Chapter XIX: Part II (10)

"Sir," said the Squire, with great emphasis, fixing his eye on myself as he spoke, "it brings us lower, because, as we have stronger temptations to the love of life, we have greater reluctance to resign it. Here we are distinguished by greater possessions, occupy a more exalted station, and have a greater variety of enjoyments at our command; but we are not sure that we shall be even admitted into the kingdom of heaven when we die; and, for aught we know, the same fate may await us which befel a certain rich man, of whom we read in the Bible."

"That fact, Sir," I replied, "is calculated to excite a high degree of terror in the breast of a rich man, because it teaches us, that God does not continue the line of distinction between the rich and the poor beyond this life."

"The distinction, Sir, may be preserved, but it may be against us, as poor Lazarus was comforted, while the rich man was tormented. I have a servant, who works for me in my garden, on whom I often look with envy; and if I could attain that composure in prospect of death which he possesses, I would gladly exchange my mansion for his cottage."

"I presume, Sir, he is a religious man?"

"Yes, he is a religious man, and so am I; but he has the art of deriving consolation from his religion, while I can derive none from mine."

"But how is that? Is he a more learned or a more virtuous man than you are?"

"No, Sir; he is virtuous, and he is intelligent for a person in his rank of life; but he says he does not derive any consolation from his virtue."

"I presume, Sir, he is a man of prayer?"

"Yes, and so am I, though I use a form, and he prays extempore--so I have heard."

"I presume he attends a place of worship?"

"Yes; he now goes to the chapel which has lately been built in the village. This is the only thing in his conduct I disapprove of. I think we ought to keep to the Church, and not sanction this new religion, which is overrunning the country."

"But now, suppose this new religion, as you term it, should be the very religion from which your gardener derives all his consolation against the fear of death, would it not be an act of cruelty and of injustice if you were to attempt to deprive him of it?"

"But why can't he derive his consolations from the religion of the Church of England?"

"Then, Sir," I replied, "why don't you? You say that you have attended your parish church regularly for the last fifteen years, and yet you are as much in dread of death as you were when you first entered within its doors."

"Very true; there's a mystery about it which I can't unravel."

"Shall I explain it, Sir?"

"I wish you would; and as it is a question which perplexes Mrs. Bradley no less than myself, I will fetch her, if you will excuse me for a few minutes."

The Squire soon returned, accompanied by his lady, who welcomed us to the Hall, with the greatest cordiality and politeness.

"Now, Sir," said the Squire, "if you will explain to us how it is our gardener derives that consolation against the fear of death from this new religion, which we cannot derive from the good old religion of our forefathers, you will confer a great favour, and we shall esteem your visit the most agreeable one we have ever received."

"In the first place," I observed, "you have fallen into a mistake. The religion of the chapel is not a new religion, but the religion of the Bible, exhibited in a simple and popular form, and does not differ from the doctrinal articles of the Established church."

"Indeed, Sir. Why, then, my gardener and I profess the same faith. But how is it he derives so much consolation from that which gives me none?"

"Because, to quote the language of the Scripture, he has been renewed in the spirit of his mind, and has had the eyes of his understanding enlightened, so that he is enabled to trace the connection between the facts of Christianity and their application to his mind; while you, for want of this supernatural illumination, admit the facts only, without perceiving how they can, or how they do, produce the intended effect. For example: you admit that you are a guilty sinner in relation to God, and under a sentence of condemnation, which is the reason why you dread death; and you admit that Jesus Christ died for sinners; but you cannot perceive _how_ it is that his death operates to remove guilt, and to inspire a hope of eternal blessedness. There is, if I may use such an expression, a palpable darkness intervening between the fact of human guilt, and the fact of the Saviour's death for its expiation, which prevents your seeing how the latter does actually become the means of removing the former. Hence your faith in the death of Christ does not give you that consolation of which you sometimes hear your pious gardener speak; because, for want of an adequate power of perception, you cannot see how to apply its moral efficacy to your heart and conscience."

"How to apply the moral efficacy of the death of Christ to my heart and conscience! Why, I was not aware that anything more was necessary, on my part, than simply admitting the fact of his death."

"Then what meaning can you affix to the language of the apostle--'God forbid that I should glory, save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world?' But such is the spiritual darkness that rests on the human mind, that the moral design of his death cannot be perceived without the illumination of the Holy Spirit. Why, the prayers and liturgy of your own Church most unequivocally recognize the necessity of this supernatural illumination."[28]

[28] See vol. i. p. 313.

"I never felt the necessity of this spiritual illumination to which you refer, or most likely I should have sought after it."

"I presume you would; but your not feeling the necessity of it forms no valid objection against the necessity of it. It may be necessary, and yet you may not perceive it; as the natural man, according to the testimony of St. Paul--that is, the man unaided by Divine assistance--'receiveth not the things of the Spirit of God; for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned."

"You have certainly opened a new path of inquiry before me; and though I cannot at present see the need of any supernatural assistance to enable me to understand what I read in my Bible, yet, if the necessity of it be clearly stated in Holy Writ, I shall not hesitate to admit it.[29] But, to advert to the religion of this village chapel, am I to understand that the doctrines of the Church of England are preached in it?"

