There is something in the season of Spring which peculiarly excites the
feelings of devotion. The dreariness of winter has passed, and with it,
the deadened affections of our nature. New life, new vigor, arises
within us, as we walk abroad and feel the genial gales of April breathe
upon us; and our hopes, our wishes, awaken with the revival of the
vegetable world. It is then that the heart, which has been impressed
with the goodness of the Creator, feels that goodness brought, as it
were, into very contact with the senses. The eye loves to wander over
the bountiful provisions nature is throwing forth in every direction for
our comfort, and fixes its gaze on the clouds, which, having lost the
chilling thinness of winter, roll in rich volumes, amidst the clear and
softened fields of azure so peculiar to the season, leading the mind
insensibly, to dwell on the things of another and a better world. It was
on such a day, that the inhabitants of B---- thronged toward the village
church, for the double purpose of pouring out their thanksgivings, and
of hearing the first efforts of their rector's son in the duties of his
sacred calling.
Amongst the crowd whom curiosity or a better feeling had drawn forth,
were to be seen the flaring equipage of the Jarvises, and the handsome
carriages of Sir Edward Moseley and his sister. All the members of the
latter family felt a lively anxiety for the success of the young divine.
But knowing, as they well did, the strength of his native talents, the
excellence of his education, and the fervor of his piety, it was an
anxiety that partook more of hope than of fear. There was one heart,
however, amongst them, that palpitated with an emotion that hardly
admitted of control, as they approached the sacred edifice, for it had
identified itself completely with the welfare of the rector's son. There
never was a softer, truer heart, than that which now almost audibly beat
within the bosom of Clara Moseley; and she had given it to the young
divine with all its purity and truth.
The entrance of a congregation into the sanctuary will at all times
furnish, to an attentive observer, food for much useful speculation, if
it be chastened with a proper charity for the weaknesses of others; and
most people are ignorant of the insight they are giving into their
characters and dispositions, by such an apparently trivial circumstance
as their weekly approach to the tabernacles of the Lord. Christianity,
while it chastens and amends the heart, leaves the natural powers
unaltered; and it cannot be doubted that its operation is, or ought to
be, proportionate to the abilities and opportunities of the subject of
its holy impression--"Unto whomsoever much is given, much will be
required." While we acknowledge, that the thoughts might be better
employed in preparing for those humiliations of the spirit and
thanksgiving of the heart which are required of all, and are so
necessary to all, we must be indulged in a hasty view of some of the
personages of our history, as they entered the church of B----.
On the countenance of the baronet, was the dignity and composure of a
mind at peace with itself and mankind. His step was rather more
deliberate than common; his eye rested on the pavement, and on turning
into his pew, as he prepared to kneel, in the first humble petition of
our beautiful service, he raised it towards the altar with an expression
of benevolence and reverence, that spoke contentment, not unmixed with
faith.
In the demeanor of Lady Moseley, all was graceful and decent, while
nothing could be properly said to be studied. She followed her husband
with a step of equal deliberation, though it was slightly varied by a
manner which, while it appeared natural to herself, might have been
artificial in another: a cambric handkerchief concealed her face as she
sank composedly by the side of Sir Edward, in a style which showed, that
while she remembered her Maker, she had not entirely forgotten herself.
The walk of Mrs. Wilson was quicker than that of her sister. Her eye,
directed before her, was fixed, as if in settled gaze, on that eternity
which she was approaching. The lines of her contemplative face were
unaltered, unless there might be traced a deeper shade of humility than
was ordinarily seen on her pale, but expressive countenance: her
petition was long; and on rising from her humble posture, the person was
indeed to be seen, but the soul appeared absorbed in contemplations
beyond the limits of this sphere.
There was a restlessness and varying of color, in the ordinarily placid
Clara, which prevented a display of her usual manner; while Jane walked
gracefully, and with a tincture of her mother's manner, by her side. She
stole one hastily withdrawn glance to the deanery pew ere she kneeled,
and then, on rising, handed her smelling-bottle affectionately to her
elder sister.
