fashion, and, while she kept up a partial intimacy with some of her
former associates, her spirit and example bore a testimony against
their vain and ensnaring pursuits. She had put on a religious
profession, and felt it to be an honour to obtain membership with
the church of which her spiritual counsellor and guide was the
pastor. This gave great offence to her clerical uncle, and also to
some of her other relatives who resided in London, but she was too
independent in spirit to submit to the arbitrary control of those
who were the secret enemies of the cross of Christ; and though she
did not court reproach as a desirable test of principle, yet she
gave proof, by her steadfastness in the faith, and the amiable
placidity of her temper, that it possessed no power to warp her
judgment or disturb her peace. She was too retiring in her habits
to take an active part in any of the public institutions connected
with the church and congregation of which she was a member, but she
became a generous contributor to their funds, doing good and working
righteousness, not desiring to be seen of men--a devout woman, who
feared God above many. She might again and again have changed her
widowed state, and with flattering prospect of distinction and
happiness, but she had fully made up her mind, that she would never
put off the weeds of widowhood till the set time came when she was
to pass away from earth, to be arrayed in the vestments of the
heavenly world. She cherished through every stage of life the memory
of her dear departed husband with an intensity of feeling which
appeared to increase as she advanced in years. To the poor of the
household of faith she was a warm-hearted and liberal benefactor;
in no exercise did she take more delight than in visiting the sick
and afflicted; and though a Dissenter, she was free from bigotry and
prejudice, and could say, with the apostle, "Grace be with all them
that love our Lord Jesus Christ in sincerity. Amen" (Eph. vi. 24).
Our correspondence was kept up for a number of years, and in one
of her last letters she says:--"I am truly thankful to God that
he gave me grace to withdraw from the gay world. It is altogether
a gorgeous sham--a fascinating delusion; felt as such even by
those who are spell-bound by its charms. I often look back, dear
Sir, with astonishment and gratitude, to our casual meeting in
the stage coach, which has proved to me the most eventful and the
most important occurrence of my life. It has been the introduction
of a new era in my history. The mystery of my irreparable loss is
now explained. The husband of my devoted attachment was smitten,
and died. He was taken from me without my being permitted to say
farewell, and, even to this hour, I feel a bitter pang when I think
of his melancholy end. Had he been spared to feel what I have felt
of spiritual sorrow, and of spiritual consolation and hope, we
should have lived in the sweet anticipations of eternal life. I
pine, but I dare not murmur. The past is the fearful thunder-storm
of desolation, from which, praise be to God, I have now emerged, and
enjoy the brightness and calm of a serene and unclouded sky.
"When, my dear Sir, I contrast, as I often do, my present, with my
former self--my present, with my former tastes--my present, with my
former habits, and my present bright prospects of immortality with
my former prospects, overshadowed by the deep gloom of ceaseless
sorrow--I appear a wonder to myself. I am the same person I was
when I repelled your advice to read the Bible, thinking it a
piece of wild fanaticism; but how changed am I now in heart and
feeling--become, I trust, a new creature in Christ Jesus." Psalm
ciii. 1-5.
My friend who announced to me the decease of Mrs. Hastings, informed
me that her preceding illness was not of long duration, nor was it
attended by any severe physical sufferings. During its continuance,
her mind was kept in perfect peace; and at times, she felt a joy
unspeakable in anticipation of beholding the Son of God, who
was crucified on Calvary, seated on his celestial throne; and of
mingling with the countless myriads, in offering their adorations
and praises. Her last intelligible utterance was, "Lord Jesus,
receive my spirit;" and, after a slight convulsive struggle, she
cast one look on the friend standing by her side, and then expired.
THE FAMILY OF THE HOLMES.
On my return one afternoon from a round of pastoral visits, I was
informed that a gentleman was waiting to see me; and I received a
most agreeable surprise in finding that it was no other than Mr.
