Post by MIRIAM JACOB on Jan 14, 2012 10:59:28 GMT -5
THE LIFE STORY OF ANN PRESTON
(" HOLY ANN ")
BY HELEN E. BINGHAM
With Introduction by
REV. JOHN POTTS, D.D., LL.D.
TORONTO, 1907
INTRODUCTION
THERE is no form of Christian literature so helpful and inspiring as Biography, and especially as the record of those who partake largely of the Christ life. The simple story of Ann Preston, better known as "Holy Ann," is strikingly illustrative of this truth. The writer, Mrs. Helen Bingham, of Toronto, has done her work well, for it has evidently been a labor of love. The book might well be called "Grace Abounding," for it savors largely of Bunyan's experience of grace. For well over fifty years I have heard of this unique disciple of the Master, from the time she came out from Ireland as a maid in the household of Dr. Reid, in whose family she served both in Ireland and in Canada, as long as the family existed as a household.
INTRODUCTION.
To those who knew Holy Ann there is no need of introduction, because they will be delighted to read a record of incidents with which they are acquainted, and many of them will exclaim, "The half has not been told." I have read the manuscript from beginning to end, and indulge the hope that it may lead a large number to do likewise. The story simply fascinated me, and as I read I felt this book would prove a great blessing. As it is the only worthy way of continuing the saintly influence of Holy Ann, I sincerely hope that it may be read and re-read by hosts who never heard the voice or looked upon the face of that rare specimen of "Grace Abounding."
JOHN POTTS.
Toronto, July 25th, 1907.
PREFACE
THE belief that the life that brought such blessing to the home of my girlhood would, by its fragrance, minister acceptably to the wider household of faith, is the motive that has prompted the writing of this biography. Then the persistent requests from the wide circle of friends, who felt that the marvellous grace manifested in this life under review was worthy of some record in the annals of the Church, have urged me on in the pleasant task.
The work was conceived before the death of the subject, and the greater portion of this story was taken down directly from the lips now silent. Many times before had she been approached for a sketch of her life, but only in the last two years did she feel that her Father would be glorified in its publication. Abler writers might have been selected for the purpose, but they would have lacked the long acquaintance which was essential to the right setting of this broken narrative.
The years that Ann Preston spent beneath our roof furnished frequent occasions to hear the stories herein recorded, told and re-told, with daily supplements being wrought out in actual experiences before our eyes. Thrown, when nearing her ninetieth year, into the midst of a household of seven rollicking boys and girls, ranging from the early school days to maturity, it afforded an excellent opportunity of watching this unique character at well nigh every angle of observation.
The strenuous activity of our country life furnished little occasion for the maintenance of her influence by the arts of the recluse. But then her saintliness never bore the odor of the nunnery. Those who associate holiness with the seclusion of the cloister will be disappointed here.
At her advanced age Ann had lost none of the zest of life, but entered into the household affairs, took an equal interest in the labors of the men, and was a delightful companion to our big baby brother. The mind that has only conceived sanctity under a clerical garb and sustained by ministerial dignity should find a refreshing tonic here.
Sufficient for such to see this woman, to whom heaven seemed always open and her well-nigh every petition granted, rambling in the bush with my youngest brother; or in the winter time when the snow was deep being coaxed to go with him for just one
ride down the little hill at the back of the house. Take one look at the old saint of ninety lying flat on the hand-sleigh, being piloted by my little brother down the hill ; perchance a hidden knoll unexpectedly precipitating a roll in the soft snow; let that hearty Irish laugh dispel any fears you may have, and when it is all over and you listen to that half apology that ''the boy had to have something to amuse him,'' scarcely veiling her own pleasure in the escapade, and you will conclude that you must save your robes of purple and your garments of white for other occasions, and come to this book with the idea of studying religion in homespun.
The best testimony to the quality of that life was the fact that Ann never entered a home without leaving a benediction, and that in those where she stayed the longest will be found the greatest confidence in her saintliness. While among the wider circle of readers into whose hands this sketch may fall there may be those who will be tempted to doubt some of the striking evidences of the power of God in this life, the thousands who knew her will have no question as to the veracity of any story that came forth from her lips.
No claim being made to literary ability, no apology is necessary for its absence. The indispensable assistance of the most intimate friends of the departed, especially of Mrs. F. Hughes, of Toronto, and the constant help and encouragement of my dear husband, enable me to send forth this little tribute of love to the memory of the now truly sainted Ann. H. E. B.