[29] The reader is referred to vol. i. p. 249.

"Yes, Sir."

"Then they have not brought a new religion into the village?"

"No, Sir; they have brought no new religion into the village, but merely present the old religion of the Bible and of Protestantism in a new form."

"And yet when they talk on religious subjects, they employ a very different phraseology of speech from that which we have been accustomed to use."

"Very likely, because they are more familiar with the phraseology of the Scriptures than you are; and they feel the power of religious truth on their heart more forcibly than you profess to do. Your religion, if I judge from your conversation, is the religion of opinion, theirs of belief--yours of speculation, theirs of principle--yours of forms and ceremonies, theirs of knowledge and of feeling--yours of times and seasons, theirs of habitual devotion; and while you derive no consolation from the routine of duties which you perform, they have peace with God through Jesus Christ."

"I have heard," said the Squire, "that their religion makes them happy, and raises them above the fear of dying--the great points I have been aiming to reach for fifteen years, but I am as far off as when I first began the pursuit."

"If, Sir, you had been labouring under some physical malady for the space of fifteen years, without deriving any benefit from the prescriptions of your regular family physician, I presume you would call in other advice?"

"I have no doubt of it, Sir; I should suspect his want of judgment."

"Why not, Sir, act on the same principle, on the more important question relating to your soul--its peace, and its salvation? Your attendance at the church has been in vain. Why not dismiss your prejudices, and go to the village chapel? You have ocular demonstration, that the people who worship there are happy, and live in the anticipation of future happiness. Why not make the experiment, which can subject you to no loss, and may lead to a glorious issue?"

"We are slaves, Sir, to prejudice. Yes, we create our own tyrant, and then yield to his iron sway! What fools we all are!"

"I should not object," said Mrs. Bradley, "to go to the village chapel, if I thought I could obtain any spiritual benefit. I am weary of life. I want something to bring peace to my heart."

"Make the experiment, Madam."

"I feel inclined to do it; but yet I have a strange reluctance."

"I will venture," said the Squire, "and give a proof that I am sincere in my efforts to obtain the hope of salvation."

We now left the Hall, much pleased with our visit, and bent our steps towards home. It was a beautiful evening, and as we passed along we were charmed by the varied notes of my favourite bird, the thrush, whose harmony was occasionally disturbed by the cawing of the rooks on their return from their daily pilgrimage. We returned to the public road just as the sun was setting, and while admiring the lustre which he threw around him on his departure, I remarked to Miss Holmes, what a fine emblem it presented of the dying Christian, whose pathway through life resembles the shining light, which shineth brighter and brighter, yet reserves its brightest splendour for its setting, when a halo of glory encircles him as he disappears, leaving spectators astonished and delighted more by the closing scene, than by the progressive majesty of his course.

On ascending the slope leading to the entrance of the village, a respectable looking man stepped out of a cottage by the roadside, and on recognizing Mrs. Newell and Miss Holmes, with myself, as a clergyman, invited us to walk in. His large Bible was on the table, and the family were preparing for evening worship. After a little desultory conversation, he begged that I would lead their devotions, a request with which I gladly complied--reading a chapter of the Bible and offering up a prayer.

"I am happy, ladies," said the cottager's wife, when service was concluded, "to see you in my house; it is an honour which I have long coveted, but never expected; and we are much obliged to you, Sir, for your kindness in praying for us this evening. May the Lord reward you."

"And I am happy," I replied, "that you have an altar of devotion erected in your family; and I hope that your morning and evening sacrifices, like those of the Hebrew temple, will regularly ascend before the Lord of hosts, and be accepted by him."

I was now agreeably surprised to find myself in the cottage, and in the company of the gardener, whose religion had been the subject of discussion at the Hall.

"We have just had," I remarked, "a long and interesting conversation with the Squire on religious subjects; and we were much pleased with the seriousness of his manner, and the eagerness with which he listened to our remarks, but like many others, he has no clear perception of the nature or design of the gospel of Christ."

"He is, Sir," said the gardener, "a most singular man. Sometimes he is very devout--reads his Bible with great attention, and will often come to me in the garden, to talk about religion, and I have sometimes seen him so powerfully impressed by it, that he has shed tears when speaking of the restless state of his mind; but at other times he is equally gay and thoughtless, and disposed to turn religion and religious people into ridicule. He is very unhappy, though he is very rich; and has many good qualities, though he is not a spiritual man."

"I suppose," I said, "you would not exchange your cottage for his mansion, if you were obliged along with the exchange to part with your consolations and hopes?"

"O, no, I would not exchange situation and state with my master; for I am happy, but he is not--I can think of death with composure, but he dreads it--I can look forward to eternity with delight, but he shrinks back from its approach, as a child would recoil in terror on seeing some hideous figure."