Holmes, an old and much valued friend, and whose eldest daughter
Louisa has already been casually mentioned as a friend and
correspondent of Miss Roscoe.[15] He informed me that he had just
left his family at Dawlish, their favourite summer resort, where
they had been rusticating for nearly two months, and had come to
transact some business in my neighbourhood. I pressed him to remain
a few days with me, but he would consent to stay only one night,
as he had already been occupied a longer time than he expected.
Before leaving, he extorted a promise from me that, as soon as my
avocations permitted it, I would pay him a visit at the Elms, his
seat near London, whither he and his family expected to return in
the end of the summer.
[15] Vol. i. page 232.
The history of Mr. Holmes' career in life is an interesting one,
and furnishes a striking example of those gradual elevations from
poverty and obscurity to affluence and an honoured position in the
world, which are, perhaps, more frequently to be met with in the
ranks of English society than in those of any other country. I will
here give some account of it, as exhibiting an instructive example
of persevering industry and upright conduct, crowned by honour and
success.
Mr. Holmes was the second son of a respectable farmer, who rented
a small estate in the county of Warwick. When a little boy he was
very inquisitive, fond of mixing with his seniors and superiors,
from whom he gained much information; and though there was no good
school in the neighbourhood, yet, by the assistance of the kind and
amiable Vicar of the parish, he acquired the rudiments of a useful
education. That leisure time which other children usually devote
to play, he gave to reading and study, and before he was fourteen,
he was a very good accountant. He happened, when about nine years
old, to read the popular story of _Whittington and his Cat_, and
such was the deep impression it made on his mind, that it became
the perpetual subject of his conversation; and he would often amuse
the other members of the family with visionary tales of his future
eminence. He would say to his brothers, "I will leave _you_ to feed
cows, and pigs, and horses, and turn up the clods of the field; but
when I grow up, I will go to London, and see if I cannot become as
great a man as Whittington." So completely had this passion gained
an ascendency over him, that he would often walk miles to see the
mail coach pass along the road towards the far-famed city; and after
listening to the sound of the horn, with an ecstasy of delight which
no other notes could inspire, he would return home to talk and to
dream of his future adventures.
When about the age of fifteen, his father died, leaving a large
family unprovided for; and as Henry could not think of remaining any
longer at home, his mother gave him a guinea and a few shillings,
and he set off to seek his fortune. His youthful ardour kindled into
rapture when he first saw the distant dome of St. Paul's towering
above the buildings and smoke of the wondrous metropolis. Though
he occasionally shed a tear of affection at the remembrance of his
beloved relatives in his native village, yet he was so absorbed in
the visions of his own fancy, that he was rarely depressed. Several
days were spent in fruitless efforts to obtain a situation--his
few shillings were expended, and the shadows of another night were
deepening into darkness, when he sat down on the stone steps in
front of a gentleman's house to rest himself. While he sat there
ruminating over the scenes of his boyhood, and pleasing himself with
the hopes of brighter and better days, a gentleman in a gig drove
up to the door; and as he was getting out, Henry rose and offered
his assistance by holding the horse. The quickness of his movements,
and the pleasing smile on his fine ruddy countenance, attracted the
notice of Mr. Lucas, who asked him his name and place of residence.
"My name, Sir, is Henry Holmes," he replied; "I was born in the
county of Warwick; my father was a farmer, and he is just dead. I
did not like to stay at home to be a burden to my mother, who has
a large family to bring up, so I left home last Monday, to see if
I could get a place of work in London; and if you will hire me,
Sir, I will try to please you." This simple, artless tale made its
way to the heart of Mr. Lucas, who said, "How long have you been
in London?" "Three days, Sir, but I have not been able to get any
work." "Have you any money?" "Yes, Sir, I have a guinea which mother
gave me when I left home, but I am afraid to change it, for if I do,
all my money may soon be gone." This circumstance gave Mr. Lucas
such a high opinion of Henry's carefulness of disposition, that
he at once resolved to take him into his service. Having obtained
his mother's address, he wrote to her and also to the Vicar of the
parish. In a few days he received an answer which confirmed the
truth of the statement of the adventurous youth, and at the same
time bore honourable testimony to his fidelity and industry.
