Won to Christ by a Reluctant Letter

My early life was passed in Stonington, Connecticut One of my most intimate friends there came out and confessed Christ during a revival, or season of special religious interest. Quite a number of my young friends took the same step that he did. I was interested in what interested them, and the matter was prominent in my thoughts. Had any one of them, or had any one else, spoken a personal word to me on the subject, at that time, I would have welcomed it gladly; but no such word came.

I was, indeed, somewhat surprised that my friend had no word to say on the subject, then or at some time later, intimate as he and I were. Especially was this the case as we corresponded freely during his college course in Yale. When I was about twenty-one years old I removed to II

InDtPiDual Wiotk

Hartford, and I continued to correspond freely with my Stonington friend.

In the winter of 1851-52 there was a widespread religious interest in Hartford, in connection with special meetings led by the Rev. Charles G. Finney of Oberlin. But as I was boarding at a house where the young men at the table had only words of contempt or ridicule for the whole matter, I attended none of the meetings, did not at the first hear Mr. Finney, and had no conscious interest in his work or its results. In a letter from my old friend in Stonington he mentioned incidentally that there was again a season of special religious interest in our native place; but all this took no special hold on me, or caused me to feel that my pre-eminent interests were involved.

At that time I was engaged in the chief engfineer’s office of the Hartford, Providence, and Fishkill Railroad Company. One noon, as I was returning from my midday meal, I stopped at the post-office for the 12

Vnon to Obttet b2 a Veluctaitt Xettet

noon mail. A letter came from my Stoning* ton friend This surprised me for I had not yet acknowledged his letter of a few days before. As I read the first few lines of the letter, I saw that it was a personal appeal to me. At once crumpling the letter in my hand I thrust it into my pocket, saying to a friend who was with me, “I think there must be a big revival in Stonington, if it has set my old fiiend preaching to me.” Then, brushing the subject away from my mind, I started down Asylum Street toward my office and my work.

But the subject of that letter, and the letter itself, would not stay brushed away. I asked myself how it was that that letter, on that subject, had been written. In all our years of intimacy since my friend had come out openly for Christ, he had never before said or written a word on this subject Had it been an easy thing for him to do now? Was it a desire for his own enjojmient, or a desire for my good, that had prompted this writing? It was worth 13

In^M^ual uniotft

while to read that letter and consider its contents, before throwing it aside permanently. These were the thoughts that naturally ran in my mind as I walked toward my office.

The office of the chief engineer, where my work lay, was on the third floor of one of the stone towers of the railroad station. Instead of stopping on that floor, I passed on up the stairs to the fourth floor, and went into a little map-closet on that upper floor. Shutting myself into the map-closet, where I could be entirely alone, I took out from my pocket the crumpled letter, smoothed it out, and began with real interest to read.

“I have been too long silent,’* wrote my friend” The prevalence of a deep religious feeling in this community has, to some extent, opened my eyes to my former shortcomings, and led me to consider what was my duty in using my influence, small as it may be, to direct the attention of any of my friends to the consideration of etema) u dObn to (tbtiet bis a Detuctant JUttet

things. Often have I felt like speaking to you on this subject, but as often have timidity and fear kept me back.** I noted this statement even as I read

“We have been companions and intimate friends for years. We have enjoyed the society of each other, and together the society of others. Seldom has a harsh word or an unkind feeling marred the harmony of our intercourse, and it seems to me that thus what you might have considered from another an act of intrusion you will consider from me an evidence of my sincere regard, and my earnest desire for your good**

After this half-apology for speaking on this all-important subject, my friend went on to urge me to seek and find peace in Christ Then, in conclusion, he said, “Do be persuaded by me. If I could be the instrument however humble, and to however small an extent, of leading you to think seriously of this, I shduld consider that I had more than repaid your kindness and interest in me. Let me beg you by If the remembrance of our friendship, but more than all by the regard for your own good, think of these things,... If any impression is produced on your mind [by this appeal] do not attempt to drive it away, but seek light and help from the only source whence they can be derived.”

Then, as evidencing his thought that little good might come from this personal appeal, and that it might, after all, be deemed an intrusion, he said, in conclusion: “I have now tried to acquit myself of a duty too long neglected, but do not think it has been an easy one. It is one I could not avoid, and, although I have delayed it, I determined to delay it no longer. I shall not ask you to excuse me for writing you so serious a letter, the first one [of the sort] I ever wrote you. You will, I am sure, not accuse me of any desire to hurt your feelings, but will appreciate the love which dictated and the earnest desire for your good which caused its expression. I may never have the courage 16 mion to Cbtidt bft a Reluctant Xettec

to address you again in this manner, and, if I do not, be advised by me now, I ask no answer to this, nor shall I expect any, for I know exactly your feelings. But if, after acknowledging the truth of what I have written, you determine to follow mv advice, I beg you to let me know.”

Before I had read the last of this letter, I was on my knees in that comer maproom in that lofty tower summit, asking forgiveness of God, and committing myself to a long slighted Saviour. That was a turning-point in my life course; and in a half-century that has passed since then I have been renewedly more and more grateful for the writing of that letter, and for the loving spirit that prompted it And I have wished that other friends were as true to their friends.

My friend was, indeed, surprised and gladdened by my letter in quick response to his, telling of my action on his appeal, and of my new life purpose. After years of Christian sympathy with that dear friend 17 and brother in Christ, to whom f owed so much, I went back to our native place to have a part in the funeral services when they had brought him, from his New York City home, to lay him in the village cemetery in Stoningfton.

As one and another bore testimony to his work and his worth, I added my tribute by sajring that whatever others might testify as to his influence for good in the commu* nity, I could say gratefully that to his Christian fidelity, and to his faithful appeal for Christ, I owed, under God, everything that I rejoiced in for this life and for the life that is to come.

And the way of my being won to Christ, as it were, by a word, and that, in a sense a reluctant word, taught me a lesson as to the way of working for souls. That lesson was impressed on me at the time, and it has been renewedly impressed on me by experience and observation, year by year, in all the years since then.