secrecy in the matter; for while Amos is not one to sound a trumpet
before him to proclaim his good deeds, he has no wish to hide them, as
though he were half-ashamed of them--the fact is that Amos wishes to
save every penny just now, in order to be perfectly free to carry out
anything he may see it right to undertake in this scheme of his for
bringing back your dear mother once more amongst us. Every farthing
spent on himself he grudges, and he would not for the world draw on your
father; so he has not only sold his pony, but has also given up taking
butter at meals, having made me promise, as I am housekeeper and hold
the purse, to give him in money the worth of the butter he would eat,
that he may put it to this special fund for his cherished scheme. And I
have gladly consented to his wish. It is but a small matter, and he
knows it, but it is through small things that great good is brought
about. As Martin Tupper says, `Trifles light as air are levers in the
building up of character.' This self-denial on the part of dear Amos
brings out and heightens the nobility of his character; and when the
occasion for such self-denial shall have passed away, it will leave him
far advanced on the upward and heavenward road."
"He's a brick, every inch of him," said Walter, in a voice half-choked
with tears; "and much more than a brick too--he's a great square block
of marble, or Scotch granite, as fine a one as ever Freemason tapped
with a trowel--there. And now, auntie, for the historical examples."
"My first," said Miss Huntingdon, "is that of a very remarkable man--
John Wesley, the father of the Methodists. An order having been made by
the House of Lords in his day for the commissioners of excise to write
to all persons whom they might have reason to suspect of having plate
without having paid the duty on it, the accountant-general for household
plate sent to Mr Wesley a copy of the order, with a letter stating that
hitherto he had neglected to make entry of his plate, and demanding that
he should do it immediately. Mr Wesley replied:--`Sir, I have two
silver tea-spoons at London, and two at Bristol. This is all the plate
I have at present; and I shall not buy any more while so many around me
want bread.--Your obedient servant, John Wesley.'
"My next example is that of an equally remarkable man, Oberlin, the
French pastor of Ban-de-la-Roche, a wild mountainous district between
Alsace and Lorraine, where, single-handed, and in the midst of
extraordinary difficulties and privations, he was privileged to work
wonders amongst a most ignorant and poverty-stricken people. The
knowledge of several pious and excellent institutions had reached the
secluded valley where Oberlin was stationed before it was received by
the rest of France. No sooner had he learned that there were Christians
who left their homes to convey to the benighted heathen the promises of
the gospel, than he parted with all his plate, with the exception of one
silver spoon, and contributed the proceeds of the sale to mission work,
expressing at the same time his regret that he was unable to send more.
That one silver spoon he afterwards bequeathed as a legacy to the Church
Missionary Society.
"I have yet another example of the same kind to bring forward. It is
that of a most earnest and devoted American missionary, Reverend George
Bowen of Bombay. This good man was once an infidel. His father was a
rich man; but when he himself was converted, he gave up friends,
country, and fortune, and consecrated himself and his whole life to the
service of Christ among the heathen. For many years he lived in a
miserable hut in the native bazaar, among its sadly degraded population.
Yet he was a man of deep learning and refined manners, who had
travelled much, and knew some dozen languages. After spending about a
year in India, he was led to believe that his influence would be greater
if he were not in the receipt of a salary from a missionary society; so
for thirty years past he has received none. For some years he earned
his livelihood by giving an hour daily to private tuition; for a still
longer time he has trusted to the Lord to supply his need without such
occupation, and has always had enough and to spare.
"Now I have not mentioned these cases because I think we are all bound
to do as these good men have done. When God calls to such special
sacrifice, he gives special faith and grace for it; but he does not call
all Christians to the same. My reason for selecting these instances has
been that I might put them before you as beautiful examples of that kind
of moral courage which is exhibited in acts of exalted self-denial. And
surely we may learn from them this lesson, to be more willing than most
professing Christians are to deny self, that we may do good to others,
or carry out some great and self-sacrificing purpose. And another thing
is to be noticed in such examples as these, that it requires more moral
courage to go counter to our own tastes, likings, and habits in
comparative trifles, and to persevere in this course, than to make some
great sacrifice on the impulse of the moment."
