eagerness with which the Scriptures have been received by
the South Sea Islanders, has been as pathetic as it was surprising. The
natives would put down their names, months in advance, in the mission
list, to bespeak a copy, willingly giving a dollar, or even two, for a
Bible, showing thus their anxiety to possess the Scriptures.
Frequently it has been the case, as in Madagascar, that the deadly
power of persecution has silenced the voice of the teacher. But
persecution was of no avail. "The Lord gave the word, and great was the
company of the preachers!" Here a book, and there a chapter, and there
again a verse—mute yet eloquent teachers, carrying the Gospel of our
Divine Lord into the very heart of the cruel idol-lands.
Thus, while the martyrs fell in their Master's work, and the few
godly men that remained were ready to wail with Elijah of old, "Lo
I, even I only am left, and they seek my life to take it away," the
silent messengers were passing from hand to hand, the great work was
going forward unseen, and the kingdom of God came once more, not with
observation, but with a quiet, all-pervading power, turning chaos into
order, and darkness into light.
It is a matter for deep thankfulness that in some countries—for
instance Russia, where missionaries are not allowed to work—the Bible
is welcomed by the people. Some touching incidents are recorded of the
war with Turkey, showing clearly with what eagerness and gratitude the
Scriptures were received.
An agent for the Bible Society residing at Warsaw, used to visit the
infirmaries, accompanied by his daughters, and everywhere joy greeted
their approach.
"We often saw the poor soldiers sitting at the window," this gentleman
writes, "waiting for us, and saluting us at a great distance; and the
moment we entered the passage, we were hemmed in by a crowd of men
that had not been supplied with Bibles. Even those who were struggling
between life and death, and had apparently lost all interest in
surrounding matters, would try and stretch out a hand to obtain a copy
of the Scriptures; and when my daughters stooped down to them, asking
'Shall I read a few words to you?' a smile would often light up their
countenances, and they would whisper,—'Yes, read, dear sister, and
leave us the copy as a remembrance in case we recover.'"
During this war, too, the colporteurs of the Society followed the
army on to the battlefields, selling thus about 15,000 volumes of the
Scriptures, the soldiers buying copies to send home to loved ones whom
they might never see again.
Then again, at the great fair of Nijni Novgorod, where the merchant
and trade world of Russia assemble yearly for business transactions of
every description, the Society has a stall, and at the fair of 1889
nearly 8,000 copies were sold.
As further proof of the power of the Bible and of its influence even
where unaided by missionary zeal and enterprise, we give the following
touching narrative.
A native of a little town on the shores of the Adriatic was obliged to
leave home and go to Naples. There he was led to a knowledge of the
truth through a Waldensian minister, and having embraced it, he joined
the Church over which the minister presided. Afterwards, he removed
to Florence, and thence he sent a Bible to a friend of his at home,
accompanied by a letter containing these words:
"This book has greatly benefited my soul; read it, and it will bring a
blessing to yours."
That man took his friend's advice, read the book, and finding in it the
truths his soul needed, gathered his friends and acquaintances around
him to read it with them.
We must not detail the many obstacles thrown in his way by the enemies
of the Gospel, but need only say that notwithstanding these, numbers
continued to come and hear the reading of God's word, and that when, a
few months later, the pastor of the Naples church went there, he found
a number of people who believed the Gospel, and were ready to make a
profession of their faith at whatever cost. They proved as good as
their word, and a short time afterwards Signor Pons of Naples returned
there to celebrate the Lord's Supper. He thus narrates the scene:—
"The event which took place at — last week, is one which I can never
cease to remember—one of those consolations which rarely fall to the
lot of God's servants, but which more than compensate for the toils
and privations of a lifetime. I found our friends awaiting me with the
greatest eagerness, and hardly had I come among them when I was asked,
'This time we shall celebrate the Supper of the Lord, shall we not,
sir?'
"I did my best to set before them the solemnity of this step, but all
my objections seemed only to quicken their ardour.
"Several days were spent conversing, until, deeming that the time had
arrived for administering the Lord's Supper to them, I proceeded to
examine the candidates as to their knowledge of divine things. Thirty
came forward, and most of these gave full satisfaction.