Mr. Lucas was a grocer, who lived in Fore Street, and had acquired
a handsome fortune by his trade. Like most wealthy citizens, he
had his country-house, where he resided during the summer months,
coming to business in the morning and returning in the evening.
As his groom had just left him, the thought struck him that this
country lad might very well supply his place; and Henry rejoiced to
enter on his new employment. He had to clean the horse and gig,
the knives and shoes, and look after some choice poultry; and such
was the attention he paid to his work, and the amiability of his
disposition, that he soon became a favourite with the whole family.
On their return to town for the winter he accompanied them; and as
he possessed talents which fitted him for a higher situation, his
master took him into the shop, where he distinguished himself by his
close attention to business. No one was cleaner in his person, or
neater in his dress; no one was more obliging in his disposition;
the rusticity of his appearance soon wore off; his punctuality and
habit of despatch became proverbial; and though his temper was
hasty and irritable, yet he kept it in a state of subjection, and
uniformly displayed a union of excellencies, which is but rarely
found in so young a person.
Such is the precarious tenure on which men hold their reputation
under the mysterious dispensations of Providence, that it is often
endangered no less by their virtues than their vices; and those who
at one period are esteemed and admired by the wise and the good,
are at another plunged into the depth of misery by the malignant
cruelty of the wicked. Thus it was with Henry. There were two
persons belonging to the establishment, his seniors in age, and
superiors in rank, who were jealous of him; and as they could not
shake the stability of his character by any just accusations, they
resolved to destroy it by artifice. One of them who had the care of
the till-drawer complained for several succeeding evenings of having
missed some money, and it was arranged that some marked money should
be put into the drawer. This was done; at nine o'clock the money was
counted, and the sum of five shillings and sixpence was missing.
This fact was immediately communicated to Mr. Lucas, who called
all the servants into the counting-house, and proposed that each
one should have his person and his boxes searched, without being
permitted to leave the room. To this proposal they all assented; and
lots were drawn to determine the exact order in which the search
should be made. The first name drawn was the head-shopman, who
immediately gave up all his keys to Mr. Lucas, and underwent the
strictest examination, but he was pronounced innocent; the second
was the man who had the care of the till, and he also was pronounced
innocent; the third was Henry Holmes, who, after being searched,
said, "My box, Sir, is not locked." Mr. Lucas then quitted the room
to search it, and on his return, looking steadfastly in Henry's
face, said, "I certainly did not suspect you, Henry, but I have
found the money in your box" (producing it), "and as you have given
me such a proof of your ingratitude and perfidy, you shall leave my
house to-morrow morning."
"Sir," replied Henry in a firm tone, "I am innocent. Some one has
placed the money in my box which might be very easily done, as I
scarcely ever lock it."
"I have suspected you for a long time," said one of the shopmen;
"for no one is so likely to be guilty of fraud, as he who overacts
the part of virtue."
Mr. Lucas now withdrew into the parlour, when he related the whole
circumstances, and as soon as Mrs. Lucas heard the accusation of
the shopman, she said, "Henry is innocent. He is the victim of
another's treachery, and some plan must be adopted to detect the
culprit. In my opinion the accuser is the guilty party, or at least
an accomplice. It is fair to presume that he who stole the last sum,
stole the preceding sums that have been lost. How then will you
account for finding only the five shillings and sixpence?"
"It is impossible," said Miss Lucas, "that Henry can be the thief.
We never lost anything when he was with us in the country, and we
know that he does not go out to places of amusement like the others,
and therefore he is under less temptation to extravagance than they
are. There is a plot to effect his ruin, which I hope and trust will
be discovered."