"Thank you, dear auntie," said Walter. "Yes, you have hit the right
nail on the head; for our dear hero Amos has been showing just such
steady, persevering moral courage. I see it all. Well, I hope I shall
be the better for what you have told us."
At dinner-time Walter was nowhere to be found; all that was known was
that he had gone off on his pony, and had left a message behind him that
he had a little bit of business in hand, and that they must not wait
dinner for him if he should happen to be late. The other members of the
family were not particularly surprised at his absence, knowing that he
would be leaving home for the sea-side next day, and that he might have
some little matter to settle with some friend in the neighbourhood. But
they became a little anxious when old Harry remarked, in reply to a
question from his master, that he had seen Master Walter ride off two
hours ago with his rifle and fishing-rod in front of him, and that it
seemed to him a little late for catching a big fish and then blazing
away at him. By nine o'clock, however, Walter had returned, his pony
evidently having had a sharp gallop home.
"Much sport, Master Walter?" asked the butler, who was standing in the
stable-yard when he rode up.
"Oh, pretty good," was the reply; "just a whale or two, and some half-
dozen sharks."
"They must have been tremendous big 'uns, I should say," remarked the
old man, "for they seem to have swallowed your rifle and your rod."
"Ah, they just were," replied Walter; and then he made his way rapidly
into the house.
That same night, as Amos was preparing for bed, Walter looked in, and
walking up to his brother, said, "Here, Amos, take this; it's my little
contribution towards the general expenses,"--saying which, he put ten
sovereigns into his brother's hand.
"Walter, Walter! what does this mean?" cried Amos, touched and greatly
agitated.
"It's all straightforward and above board," replied the other; "it means
simply that I've been and sold my favourite rifle and fishing-rod, and
one or two other trifles, and that's the money I got for them. Nay,
don't look so astonished. What! you didn't think to have a monopoly of
the self-denial, did you? You see I don't quite mean to let you."
Amos Huntingdon--by Reverend T.P. Wilson
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.
"BY THE SAD SEA-WAVES."
Next morning the brothers and their sister set off in high spirits for
their temporary home at the sea-side. As Mr Huntingdon parted with
Julia his voice trembled and his eyes swam with tears. She had got such
a strong hold on his heart now that he felt it hard to part with her,
even for a time. "She is so like what her mother was at her age," he
said mournfully to his sister, as they turned back into the house, when
the carriage had fairly carried the young people away. Old Harry was
quite as much affected as his master, though he showed it in a different
way. The sight of "Miss Julia as was" getting into the carriage to go
off again was almost more than he could bear. She saw it, and kissed
her hand to him. At this he gave a sort of jump, and then jerked his
elbow against his side with all his might, a proceeding intended to
suppress the outward exhibition of his emotion. Then, when his master
and Miss Huntingdon had returned to the breakfast-room, he stood gazing
at a full-length portrait of Mrs Huntingdon, taken in her younger days,
which hung in the hall, and bore a very striking resemblance to Julia
Vivian as she now looked. Having feasted his eyes with the portrait for
a minute or so, Harry uttered out loud one prolonged "Well;" and them
betaking himself to his pantry, sat down after he had slammed to the
door, and put his elbows on his knees and his face between his hands.
And there he sat, his breast heaving, and his throat gurgling, till at
last the simmering of his feelings fairly boiled over in a hearty flood
of tears. "What an old fool I am!" he exclaimed at last. "It's all the
better for her; and why, then, should I take on in this way? But, eh!
she getting so like an angel--not as I ever seed one, only in a picture-
book, and that had got wings, and she ain't got none. But she's getting
the right look now; she's got into the narrow way, and so has Master
Walter too, only there's a bit of a swagger at present about his
pilgrimage, but it'll all get right. They've got Master Amos with 'em,
bless his heart, and it ain't much of the devil's head or tail as'll
show itself so long as he's got the management of things. And they'll
all be back again by-and-by, and the dear old missus too, I'm sure of
it; so it'll all be well." Comforting himself with this thought, the
old man wiped his eyes with his ample spotted pocket-handkerchief, and
proceeded with his work, which he enlivened with a half--out--loud
accompaniment of texts, scraps of hymns, and fragments of wise and
proverbial sayings.