This pious gardener was the only son of a venerable elder of the Scotch church, who rented a small farm in the county of Stirling. He was a most industrious hard-working man; and his wife was a pattern for economy and frugality. For more than fifty years they lived together in the enjoyment of domestic happiness; but just as they reached the evening of life, they experienced a series of reverses, and poverty advanced upon them as an armed man, compelling them to give up their farm, to be cultivated by other hands. Their son took a little cottage for them near the church in which his venerable father had worshipped God for many years; and having acquired a scientific knowledge of horticulture, he obtained, through the medium of a friend, his present situation at the Squire's; and to his honour he supported his aged parents till it pleased God to take them to himself. When he came to England, he was a moral but not a pious man; nor did he feel the influence of the truth on his heart till after his marriage. His wife was the daughter of a worthy man, who gave her a superior education; and to this the God of all grace had added the ornament of a meek and a devotional spirit. By her chaste conversation, and the influence of her example, she won over her husband to the reception of the pure faith of Christ; and though, like most others, they have had the ebbings and flowings of prosperity and adversity; yet, to quote their own language, goodness and mercy have followed them all the days of their life.

Had the gardener's father remained exempt from misfortunes, his son might have been living in the house in which he was born, and cultivating the farm his father tilled for fifty years; but then he had never seen his pious wife, and might still have possessed only the form of religion. That dispensation which came as the whirlwind and the storm, to drive him from his home and his country, led him at length to attain the blessings of contentment and peace. Thus we often see in the history of life, disastrous events proving the precursors of personal and domestic happiness, as the dark and tempestuous morning is not unfrequently followed by a serene and joyous evening; exciting gratitude and love to the wise Disposer of all human affairs, in exchange for the perplexity and sorrow which they may have occasioned.

THE PIOUS COTTAGER.

After staying for about a week under the hospitable roof of Mr. Newell, I quitted Thornwood, to pay my long promised visit to the Elms, and was accompanied thither by Miss Holmes. We had the gratification of finding all well on our arrival, and I spent with my old friends a few days very pleasantly; after which it was necessary for me to return home, though much urged by Mr. and Mrs. Holmes to remain with them for a little time longer. During my stay at the Elms, I more than once accompanied Louisa to call on Mrs. Kent, in whom I felt much interested, but who, for some time past, had been in a very feeble state of health, and was now evidently hastening to her end. The evening before my departure she rallied a little, and on the ensuing Sabbath felt herself so strong as to be able to walk to chapel, at about a quarter of a mile's distance. On Monday, however, she was again obliged to return to her bed, from which she never rose. She now gradually sank, and in the course of ten days peacefully expired. Her history, and some incidents connected with her death, will be found in the following letter from Miss Holmes to Mrs. Loader:--

"THE ELMS, _17th June, 18--_.

"MY DEAR FRIEND,--I have just sustained a great loss. Poor
Mrs. Kent died yesterday, and I feel that I have indeed lost a
friend. You have often asked me to give you some particulars of
her history, and this I shall now endeavour to do.

"She was left a widow when about the age of forty, with four
children, almost entirely dependent upon her for support.
Her husband, who was a pious man, died of a consumption; the
symptoms of which made their appearance within a few years after
their marriage. But as his outward man decayed, his inner man
was renewed day by day. During his protracted illness, though he
had no raptures when anticipating his death, and the glory to
follow, yet he was favoured with great composure; and when the
hour of his departure came, he died in peace. While he lived, he
and his wife had regularly attended the little Dissenting chapel
in the village, and had always been allowed to do so unmolested,
but shortly after his death the steward of Lord Harwood informed
his widow, that unless she gave up her religious notions, and
went to the parish church, she should not be allowed to remain
any longer in her little cottage. Her reply to this unmanly and
anti-Christian threat, at once displayed the characteristic
independence and firmness of her mind:--'As I would not give
up my religion to please his Lordship, you cannot suppose that
I will do it to please you, Sir. You may turn me out of the
cottage, but my Father, who knows that I want a dwelling for
myself and children, will provide me with another, over which
you will have no authority.'

"As soon as this threat was known, a very general murmur was
expressed through the hamlet. Many, indeed, thought that it
would not be carried into execution; but a pious gentleman, who
felt a great respect for the memory of her husband, and who knew
that she would always live in terror, while under the power of
this petty tyrant, built a little cottage for her on his own
estate, which she occupied, free of rent, till her death. Three
of her children, one after the other, fell victims to their
father's complaint, and were all buried in the same grave. She
was a very industrious, frugal, and prudent woman; greatly
respected by her religious friends, who, much to their honour,
provided an ample maintenance for her, when she became, through
infirmities, unable to support herself.

"Her cottage, which was built on a piece of rising ground,
within sight of the turnpike road, was the neatest in the
parish, and bore, in legible characters, the following
inscription:--'A refuge from persecution.' This memorial of
his cruel spirit mortified the steward, by exciting public
attention; and after smarting under it for some time, he offered
to make any apology to the widow, on condition that it might
be effaced. She became his advocate with her landlord, and the
stone was removed; but ere he had made the application, Lady
Harwood, on riding past in her carriage, having seen it, was
induced to stop, and ask Mrs. Kent why her cottage bore such
a singular inscription. The reason was given, and when she
informed his Lordship, on his return from the Continent, he felt
so indignant, that he sent for his steward, and, after a severe
reprimand, dismissed him from his situation.