CONTENTS -
CHAPTER I.
A FOSE VIEW.
SHE was Irish, and a saint. The terms may to some minds seem incongruous and may not generally be associated. Hot Celtic blood may possibly not be easily turned into the channel of sanctity, but nevertheless Ireland has had its saints, and Ann Preston was one. She might not be able to claim lineal descent from St. Patrick, and to be sure saintliness does not always descend a family tree. But then she was connected with the same source of life, for "He that sanctifies and they that are sanctified are all of one."
She was Irish, anyway; there could be no doubt about that. Although she had not trodden the green sod of the Old Land for well-nigh seventy years, her face had not lost anything of the national characteristic, and to hear her speak but a few sentences would have settled that question beyond the suspicion of a doubt.
And then she was a saint; at least so everybody said that had ever known her, and she was known to thousands, and her influence felt far beyond the limits of any common life. There was surely something remarkable in the career of a poor woman, when at its close ministers of all denominations gathered around the casket bearing the lifeless remains, and one of our large city churches was packed to the doors to listen to the testimony of those representing all branches of the Church, as they bore witness that the life of this sainted woman had been an untold blessing to them. There would have been nothing strange had the coffin contained the remains of one of earth's great ones. Culture, or wealth has an attractive power, but this woman was unlettered, illiterate. She had no wealth to bequeath, and not a living relative to mourn her loss. She had lived during the last years like Elijah, as the guest of a poor widow, who ministered to her needs. Her very coffin was a gift of love, and her dust was deposited in the lot of another.
On the following Sunday the Mayor of Toronto testified in his church, 'I have had two honors this week. It has been my privilege to have an interview with the President of the United States. This is a great honor. Then I have been pall-bearer to Holy Ann." And no reflection was cast upon the head of the great Republic when he added," "Of the two honors I prize the latter most."
A life with such an influence is surely worthy of some memorial, and it has been our endeavor to so set forth the authentic records that she, being dead, may yet speak, and that the testimony which she bore may continue to bless the lives of those who read it. We would fain hope that the story may prove an antidote for the materialism and unbelief of our day, as the facts recorded bear emphatic testimony to the inerrancy of the Word of God and furnish abundant evidence that behind that very Word God still lives to make its every promise sure. On no other ground shall we find the explanation of the mysteries wrapped up in the life of our Irish saint.
CHAPTER II.
NINETY YEARS AGO.
THAT saintship did not come by natural generation in the case of Ann Preston is very evident from the fact that at the time of her birth neither her father nor mother made any pretension to piety. In fact, it would seem that they had little to do with religious things in any shape or form. Her home was one of those typical Irish shanties in the secluded village of Ballamacally, just about a mile from the little town of Market-hill, in the County of Armagh.
We do not care to paint the house any prettier than it really was, or dress it in any way with poetic fancy. The thatched roof was just as sombre as that of any other cottage, and the usual stack of peat did not enhance the beauty of the landscape. Moreover, the pig-pen was in just as close proximity to the back door as custom and convenience permitted an Irishman to have it. In those days there were no haunting dreams of germs and microbes, and the grunt and squeal were not out of harmony with the usual music of the household.
James Preston was a hardworking man ; at least he labored for long hours in his occupation as a herdsman. Then after the day's toil it was necessary for him to spend the evening hours in tilling the little potato patch attached to his cottage. Even the women had to take their share of this kind of work in order to keep hunger away from the door. Ann was fortunate in having two older sisters to sing her lullabies ; but to compensate for this bit of good fortune, after nursing two sisters and a solitary boy that made their appearance later, Ann was hired out to rock the cradle in a neighbor's home.
When asked for her childhood reminiscences two things seemed to have left their imprint, one upon the mind, and the other may have made more impression in other ways at the time, for she quaintly concluded her story by adding, "I mind that for the whipping I got.'
It is natural that the entrance of death into any home should leave an indelible mark upon the child mind, and Ann recalled the dissolution of a godly aunt who was sent to bless them for a short time. Beneath that humble roof she had witnessed a good confession, and in that closing scene it was manifest that "Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord.'' Ann was too young to think much of eternal things then, but her older sister Mary dated the beginning
of a new life to that Providence that brought the influence of this aunt to their home.