In the meantime the carriage was conveying the happy trio of travellers
to the station, which being safely reached, they took train, and in the
afternoon arrived at their destination. Amos had secured a nice little
roomy cottage close to the seashore, which was in the hands of a middle-
aged motherly woman, who, with her only daughter, a girl some fifteen
years of age, waited on her guests. Having deposited their luggage, and
ordered a substantial tea, the little party strolled down on to the
sands.
It was a lovely summer day, and the sun was now hastening to the west.
The tide was still running down, though it had come nearly to the turn,
and its gentle rush, as it broke into a thousand sparkles of foam at
each returning wave, made music in their ears. Far away to the left
tall cliffs rose up, their majestic fronts scarred with the batterings
of unnumbered storms. On either hand the shore swept round, completing
the arc of one wide-extended bay, cleft in many places by paths which
led up, now through lanes overhung by rocks of various coloured sand,
and now along downs of softest turf, to the little town, or, further
off, to solitary dwellings or clustering hamlets. Pebbles of dazzling
whiteness lined the upper part of the slope down to the beach; and these
were succeeded by a broad and even flooring of tough sand, along which
visitors, old and young, found safe and ample space for exercise. There
was no grand esplanade or terrace with its throng of health and
pleasure-seekers. It was emphatically a quiet place, with its few neat
lodging-houses and humble shops, one solitary bathing-machine, and a
couple of pleasure boats now hauled up high and dry. To those who might
seek excitement at the sea, this little retreat would have proved
insufferably dull; but to those who brought their resources with them in
heart, mind, and purpose, there was all that could be needed to cheer,
elevate, and delight,--the grand old ocean, outspread in its vast
dignity of space; the invigorating breezes; the passing ships; the
glories of the most magnificent of nature's painters, even the sun
himself, who spread his tints of gold, crimson, and purple in broad,
dazzling bands from the extreme verge where sea and sky met up to the
centre of the blue vault overhead, though here in hues paler, yet as
intensely beautiful. And all around now breathed peace. No storm was
now ploughing up the water into mountains of angry foam; but a quiet
ripple and a gentle splash at regular intervals soothed the spirit by
the harmony of their ceaseless fall.
The three travellers felt the tranquillising influence of the scene. To
Amos it was one of unmitigated pleasure. The others, no doubt, would
naturally have preferred a livelier spot, but now the consciousness that
they were there to aid in bringing about a great and noble object made
them content and happy for the time. So, after a long stroll on the
beach, they returned, when the great glowing ball of the sun had
withdrawn the extreme edge of his fiery rim below the horizon, to their
cottage.
Having finished their evening meal, a consultation was held as to the
best way of carrying out the purpose which had brought them from home.
The obvious thing seemed to be that Amos should go over alone to the
house where his mother now lived, which was distant some eight or nine
miles from their lodgings, and see what the physician in whose keeping
she was might advise or suggest. So, early the next morning, he rode
forth with a beating heart, and at the same time a happy trust, on his
errand of love, his brother and sister having arranged to pay a visit
for the day to a fashionable watering-place about five miles distant
along the coast.
