her room, a few days after receiving Mrs. Loader's letter, she
stretched forth her hand, and said, "I hope you are prepared to
resign me, for I have not long to be with you."
"I have had," he replied, "a hard struggle to do it; but the Lord
has at length enabled me to say, 'Even so, for so it seemeth good in
thy sight.'"
"I am glad to hear it; and I hope you will all be enabled to feel
the same resignation to the Divine will. I wish you would now pray
with me, that I may be strengthened in my soul to endure the last
struggle." When this hallowed and deeply affecting exercise was
ended, she reclined her head on the pillow, and slept for two hours.
When she awoke, she rose up in her bed, and casting a smile on all
around her, said, "My sleep has refreshed me." After giving a few
directions respecting her funeral, she delivered the keys of her
desk, &c., to her mother, with a request that she would distribute
the few trifling presents she had marked for her friends, and then
added, "Now I have done with earth. Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly!"
As she gave utterance to this prayer, her countenance beamed with
an indescribable glow of rapture, and with a gentle bending of
the neck, she bid all farewell, her lips distinctly articulating,
"Precious Saviour! thou art come," as they were closing in perpetual
silence.
* * * * *
The sketch which I have exhibited of Miss Holmes' character and
religious experience, has been taken from real life; and though
on some points her experience may differ from that of the pious
reader, yet that circumstance will not diminish the degree of
interest which may be felt on examining it. We see what human nature
is, even with all the advantages of a pious education, before the
great spiritual change takes place; we see the process which is
observed in the production of this change--the evidences by which
it is attested--the various and the numerous conflicts which the
subject of it has to encounter, while passing through this vale
of tears--and the influence which a pure faith in the efficacy of
the atonement has in sustaining the mind in affliction, and in
the prospect of death. And who can turn away from such a scene,
without wishing to be made a partaker of the like precious faith?
and without exclaiming, "Let me die the death of the righteous?"
Compare Miss Holmes' character with that of the devotee of fashion;
compare the uniform tranquillity of her mind, after she had obtained
peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, with the restless
uneasiness which agitates the gay; compare her death with the death
of the thoughtless and the trifling, and what will be the result?
What! a firm conviction must be produced, that the religion of
the Scriptures, when it is brought to operate on the human mind,
does more to elevate and refine it, and prepare it for its final
destiny, than all the discoveries of science, all the speculations
of philosophy, or all the boasted triumphs of reason. This is a
fact, which is not merely supported by opinion, but also by the
evidence of experience and testimony; and though it may not excite
that degree of attention which its importance demands, yet the
period may not be far distant when the reader will feel the force
of it. Yes, the hour may not be far distant, when you may be called
away from that circle in which you are now moving, and from those
scenes of pleasure which now captivate and hold you in subjection;
to bid farewell to lover and to friend, and let go your hold of
life. Yes, the hour may not be far distant, when you will feel
yourself entering an eternal world, when the solemnities of the
final judgment will open upon you in all their awful grandeur, and
when conscience, roused from her long repose of guilty quietude,
will speak to condemn. Yes, the hour may not be far distant, when
the raptures of bliss, or the agonies of despair, will be yours,
and yours for ever. And will you remain in a state of indifference,
while such solemn events are at hand? Will you pass on to meet
them, as though they were cunningly devised fables? Can no argument
produce a conviction of your danger, and can no motive induce you to
avoid it? Will you resolutely withstand all the efforts which are
made to save you from going down to death unprepared to meet your
God? and as resolutely devote yourselves to the follies and the
amusements of the world, as though you were to live for ever? God
forbid!
But I hope that the intelligent reader has felt that moral
renovation of heart, without which all the attainments of the
purest morality will prove unavailing; and is looking for pardon
and eternal life through faith in the death and mediation of our
Lord Jesus Christ. If so, though you may have your occasional fears
respecting your personal interest in him; though you may often
dread, lest at some future period, the deep impressions under which
you now labour should be effaced from your mind; and though you may
even start back from the approach of death, as from the visitations
of a destroying angel, yet He who has begun the good work will
carry it on--He who has drawn you into fellowship with himself
will perpetuate it--He who has inclined you to hope in his mercy
will sustain that hope in the final hour, and give you a peaceful
entrance into the joy of your Lord.