The other memory of childhood that is, of the very early days took her back over ninety years. Wholesome chastening should leave a long impression. Pity the child whose waywardness is not marked by the memory of some rebuke or correction.
When not more than five years of age Ann's mother took her down by the little stream that meandered near by the village, and left her in charge of some cotton which she was bleaching on the banks. Her instructions were very clear. On no account was she to leave the spot or lose sight of the goods. Even amid the honesty of old Ireland some caution was necessary.
But Ann was a real child of Eve, and the forbidden thing became the attractive thing. Her tempter came in the shape of a young girl, who just wanted Ann to run across the fields to her house to get something for her. This seeming friend would not take Ann's first refusal, but prevailed by promising watchful care of the cotton in her absence. Ann sped across the intervening space as fast as her legs would carry her, but when she returned from her errand she found that girl and cotton were both missing, and she was left alone to the flogging that followed.
Ann's education began and ended in little more than a week, but in that time she exhausted the patience of the teacher to the point of despair, and finally, after many vain attempts to teach her the first letters of the alphabet, he gave her a significant tap upon the head as he pathetically remarked before the class,'Poor Ann! She can never learn anything.' And with this she was sent home in disgrace. Whether her case was absolutely hopeless we do not know, but her education terminated in this abrupt way.
However, if her mind was vacant, her bones were not lazy, and she saw little respite from work. In the family with which she was at once hired, the father herded cattle for a living. On Sunday, in order to allow him to carry on his devotions, the hired girl was deputed to herd the cattle, and Ann's week of toil was followed by a long day in the fields, where, in order to fight off the tremendous temptation to
sleep at her task, she used to occupy herself in piecing quilts. This, of course, did not help her into a life of saintship. Compulsory Sabbath-breaking was not a very good beginning.
But this was only the commencement of evils. Her master kept a number of servants, and they were not of the immaculate type. The absence of master and mistress was usually the signal for an evening's fun and frolic, and their festivities were considered incomplete without a good supply of Irish whisky. For some reason Ann had a horror of the fire-water. She may have seen some of its brutalizing "effects in her home surroundings, but, however that may be, she persistently refused to drink with the other hired help on these occasions.
Whether sunken into that terrible condition of depravity which takes delight in seeing others indulge in evil, or whether simply stung by the reproof of her refusal, they determined to force her to take part
with them. By sheer strength some held her down while the others poured the liquor down her throat, and then with diabolical delight they made sport of her as she sat helplessly appealing to them to put her to bed, mumbling over and over again in her intoxicated state, "Fitter I was saying my prayers than sitting here drunk."
It was a miracle that she did not early become a drunkard, for after this first taste she used to hunt for the hidden whisky bottle of her master while minding the cattle on Sunday. But while thus stealing an occasional drink, she still dreaded the tavern. Occasionally her master would drive some seven miles to cut turf, and after the hard day's work he would take the servants into the tavern to treat them on the homeward journey. On these occasions Ann always refused to go in, and would often run to her home through the dark, although she was so nervous that she would afterward coax her father to accompany her back to her place because of her superstitious dread of the will-o'-the-wisp.
Just about this time a well-meaning effort was made to impart to her some religious instruction, but it failed as ignominiously as the attempt to teach her letters. A good Methodist sister undertook to teach her the Lord 's Prayer, but was shocked at the revelation of ignorance when she commenced. She said to Ann, "Now, repeat it after me,'Our Father which art in heaven,'" and Ann at once followed in parrot-like fashion, "Now, repeat it after me, Our Father which art in heaven." But when constant repetition failed to make the least impression on the memory, this good friend finally abandoned the task in despair.
CHAPTER III.
THE GEE AT CHANGE.
FOR four years Ann continued in this situation, and then seemed to fall into worse surroundings, for after six months in her next home she was actually contemplating taking a situation with the low saloonkeeper of the place. God very graciously arrested her downward steps, and providentially opened a situation for her with a Christian mistress. Mrs. McKay hated the liquor, for her husband had been driven to the asylum through it, and while he was at this time at home once more, yet her strong dislike to the intoxicating cup was often expressed, and Ann was certainly fully warned along this line. Her goodness was not merely that of the negative kind, for she had positive piety of the warm Irish Methodist type and she sought to influence all who came beneath her roof. Mrs. McKay observed family prayer, and Ann was invited to join them in worship. It was a new epoch in her experience, although her dull mind comprehended very little of what was being said. Her ignorance of religious matters may be judged from the fact that when asked to bring the New Testament she went and brought a newspaper. The book had never been used in any home that Ann had ever lived in, so that her ignorance was but natural.