Emily glided behind her companions with a face beaming with a look of
innocence and love. As she sank in the act of supplication, the rich
glow of her healthful cheek lost some of its brilliancy; but, on rising,
it beamed with a renewed lustre, that plainly indicated a heart touched
with the sanctity of its situation.
In the composed and sedate manner of Mr. Jarvis, as he steadily pursued
his way to the pew of Sir William Harris, you might have been justified
in expecting the entrance of another Sir Edward Moseley in substance, if
not in externals. But the deliberate separation of the flaps of his
coat, as he comfortably seated himself, when you thought him about to
kneel, followed by a pinch of snuff as he threw his eye around the
building, led you at once to conjecture, that what at first had been
mistaken for reverence, was the abstraction of some earthly calculation;
and that his attendance was in compliance with custom, and not a little
depended upon the thickness of his cushions, and the room he found for
the disposition of two rather unwieldy legs.
The ladies of the family followed, in garments carefully selected for
the advantageous display of their persons. As they sailed into their
seats, where it would seem the improvidence of Sir William's steward had
neglected some important accommodation (some time being spent in
preparation to be seated), the old lady, whose size and flesh really put
kneeling out of the question, bent forward for a moment at an angle of
eighty with the horizon, while her daughters prettily bowed their heads,
with all proper precaution for the safety of their superb millinery.
At length the rector, accompanied by his son, appeared from the vestry.
There was a dignity and solemnity in the manner in which this pious
divine entered on the duties of his profession, which disposed the heart
to listen with reverence and humility to precepts that were accompanied
with so impressive an exterior. The stillness of expectation pervaded
the church, when the pew opener led the way to the same interesting
father and son whose entrance had interrupted the guests the preceding
day, at the rectory. Every eye was turned on the emaciated parent,
bending into the grave, and, as it were, kept from it by the supporting
tenderness of his child. Hastily throwing open the door of her own pew,
Mrs. Ives buried her face in her handkerchief; and her husband had
proceeded far in the morning service before she raised it again to the
view of the congregation. In the voice of the rector, there was an
unusual softness and tremor that his people attributed to the feelings
of a father about to witness the first efforts of an only child, but
which in reality were owing to another and a deeper cause.
Prayers were ended, and the younger Ives ascended the pulpit. For a
moment he paused; when, casting an anxious glance to the pew of the
baronet, he commenced his sermon. He had chosen for his discourse the
necessity of placing our dependence on divine grace. After having
learnedly, but in the most unaffected manner, displayed the necessity of
this dependence, as derived from revelation, he proceeded to paint the
hope, the resignation, the felicity of a Christian's death-bed. Warmed
by the subject, his animation soon lent a heightened interest to his
language; and at a moment when all around him were entranced by the
eloquence of the youthful divine, a sudden and deep-drawn sigh drew
every eye to the rector's pew. The younger stranger sat motionless as a
statue, holding in his arms the lifeless body of his parent, who had
fallen that moment a corpse by his side. All was now confusion: the
almost insensible young man was relieved from his burden; and, led by
the rector, they left the church. The congregation dispersed in silence,
or assembled in little groups, to converse on the awful event they had
witnessed. None knew the deceased; he was the rector's friend, and to
his residence the body was removed. The young man was evidently his
child; but here all information ended. They had arrived in a private
chaise, but with post horses, and without attendants. Their arrival at
the parsonage was detailed by the Jarvis ladies with a few exaggerations
that gave additional interest to the whole event, and which, by creating
an impression with some whom gentler feelings would not have restrained,
that there was something of mystery about them, prevented many
distressing questions to the Ives's, that the baronet's family forbore
putting, on the score of delicacy. The body left B---- at the close of
the week, accompanied by Francis Ives and the unweariedly attentive and
interesting son. The doctor and his wife went into deep mourning, and
Clara received a short note from her lover, on the morning of their
departure, acquainting her with his intended absence for a month, but
throwing no light upon the affair. The London papers, however, contained
the following obituary notice, and which, as it could refer to no other
person, as a matter of course, was supposed to allude to the rector's
friend.
"Died, suddenly, at B----, on the 20th instant, George Denbigh, Esq.,
aged 63."