# The Lutheran Pioneer_St. Louis_1895_S15 # Machine transcription, uncorrected — CHI Digital Archive (demonstration) The Lutheran Pioneer. “We must be one of those Indian princes, John, over for the exhibition. Oh, how sad it is to think of a fine fellow like that being a heathen !”” “You don’t know that, my dear.”’ “I’m sure of it, John; they all are. Fancy him worshiping idols! and then, poor fellow, most likely he doesn’t know he has a soul at all.’”’ “Well, you can’t help that, my dear.” “No, Iam afraid I can not. Oh, I would give anything to be able to speak a word of his language! I wonder what it is?”’ A heavy sigh followed, and then came the sound of knitting-needles. The doctor peeped through his eyelids and saw the old lady engaged on a stocking. He closed his eyes again. In a short time the crystal palace was passed, sparkling in the sun. “Wonderful buildings put up nowadays,” he heard the gentleman in the corner remark- ing; ‘splendid fireworks, too, they have there. Have you seen them, sir?’ “‘Well,”? responded a voice, recognized as John’s, ‘I can’t say I have, but I’m sure it’s a very nice place for young people.’’ “I don’t see how you can say that it is a good place, John,’ broke in his better half, “when you know my views on the subject. I consider that these places do no good to our young people. Indeed, for my part, I think boys and girls nowadays are nothing like what they were. You don’t see the same obedience, the same morality —”’ At that moment came the doctor’s oppor- tunity. Languidly opening his eyes, in the purest English, he uttered the two words, “Morality, ma’am?’’ If a bombshell had fallen into the carriage it could not have produced greater conster- nation. The old lady blushed, John looked aghast, the gentleman in the corner stared curiously, and the two ladies gave a start. At last the old lady gasped out, ‘‘Si-ir?’’ “Did you not speak of morality, ma’am?”’ ‘*Ye-es, sir, I did.”’ ‘Morality, ma’am, is very good for this world, but is there not another?’’ “Oh, yes—yes, sir, of course there is. Why, there are two others,’’ briskly re- sponded the old lady, delighted at getting such 4n opportunity of becoming an African mis- sionary at home. “Two others, ma’am?’’ “Yes, sir, two, most decidedly.”’ ‘What are they, ma’am.’’ ‘“Why, sir, one is called heaven, and the other is called hell.” ‘‘Heaven and hell??’ “Yes, sir; heaven is where the good people 80, and hell is where the bad go to.”’ ‘Oh, indeed, ma’am!”” **And in heaven people are always happy, but hell is a very dreadful place,”’ said the | old lady, thinking her style most suited to the uninformed heathen mind. ‘*Can you tell me, ma’am,’’ pursued the doctor with earnestness, ‘‘thow I can get to heaven?”’ Could anything be more fitting? Why, here was a heathen asking her the one ques- tion of all others that gave her full opportu- nities for doing mission work. She would not miss it. “Certainly, sir. You must be good; you must pray—pray to God, sir. You must go to church. And then you ought to be sorry for your sins, and be kind, and—that’s the way to heaven, sir.’’ “Oh, indeed, ma’am! can I be quite sure that is the way?’’ ‘Certainly, sir,’’ said the old lady, a little hurt; ‘‘the Bible says so. Doesn’tit, John?’’ “Oh, yes—yes, my dear, certainly.’’ ‘The Bible, ma’am?’’ ‘*Yes, the Bible, sir.’’ ‘What is the Bible?”’ A look of pain crossed her face. ‘‘The Bible, sir, is God’s book. It tells us all about the way to heaven.”’ ‘tOh, I should like to see it, ma’am.’’ “Certainly, sir; I dare say I can show it you,”’ and the lady dropped her knitting and hunted in vain in her bag. _ “John, have you got a Bible?”’ ‘No, my dear, I have not; I think you had far better refer the gentleman to Rev. at Folkestone, who will be able to tell him all he wants to know.’’ ‘Have you a Bible with you, sir?’’ (to the gentleman in the corner). ‘No, ma’am,”’ from behind his newspaper, ‘tand,”? appearing from behind it, ‘‘allow me to say that I consider this a most improper and unsuitable conversation for a railway car- riage.” The lady turned tothe doctor. ‘‘I’m afraid, sir, we hayen’t got one.”’ “Oh, indeed, ma’am!’’ with a sigh, ‘‘then I can not see how to go to heayen.”’ “But I have told you, sir, the exact way.”’ «tJ should like to see it, ma’am.”’ And the doctor leaned back in the carriage, while the lady heaved a sigh and resumed her knitting, wondering how best to proceed. After a few minutes the doctor began fum- bling in his coat pocket and, quietly produ- cing a small Testament, handed it to the lady. ‘Ts this the book you mean, ma’am?”’ “Oh, yes—yes, sir, that’s it! Why didn’t you say you had one? How very curious! why, that’s the very book, sir; that’s part of the Bible.”’ ; ‘‘And will you show me, ma’am, how to get to heaven?”’ “Yes, sir, that I will,’’ and the old lady turned over the pages for some time. At last she paused in doubt, and then— ‘John, do you remember where that pas- sage is? You know the one I mean.”” “No, I don’t, my dear; and what is more, you have no business to meddle with these things.’’ ‘‘But this gentleman is so anxious to know.” ‘‘Then let him ask the rector at Folkestone. You’ve got into a regular fix, and you may get out again yourself.”’ Poor lady, what a cruel rebuff! was to come. After feebly hunting about a little longer, the doctor’s eyes fixed upon her, shé gave it up. “I’m afraid, sir, I can not exactly remem- ber the chapter, but it’s just as I’ve told.” ‘Allow me, ma’am,’’ said the doctor most politely. And, taking the book, he turned to John 3, 16. “Ts that the text, ma’am?’’ “‘Oh dear, yes, sir! Why, that’s the very one! How did you know where it was, sir?”’ “Not through anything you have said to me, ma’am. I come into this carriage, as you suppose, an ignorant heathen, and as such Iask you the way to heaven, and you, ma’am, call yourself a Christian, and you sit there, and you tell one whom you think is leaving these shores without a ray of hope that he must do this, and do that, and do the other, and you never breathe a word of what Christ has done for him. Listen to this glorious text, which you tell me is the one you meant, but which you have never breathed a syllable about: ‘God so loved the world that he gave But worse tHis only begotten Son, that whosoever be- lieveth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.’ This tells me that the work is done, and you tell me that I have to do one thing after another. How can you, ma’am, call yourself a Christian, and mislead a poor heathen like that? And you, sir,’’ turning to John, ‘‘tella poor heathen, traveling in this train at sixty miles an hour, when we may all be hurled into eternity in a moment, that he should wait till he reaches Folkestone before he can get a Christian tongue to tell him the way of salvation. While you, sir,’’ turning to the newspaper in the corner, ‘‘dare to call yourself a Christian man, and yet say that this is no place or time to speak to a heathen of his Saviour!’’ And then the doctor turned back to the lady and showed her, in his wonderfully clear way, the difference between the value of two letters, ‘‘do,’’ and of four, ‘‘done,’”’ while all listened with deep attention as he explained to them Christ’s salvation of men. On the pier at Folkestone one of the two ladies touched the doctor on the shoulder and said, ‘‘Excuse me, sir, but I never un- derstood the way of salvation before, and I can thank God for your words to-day. I see now that it is all done, and that I may rest on it from this day. I thought I should like to thank you and tell you how grateful I am.” This was the doctor’s last convert. That week he died from small-pox in the hospital at Sedan, where he was buried.