"The scene at the Lord's Supper was most moving. As I prayed before
partaking, sobs burst from every part of the room, and not a cheek was
dry.
"At the end of the service, one of the communicants rose and said,
'I can neither read nor write, but, by the grace of God, I feel that
whereas before I wallowed in the mire and was blind, I am now in a
glorious hall, illuminated by the blessed light of day. I can say no
more.'"
Nardini, the colporteur at Padua, tells an interesting story, which
further illustrates the reforming and life-giving power of the Bible
under the blessing of Almighty God. We will let him relate it himself.
"Having heard," he says, "that in a village not far from Vicenza a
knife-grinder had died, giving a most encouraging testimony to the
truths of the Gospel, I went to the place, to learn precisely the facts
of the case.
"I found that his name was Batista, and that being unmarried, he had
for several years lived with his brothers. He was converted to the Lord
solely by means of a Bible which he had bought, it is supposed, from
some passing colporteur. Before the time of his conversion, in 1872,
he had been a very profane and immoral man, but afterwards his conduct
became blameless, and he urged all whom he knew to believe the Gospel.
In the evenings, especially in winter and on the Lord's day, he invited
others to join him in reading the Bible and talking of its precious
truths. Batista died in July, 1877, (at the age of forty) with his
Bible under his pillow. His life and death produced a deep impression
on his neighbours, and his memory is fragrant in the village. As the
result of his labours, two men who were dyers by trade have come firmly
to believe the Gospel. He himself was never in a Protestant church in
his life, nor did he even know a minister as member of one."
To the subject of colportage a brief space may not inappropriately
here be given, as a means of good, the importance of which it would be
impossible to over-estimate.
As probably every one knows, a colporteur is a man who carries
something on his back. He may really be called a creation of the Bible
Society, and though not so conspicuous as the missionary, he does a
right noble work.
One of these godly and earnest men sold in Holland during about forty
years of labour among the people, 139,000 copies of the Scriptures;
and when he lay dying, his room was visited by numbers who wished for
the privilege of hearing the brave old Christian's testimony to the
truth, and of seeing how firm—even now at the last—was his faith in the
Word of the Lord, which nearly all his life long he had been trying to
circulate among the people.
One important work done by the colporteur is not to be accomplished by
any other agency. He takes the Bible to those regions most remote from
the great centres—to wild, thinly-populated neighbourhoods where the
hum and bustle of traffic and mart, the cry of the crowded city, never
penetrate.
For instance, in Norway, many of the peasants' homes are forty or
fifty miles from any book-shop, and the people would never obtain the
Scriptures, were it not for these devoted men, who toil up and down the
mountains, and follow the fiords into the very midst of the country,
carrying over land and by water the Word of Life.
Then again, the colporteurs are often the means of overcoming in the
people's minds their unwillingness to purchase the Scriptures, and to
listen to the truth.
They are earnest faithful Christians who love the Bible, and in telling
what it has done for them, they bear testimony to what it can do for
others. Often too they are men of wonderful memory and ready wit,
and they can frequently arrest the attention of the careless by the
quotation of some suitable passage, or startle the lethargic soul from
its death-like stupor by the trumpet-blast of inspired warning.
We record the following instance, showing that the work of the
colporteur is not confined to the mere porterage and sale of books. As
it is taken from a German colporteur's journal, we give it in his own
(translated) words:
"One day, just after the dinner hour, I entered the house of a
carpenter. When I found that he was taking his afternoon nap, my first
thought was not to disturb him. But I could not feel easy in leaving
him, so after a moment's hesitation I went up to where he lay, awoke
him, and said 'Will you buy a Bible?'
"'I am a Catholic,' he replied, 'and do not want one;' and he turned
round to sleep again.
"'That is what you say,' I answered, 'but God says "Awake, thou that
sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light?"'
The man started and sat up.
"'I woke you purposely,' I continued, 'without caring whether you liked
it or not; and in like manner, God, through His Word, is awaking you
from your spiritual sleep.'
