Tales of My Sunday Scholars

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1866 edition. Excerpt: ...leg and festering sore, could seem such happiness! She lived about a fortnight after going to the hospital. Here I learnt her story. Her father had died when she was three years old, and her widowed mother, who was a good pious woman, had worked hard to support herself and her child. She had brought her up with tidy, respectable habits, and the poor thing had tried to keep herself as neat and tidy as she could, even when living with her aunt, who had taken her home to live with her, when her mother died, about two years before. It was evident that she had been made a regular drudge in her aunt's house. She had attended no dayschool, and had great difficulty in obtaining leave to attend my Sunday class, of which she had heard from a neighbour. All this I learnt by degrees; but in speaking of her aunt, she never uttered a word of complaint. She had peace in her own soul, and was at peace with the whole world. She was naturally of a very shy and reserved disposition, and could not speak much about her religious feelings; but then there was such warm love to her Saviour, such simple, childlike trust in Him, and in His power to save, as made one feel without a doubt that she was truly a lamb of His fold. Her patience under suffering, and gratitude for all that was done for her, won the hearts of every one who had to do with her. She knew that she was dying, and rejoiced to think that she was going to be for ever with her Saviour. I was with her at the last. The moment I came to her bedside that morning, I saw that a great change had passed over her. I looked at the nurse who was standing at my side; she shook her head, and whispered, ' It will soon be over now.' Her eyes were closed, but there was a smile upon her lips. 'How are you, Martha?' I said....