Go, then, to the footstool of the Divine throne, and there offer
up the sacrifice of praise to Him who has made you alive from the
dead, and yield yourself unto God, and your end will be everlasting
life. You may be reproached for such an act of decision--you may
be contemned--you may excite the pity of some, and the sarcasm
of others; but you will not repent the course you have taken,
especially when your latter end approaches. Reflecting, then, on
your past career in the world you are just quitting, and directing
your anticipations forward to that on which you are entering, you
will feel an elevation of soul which no remembrances can depress,
and without a sigh of regret, or emotion of fear, will close your
eyes in peace.
And when the conflict is over, and you have gained the prize of
immortality--when you have undergone the anticipated assimilation
to the likeness of God, and are as perfect in purity and knowledge
as in blessedness--beholding the person and the glory of the
dear Redeemer--uniting with the innumerable multitude around
his throne, in their anthems of adoration and praise--you will
then feel, that in being a redeemed sinner, you have experienced
greater manifestation of Divine favour and love, than if you
had been created from the first an angel of the highest order.
And in your then glorified state you will often advert to your
earthly sojourn--to your sins and to your sorrows--retracing the
mysterious path of your Christian course, with the ineffably joyful
consciousness pervading your heart, that you have not again to
suffer, or to sin; that you have not again to pass through "death's
dark vale," or again to dread the possibility of perishing; but to
live for ever in the full enjoyment of unmingled happiness. Then,
with what emotions of gratitude will you adore and bless God for
having made you, when in this world, refrain from following the
example of the gay and thoughtless; who, alas! will then be where
the voice of mercy is never heard, and where the light of hope never
dawns!
THE HAPPY MARRIAGE.
During all this time that has elapsed, what has become of our
friends at Fairmount?
The reader has now probably conjectured from the account of my visit
to Fairmount at Christmas,[31] that a marriage would ere long take
place between Mr. Lewellin and Miss Roscoe. It had been arranged in
a subsequent visit paid by Mr. Lewellin at Easter, that the wedding
should take place in the following June, and preparations were
already made for the joyful occasion, at which I was invited to be
present. On returning to London, however, to adjust some business
matters, Mr. Lewellin found to his dismay, that an affair of great
importance, which even threatened the stability of the mercantile
house with which he was connected, required him immediately to
proceed to Australia. The disappointment and vexation thus
occasioned to the youthful lovers may be conceived, but there was
no alternative, and the wedding was accordingly postponed to the
following spring, by which time it was hoped that the bridegroom
would have returned. Unfortunately, however, the business which
required Mr. Lewellin's attention at the Antipodes, proved of so
tedious and protracted a nature, that instead of reaching home in
the spring, as he expected, nearly two years elapsed before he could
return to his native country. In the interval poor Miss Holmes, Miss
Roscoe's attached friend, died, as I have narrated in the foregoing
chapter, and her loss was deeply felt by Sophia. During Miss Holmes'
last illness, Miss Roscoe was on a tour in Italy with her father
and mother; and though her friend had been suffering from a severe
cold when she quitted England, Sophia had no idea of the fatal issue
to which this would lead, and frequently anticipated, during her
travels, the pleasure with which, on her return, she would describe
to Louisa the beautiful scenery and objects of interest she had
seen while abroad. As Mr. and Mrs. Roscoe and Sophia travelled much
in Italy, seldom staying long in one place, their correspondence
with their friends in England was very irregularly maintained, and,
consequently, no tidings of Miss Holmes' illness reached them;
and it was not till passing through London, on their return from
the Continent, that they learned, to their grief and dismay, that
Louisa had expired about a fortnight previously. Before proceeding
to Watville, they paid a visit to the Elms, and did their utmost to
console the bereaved family. They were also very urgent in pressing
Emma and Jane to pay them a visit, which the feelings of the
latter would not permit them to do at the time, but they expressed
their readiness to do so as soon as their minds were somewhat more
composed.
[31] Vol. i. p. 544.