While they were talking, the housemaid entered the parlour, and
said, that she had just overheard the two young men talking together
on the subject, and she distinctly heard one say, "It was well
planned, and well executed, and now we shall get rid of him." She
was requested to take no notice of what she had heard, but to act
as though she really believed that Henry was guilty. As these two
young men slept together, Mr. Lucas removed some tea chests which
stood against a thin partition that separated their bedroom from an
upper warehouse, and having placed himself near an aperture in one
of the boards, he waited till they retired to rest. Having, from
their conversation, received a full conviction of their guilt, he
withdrew, and informed his wife and daughter that he was perfectly
satisfied of Henry's innocence.
The next morning he rose rather earlier than usual, and before
the porter had opened the shop, he summoned all the shopmen into
his presence, and charged these two men, first, with the crime
of stealing the money, and then with the still baser crime of
attempting to involve an innocent person in their guilt. This
unexpected charge--the indignant firmness with which it was
brought--the involuntary movement of Henry, who came forward to look
his accusers in the face, confounded and abashed them; and though
each made some faint efforts to deny it, yet when Mr. Lucas repeated
the conversation which he had overheard the preceding night, and
threatened that if they did not immediately acknowledge their guilt,
and solicit Henry's forgiveness, he would send for the police, they
made a full confession, and implored mercy in the most suppliant
manner. Henry at once forgave them, and interceded for them; but Mr.
Lucas would not consent that such men should remain in his service,
and having paid them their arrears of wages, he discharged them.
This plot, which was laid to effect Henry's ruin, led to his
advancement, and he now rose rapidly, step after step, till he
became the manager of Mr. Lucas' establishment.
We often see tradesmen, when they have amassed a large fortune,
affecting contempt for the rank of life in which they have moved,
discovering at the same time a strong anxiety that their children,
especially their daughters, should form alliances with those who
move in the higher and more exalted circles of society. Hence they
will often sacrifice a daughter at the shrine of their vanity,
and give a large portion of the wealth which their industry
has accumulated, to some titled pauper, whose extravagance first
reduces her to beggary, and whose unkindness at length breaks her
heart. But Mr. Lucas was a wise man. He never rose in feeling or in
expectation above the level of his station. He had but one child,
and he wished to see her happy; and when he perceived that a mutual
regard subsisted between her and Henry, he expressed his entire
approbation, and they were married. On this event taking place, Mr.
Lucas retired from business, and at his decease, which happened
about twelve months after that of his wife, he left the greater part
of his property to Mr. Holmes.
[Illustration: THE CONSPIRACY DEFEATED.
Vol. ii. page 128.]
Mr. Holmes, who had thus risen, by the Divine blessing on his
industry, from a humble situation to a position of wealth and
eminence, would often allude in conversation to his original
condition, and exhibit his guinea as a proud memorial of his
former poverty;--thus rebuking, by his example, the pride of many
a modern Croesus, who is no less anxious to conceal from others
his origin, than to make an ostentatious display of his wealth.
He had a large family, and as he took considerable pains with the
education of his children, and set before them an example worthy
of their imitation, he had the pleasure of seeing them growing
up, esteemed and respected, bidding fair to be the ornaments of a
future generation. His two eldest sons were in partnership with him,
his youngest was studying medicine, one daughter was married to a
country gentleman in Warwickshire, and three were still living with
him. He had long resisted the importunity of his children to take
some country residence, that they might enjoy an occasional retreat
from the noise, and smoke, and bustle of the city; but when his
wife urged the measure, it was at once adopted, as he was no less
anxious to gratify her wishes than she was to avoid the indulgence
of unsuitable gratifications.