Mrs. McKay was very anxious to win her hired help, but she acted quite judiciously in that for some time she omitted to press Ann to accompany her to religious meetings. She finally ventured to invite her to come to class meeting. After a little pressure, Ann agreed to go. It was all so new to her that she looked on in open-mouthed wonder as she saw some weeping and others praising God. As things proceeded she seemed to be somewhat disgusted. To her it seemed like religious cant. She even watched to see whether the crying was real, or whether they were wetting their faces. She hardly knew what to think of the whole matter.
After dinner that day the mistress rang the bell and Ann entered the parlor, and was surprised when she was invited to sit down. Mrs. McKay opened the conversation with, ''Well, Ann, how did you like the class meeting?" Ann's answer was a non-committal "I don't know," although if she had spoken her mind she would have called them a lot of hypocrites. "Well," said Mrs. McKay, "won't you go again? "Ann doggedly replied, "I don't think so." When pressed for a reason, she stated that she had nothing to say in the meeting anyway. She felt utterly out of place when others were speaking and praying and weeping, while she sat as stolid as a post.
In order to help her, Mrs. McKay suggested that she had some reasons to praise God, saying, "Who gives you food to eat and raiment to wear? ''This well-meaning question missed the mark in Ann's mind, for while she made no reply, she had some big inward mental reservations which almost broke the ominous silence as she said to herself, "I guess I work hard enough for them."
Mrs. McKay got very little satisfaction that day, but she did not give up. The next Sunday she pressed Ann to go and hear a Mr. Armstrong Halliday. At this time the Methodists were very much despised and too poor to erect a place of worship ; consequently meetings were held in private homes. On this notable Sunday the parlor was crowded and Ann was very glad to be out of range of the minister's eye. She remembered nothing that was said except the text, which was not one that would strike the average sinner. The words were, ' ' Thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut the door, pray to thy Father who seeth in secret, and thy Father who seeth in secret shall reward thee openly."
Between eight and nine o'clock that evening, after the day's work was finished, Ann made her way up to the attic. It was just a bare room, the only furniture being a large wooden chair. Ann hardly knew why she did it, but she voluntarily knelt for the first time in her life and began to cry out without any conception of what was the matter. She lost all control of herself, and her mistress heard the noise down three flights of stairs. To her daughter she said, "Ann is taking the minister's advice," and a little while after she went up and asked Ann what was the matter. Ann looked up and answered, "I don't know, ma'am." But just then she seemed to have a sudden revelation of her trouble, and she added, "Oh, yes, I do. I see all the sins that ever I did from the time I was five years old all written on the chair in front of me, every one." And then, as she looked down, she cried out, "Oh, ma'am, worse than all, I see hell open ready to swallow me.'' Then, like one of old, she began to smite her breast, and without any knowledge that she was repeating Scripture, cried out, "God be merciful to me, a sinner." Once more she became desperate, as she cried over and over again for mercy.
Mrs. McKay tried to hush her up, saying,"Don't let master hear you." She suggested Ann should go to her own room and pray, and said, 'I will go to mine and pray for you.'' But Ann was too much in earnest for this, and said, "I don't care, ma'am, if all the world hears me; I must cry for mercy.''
After a little while she retired to her room, but conviction did not cease, and she continued to pray until twelve o'clock, when she jumped up, saying, as she rose, "No mercy, Lord, for me?" But her heart was assured even as the question passed her lips, and Ann always said that as she looked up she saw the Saviour as He was on Calvary, and knew right then that His blood atoned for her sins. She had the Methodist way of expressing it when she said, ' * I felt then something burning in my heart. I just longed for the morning that I could go home and tell my father and mother what the Lord had done for me. ''She went over to the table and picked up a Testament which the young ladies used, and then prayed her first simple request as a child of God. "0 Lord," she said, "you that has taken away this awful burden, intolerable to bear, couldn't you enable me to read one of these little things ?'' putting her finger on a verse. The text was, "Whoever drinks of this water shall thirst again, but whoever drinks of the water that I shall give shall never thirst." Our readers may believe it or disbelieve it, but for the first time in her life Ann was able to read a verse of Scripture. She did not get the whole verse, but, as our later narrative will show, this was the beginning of Divine assistance in the teaching of an ignorant girl.
