A BRAND FROM THE BURNING.
By Hart Hall
IT was late in the night. The October wind was whirling through the nearly-deserted streets, blowing the dust about in clouds and causing loose boards of the occasional dilapidated buildings in a squalid part of the city to squeak and clatter. The hanging sign-boards swung about with a mournful creaking, and sputtering electric lights swinging back and forth, lighted up at times dark corners of the alleys, and caused the shadows of buildings and poles to move uncannily about. As if in mockery of the dismal night, the sound of drunken carousals from the many saloons in the vicinity would occasionally break out with startling hideousness, causing the burly policeman on his beat to pause and listen for any indication that his presence was needed. The doors of one of these brawling places of iniquity opened suddenly, emitting a shaft of yellow light and fresh howls of profanity and vulgar song. A young man stepped out, and drawing his thin coat tightly about him as a protection from the chilly wind, walked slowly along the street, turning in finally at the entrance of a cheap lodging-house. He was pale and emaciated from debauchery and disease. His haggard countenance, and his soiled and worn clothes, spoke more graphically than words possibly could, of a dissipated, wasted life. As far as it had gone, it was a close parallel indeed to the life of the prodigal in the parable; parents deserted, substance wasted, the final but inevitable degradation. He had taken every step, thinking it would be as low as he could ever get; but at last, sick and despairing, he had decided to take his own life. It was with this determination in view that he climbed the narrow stairway of the tenement. He thought as he entered his room that it would be his death chamber, and that on the coming day when his body was discovered, it would be sent to the morgue, there to be numbered with the unknown dead. Lighting a candle that was projecting from the neck of a bottle, he gazed about on the miserable surroundings. Satisfying himself that there was no chance of being watched, he sat down upon the rickety bed—the only article of furniture in the room that afforded the opportunity of a seat—and drew from his pocket a little vial marked conspicuously with a skull and cross-bones, and placed it beside the candle on an old box that served as a stand. Then, with his bowed head resting on his hands, he thought over for the hundredth time the deed he was about to do. Finally, reaching the same conclusion that he had so many times before, that there was no other way out of his distress, no other step to take, he whispered half incoherently to himself that it would do no good to wait longer; there was no one to bid good-by, no word to leave, no preparation to make; he would have the job over with. So, picking up the bottle, he started to remove the cork, when a voice coming from an adjoining room attracted his attention. Listening attentively—the thin partition being no barrier to the sound—he heard an old man's voice slowly and reverently uttering what he quickly remembered was in the Bible. In his deep despair the words seemed to come to him like a voice from heaven. Like a drowning man grasping at an object he hopes will save him, so the unfortunate wreck, hoping for something, he knew not what, leaned forward, scarcely breathing in his eagerness to hear every word. “Let not your heart be troubled; ye believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto Myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.” “ I believe in God; I believe in God—O God, help me!” the young man whispered brokenly. As he listened, his eyes glued to the wall in the direction from which the sound came, all the bitter past, with its woes and despair, seemed to fade away into forgetfulness. The surroundings seemed to change. Instead of the miserable lodging apartment, he was in the large sitting-room at home, a child again, sitting in his little chair by the fireplace, listening as his father read the words that were now being borne to his ears. How reverently the sacred words were read, how earnestly they were explained and commented upon, as the father sought to apply its thought to their lives, seeking to instil into the young mind of his child the precious truths of God! After the reading was over, they all knelt to pray. He felt his mother's arm steal around him, drawing him closer to her, holding his little hand with a loving clasp in hers, and when in turn she prayed, she asked the Lord, her lips trembling with anxious love, to bless their little boy, to give them the wisdom to bring him up to be an honor to God, and a blessing and a strength to them in their old age. When she said, “ Amen,” he repeated after her, with his childish lisp, the words: “ Our Father which art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil; for Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.” A fit of coughing in the adjoining room aroused him from his reverie. Bitter, remorseful tears were coursing down his cheeks; and, prompted by the hope that there might yet be an escape from his wretched condition, he flung himself upon his knees, with a hoarse sob, burying his face in his arms. His lips could frame no words, but his heart cried out to the One who is mighty and able to save from every condition. For a long time he remained oblivious to everything but his heart's anxious supplications; but at last, raising his head, he heard again the quavering voice, now the voice of prayer. It was a prayer full of assurance, and faith born of a long, deep experience in the things of God, yet burdened with a weight of sorrow and suffering with which the Lord tries His faithful ones. As the unhappy youth listened, the tears of repentance continued to flow, and sobs shook his wasted frame. He murmured over the words that he heard, as a prayer of his own heart; and the faith that God gives came to him, and he believed that his prayer was heard. Suddenly he heard something that caused him to rise quickly, and his heart almost ceased to beat in his amazement. He had heard his mother's name spoken. “ O Lord, Vonnie is gone,” the supplicant was saying; “ Thou hast taken her away from me, and I will soon go, too! “ I don't want to live much longer. This world is too full of sorrow and trouble; I long for that day to come when I can be with Thee. But, O Lord, I have one desire yet, one purpose, for which I have come to this wicked place, this abode of sin! Thou knowest how my heart is set on it, and I rely upon Thee to accomplish that purpose for me, for without Thee I can do nothing. “ O God! that purpose is to find my boy, my only child, my Jeff. “ O God! help me to find him. Heed my petition, that the remaining days of Thy servant may be strengthened by the help of his only child. “ Thou knowest why he left us; if it was through my mistake, I beseech Thee to forgive; but guide me to him, Lord; help me to find my Jeff.” “ Father!” cried a hoarse voice. Then there was a heavy rap, rap, on the door of the old man's room; the flimsy fastenings gave way and it swung back, the dim candle light revealing to the old man's astonished gaze the haggard youth standing in the doorway. “ Father!” he cried again, brokenly, “ I heard you; it's I—Jeff. I heard you from the next room. I didn't know you wanted me to come back; but I want to. May I go home with you. I am so sick of my life. Will you forgive me, father? Can you forgive me?” The old man gave a strange cry of bewilderment and joy, and sprang forward with outstretched arms, clasping his son with an embrace11of fervent love that only parents know. And when the cold, gray light of the dawning day crept into the room, it revealed father and son bowed side by side in thankful prayer to God. And as the rays of the sun struggled through the cobwebs and soot on the window-panes, brightening up the dingy room, the rays of the Sun of Righteousness shone for the first time into a heart grimy and dark from the vilifying effects of sin. Los Angeles, Cal. HART HALL.