A TRUE STORY OF CONVERSION.
(An Irish clergyman, in the London Christian.) Molly Byrne was the daughter of very poor Roman Catholic parents. Her mother was a superior woman for her station in life, but her father was a drunken, good-for-nothing fellow. When Molly was about fourteen years of age, she spent a good deal of time in the house of some Protestant neighbors, giving help in the housework and with the children. These Protestants—Mr. and Mrs. Bentley—were godly people, and Mrs. Bentley did not fail to speak to Molly upon the needs of her soul. One thing took a fast hold upon the girl's mind, and that was that the worship of images was an abomination to the Lord. Mrs. Bentley also pointed out that, in every catechism published in Ireland, the second commandment, forbidding the making of images and the worship of images, is omitted, and the last commandment divided into two parts to make up the number to ten. When Molly fully grasped the fact that she had been deceived, and that God had expressly forbidden image worship, a fixed determination settled in her mind that she would never bow down to images as long as she lived. In the churches she saw images on every hand, and from that time forward she never felt happy inside a Roman Catholic church. It happened some time after this, that the Wooden Hall of the Irish Church Missions was brought to the town, and Mrs. Bentley took Molly to hear the preaching. The girl listened with a glad heart to the story of the cross, and rejoiced to learn of a living, loving Saviour, able and willing to save to the uttermost all who come unto God through Him. She heard, also, of many of the errors by which Roman Catholics are deluded, and from that time, Molly made up her mind to put her trust only in the Saviour, and no more to take part in worship which she saw was so contrary to the will and Word of God. From that day she went no more to mass or confession. Then there was Her father, a dissolute, wicked man, was nevertheless a bigoted Roman Catholic. He determined, as he said, to “knock the religion out of her.” Poor Molly was the object of cruel and barbarous persecution. She carries to this day a terrible scar on her head, made by an attempt to kill her with a poker; and a gash on her neck, where her father tried, upon another occasion, to cut her throat. Molly, in speaking of these experiences, says she was never in the least moved from her faith by her father's cruelty, and even when she was suffering most at his hands, a wonderful joy would come into her heart, and she knew and felt that Jesus was with her. “The joy of the Lord” became her “strength.” At last, the mother interfered, and said to her husband: “It is of no use to beat Molly. This religion has got into her, and all the beating in the world will never knock it out. So you would better let her alone, and we must do the best we can under the circumstances.”13 The poor child was therefore let alone, but was told by her parents that while she was under age and lived in their house they would not permit her to avow herself a Protestant. It was at this time that I became acquainted with Molly. My wife engaged her as general servant, but without knowing anything of her past history. She was a delicate young woman of twenty. She asked to go home for a little while on the day after her arrival, as her mother was dangerously ill. When she arrived at her home, she found her father drunk and violent. He actually struck the poor woman lying helpless upon her bed, whereupon Molly felt that her mother's life would be in danger if left in his cruel hands. Accordingly, she went for the police, and had him arrested and locked up for the night. The next day he was brought before the magistrate and fined. This happened on a Thursday. On the Monday following, we went—my wife and I—to the weekly prayer-meeting. On returning, we were met at the gate by Molly, pale and trembling, and hardly able to walk. Her father was out upon the road, walking up and down before the house, and evidently bent upon mischief. This had frightened the girl, and brought on a serious illness. We got Molly into the house, and while my wife put her into bed, I went for a doctor. He found her very ill, and said her only chance of recovery was to get her into a hospital; she would require special treatment, which could only be given there. I tried all the hospitals, but found that the only one into which I could get her admitted was managed by nuns. Molly said she was quite willing to go there, and was not afraid, as no one on earth would alter her convictions or take away her faith in the Saviour. Accordingly, we carried the girl down in the blankets and put her into a carriage, and my wife with fear and trembling handed her over to the mother superior. Molly was hardly settled in bed when the time had arrived for the evening recital of the rosary. This consists largely of an interminable invocation of nearly all the saints in the calendar, and this is recited in turn by the patients in the ward until the list is exhausted. When it came to Molly's turn, she was silent. One of the patients said, “Why don't you say the rosary?” “I don't know it,” said Molly. The next question, “Are you a Protestant?” “No.” “Are you a Catholic?” “Yes; I'm a Catholic, but not a Roman Catholic.” (Molly was not allowed by her parents to say she was a Protestant, and she had not yet joined any Protestant church.) This was at once reported to the mother superior, who interviewed Molly, and sent for the priest. When he heard that she had not been to confession for five years, nor inside a Roman Catholic church for three years, he was full of fury; he threatened her with all sorts of pains and penalties, and demanded that she should make an instant and full confession. She replied that she had nothing to confess, she had made a full confession of her sins to her Saviour, and He had pardoned her. The priest went away in a great rage, and another—an older and more experienced man—was sent to deal with her. He inquired diligently as to the state of her mind, and soon saw that she was hopelessly Lost to the Church of Rome.
He then tried to find out the person to whom she owed her conversion; but Molly told him that long ago, when a child, she had come to the conclusion that the worship of images was a grievous sin in the sight of God, and since then she had practically ceased to believe in the Roman Catholic religion. When the nuns found out the true state of affairs, their heartlessness was soon made manifest. Many people believe that a convent is always an abode of peace and love, and that nuns are the embodiment of the meekness and gentleness of Christ. Such are greatly mistaken. Molly experienced that the tender mercies of these poor deluded creatures were cruel. They left her for three days entirely uncared for, and gave her neither food nor medicine; and if it had not been that the young woman in the next bed took pity upon her, and gave her a drink of milk, nothing would have passed her lips for three days. At the end of that time she put on her clothes, walked out of the hospital, and made her way home to her mother as best she could. We then managed to get her into a hospital in Dublin, and after a month's treatment, she returned home fairly well. Molly is now married to a young man, who, like herself, is the only Protestant in his family. He, too, had seen the error of Romanism, and turned to the Lord. They have both suffered persecution for Christ's sake. Let us pray God to keep them from all that would harm them, and give them such things as be profitable for their soul's good. May He enable them to adorn the doctrine of God their Saviour in all things, and stand firm in the liberty wherewith Christ has made them free.