"I have spent many pleasant, and I trust profitable hours in
Mrs. Kent's company; and now she is gone, I find the remembrance
of our conversations a source of great consolation. Her
knowledge of the Bible was very accurate and extensive; and
the remarks which she sometimes made on different passages
were pertinent and striking. In her the word of Christ dwelt
richly; it composed her perturbed feelings--induced a spirit of
resignation to the will of God--opened before her the prospect
of future bliss, and supplied her with subjects of reflection
and conversation, which made her society a source of much
improvement to others. She was well qualified to guide the young
Christian, amidst the perplexities which are apt to entangle
his faith in the early stages of his experience, and guard him
from the fatal evils by which he is often surrounded in his
passage through life. To her conversation my sister Jane is more
indebted than to any other means of religious instruction; and
even Emma would often gladly spend an hour in her society.

"A few months ago her infirmities began to increase upon
her; but we were not alarmed by any symptoms of approaching
dissolution, till about a week before our visit to Lynnbridge.
When sitting with her one fine spring evening, listening to the
song of the blackbird and the thrush, I spoke of the bountiful
provision which our heavenly Father has made for our necessities
and gratifications, she replied in the beautiful language of the
poet: 'Yes,

'----not content,
With every food of life to nourish man,
He makes all nature beauty to his eye,
And music to his ear.'

But this is not the only provision he has made for us. He is now
preparing a place for us, and soon he will come to receive us to
himself.'

"On asking her if she had any fears in anticipation of the end
of her faith, she said--

"'I have had many, but they are all gone, and though I still
have my spiritual trials, yet I can anticipate the final issue
with great composure. I know in whom I have believed, and am
persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed
unto him against that day.'

"'You long to be gone, I have no doubt?'

"'I certainly long to see HIM, whom unseen, I have loved for
nearly fifty years, because then I shall be like Him; but I am
not impatient. Indeed, I am not yet prepared to go, for the ties
which bind me to earth are not all broken.'

"'Then this earth still possesses some attractions?'

"'Yes; I have enjoyed, and do enjoy a large proportion of its
comforts; and though I have felt, at times, the storms of
adversity, yet I can say, 'The lines are fallen unto me in
pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage.' Here I am,
in my calm retreat--far away from the noise of contention and
strife--waiting patiently the great change; and if the Lord
should be pleased to answer my prayers for the salvation of my
dear son, I should then say, 'Lord, now lettest thou thy servant
depart in peace, according to thy word.'

"'Then you think your son is still living, notwithstanding the
report of his dangerous illness in the hospital at the Cape?'

"'Yes, I believe he is. As Abraham saw Isaac in a figure rising
from the dead, so the Lord gave me a somewhat similar vision,
the night after I received my son's letter. I saw him leaving
the hospital well, though leaning on his staff, and pale and
wan, as if just recovered from illness. I have now only one
painful trial.'

"Presuming that she referred to the spiritual state of her son,
I remarked, that parents must feel intense agony of mind, in
prospect of having their children separated from them in the
eternal world.

"'I have not that prospect to distress me. I have three already
in heaven, and I doubt not but the grace of God will ultimately
reach the heart of my prodigal son. I cannot doubt it. It would
be a sin to doubt it. I have felt such a spirit of prayer come
upon me at times, on his behalf, that I have wrestled for his
conversion, as Jacob wrestled with the angel at Peniel; and
though I have heard no voice saying to me, 'It shall be unto
thee even as thou wilt,' yet I have departed from the throne of
grace in peace, and found my faith strengthened with power from
on high. My faith is so strong and so uniform in its exercise,
that it has cast out fear from my heart; and I can rejoice in
prospect of meeting all my children in my Father's house.'

"During my absence at Lynnbridge her illness continued to
increase, and Jane used frequently to call on her, and take
her some little comforts which her feeble state required. On
my return I took Mr. ----, who was paying us a short visit,
to see her, and she seemed to derive great comfort from his
conversation and sympathy. She now gained a little strength,
and in a day or two felt herself so much better as to be able
again to go about, and on Sabbath actually walked to chapel. The
exertion, however, had been too much for her, and on calling at
her cottage on the Monday forenoon I was grieved to learn that
she had found herself so weak as to be obliged to return to bed.
I left with her a little wine, which I had brought with me,
and called again to see her in the evening. I perceived that I
must now forego all hopes of her recovery, as her strength was
evidently sinking fast. After some conversation regarding her
bodily ailments, she said to me, 'I have been struggling through
deep waters since your last visit, and even now the swellings of
Jordan are rising higher and higher upon me; and though I have
not lost my anchor, I have been tossed as upon the billows of
the great deep. I trust, indeed, all will be well at last; but
I now feel a terror in prospect of death, which I never felt
before. I am now on the verge of eternity. I shall soon, very
soon see God--the final sentence will soon be uttered; and if I
have been deceiving myself and others, what will be my doom!'

"'But, my dear Mrs. Kent,' I remarked, 'you should look back on
your past life, and think of the sacrifices which you have made
for the cause of the Redeemer, and the numerous indications of
his approbation which you have received.'