- to be continued.
(" HOLY ANN ")
BY HELEN E. BINGHAM
With Introduction by
REV. JOHN POTTS, D.D., LL.D.
TORONTO, 1907
INTRODUCTION
THERE is no form of Christian literature so helpful and inspiring as Biography, and especially as the record of those who partake largely of the Christ life. The simple story of Ann Preston, better known as "Holy Ann," is strikingly illustrative of this truth. The writer, Mrs. Helen Bingham, of Toronto, has done her work well, for it has evidently been a labor of love. The book might well be called "Grace Abounding," for it savors largely of Bunyan's experience of grace. For well over fifty years I have heard of this unique disciple of the Master, from the time she came out from Ireland as a maid in the household of Dr. Reid, in whose family she served both in Ireland and in Canada, as long as the family existed as a household.
INTRODUCTION.
To those who knew Holy Ann there is no need of introduction, because they will be delighted to read a record of incidents with which they are acquainted, and many of them will exclaim, "The half has not been told." I have read the manuscript from beginning to end, and indulge the hope that it may lead a large number to do likewise. The story simply fascinated me, and as I read I felt this book would prove a great blessing. As it is the only worthy way of continuing the saintly influence of Holy Ann, I sincerely hope that it may be read and re-read by hosts who never heard the voice or looked upon the face of that rare specimen of "Grace Abounding."
JOHN POTTS.
Toronto, July 25th, 1907.
PREFACE
THE belief that the life that brought such blessing to the home of my girlhood would, by its fragrance, minister acceptably to the wider household of faith, is the motive that has prompted the writing of this biography. Then the persistent requests from the wide circle of friends, who felt that the marvellous grace manifested in this life under review was worthy of some record in the annals of the Church, have urged me on in the pleasant task.
The work was conceived before the death of the subject, and the greater portion of this story was taken down directly from the lips now silent. Many times before had she been approached for a sketch of her life, but only in the last two years did she feel that her Father would be glorified in its publication. Abler writers might have been selected for the purpose, but they would have lacked the long acquaintance which was essential to the right setting of this broken narrative.
The years that Ann Preston spent beneath our roof furnished frequent occasions to hear the stories herein recorded, told and re-told, with daily supplements being wrought out in actual experiences before our eyes. Thrown, when nearing her ninetieth year, into the midst of a household of seven rollicking boys and girls, ranging from the early school days to maturity, it afforded an excellent opportunity of watching this unique character at well nigh every angle of observation.
The strenuous activity of our country life furnished little occasion for the maintenance of her influence by the arts of the recluse. But then her saintliness never bore the odor of the nunnery. Those who associate holiness with the seclusion of the cloister will be disappointed here.
At her advanced age Ann had lost none of the zest of life, but entered into the household affairs, took an equal interest in the labors of the men, and was a delightful companion to our big baby brother. The mind that has only conceived sanctity under a clerical garb and sustained by ministerial dignity should find a refreshing tonic here.
Sufficient for such to see this woman, to whom heaven seemed always open and her well-nigh every petition granted, rambling in the bush with my youngest brother; or in the winter time when the snow was deep being coaxed to go with him for just one
ride down the little hill at the back of the house. Take one look at the old saint of ninety lying flat on the hand-sleigh, being piloted by my little brother down the hill ; perchance a hidden knoll unexpectedly precipitating a roll in the soft snow; let that hearty Irish laugh dispel any fears you may have, and when it is all over and you listen to that half apology that ''the boy had to have something to amuse him,'' scarcely veiling her own pleasure in the escapade, and you will conclude that you must save your robes of purple and your garments of white for other occasions, and come to this book with the idea of studying religion in homespun.
The best testimony to the quality of that life was the fact that Ann never entered a home without leaving a benediction, and that in those where she stayed the longest will be found the greatest confidence in her saintliness. While among the wider circle of readers into whose hands this sketch may fall there may be those who will be tempted to doubt some of the striking evidences of the power of God in this life, the thousands who knew her will have no question as to the veracity of any story that came forth from her lips.
No claim being made to literary ability, no apology is necessary for its absence. The indispensable assistance of the most intimate friends of the departed, especially of Mrs. F. Hughes, of Toronto, and the constant help and encouragement of my dear husband, enable me to send forth this little tribute of love to the memory of the now truly sainted Ann. H. E. B.
CONTENTS -
CHAPTER I.
