TOO BEAUTIFUL TO KILL by MRS. MATTIE E. DURKEE

Pacific Press Publishing Company · OAKLAND, CALIFORNIA · Sep 13, 1899

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 25, No. 37.

TOO BEAUTIFUL TO KILL.

By MRS. MATTIE E. DURKEE

THE Pittsburg Post tells this story of Fergus, a Scotch lad fourteen years old. His father had given him a new rifle and a new canoe, and now in the Adirondacks, near Upper St. Regis Lake, he was expecting to shoot his first deer. On an August day he went from camp with Calvin, the guide, and was about to embark on the lake. It was so lovely that Fergus held his breath

to look, till all at once he felt Calvin's hand on his shoulder. One look at the guide's face, and he knew that something was happening. At first Fergus heard nothing but his own heart-beats. Then, as he recovered himself a little, he could hear a rustle and an occasional crackle, and presently, looking up the bank, he discerned the swaying of a bush. Something was moving there. Suddenly the bushes parted and a head looked through! It was the head of which Fergus had lovingly and longingly dreamed, a beautiful antlered head held proudly up, the eyes alert, the nostrils wide apart. As the creature broke from cover his mouth was open, he was hot and thirsty, and eager to get at the water.

"Does he see us?" whispered Calvin. Fergus shook his head. "Let him get well out of the bushes, then raise your rifle," whispered the guide. Inch by inch Fergus had already lifted his rifle and was now looking along it when the deer advanced, coming twenty feet nearer. Then, assuring himself that all was safe, he

stood, his ears at a sharp angle, directly facing Fergus. Fergus could see the beautiful, scared eyes of the deer. "Fire," said Calvin. But instead, Fergus dropped his rifle to his side. There was a sudden movement, a crashing of boughs, and the place was empty. "Why, Fergus!" cried Calvin, disappointed and amazed. "Why, Fergus!" He looked curiously into the boy's face and discovered that each bright eye had a tear in it, and that the under lip was quivering. "O Calvin!" cried Fergus, "I couldn't do it. I hadn't the heart to do it. I'd die myself before I'd kill anything so beautiful."

ONE FORENOON'S EXPERIENCE.

MRS. B had just closed her bedroom door, and proceeded to her duties in the kitchen. She was one of those working men's wives who did her own work, and by economy kept her children in school. She secretly wished that no one would call that morning, for there was so much to do, and only one pair of hands to do it; but she had just been asking her Counselor for wisdom, and therefore it was with confidence she sang as she worked:— "A little talk with Jesus, How it cheers the weary road; How it seems to help me onward, As I faint beneath the load! When my heart is pressed with sorrow, And my eyes with tears are dim, There's naught can yield me comfort Like a little talk with Him." Mrs. B had her heart sorrows, as many real Christians have, and yet she had learned how to suffer and grow strong. She once carried her grief in her face, and every one seemed to shun her. They would

either pity or condemn, but seldom felt disposed to give a kindly word as a balm to her spirit. It all turned out well for Mrs. B, for it drove her to her Saviour, and she learned to find comfort in His Holy Word. She often sang:— "Holy Bible, how I love it, How it doth my spirit cheer! What hath earth like this to covet? O, what stores of wealth are here!" She was singing this very hymn, and her heart was filled with joy, even while the remembrance of her grief pressed upon her, when a gentle rap was made at the kitchen door, and a voice said, "Please, ma'am, can you give me something to eat?" Not wishing to turn away a hungry soul, she placed a small lunch in his hands, and without a word, closed the door. There was a quantity of tomatoes to peel and can before dinner, and she sat down to her task, singing, as usual, one of those good hymns that were so comforting. Now it was:— "Let Thy Spirit, blessed Saviour, Fill us all with joy and peace." Somehow she felt uneasy. All do not know

of this blessed Spirit; many know nothing of Christ, of the joy and peace He can give. The face of the stranger she had fed came before her; then the questions, Why had you no word for his soul? Did you forget that he was some mother's son, and might be in need of the very word you could give? A sense of neglect caused her to say in her heart, O Lord, forgive, I will try to remember next time! Then she continued:— "On Thy Word our souls are resting, Taught by Thee, Thy name we love. Sweetest of all names is Jesus, How it doth our spirits move!" Another rap at the door, a loud one: "Any paper rags to sell?" Her first thought was to answer abruptly, and close the door, and not to open it again to any one, but, "What would Jesus do?" came to her mind, and she said, "I have some, but I am very busy, and can't attend to it to-day, so you must excuse me." "All right," was the reply, while the man carried with him the consciousness that a kind heart had framed the words, and the face and

voice were in his mind for a long time. "I believe she is a good woman," he said to himself, for the light of Jesus within will be reflected upon others somehow. Ting-a-ling-ling! sounded the front door bell. "Not my will, but Thine. Who can it be this time?" sighed Mrs. B, as she paused quite abruptly, after singing the first line of the hymn beginning:— "Hark, my soul, it is the Lord." "What if it were the Lord in the person of one of His servants?" she thought. So, quickly washing and drying her hands, she complacently opened the door to admit a modest, plainly-dressed woman, who asked if she had any old clothes to spare, to help clothe her little ones at home, saying she would be glad to help her in return by doing any kind of work. "I will let her help me with these tomatoes," thought Mrs. B, and I can find plenty of clothes to make over for her children; so the stranger and Mrs. B sat down together to finish the task, and while busy with their hands, they had some profitable conversation. As Mrs. B rose to wash another panful of tomatoes her voice sounded very sweetly in the poor woman's ears, as she sang:— "I delivered thee when bound, And when wounded, healed thy wound, Sought thee wand'ring, set thee right, Turned thy darkness into light." "It sounds like mother's hymns," she said half aloud, and the tears began to gather in her eyes, as Mrs. B continued singing:— "Can a mother's tender care Cease toward the child she bare? Yes, she may forgetful be, Yet will I remember thee." "Yes, He does remember me," she said aloud.

"Do you believe it?" asked Mrs. B. "I did not once, but I do now; your words and conduct have changed my mind," said the stranger. "O, you can never know how hard and bitter I have felt toward some church-members; I have thought the most of them were miserable hypocrites!" "But you will admit there are some good ones among them, won't you?" "O, yes, but so few; they seem to satisfy their conscience by giving to the poor sometimes, but not a word do they say about Christ or the heaven they expect to go to. I tell you, truly, you are the first person for years that I've had a real sisterly talk with; no one before has asked me if I loved Jesus, or shown any interest in my salvation. I had praying parents, but married a worldly man, and gradually lost all interest in religious things. I lived a careless, prayerless life, and doubted the Christianity of my early life." "But you'll doubt no longer, will you? Jesus is our Elder Brother, and He is calling to you now to yield to Him, and be saved." "I believe I will try; your kind words have encouraged me," and the tears of the poor woman began to flow freely. "Praise God," said Mrs. B, with a subdued yet lively emphasis. "Trust Him, my dear sister, let Him take all your sorrows, all your cares, all your sins, lay them all upon Jesus, as He bids you do; I have found Him a never-failing Friend, and I know you can the same." "Thank you so much for helping me; I will, I will," and Mrs. B's voice was now heard singing, as she finished the last of her tomatoes:— "I lay my griefs on Jesus, My burdens and my cares, He from them all releases, He all my sorrow shares." She found it indeed true that in blessing others her own soul was blessed, and felt thankful that the dear Lord had that day visited her. MRS. MATTIE E. DURKEE.