"'But we are forbidden to read that book of yours,' he said.
"'Nay,' I rejoined, 'what right has a priest to forbid what God
commands? Obey Him rather than man.'
"The man was silent. At last he said, 'A thing I had long forgotten
comes to my memory. Twenty-five years ago I was working as a journeyman
in Hamburg, and a friend of mine used every night, when we reached our
lodgings, to read his Bible; and he told me just what you have been
saying, to obey God rather than man. I can hear his warning voice now;
and perhaps you have been sent to revive the impression before it is
too late. Yes, I will read it. Death may soon come. Only the other
day a ladder fell with me on it, and it was a miracle that I was not
killed; but it may have been God's will I should be spared to awake as
you have urged me to do.' With that he bought a Bible, with the words,
'Ah, I wish I had done this long ago!'"
Another striking story is told of one of the colporteurs in Bohemia.
He was coming to the end of a long day's work, sorely discouraged by
the rebuffs with which he had met. There remained in the small town but
one cluster of houses unvisited, and he was disposed to pass these by,
especially as he knew one of them to be occupied by a gentleman who
was an open enemy and mocker of the Bible. But his conscience was not
easy. His instructions bade him, except for sufficient reason, call at
every house; and besides this, to-day the words had been haunting him,
"Behold, I stand at the door and knock." In a humble sense those words
described his own calling; and he felt he must be true to it. "Up,
faint heart, and knock!" he said to himself; "who knows but thy fears
shall be removed!"
So he plucked up courage to go to the door of this very man; and when
it was opened, and the master of the house appeared, he could think of
nothing to say but just this "Behold, I stand at the door and knock!"
The owner was taken aback, as the stranger added in a hurried,
entreating tone: "I am not a common hawker; to-day Jesus Himself is
standing at the door of your heart. You may turn 'me' away, but oh, do
not reject 'Him.' Only believe His Word; I bring it to you. He will not
cast you out." He paused, afraid at his own boldness, but not a word of
rebuke followed.
The gentleman called his wife and daughter saying—"We must not let this
good man go; let him sup with us."
He was led into the sitting-room, where they listened eagerly to him as
he poured out freely all that was in his heart; and when they sat down
to the evening meal, they looked to him to give thanks.
As to what the Society is doing at home, these pages are too brief to
give any sort of record of the great work that is going on. There is
hardly a school, or a hospital, or an asylum that has not been helped
by it again and again, while out of it (just as from the ever-rooting
boughs of the banyan-tree new growths arise) numbers of branch Bible
Societies have sprung, each a centre of usefulness and of union in its
own sphere.
And—speaking of union and sympathy in a common cause—it has been
suggested, and with perfect truth, that even if the Bible Society had
never circulated a single copy of the Scriptures, it would yet have
done a noble work in affording a meeting-ground for Christian people
of all ranks and stations, and of every denomination. For whatever the
differences of opinion on some points, believers can unite as brothers
in honouring God's Word, and speeding it forward over the whole earth.
Of the reality and genuineness of this sympathy and union, the great
work done is perhaps the best testimony that could be offered. Happy,
nay, thrice blest are all those who have a share in it.
And by these we do not mean only such as can give largely, or serve
the Society in great and conspicuous ways. Let no one say that what he
can give is but as a drop in the bucket, and therefore of no value.
It is by the tiny rills that like a thread of silver wind adown the
hill-side—by the silent night dews, by the softly-falling rains, by
the quiet springs that swell among the peaty uplands—it is by "these"
that the river is formed, by these that it is fed and sustained in
its mighty flow, in the force and depth of the current that bears
great ships on its bosom, down, down to the ocean. Not a drop is lost,
nothing is valueless; all goes to make up an inestimably precious whole.
And now, in conclusion, dear friends young and old, if but one heart
is moved by the perusal of these pages to more earnest work for the
Master, to self-denial and loving service in the spread of His truth,
to a more eager study of God's Word, and a greater zeal in circulating
and making it known among others—then indeed this little story of the
poor Welsh girl and her Bible will not have been written in vain.
[Illustration: THE CASE IN THE BIBLE HOUSE.]
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