When Amos Huntingdon had reached his mother's retreat and told his
errand, he confided to the good physician under whose charge Mrs
Huntingdon was placed his great purpose, and the hope that it might now
be accomplished, since his sister had returned to her home. The kind-
hearted friend at once entered into his plans, and gave him every
encouragement to hope that he would meet with good success. But care
and judgment and tact must be used, lest, in endeavouring to bring back
the mind to its old balance, anything should be done which might rather
throw it further out. Nothing sudden or exciting must be attempted; for
the delicate structure, which care and sorrow had disarranged, must be
brought into a right adjustment by gentle and cautious treatment. The
jarring chords could not be made to vibrate in tune by sweeping them
with a rough and unsympathising stroke; all could be reduced to harmony
only by some loving and judicious action which would draw up or slacken
the discordant strings with a force which would be felt only in its
results. It was therefore arranged that on the morrow the physician
should bring his patient to the sea-side at noon, and that, while he and
she were seated in view of the waves, and were listening to their
soothing plashing, Amos and his brother and sister should pass near, and
be guided in what they should do as circumstances might suggest. "Your
mother," said the physician, "simply wants her mind clearing; all is
more or less confused at present. She grasps nothing distinctly; and
yet she is often very near a clear perception. But it is with her mind
as with a telescope: it is near the right focus for seeing things
clearly, but simply it wants the adjustment which would bring it to the
point of unclouded vision, and then, when that adjustment has been
reached, it wants to be kept fixed at the right focus. I cannot but
hope that we may be able to come near to that adjustment to-morrow."
Amos returned to his cottage much comforted. His brother and sister had
not yet come back from their visit to the neighbouring watering-place;
but at last they appeared, but not in the best of spirits. Something
had gone wrong with them, but Amos was too anxious to talk over the
morrow's effort to ask them many questions about their excursion.
And now the critical day arrived. The sun rose gloriously, lighting up
the heavens as he emerged from his eastern bed with a fan-shaped
outpouring of his rays which streamed up over one hemisphere of the
heavens, painting the edges of myriads of small fleecy clouds with a
transient crimson splendour. The sea was almost glass-like in its
calmness, only heaving up and down sluggishly, as though reluctant to be
moved in its mighty depths. But, further out, a gentle breeze was
filling the snowy sail of some graceful cutter as it stole across the
bay, or steadily swelled out the canvas of some stately ship as she sped
on with all sail crowded on her towards the desired harbour.
Just a few minutes before noon, Amos, with beating heart, saw his friend
the physician conducting two ladies to a sunny bench on the edge of the
shingles, facing the open sea. "Let us go," he said to his brother and
sister, "and walk near them, but take no notice at first." So they all
repaired to the beach, and with deeply anxious hearts drew near the
little group. Which of the two ladies was their mother? One of them
would probably be the physician's wife. They neared the sitters, and
passed on in front of them slowly, arm in arm. Who would have thought
that mother and children, who had not met for years, were now so close
to one another, and yet must for a while remain severed still? As the
three on foot were passing the bench, Amos just bowed his head to the
physician, and then looked at his two lady companions; and so did his
brother and sister. There could not be a moment's doubt--the children
knew their mother at once. The dear familiar face was there, and not
materially changed. And did the mother know her children? Something
told her that they were beings in whom she had an interest; she saw in
them something familiar. Yet she had not at all as yet grasped their
relation to her with a realising consciousness.
"Pass on," said the physician softly; and they passed on. A look of
bewilderment and pain came over the face of the afflicted lady as the
three walked forward. She followed them eagerly with her eyes. They
turned towards her again, walking slowly back, and her face at once
lighted up with a smile. "Sit down near us," whispered the physician to
Amos, as he came up close to him, and all three sat on the sloping bank
not many feet away from the bench. Oh, how the heart of Amos ached with
yearning to throw his arms round his mother's neck; but he knew that it
must not be yet. Julia and Walter also found it hard to restrain their
impetuosity.
"Who are they?" at last said Mrs Huntingdon to the doctor. These were
the first words that for seven years had fallen from that mother's lips
on the ears of her children. How full of music were they to those who
had so long mourned her loss!
"They are visitors come here for change of air and to enjoy the sea,"
was the reply.
She looked puzzled. "I think I have seen them before," she said, and
put her hand to her forehead.
"Shall they sing something?" asked the physician.
"Oh yes! it will be so sweet; it will remind me of old times," she said.
Then Walter and his sister, at a nod from the doctor, began the touching
duet, "What are the wild waves saying?"
Their mother listened with delight. Then she said, "That used to be one
of my songs; I used to sing it with--with--ah, yes, with my husband
Walter. Pray sing something else."
Then the three united in singing "How sweet the name of Jesus sounds."