"'I dare not look back,' she replied, with great solemnity,
'unless it be to increase the intensity of the anguish which
at times weighs down my soul, for I have been an unprofitable
servant, and am one of the greatest of sinners that ever
indulged a hope of entering into heaven. Look back! no, my
dear. I am obliged to 'lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from
whence cometh my help.'

"Two days after this visit I again called, and found her sitting
up in her bed. On extending her hand, she said with great
animation, 'The storm is over, and now the sun is shining upon
my soul, in his full noon-tide strength. The bitterness of death
is passed; and I have nothing more to suffer, except a few
convulsive struggles, which nature will feel, when the moment
of my departure comes.' Then raising her hands and her eyes to
heaven, she burst forth into a strain of enraptured devotion. I
have preserved a few of her expressions, which were principally
quotations from the Bible, or Watt's Hymns; but it is not in
my power to portray the calm dignity of her countenance, or
the intense fervour of feeling with which she spoke. 'Blessed
Saviour! thou art my Redeemer! Thou hast borne my sins, and
carried my sorrows! Thou hast suffered the just for the unjust,
to bring me to God! Thou art the chief among ten thousand, and
altogether lovely! Thou art the author and finisher of my faith!
To thee do I yield myself, to be redeemed from all evil--to be
sanctified--to be presented faultless before thy Father's glory
with exceeding joy! Yes,

'----every smile of thine,
Does fresh endearmonts bring;'

and fixing her eyes, as though she saw her Lord, she extended
her arms, and said,

'Haste, my Beloved, fetch my soul,
Up to thy bless'd abode,
Fly, for my spirit longs to see
My Saviour and my God.'

"I happened just then to turn my head to the window, when I
saw a soldier walking up the pathway in front of her cottage.
Without thinking what I was saying, I exclaimed, 'Here is your
son, Mrs. Kent, come back to you from the Cape!' Never shall I
forget the scene which followed.

"'My son!--impossible!'

"We heard the latch of the door lifted up, and a deep manly
voice calling 'Mother!' On that word reaching her ear, his
mother sprang up in her bed, and exclaimed, 'It is my son!' but
her feelings were so strongly excited that she had not strength
to restrain them, and before I could return to her assistance,
she fell back, and for some moments we thought her gone. I felt
her pulse, but it had ceased to beat--her eyes were fixed--and
while engaged with her faithful nurse in employing the usual
means to restore suspended animation, the door of her chamber
was opened, and her son entered with a smile on his countenance,
which was soon exchanged for the strong expressions of filial
grief. He saw what was the matter, and forbore to speak, but
stepping gently to her bedside, he kissed her, and let fall a
tear on her face. 'How long has she been ill?' he inquired; and
just as these words were uttered, we saw a slight motion of her
hand, and soon after she began to breathe softly. On returning
to consciousness, her first impulse was to embrace her long lost
child. No words were uttered by them, but a frequent interchange
of the expressions, 'My child!' 'My mother!' I withdrew to the
window while they remained for many minutes locked in each
other's embrace. I then handed the dying saint a glass of
wine, which revived her; and after reclining on the bosom of
her son for some time, giving vent to her feelings, she became
sufficiently composed to converse with him.

"'O mother, I am sorry to find you in this state; but you will
get well soon, I trust.'

"'Never while I remain in this world, my dear son. But I have
every reason to be thankful. God has always dealt graciously
with me. Even in the midst of the greatest tribulation, He has
enabled me to sing,

'Bless'd is the sorrow, kind the storm,
That drives me nearer home.'

But this last expression of his kindness, in permitting me
to see you before I die, is so unexpected, that it is like a
miracle wrought in answer to prayer.'

"'O mother,' the soldier replied, weeping as he spoke, 'your
prayers have been the means of my salvation, and I am thankful
that your life has been spared till I could come and tell you of
it.'

"She sat and listened with great interest to his account of
his adventures. While in hospital at the Cape he was visited
by a pious missionary, to whose conversation he ascribed his
conversion to God. 'Before I saw him,' he continued, 'I had many
qualms of conscience; and was often terrified at the thought of
death, but never _felt_ that I needed a Saviour till he spoke
to me. His appeals were like an arrow shot through my soul,
and I could get no comfort till I prayed to Jesus Christ.'
He paused to weep, and we wept with him; when he renewed his
narration, and after giving us a detailed account of his recent
preservation during a violent storm on his return to England, we
knelt down, and he commended the soul of his dying mother into
the hands of the Lord Jesus, after which I took my leave.

"Mrs. Kent remained for several days without undergoing any
material change; but on the eighth day after her son's return,
he called at the Elms, and said that his mother was not expected
to live through the day, and wished to see me. I immediately
went, accompanied by my sister Jane. We found her in a most
heavenly frame of mind. After a conversation which lasted about
half an hour, I observed a sudden alteration in her countenance,
which convinced me that the time of her departure was drawing
nigh. She now sat for several minutes in perfect silence; a
death-like stillness pervaded the room, and we all felt an awe
on our spirits that seemed to betoken some great event. She then
raised her head, and first expressed her gratitude to her nurse
for her kind attention; thanked me and Jane for the few favours
we had been enabled to show her; and then taking the hand of
her son, she pressed it to her lips, and said, 'Yes, thou art
a faithful God! and as it hath pleased thee to bring back my
long lost child, and adopt him into thy family, I will say, 'Now
lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word:
for mine eyes have seen thy salvation;' then smiling, she fell
back on her pillow, and with one deep sigh her gentle spirit
passed away and left us.