A FOSE VIEW.
SHE was Irish, and a saint. The terms may to some minds seem incongruous and may not generally be associated. Hot Celtic blood may possibly not be easily turned into the channel of sanctity, but nevertheless Ireland has had its saints, and Ann Preston was one. She might not be able to claim lineal descent from St. Patrick, and to be sure saintliness does not always descend a family tree. But then she was connected with the same source of life, for "He that sanctifies and they that are sanctified are all of one."
She was Irish, anyway; there could be no doubt about that. Although she had not trodden the green sod of the Old Land for well-nigh seventy years, her face had not lost anything of the national characteristic, and to hear her speak but a few sentences would have settled that question beyond the suspicion of a doubt.
And then she was a saint; at least so everybody said that had ever known her, and she was known to thousands, and her influence felt far beyond the limits of any common life. There was surely something remarkable in the career of a poor woman, when at its close ministers of all denominations gathered around the casket bearing the lifeless remains, and one of our large city churches was packed to the doors to listen to the testimony of those representing all branches of the Church, as they bore witness that the life of this sainted woman had been an untold blessing to them. There would have been nothing strange had the coffin contained the remains of one of earth's great ones. Culture, or wealth has an attractive power, but this woman was unlettered, illiterate. She had no wealth to bequeath, and not a living relative to mourn her loss. She had lived during the last years like Elijah, as the guest of a poor widow, who ministered to her needs. Her very coffin was a gift of love, and her dust was deposited in the lot of another.
On the following Sunday the Mayor of Toronto testified in his church, 'I have had two honors this week. It has been my privilege to have an interview with the President of the United States. This is a great honor. Then I have been pall-bearer to Holy Ann." And no reflection was cast upon the head of the great Republic when he added," "Of the two honors I prize the latter most."
A life with such an influence is surely worthy of some memorial, and it has been our endeavor to so set forth the authentic records that she, being dead, may yet speak, and that the testimony which she bore may continue to bless the lives of those who read it. We would fain hope that the story may prove an antidote for the materialism and unbelief of our day, as the facts recorded bear emphatic testimony to the inerrancy of the Word of God and furnish abundant evidence that behind that very Word God still lives to make its every promise sure. On no other ground shall we find the explanation of the mysteries wrapped up in the life of our Irish saint.
CHAPTER II.
NINETY YEARS AGO.
THAT saintship did not come by natural generation in the case of Ann Preston is very evident from the fact that at the time of her birth neither her father nor mother made any pretension to piety. In fact, it would seem that they had little to do with religious things in any shape or form. Her home was one of those typical Irish shanties in the secluded village of Ballamacally, just about a mile from the little town of Market-hill, in the County of Armagh.
We do not care to paint the house any prettier than it really was, or dress it in any way with poetic fancy. The thatched roof was just as sombre as that of any other cottage, and the usual stack of peat did not enhance the beauty of the landscape. Moreover, the pig-pen was in just as close proximity to the back door as custom and convenience permitted an Irishman to have it. In those days there were no haunting dreams of germs and microbes, and the grunt and squeal were not out of harmony with the usual music of the household.
James Preston was a hardworking man ; at least he labored for long hours in his occupation as a herdsman. Then after the day's toil it was necessary for him to spend the evening hours in tilling the little potato patch attached to his cottage. Even the women had to take their share of this kind of work in order to keep hunger away from the door. Ann was fortunate in having two older sisters to sing her lullabies ; but to compensate for this bit of good fortune, after nursing two sisters and a solitary boy that made their appearance later, Ann was hired out to rock the cradle in a neighbor's home.
When asked for her childhood reminiscences two things seemed to have left their imprint, one upon the mind, and the other may have made more impression in other ways at the time, for she quaintly concluded her story by adding, "I mind that for the whipping I got.'
It is natural that the entrance of death into any home should leave an indelible mark upon the child mind, and Ann recalled the dissolution of a godly aunt who was sent to bless them for a short time. Beneath that humble roof she had witnessed a good confession, and in that closing scene it was manifest that "Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord.'' Ann was too young to think much of eternal things then, but her older sister Mary dated the beginning
of a new life to that Providence that brought the influence of this aunt to their home.
The other memory of childhood that is, of the very early days took her back over ninety years. Wholesome chastening should leave a long impression. Pity the child whose waywardness is not marked by the memory of some rebuke or correction.