Not long after Miss Roscoe's return home, her spirits were most
unexpectedly revived by the arrival of Mr. Lewellin, who having
brought his business to a satisfactory termination, had immediately
thereafter stepped on board ship and reached England, a few days
before the letter which he had sent to announce his return.
The joy of the youthful pair at meeting again, after so long a
separation, is more easily imagined than described. Preparations
were now made for the consummation of their union, at which I was
earnestly invited to be present, but the multiplicity of my pastoral
engagements prevented me from doing so, much to my regret. I,
however, readily promised to pay a visit at Fairmount as soon as the
married couple should have returned from their wedding tour.
At first it had been decided that the young people should settle
in the vicinity of London, and that Mr. Lewellin should continue
his mercantile pursuits as formerly, but this plan was ultimately
abandoned. "I presume," said Mr. Roscoe to Mr. Stevens, when they
met to adjust the final arrangements, "that your nephew will inherit
your property, as my daughter will inherit mine, when it shall
please God to remove us to a better world; and if so, I think they
will possess a fortune quite large enough, without running the
risk of losing any part of it by the speculations of commerce, and
without encumbering themselves with the difficulties and anxieties
necessarily attendant on them."
"This question," replied Mr. Stevens, "has often engrossed my
attention, and I am happy to find that our sentiments on it
coincide."
While Mr. Stevens and Mr. Roscoe were thus debating this grave
subject, and determining what income they would portion off for
the young people, they were disturbed by the sudden entrance of
Mr. Lewellin and the ladies, who were ignorant of the point under
discussion. "You two gentlemen look very grave," said Mrs. Stevens;
"one would almost suppose that you have been discussing some
question in which the destinies of Europe are involved."
"No, Madam," said Mr. Roscoe, "we have not been agitating any such
question, but another, if not of equal importance, yet of equal
interest to you."
"And what may that be, Sir?"
"I see your curiosity is awakened; but cannot you restrain it for a
few hours, till you can coax your husband to gratify it?"
"Why, Sir, a woman very naturally feels anxious to know what, when
known, will deeply interest her; and though you gentlemen sometimes
practise the art of tantalizing, yet you must admit, that we can
easily get at your secrets. When together, you can keep up the game;
but when you separate, you give up the prize. You glory in your
strength, when supported by each other's courage; but alone, you
soon surrender."
"Ah! so it is; we, the lords of the creation, are compelled to pay
tribute."
"Of course, Sir, tribute to whom tribute is due."
"To Cæsar, Madam!"
"And to Cæsar's wife, Sir."
"I see you are restless; and as I have too much compassion to keep
you on the rack, I will announce in due form the question which we
have been agitating. It is this--Shall your nephew and my daughter,
after a certain event takes place, go to reside near London, or
shall they reside near us?"
"A question, I presume, Sir, no less interesting to you than myself."
"Equally so, Madam."
"And how have you decided it, Sir?"
"We have come to no decision; but we should prefer their settling
near us, rather than going so far away."
"I am happy to hear you are of that opinion; it completely coincides
with my own views. I was always averse to George and Sophia being
settled at a distance from us."
The reader will no doubt remember Miss Denham, whose death I
narrated in a previous part of the book.[32] Her mother did not
long survive the melancholy event; and Mr. Denham, being now left
alone, soon sank into a morbid melancholy, which embittered his
last days. He had outlived nearly all the companions of his youth;
followed those to the grave who were to have inherited his property;
and after languishing in a state of mental gloom and depression
for several years, he bowed his head and gave up the ghost. His
property, which consisted principally of land, he ordered to be
sold, and the proceeds to be divided amongst his poor relations,
with the exception of a small estate which he bequeathed to an
intimate friend. Mr. Roscoe became the purchaser of one of his
estates, which was situated in the parish of Broadhurst, not far
from Mr. Ingleby's rectory; and as the gentleman who had rented it
had just resolved on removing to a more distant part of the country,
Mr. Roscoe deemed it a most eligible location for the young people.
It consisted of a good house, very pleasantly situated, with about
eighty acres of arable and pasture land, well wooded and watered.
[32] Vol. i. p. 421.
When it was known that Mr. Roscoe had made this purchase, Farmer
Pickford called on him with the view of obtaining a lease of it for
his son Harry.