After many unsuccessful efforts to obtain an eligible residence,
he purchased a small estate about seven miles from London, where
he erected a neat and commodious mansion; and as his two sons were
now able to manage his business, he retired from the more active
and laborious duties of it, to spend the evening of his days amidst
rural scenes, with which his earliest and deepest impressions were
associated. Having been accustomed, when a child, to attend his
parish church on the Sabbath, he regularly observed the practice
through life; and though for many years he had no clear perceptions
of the nature or the design of the gospel, yet soon after the
settlement of the Rev. Mr. Newton at St. Mary Woolnoth, he began to
feel its enlightening and purifying influence. At first he disliked
his style of preaching, and the pride of his heart rose up against
that plan of salvation which requires the man of virtue to implore
mercy in terms as humiliating as those which the chief of sinners
employ; but as his knowledge increased, his prejudices gradually
subsided, and though he could not remember any specific time when
the great moral change was effected, by which he passed from death
unto life, yet he uniformly spoke of it as the most important and
blissful event of his history.
The renovation which the grace of God produces in the human
character, often leaves the ruling passion to retain its ascendency,
while it gives it a new direction; and he who undergoes it, usually
displays the same bold decision or hesitating precaution--the
same spirit of active enterprise or prudent consideration, in his
religious profession, that he has been accustomed to display in the
avocations of everyday life. But on some occasions it is just the
reverse; and we see the avowed infidel, when convinced of the truth
of the gospel, halting between two opinions--the active tradesman,
who keeps the machinery of a large and complicated concern in a
brisk and constant motion, a lukewarm Christian--and the man who
could face, without flinching, the most appalling dangers, discover
a shrinking timidity when the obligations to a life of practical
devotedness to God are pressed upon his attention. To account for
such a moral phenomenon would be absolutely impossible, unless
we advert to the powerful influence which sensible objects are
known to possess over the mind, especially during that period
in the religious experience of a Christian when his faith in
the Divine testimony is weak and defective; but as that great
moral principle increases in strength and animation, the natural
dispositions recover their native tone and vigour--the mind no more
vacillates--but rising to a full conviction of the superior value of
the things which are unseen and eternal, gives to them its supreme
attention and affection.
Mr. Holmes felt the transforming power of the truth soon after
his marriage, which led him to the adoption of religious habits
and customs; but he was too deeply involved in the cares
and perplexities of business to become a very zealous and
public-spirited Christian. His moral character was unimpeachable,
and he brought the great principles of religion to regulate his
conduct in the ordinary affairs of life; but his heart was too much
in the world--the fervour of his devotional spirit bore no just
proportion to his diligence in business, and he was less anxious for
the higher attainments of faith than for the acquisition of wealth.
He regularly attended the ministry of the Rev. Mr. Newton on the
Sabbath; but that ministry was more frequently the word of reproof
than consolation; and though the hope of a blissful immortality
would sometimes dawn upon him, yet it shone with too feeble a ray to
afford him entire satisfaction; as it is wisely ordained that a full
assurance of eternal life shall be imparted only to those who give
_diligence_ to make their calling and election sure.
Mrs. Holmes was certainly more devout than her husband, and devoted
a larger proportion of her time to reading and meditation; but
her associations were unfavourable to the growth of her piety,
which, though sincere, was too much tinctured with superstition.
She thought more of her duties than her privileges--of her defects
than of Him who came to repair them--placed more dependence for
consolation and hope on prayer and watchfulness than on the blood of
sprinkling; and, while she did not doubt the truth of the promises,
she uniformly gave a more implicit assent to the threatenings of the
sacred volume. She was rather a disciple of the mortified Baptist
than of the merciful Redeemer. Her devotions were sincere and
fervent, but not elevating. They consisted much in contrition, but
little in praise--much in sorrow for sin, but little in hope of its
pardon. She did not sufficiently cast her confidence on the great
Propitiation. She firmly believed all that the Saviour had done and
suffered for sinners, but she could not claim for her own enjoyment
the benefits resulting from his mission and death. While she was
painfully working out her salvation with fear and trembling, she
indulged the most unfounded apprehensions of the Divine displeasure,
and lived more in dread of perishing than in expectation of being
saved.