When not more than five years of age Ann's mother took her down by the little stream that meandered near by the village, and left her in charge of some cotton which she was bleaching on the banks. Her instructions were very clear. On no account was she to leave the spot or lose sight of the goods. Even amid the honesty of old Ireland some caution was necessary.
But Ann was a real child of Eve, and the forbidden thing became the attractive thing. Her tempter came in the shape of a young girl, who just wanted Ann to run across the fields to her house to get something for her. This seeming friend would not take Ann's first refusal, but prevailed by promising watchful care of the cotton in her absence. Ann sped across the intervening space as fast as her legs would carry her, but when she returned from her errand she found that girl and cotton were both missing, and she was left alone to the flogging that followed.
Ann's education began and ended in little more than a week, but in that time she exhausted the patience of the teacher to the point of despair, and finally, after many vain attempts to teach her the first letters of the alphabet, he gave her a significant tap upon the head as he pathetically remarked before the class,'Poor Ann! She can never learn anything.' And with this she was sent home in disgrace. Whether her case was absolutely hopeless we do not know, but her education terminated in this abrupt way.
However, if her mind was vacant, her bones were not lazy, and she saw little respite from work. In the family with which she was at once hired, the father herded cattle for a living. On Sunday, in order to allow him to carry on his devotions, the hired girl was deputed to herd the cattle, and Ann's week of toil was followed by a long day in the fields, where, in order to fight off the tremendous temptation to
sleep at her task, she used to occupy herself in piecing quilts. This, of course, did not help her into a life of saintship. Compulsory Sabbath-breaking was not a very good beginning.
But this was only the commencement of evils. Her master kept a number of servants, and they were not of the immaculate type. The absence of master and mistress was usually the signal for an evening's fun and frolic, and their festivities were considered incomplete without a good supply of Irish whisky. For some reason Ann had a horror of the fire-water. She may have seen some of its brutalizing "effects in her home surroundings, but, however that may be, she persistently refused to drink with the other hired help on these occasions.
Whether sunken into that terrible condition of depravity which takes delight in seeing others indulge in evil, or whether simply stung by the reproof of her refusal, they determined to force her to take part
with them. By sheer strength some held her down while the others poured the liquor down her throat, and then with diabolical delight they made sport of her as she sat helplessly appealing to them to put her to bed, mumbling over and over again in her intoxicated state, "Fitter I was saying my prayers than sitting here drunk."
It was a miracle that she did not early become a drunkard, for after this first taste she used to hunt for the hidden whisky bottle of her master while minding the cattle on Sunday. But while thus stealing an occasional drink, she still dreaded the tavern. Occasionally her master would drive some seven miles to cut turf, and after the hard day's work he would take the servants into the tavern to treat them on the homeward journey. On these occasions Ann always refused to go in, and would often run to her home through the dark, although she was so nervous that she would afterward coax her father to accompany her back to her place because of her superstitious dread of the will-o'-the-wisp.
Just about this time a well-meaning effort was made to impart to her some religious instruction, but it failed as ignominiously as the attempt to teach her letters. A good Methodist sister undertook to teach her the Lord 's Prayer, but was shocked at the revelation of ignorance when she commenced. She said to Ann, "Now, repeat it after me,'Our Father which art in heaven,'" and Ann at once followed in parrot-like fashion, "Now, repeat it after me, Our Father which art in heaven." But when constant repetition failed to make the least impression on the memory, this good friend finally abandoned the task in despair.
CHAPTER III.
THE GEE AT CHANGE.
FOR four years Ann continued in this situation, and then seemed to fall into worse surroundings, for after six months in her next home she was actually contemplating taking a situation with the low saloonkeeper of the place. God very graciously arrested her downward steps, and providentially opened a situation for her with a Christian mistress. Mrs. McKay hated the liquor, for her husband had been driven to the asylum through it, and while he was at this time at home once more, yet her strong dislike to the intoxicating cup was often expressed, and Ann was certainly fully warned along this line. Her goodness was not merely that of the negative kind, for she had positive piety of the warm Irish Methodist type and she sought to influence all who came beneath her roof. Mrs. McKay observed family prayer, and Ann was invited to join them in worship. It was a new epoch in her experience, although her dull mind comprehended very little of what was being said. Her ignorance of religious matters may be judged from the fact that when asked to bring the New Testament she went and brought a newspaper. The book had never been used in any home that Ann had ever lived in, so that her ignorance was but natural.