"I hear, Sir, as how you have bought one of the farms belonging to
Mr. Denham; and I have made so bold as to call and say, I can get
you a goodish sort of a tenant if you should want one. One that will
do justice to the land, and no mistake."
"And who is it you have been thinking of?"
"My son Harry. He'll make as good a farmer as his father, and that
is saying a good deal; though, perhaps, I shouldn't blow my own
trumpet. I will stand score for the rent, and the proper tillage of
the farm."
"I thank you, Farmer, for your offer; and I should have much
pleasure in accepting your son as a tenant, but I have purchased the
farm with an intention of offering it to Mr. Lewellin, if he should
feel disposed to become a farmer."
"I beg pardon, Sir; I hope no offence. I wouldn't have said a word,
if I had known that. Howsomever, I shall be glad to have him for a
neighbour; and anything I can do to sarve him, I shall have a power
of pleasure in doing."
"Thank you, Farmer. He will need instruction beyond what I can give
him; and I had resolved to call on you for a little advice."
"That, Sir, I will give at any time, with a power of pleasure."
"It is pretty good land, I believe, Farmer?"
"The land, Sir, has a good heart in itself; but it has been
desperately run out. It will take a power of trouble and expense to
bring it into a good working condition, and no mistake. Mr. Denham
was a bad landlord. He never would make no improvements, nor help
his tenant to make any. And I always find a bad landlord makes a bad
tenant."
"I am very glad, Farmer, that you have called, and have referred to
your son Harry; and I will now tell you what has been running in my
mind. I know the farm has been mismanaged, and that it will require,
as you say, much trouble and expense to bring it into a good working
condition; now, could you not spare your son Harry for a year or
two, to act as bailiff to Mr. Lewellin; and thus he will be doing
something for himself, which you know won't prevent him from taking
a farm, when you have an opportunity of doing so?"
"It shall be, Sir, as you say."
"Well, then, you and your son had better call in the course of a few
days, and we will settle the terms of agreement."
"With a power of satisfaction. This will mainly please my mistress,
and Harry too, and no mistake."
Farmer Pickford then took his leave, and Mr. Roscoe proceeded to
Fairmount to acquaint the family with the projects he had in view,
in which they all gladly acquiesced. "Indeed, George," said Mrs.
Stevens, addressing herself to Mr. Lewellin, "I think you will
sustain no loss by exchanging the smoke of London for the salubrious
air of Rockhill, and may part with your prospects of civic honours
without regret, to be enrolled on the list of country gentlemen.
Though you may not at first be so expert in farming as in mercantile
transactions, yet in process of time your rural occupations will be
no less interesting, if not quite so profitable."
"The exchange, Aunt, will be made without regret, especially when
made in accordance with the wishes of my friends."
"We all wish it," said Mrs. Roscoe, who had accompanied her husband
to Fairmount; "and it quite reconciles me to the idea of parting
with my dear Sophia."
In the course of a few months Mr. Lewellin disposed of his business
in London; the house at Rockhill underwent a thorough repair, and
was neatly furnished, Harry Pickford was duly installed into his
office, the farm stocked with the usual variety of live cattle,
and the day for the celebration of the nuptial ceremony fixed. At
length the wedding morning dawned, when the sun shone without a
cloud, a circumstance which Sophia's good old nurse hailed as a
happy omen of her future happiness. Every one was astir at an early
hour. The friends invited to the wedding arrived, and the bride,
with her father and mother and the rest of her party, drove off to
the rectory, where they found Mr. Lewellin and Mr. and Mrs. Stevens
and their friends waiting to receive them. "I am happy," said the
venerable Rector, "that I have lived to see this day; and more happy
that Divine Providence has conferred on me the office of uniting you
in the bands of matrimony."
