Parentage—Pious Grandmother

Parentage — Pious grandmother — Convictions through the instrumentality of a little girl — Joy on receiving a New Testament — Scene in the orchard — Mother’s death — Change of residence — Gracious effect of a sermon — A pious neighbor — An arbor consecrated to devotion — Sad consequences of a falsehood.

At the period of my birth, December 10, 1796, my father, Mr. Moses C. Crilley, was a resident at Connecticut Farms, N”. J. Through the blessing of the Giver of every good gift, he had accumulated a sufficient amount of this world’s goods to enable him to live comfortably, and also to bestow the advantages of education upon his children. My parents were neither of them favorably disposed toward the Christian religion, and consequently lived in utter neglect of the salvation of their own souls and that of their children. But my dear grandmother, who lived in my father’s family, was a devoted Christian, and she early strove to direct my infant feet in the ways of righteousness. When about five years old I was sent to school, where, from a little girl near my own age, I received additional light in reference to the character of God and his requirements, and my own state, as a guilty, lost, and miserable sinner. One day, as myself and little companion were at play, she said to me, “Mary, mamma says we must love God.” But a little previous to this my brother had died, and when I was lifted up to look in the cofiSn I screamed with great terror; and thinking that God had put him there, I conceived the idea that he was a dreadful God, and one only to be feared. Consequently, on being told that I must love God, I was greatly surprised, and replied, ‘’I am afraid of God: I can’t love him!” But my youngfriend still persisted in saying that we must love him, and that we were naughty children, and must try to be good.

What was said at that time made a lasting impression on my mind. I began to feel myself a sinner, and earnestly desired to know what God would have me do. I had heard that the Bible was the word of God, and inferred that if I had one of my own it would help me to be good. I therefore endeavored to persuade my mother to buy me a Testament. In reply to my earnest entreaties, she would often say,” My child, what can you do with a Testament? You are not able to read. What good can it do you?” To questionings like these I invariably answered, “0, I will carry it in my arms, close to my heart. Do, dear mother, buy me one.” At length I succeeded in obtaining my request, and received the much wished-for book in my arms. I now thought my happiness complete. At every favorable opportunity I would request my mother to read to me out of it. One night, being quite unwell, my mother prepared some medicine for me, but could prevail upon me to take it only by saying that she would read for me in my little Testament. During the remainder of my illness she had only to make this promise in order to secure my cheerful acquiescence in her wishes.

As I advanced toward my seventh year, my condemnation for sin daily increased. I was accustomed often to repair to a group of cherry-trees, which was the most retired spot in the lb THE USEFUL DISCIPLE,

garden, and there sit, and bitterly weep, because I wanted to be good. One day I was sent by my grandmother to gather some pears from an orchard near the house. As I was walking slowly along, I thought I heard a voice calling to me and saying, ‘’Mary, be good!” I was startled, and looked around, thinking it was my father; but soon recollected that he was a long distance from home. I then climbed the fence; but could see no person near. I concluded that it was God who had called me, and without waiting to get my pears, I hastened back to the house. My grandmother, on seeing my basket empty, asked why I had brought no pears. “0, grandmother,” said I, “I did not go near the tree; for on the way God called me, and I came in.” My grandmother was deeply moved, and told me that God had, indeed, called me to be good, and that I ought to give him my heart.

A few months subsequent to this the relentless hand of death bore away from the bosom of her family my beloved mother. At the age of eight years I went to reside in the family of my aunt B. Soon after going to her house, a man of God, of the Baptist persuasion, came to see us, and, in compliance with a request made by my aunt, preached at her house. His remarks were founded on the text, “Come and see the man that told me all things that ever I did.” My attention was arrested; and while listening to his words 1 was deeply convicted of my exceeding sinfulness. I felt that God knew all my past naughty ways, and all my sinful thoughts, and I well knew, that if he was “angiy with the wicked every day,” surely he must be angry with me. I now became deeply troubled before God, on account of my sins. My aunt was not pious, and could give me no counsel adapted to my wants. I therefore sought the acquaintance of a godly woman, who lived near us. She kindly received me, and, seeing my tears, spoke encouragingly to me. She then told me to ask my aunt to attend a prayer meeting to be held at her house on the followinsf evenino-, and brino- me with her. To this my aunt readily consented, and the next evening I was permitted to attend the meeting. While there my burden of soul was so great as to cause me to weep incessantly. This attracted the attention of all present; and my aunt, by forbidding looks.

endeavored to stop my tears. But it was all in vain: I could not repress my sorrow, or restrain my weeping.

About this time a little book was put into my hands, containing a story about a man who had devoted himself to God, and was accustomed daily to seclude himself in a cluster of bushes for prayer. I thought I would like to do the same. At that time the weather was too cold; but the first warm day that appeared, having obtained permission to walk in the garden, I directed my steps toward a cluster of wild shrubbery, which I had observed from my window, to see if it would be a suitable place for prayer. When I came to the spot I found it lined with wild roses, and an opening just large enough for me to enter. I was delighted with the place, and immediately kneeled down and fervently prayed that God would there manifest his presence to my waiting soul. The petition had no sooner escaped my lips than I felt his heavenly benediction resting upon me. My tears began to flow. I took the corner of my apron to wipe them away; but they would still come. After remaining as long as prudence would dictate, I returned to the house. I made a great efifort to conceal my feelings from my aunt and cousin. I took a book, for the purpose of learning my lesson; but the tears still ran in quick succession down my cheeks. My cousin inquired the cause. In reply, I said, “I am happy in the Lord!” They then laughed at me in such a manner as made me feel quite ashamed, and ever after prevented my disclosing to them the exercises of my mind. But I continued to enjoy great peace of mind for many months.

One day, during the succeeding autumn, I went to visit my cousins, who lived near us. Their father was a very upright, man, but severe with his children. While we were playing, his son, a boy twelve years old, did something which he knew would greatly displease his father, and for which he expected a severe chastisement if it was known. He strictly charged his sister to say nothing about it, and turning to me he said, “Now, Mary, if you tell, father will beat me to death.’* Knowing that my friends would rely with implicit confidence upon whatever assertion I might make respecting it, I was, at first, unwilling to promise not to tell; but when I diought of the suffering I should occasion by telling the truth, my sympathy overcame my sense of right, and I sacredly promised not to reveal it. When, therefore, I was afterward questioned about it, I professed to be entirely ignorant of the matter. This was fatal to my peace. I felt that I had offended God by telling a lie. At times I was almost persuaded to go and confess my fault; but the thought that others would have to suffer for it would deter me. I knew not what to do. A sore conflict with the powers of darkness ensued, and I soon gave up my confidence in God, and lost all my happiness. I lived with my aunt till I was nearly eleven years of age. During the latter part of the time she became a sincere Christian, and endeavored to lead me in the strait and narrow way. But her counsel was little heeded. I had wandered from the good Shepherd, and I now loved to wander. I rolled sin, as a sweet morsel, under my tongue. In one point I had voluntarily yielded to the arch deceiver, and his shouts of victory were now resounding through every avenue of my soul.