Mrs. McKay was very anxious to win her hired help, but she acted quite judiciously in that for some time she omitted to press Ann to accompany her to religious meetings. She finally ventured to invite her to come to class meeting. After a little pressure, Ann agreed to go. It was all so new to her that she looked on in open-mouthed wonder as she saw some weeping and others praising God. As things proceeded she seemed to be somewhat disgusted. To her it seemed like religious cant. She even watched to see whether the crying was real, or whether they were wetting their faces. She hardly knew what to think of the whole matter.
After dinner that day the mistress rang the bell and Ann entered the parlor, and was surprised when she was invited to sit down. Mrs. McKay opened the conversation with, ''Well, Ann, how did you like the class meeting?" Ann's answer was a non-committal "I don't know," although if she had spoken her mind she would have called them a lot of hypocrites. "Well," said Mrs. McKay, "won't you go again? "Ann doggedly replied, "I don't think so." When pressed for a reason, she stated that she had nothing to say in the meeting anyway. She felt utterly out of place when others were speaking and praying and weeping, while she sat as stolid as a post.
In order to help her, Mrs. McKay suggested that she had some reasons to praise God, saying, "Who gives you food to eat and raiment to wear? ''This well-meaning question missed the mark in Ann's mind, for while she made no reply, she had some big inward mental reservations which almost broke the ominous silence as she said to herself, "I guess I work hard enough for them."
Mrs. McKay got very little satisfaction that day, but she did not give up. The next Sunday she pressed Ann to go and hear a Mr. Armstrong Halliday. At this time the Methodists were very much despised and too poor to erect a place of worship ; consequently meetings were held in private homes. On this notable Sunday the parlor was crowded and Ann was very glad to be out of range of the minister's eye. She remembered nothing that was said except the text, which was not one that would strike the average sinner. The words were, ' ' Thou, when thou prayest, enter into thy closet, and when thou hast shut the door, pray to thy Father who seeth in secret, and thy Father who seeth in secret shall reward thee openly."
Between eight and nine o'clock that evening, after the day's work was finished, Ann made her way up to the attic. It was just a bare room, the only furniture being a large wooden chair. Ann hardly knew why she did it, but she voluntarily knelt for the first time in her life and began to cry out without any conception of what was the matter. She lost all control of herself, and her mistress heard the noise down three flights of stairs. To her daughter she said, "Ann is taking the minister's advice," and a little while after she went up and asked Ann what was the matter. Ann looked up and answered, "I don't know, ma'am." But just then she seemed to have a sudden revelation of her trouble, and she added, "Oh, yes, I do. I see all the sins that ever I did from the time I was five years old all written on the chair in front of me, every one." And then, as she looked down, she cried out, "Oh, ma'am, worse than all, I see hell open ready to swallow me.'' Then, like one of old, she began to smite her breast, and without any knowledge that she was repeating Scripture, cried out, "God be merciful to me, a sinner." Once more she became desperate, as she cried over and over again for mercy.
Mrs. McKay tried to hush her up, saying,"Don't let master hear you." She suggested Ann should go to her own room and pray, and said, 'I will go to mine and pray for you.'' But Ann was too much in earnest for this, and said, "I don't care, ma'am, if all the world hears me; I must cry for mercy.''
After a little while she retired to her room, but conviction did not cease, and she continued to pray until twelve o'clock, when she jumped up, saying, as she rose, "No mercy, Lord, for me?" But her heart was assured even as the question passed her lips, and Ann always said that as she looked up she saw the Saviour as He was on Calvary, and knew right then that His blood atoned for her sins. She had the Methodist way of expressing it when she said, ' * I felt then something burning in my heart. I just longed for the morning that I could go home and tell my father and mother what the Lord had done for me. ''She went over to the table and picked up a Testament which the young ladies used, and then prayed her first simple request as a child of God. "0 Lord," she said, "you that has taken away this awful burden, intolerable to bear, couldn't you enable me to read one of these little things ?'' putting her finger on a verse. The text was, "Whoever drinks of this water shall thirst again, but whoever drinks of the water that I shall give shall never thirst." Our readers may believe it or disbelieve it, but for the first time in her life Ann was able to read a verse of Scripture. She did not get the whole verse, but, as our later narrative will show, this was the beginning of Divine assistance in the teaching of an ignorant girl.
- to be continued.