"Thus lived, thus suffered, and thus died, one of the Lord's
'_hidden ones_,' set apart for himself, to show forth his praise
first here on earth, and now for ever in the celestial world.

"I am happy to say that I can now refer, with some degree of
satisfaction, to dear Emma, in whose welfare I know you take
a deep interest. I speak with caution, yet I think I can say
there are some appearances, which give us reason to hope, that
her afflictions are beginning to yield the peaceable fruits of
righteousness. She is now more frequently alone and with her
Bible; still very reserved on the question of personal piety,
but references and allusions accidentally escape her lips, which
induce me to believe that the Lord is gradually drawing her to
himself. Dear creature! she has passed through a sad ordeal,
but I trust she will yet be enabled to say with David, 'It is
good for me that I have been afflicted.' Pray for her, my dear
friend, and also for your attached

LOUISA."

THE CLOSING SCENE OF THE YOUNG CHRISTIAN'S CAREER.

Miss Holmes, as the reader has already been informed, had suffered much in her health, by the unfortunate marriage of her sister Emma; but her visit to Lynnbridge had contributed greatly to her improvement, and her parents now fondly hoped that she was in a fair way of recovery. Shortly after the death of Mrs. Kent, however, she experienced a return of her former alarming symptoms, and an eminent physician was consulted, whose opinion, though rather reservedly given, was not of a very hopeful nature. Conscious herself of the extreme delicacy of her constitution, and apprehensive that she had not long to live, she now prudently declined an advantageous offer of marriage which she had received. Her suitor was Mr. Alfred Reed, the only son of an intimate friend of her father's; a young man, about her own age, decidedly pious, and who was likely to come into the possession of a large fortune. He had been bred to mercantile pursuits, but eventually decided on entering the Church. His father opposed his inclination, till, being fully convinced that he was actuated by proper motives, he cordially gave his consent. He had passed through his examinations at Cambridge with great distinction, and was now spending the vacation at home, preparatory to taking orders. His person, his manners, and his profession combined to render him an acceptable suitor to Miss Holmes, who united in her character the varied excellencies which are necessary to qualify a female to fill the important station of a clergyman's wife. She was intelligent, amiable, discreet, and zealous in the cause of religion and benevolence, without the smallest tincture of ostentatious display. Her sense of duty, however, would not permit her, in her present state of health, to contract a union which might speedily be dissolved, and involve her husband in much perplexity and grief.

By the advice of her medical man, she was induced again to try a change of air as the best means of arresting the progress of her disorder. After much deliberation it was decided to go to Dawlish in Devonshire, both because they had so much enjoyed their former visits there, and Louisa preferred its retirement to the noise and gaiety of a more fashionable watering-place. Mr. Reed, who still continued faithful in his attentions to her, notwithstanding her refusal of his offer, and still cherished the hope of his proposals being accepted, on Miss Holmes' restoration to health, was allowed, at his earnest request, to form one of the party. He accordingly set out first, to secure a suitable lodging, and it was no small gratification to the family when they found he had taken the same house which they had occupied some years before. As they had travelled by easy stages, and had been favoured with pleasant weather, Miss Holmes appeared much better on her arrival at Dawlish than when she left the Elms; and she continued to improve so rapidly, that all began to anticipate her entire convalescence. Her spirits, which had at times been deeply depressed, soon rose to the level of her accustomed cheerfulness; and though the hectic flush occasionally added fresh beauty to the sweetness of her countenance, yet, as it did not return so often, nor appear so deeply tinged by the florid hue as formerly, it did not occasion any alarm. On returning from a lovely walk, as they passed the little chapel which benevolence raised for the accommodation of the Christian pilgrim, who thirsts for the pure water of life, she facetiously remarked, addressing herself to Mr. Reed, "I presume, Sir, we cannot calculate on your accompanying us to-morrow to this unadorned house of prayer."

"Why not, Miss Holmes?"

"Of course, Sir, your clerical profession will lead you elsewhere!"

"I am happy to say, that I am not ashamed to go to offer up my sacrifice of prayer and of praise in any place in which the God of salvation will condescend to accept it. I prefer the village church to the village chapel, most certainly; but, as I have no wish to become a _dissenter_, I shall conform to the religious customs of the party during our visit."

"A clergyman in a Dissenting chapel! The last wonder! Of course, we must all be sworn to secrecy, and keep our pledge, or no bishop will ordain you."