He then knelt down and prayed with them, and as he prayed warm
tears were shed, but they were not tears of sorrow. Prayer being
ended, they at once proceeded to the church. The good old Rector,
dressed in the habiliments of his office, walked first, followed by
the bride leaning on her father's arm and the rest of the marriage
party. On entering the church they passed direct to the altar, where
the ceremony was performed by Mr. Ingleby with great solemnity, in
presence of a larger concourse of people than had been remembered in
the village on such an occasion for many years. As soon as it was
finished, the married pair proceeded to the vestry to attach their
signatures to the register of their marriage, when Mr. Ingleby thus
addressed them:--"I hope you will enjoy the excursion you are about
to take; that a kind Providence will watch over you, to preserve
you from all evil; and that you will return to us in health and
peace. Accept this small packet as a token of the interest I feel
in your happiness, and possibly you may retain it as a relic of
friendship long after I have left you for a better world." He then
placed it in the hands of Mrs. Lewellin, saying, "You may open and
examine it at your leisure." On re-entering the church, they were
both unexpectedly greeted by the village choir, who sung in sweetest
melody the 128th Psalm, from Sternhold and Hopkin's version--
"Blessed art thou that fearest God,
And walkest in his way;
For of thy labour thou shalt eat,
Happy art thou, I say.
"Like the fruitful vines on thy house side,
So doth thy wife spring out;
Thy children stand like olive plants,
Thy table round about.
"Thus art thou blest that fearest God,
And he shall let thee see
The promised Jerusalem,
And her felicity.
"Thou shalt thy children's children see,
To thy great joy's increase;
And likewise grace on Israel,
Prosperity and peace."
[Illustration: M. S. MORGAN T. BOLTON
THE BRIDAL PARTY WELCOMED BY THE VILLAGERS.
Vol. ii. page 456.]
The bridal party on coming out of the church were received with
acclamations by the assembled rustics, who, all attired in their
holiday clothes, thronged the churchyard, and pressed forward to
wish the new married couple a long and a happy life. Nothing could
more unequivocally testify to the universal popularity with which
Mr. and Mrs. Lewellin were regarded among the villagers. The bells
in the old tower rung forth their merriest peals, while the village
children, with their little baskets, strewed the path with flowers.
On reaching the churchyard gate, the wedding party stepped into the
carriages which were waiting for them, and drove off to Mr. Roscoe's
mansion. There the young couple proceeded to dress for their
journey; and having partaken of some refreshment, left for the usual
tour. The wedding party were entertained at dinner, by Mr. and Mrs.
Roscoe, in celebration of the joyous occasion: while the company was
cheerful and lively, there was no appearance of that levity which
too often attends the celebration of the nuptial vow, even amongst
the decidedly pious. "There are some of the customs of the world,"
said the venerable Rector, "which a Christian may follow without in
the least compromising his character; I shall therefore offer no
apology for giving the following toast--'MR. AND MRS. LEWELLIN, AND
MAY THEY LIVE LONG ON EARTH, AND FINISH THEIR COURSE WITH JOY.'"
This toast was duly honoured by the whole party, who soon afterwards
retired to the drawing-room, where the remainder of the day was
spent in innocent festivity and social intercourse. A sumptuous
rustic feast was likewise spread on the lawn for the villagers,
who were thus furnished with the means of participating with their
superiors in the general rejoicings of the day.
We now return to the wedded couple. "I wonder," said Mrs. Lewellin,
as they rode along in the post-chaise, "what this packet contains:
I must open it, and have my curiosity gratified. Ah!" said she, on
discovering its contents, "it is just like Mr. Ingleby, he is always
so kind and considerate. Here is his pastoral advice to us, who have
just returned from the altar." She then proceeded to read to her
husband as follows:--
"I am happy, my dear young friends, that, in the union which has
taken place this day, there has been no sacrifice of Christian
principle--no violation of filial duty, and that it has been
consummated under the most auspicious circumstances. You are both,
my young friends, fellow-heirs of the grace of life; so that you
have each obeyed the Divine injunction by marrying in the Lord.
Here are your parents and your guardians offering you their
congratulations, while Providence is opening before you a scene of
prosperity, which, I trust, you will ever continue to enjoy. But
you will not find this world a paradise; nor will you be allowed
to pass through it without meeting with trials. It is not my wish,
certainly, on this joyful occasion, to darken your prospects with
the shades of threatening evil, but permit me, an old man on the
brink of the grave, to address a few words to you, which may be of
service after I have gone to rest with my fathers.