As verse after verse was given by the three voices melodiously blending,
a new light seemed to dawn into the lady's eyes. "Ah!" she cried, "I
used to sing that hymn with my dear children. Let me see. Yes, with
Julia, and Walter, and Amos.--These are my dear children, are they not?"
"Yes, yes, dear mother," cried Julia, unable to control herself.
"Who called me mother?" cried Mrs Huntingdon excitedly, and was about
to rise, but the physician gently held her back, and motioned to her
children to restrain themselves.
All was silent for a while, and then the medical man began to talk in an
ordinary way with the young people on indifferent subjects, but all the
while marking the effect of their voices on their mother. She was
manifestly coming to feel that those voices were very familiar to her,
and to have her heart and thoughts drawn out towards the speakers. "We
will move on now," said the physician after a few minutes had been spent
in general conversation. Then, giving his arm to his patient, he turned
to her children and said, "Shall we meet here again the day after to-
morrow at the same hour?" Amos bowed his assent, and, without any
special word of farewell, they parted.
On the appointed morning the same party met on the beach. The good
doctor at once began, "I have brought your mother to see you to-day, my
young friends. She was a little confused when you last met, not having
been quite well; but I believe you will find her comfortable now."
"Yes," said Mrs Huntingdon, "it is all right now. Yes, I see you are
my dear children, Julia, and Amos, and Walter; but what a long time it
seems since I last saw you! Come to me, my children."
They gathered round her, eager to show their love, and yet fearing to be
too demonstrative.
"Ah, well," she continued, "Dr Atkin has told me all about it. He says
that I have not been well--that my mind has been confused, but is
getting better now. Yes, you are my Julia, and you are my Walter and
Amos. How kind of you to come and see me. And--and--your father, my
husband, how is he? How it all crowds back upon me!"
"You must not excite yourself, dear mother," said Amos.
"No, dear boy, that's true," she replied; "but all will be well, no
doubt. Will you sing me a hymn?" So they all drew close to her, Julia
laying her head in her lap, and there feeling a mother's tears dropping
fast upon her forehead, while Amos and Walter each held a hand. Then
all joined in a hymn, Mrs Huntingdon taking her part.
As the party were breaking up, Dr Atkin took Amos aside and told him
that the lost balance was now nearly recovered, that his mother had
become able to think connectedly, and that the tangle in her mind had,
through the judicious intercourse with her children, and the
associations that intercourse had called forth, been unravelled and
smoothed out. She might now form one of their party at the cottage, and
by a careful avoidance on their part of all undue excitement, and the
engaging her in cheerful and well-chosen subjects of conversation, the
restored reason would become settled and strengthened, and she might
return in a few weeks to her old home, and be able to bear by degrees
the recurrence of old memories which old familiar scenes would call up,
and the resuming of those duties and responsibilities from which her
infirmities had so long shut her out.
Oh, with what thankfulness did Amos hear the physician's conclusion; and
how warm and loving was the welcome which greeted the poor restored one
as she entered, a few days later, the sea-side cottage, and took her
place in the comfortable armchair arranged for her in a snug corner,
where she could look out upon the sea, and at the same time be close to
all those dear ones who were now once more truly her own. And day by
day, as the mind of that beloved mother became clearer and stronger,
they were able with prudent gentleness to make her understand the state
of things at home and the sad history of her unhappy son-in-law; while
at the same time Amos never lost an opportunity of directing his dear
mother to that Word of consolation, which he knew would be to her, as it
had been to himself, the only true and satisfying fountain of abiding
peace. And thus it was that she now learned to love that Bible which,
in former days, had never been really her stay, for she had not then
given her heart to Him who is the author, the centre, and the giver of
all truth, peace, and consolation.
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.
A SLIP ON THE ROAD.
It will be remembered that Julia and Walter had an excursion to a
neighbouring fashionable watering-place about five miles distant, and
spent the day there while Amos was making his first call at his mother's
retreat, and that they returned in the evening out of spirits, something
evidently having gone amiss with them. The incidents of that excursion
will sufficiently explain the cause of their depression.