There is no indisposition under which the human frame labours that assumes such a deceptive appearance as a consumption. In its early stages it will often work so insidiously on the constitution, that its subject is unconscious of its presence; and even, when it has advanced to a very considerable extent, there are generally those intervals of vigour and vivacity, that occasion sanguine expectations of a recovery to be entertained even to the last. And it is during these seasons, when the animal spirits return with great force--giving a degree of energy and activity which is regarded as an unequivocal proof of restored health, that exertions are made by walking and by visiting, which often accelerate the fatal issue. To confine to the house the invalid, who longs to breathe the fresh air, or to keep her out of company, when the pleasures of social intercourse relieve the spirits from languor, is a task which the kindness of friendship cannot always perform; and hence she is often permitted to run the risk of shortening her life by efforts which exhaust her strength; or by exposures to the keen night air, which give a fresh impetus to the disease. It was during one of these intervals of renewed strength that Miss Holmes was induced to pay a visit to a family, who resided about two miles off; and though her father proposed to take her in a carriage, she preferred walking. She reached her friends' house without feeling fatigued; after dinner enjoyed a ramble in the country; and then, having taken tea, returned to Dawlish. It was a pleasant evening, but the air was rather cold; and though she bore the exertions of the day with great cheerfulness, yet before she got home she began to feel exhausted. On entering the drawing-room, she threw herself on the sofa, and said, "I fear I have gone beyond my strength." After resting herself some time, she retired for the night; but when she awoke in the morning, instead of rising at her usual hour, she requested to have her breakfast in bed. At noon she made her appearance amongst the family, in apparently good spirits; but her mother, who had watched the progress of her disorder with deep anxiety, felt alarmed on seeing the hectic flush on her cheek, accompanied by an occasional cough. Towards the evening the height of her pulse was considerably increased; the palms of her hands became dry and hot, and she complained of being chilly. These symptoms excited fresh alarm; yet, as they came on immediately after the fatigue of a long day's excursion, her friends flattered themselves that they would go off when she had taken another night's rest; but in this they were disappointed. On the following morning they assumed a more threatening aspect; her cough became more troublesome, the pain in her side returned, and though she appeared cheerful, yet it was accompanied by an unusual gravity of look and manner. At length it was judged expedient to call in a medical man, who prescribed some medicines that afforded her a little temporary relief. When asked for his opinion, he said, "I do not despair of her recovery, though she must be very cautious. She must not exert herself beyond her strength, nor yet expose herself to the night air." The following letter, written to her friend Miss Martin, whom the reader will remember accompanying Miss Holmes to call on Mrs. Kent,[30] exhibits the state of her mind at this critical period:--

"MY DEAR MARY,--An all-wise Providence has been pleased to
guide my steps once more to Dawlish, where we expect to spend a
few months. In revisiting it again, I naturally advert to that
period of my life when I was living in a state of alienation
from God--devoted to the pleasures and vanities of the world.
Happy should I now be to ramble with you through this beautiful
country, and talk of Him who lived and died for sinners; but,
as that pleasure is denied me, I will converse with you through
a more circuitous medium. You are aware that our journey here
is mainly on my account. On my arrival I grew much better,
and continued for some weeks to improve in my general health;
but a short time ago I caught a severe cold, and have never
been well since. Though my friends still cling to hope, as
the sinking mariner hangs on the broken plank of the vessel,
till the returning wave comes to drive him off, I am now very
apprehensive as to the result. I know that my heavenly Father
can lengthen out the thread of my life, and restore to full
vigorous health the constitution which disease is gradually
wasting away; but I think He is about to remove me. It costs,
indeed, a hard struggle to view with composure the approach of
death at my age, and nothing could reconcile me to it but the
hope of immortality by which I feel animated and sustained. My
Alfred is with me, and his kind attentions often depress me.
He is still anticipating the day when he shall lead me to the
altar; but alas! fond youth, I am marked out as a victim for
the grave! Yes! and though I still feel I love him, yet I must
give him up, and all the prospects which open before me on this
side the tomb, to go and dwell with Him whom unseen I love! But
'thy will, O my Father, be done!'

"Though I have received the sentence of death, I do not expect
that it will be executed speedily. No! I shall not be taken till
all are prepared to resign me; and till every tie is loosened
which now fastens my affections to 'things seen and temporal.'
This is a kind provision which our heavenly Father usually makes
to afford some alleviation to the sorrow of surviving friends;
and to enable his children to retire from this vale of life,
without retaining any lingering desires for a longer continuance
in it.

"I have hitherto concealed from the eyes of others the most
alarming symptoms of my complaint, nor have I yet given them an
intimation of my own opinion; as I do not feel inclined to be
at present the bearer of such heavy tidings. They still try to
amuse me with the visions of futurity, and talk of my marriage
with Alfred, and all its attendant circumstances, as if length
of days was appointed for me: and though I feel conscious that
a few months, unless a miracle of mercy prevent, will change
the theme of social discourse, yet I cannot bring my mind to
the severe trial of attempting to banish these fond hopes and
anticipations from others.

"I am happy to inform you that my dear sister Emma is become
decidedly pious. Her severe afflictions have had a salutary
effect; and now, being purified and softened by their influence,
she exhibits the features of the Christian character in all
their attractive loveliness. Her natural volatility and
satirical humour are now transformed to chastened vivacity and
the sportive sallies of innocent wit.

"I need not say how much I should enjoy your company at Dawlish,
if you could make it convenient to pay us a visit; but as that
is too great an indulgence for me to expect, you will not
refuse me the gratification of hearing from you as soon as
possible. All here join me in kindest love to you, and your
Papa and Mamma, who, I trust, are both enjoying their usual good
health.--I am, yours most affectionately,

LOUISA."

[30] Vol. ii. p. 297.

To this letter Miss Martin returned the following reply:--

"LONDON, _15th September, 18--_.

"MY DEAR LOUISA,--I received yours of the 10th, but it is not
possible for me to describe the impressions which it produced
on my mind. I alternately wept tears of sorrow and of joy; and
though that overpowering excitement, which its first reading
produced, has somewhat subsided, yet I feel almost incapable of
replying. And is the wise Disposer of all events about to remove
you from amongst us? And have you, at such a comparatively early
period of the spiritual contest, fought the good fight of faith,
and gained the crown which fadeth not away? If so, I will say,
'Happy, thrice happy saint!' thou art highly favoured of the
Lord! Yes, you will soon see the King in his beauty, and mingle
your notes of praise with the multitude around his throne! You
will soon partake of the fulness of joy, in which the spirits of
the just made perfect participate!

"But how can we give you up? How can we take this cup of sorrow
without praying that it may pass from us? How can we offer up
the prayer, 'Thy will, O Father, be done on earth, even as it
is done in heaven,' without feeling it quiver on our lips as we
attempt to utter it? I now find that entire resignation to the
Divine will, when those objects are placed in jeopardy on which
our affections are strongly fixed, is an attainment which I have
not yet acquired; and though I doubt not but the grace of Christ
will be found sufficient for its full display, when the day of
trial comes, yet, at the present moment, I am bowed down with so
much heaviness of soul that I cannot give vent to my feelings.
What a contrast do you exhibit! While I am restless, under the
agitations of fear, you are calm, in the anticipations of hope!
While I am praying that you may still be detained amongst us, to
share our joys and our sorrows, you are fluttering on the wings
of eager expectation, ready to say, as you soar away from us,
'Weep not for me, but weep for yourselves.' Happy spirit!

"Indeed, my dear Louisa, your sweet composure at this awful
crisis--your bright anticipations, viewed in connection with
your attachment to your friends around you, have given me such
an exalted opinion of the efficacy of the Christian faith to
sustain the human spirit on the great occasions of its history,
that I am not so much astonished at your tranquil joy, as I am
at my own timid misgivings; and though I still hope I possess
the faith which is the evidence of things not seen, yet in me
it is small, like the grain of mustard seed, while in you it
resembles the wide-spreading tree, beneath whose branches you
rest in safety.

"As you, my dear Louisa, when drawing nearer the closing
scene, may be subjected to the influence of the fears which
not unfrequently disturb the peace of the dying Christian, I
have taken the liberty of sending you an extract from a very
interesting memoir, which I have just read with great pleasure,
and which, with a degree of precision we rarely meet with in
theological works, points out the difference between faith and
hope.

"'This difference,' the writer justly observes, 'is not always
sufficiently attended to; and much presumption on the one hand,
and despondency on the other, have arisen from confounding them.
One person considers himself a believer of high attainments,
because he entertains no doubt of his being in a state of
salvation; and another doubts whether he be a believer at all,
because he cannot persuade himself that his sins are forgiven.
But it is obvious that two distinct and very different acts
of the mind are here confounded and blended together;--one,
which assents to the fact of Jesus Christ being the only and
all-sufficient Saviour of sinners; and which places a reliance
on the atoning sacrifice, for pardon of sin and acceptance
with God, which is the province of _faith_; and another, which
appropriates to itself the blessings of this salvation, and
confidently expects a future state of felicity, which is the
province of _hope_. Now, it is clear that these persuasions
of the mind may exist separately from each other; and that one
of them may be very strong, whilst the other has scarcely any
existence at all. St. Paul clearly recognizes this distinction,
when he offers up a prayer for the Romans, that the God of hope
would fill them with all joy and peace in believing. It is
here implied that genuine faith may exist without either joy
or peace; and by addressing his prayer to 'the God of hope,'
he remarks that joy and peace are the fruits of hope, and are
distinct blessings to be superadded to the grace of faith.'

"I regret that it is not in my power to visit you at Dawlish,
but I assure you that I have you in my remembrance, when bowing
before the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ; and while I
pray that you may yet be spared to us, I do not forget to pray,
that if you are to be removed, you may be favoured with a joyful
entrance into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord Jesus Christ.
You will present my kind affection to your dear parents, and
your sisters.--Your affectionate friend,

MARY."

The alarming symptoms which immediately followed this return of Miss Holmes' disorder, suddenly disappeared, and she was once more restored to comparative health, though it was evident to all her friends that the vigour of her constitution was greatly impaired. She was again permitted to resume her rambles, and to breathe the genial air of Dawlish, which once more enlivened her spirits. As she now felt able to endure the fatigues of exertion, she was induced to comply with the wishes of her kind friends in the country, to pay them another visit. She rode there and back, and cautiously avoided running any risk, either by too much exertion, or by any exposure to damps or cold.