TOILS AND TRIALS.
When William arose the next morning, he met his parents with as
smiling a face as if his father had presented him with a case of
pencils, instead of discouraging his attempts at drawing. Nothing was
said on the subject, and the weeks rolled on quietly and peacefully as
before, until William passed his ninth birthday, and the
Christmas-time drew near. This is a festive time with most; and it
seems right that it should be so, for can man ever be sufficiently
thankful for the great gift of a Saviour, whose birth was heralded by
the songs of angels on that day? All nations observe their peculiar
ceremonies, but perhaps none are more faithfully observant of them
than the Germans in the little community of M----, most of whose
inhabitants at the time of which we write were descendants of the
original Dutch settlers. Many ceremonies and customs, relics of a
ruder age, and now nearly forgotten, were still practised. The
Raymonds, although pious, and more intelligent than most of their
neighbours, kept up many of the usages of Fatherland on the Christmas
occasion, perhaps more as wafting them back in remembrance of early
enjoyment in the home circle, than from any present love of the
festivity common at this period.
The joyful season drew nigh merrily, and in the watchmaker's family,
as in all others--for the very poorest look forward hopingly to
it--there was nothing but bright anticipations, which were for the
present realized. The Christmas cake was prepared in the most approved
old fashion; the dark-hued pine was duly ornamented, and occupied a
conspicuous place in the family room, and little William was made most
happy in the receipt of many gifts, although toy paints and pencils
were not among the number.
But what says the Scripture? "Boast not thyself of to-morrow, for thou
knowest not what a day may bring forth;" and the holy man who
admonishes to "rejoice with trembling," well knew the slender
foundation on which all earthly bliss is based.
The day broke bright and cheerful; the morning prayers, never
forgotten in this truly Christian household, were over, and the gifts
and greetings exchanged; the village bell rang out clear on the frosty
air, and sounded rejoicingly as it called the humble community to give
thanks in the little old-fashioned church, as the custom was on
Christmas-day. In the Raymond cottage the good dinner was eaten, and
when the sun had gone down behind the mountains, the Christmas-tree
was once more lighted up; and although not quite as well laden or as
brilliant as on the evening before, it nevertheless illumined the
cottage, and continued very attractive. It had been a happy day, and
as they sat beside their evening fire, thinking over the many
enjoyments and blessings that had marked its course, New Year's-day
was the next point of expectation, and many were the pleasures to be
enjoyed on that day, as well as many new prospects planned to be
executed within the year. Ah! they saw not how the dark wing of the
angel of Death was sweeping over them, nor could they forebode that
from this night their path was to be a stern and rugged one.
In the evening of the day after Christmas, when Raymond returned from
his work, he complained of feeling unwell, and his sickness increasing
hourly, his earthly course was terminated in a few days; and instead
of the promised pleasure on New Year's-day, his corpse occupied the
lowly room. It was a mournful New Year's-day in the home of the widow
and the fatherless. Margaret, passive in her affliction, for she was
stunned by its suddenness, sat gazing with tearless eyes upon the
corner where the dim outline of a human form was seen under its white
covering; and little William, turning his eyes alternately from his
pale mother to the corpse of his father, was too much awe-stricken by
the presence of the dread destroyer to utter a word.
It was not until after the remains of poor Raymond had been laid in
the grave, and the widow had returned to her desolate cottage, that
she experienced the full weight of her heavy burden. Even when death
comes slowly, when sickness, pain, and long suspense have made the
issue certain, it is hard for the bereaved to realize the dread event;
but when the scythe of the destroyer has passed so quickly over, when
the home is made so speedily desolate, and the place vacant, is it
wonderful that to the stricken mourner all seems dark, discerning no
light behind the overshadowing cloud? But none, dear reader, are
afflicted more than they can bear; the words of worldly wisdom would
fall upon the ear unheard, but the sacred balm poured out upon the
bruised heart by the sanctifying influence of the Holy Spirit, the
Comforter promised by our Saviour, soothes the soul into submission,
and whispers, "Be still, and know that I am God; I will not forsake
the widow, nor shall the orphan be forgotten."
It was not long until the pious Margaret recognised the hand by which
she had been smitten; and the first stunning effect of her grief being
past, with the same patient, humble, and calm spirit that had always
characterized her in her prosperous days, she prepared to make
arrangements for a more frugal course of life than that they had
hitherto maintained, although the housekeeping had always been of the
most simple order. She could not afford to keep the cottage in which
they had lived so happily; the vines her husband's hand had trained,
the flowers she had planted, the little garden which they both had
delighted to keep in order, must pass into the hands of strangers; and
the thought of leaving a place so dear by association gave an
additional pang to the grief already so great. She looked upon her
child, her last, her only treasure, and blessing God that this comfort
was still spared, she resolved to exert every energy in the endeavour
to bring him up in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. Great was
her adversity, but He who watches over the sparrow and feeds the raven
had raised up friends for her time of need.
The cottage in the suburbs was speedily let to another tenant; but
their landlord, Nicholas Herman, the baker, found a room, an attic
indeed, but comfortable, in a house adjoining his own; and from the
time in which she took possession both himself and his good wife
showed her every kindness within their power. But still she found
herself very poor; for after her husband's affairs were settled, and
the rent and funeral expenses paid, there was nothing left, and she
had to use such industry as she was able to pursue to maintain her
little household. Very simple indeed was their manner of living now;
but she knew no want, for having gained the respect and confidence of
the community in her prosperous days, she was supplied with work
almost constantly.
The winter was long and severe, and dark and dreary were many of its
hours to the widow. As the season advanced toward the spring, her
heart was illuminated by occasional gleams of light sent forth, not
only by hope's smiling in the distance, but from the sustaining
influence lent her by the hopeful spirit, ready obedience, and
untiring industry of her boy.
It is astonishing what a sudden change such a blow of misfortune often
produces in a child. We know not the mysterious workings of a child's
mind, or by what process such a rapid change is accomplished; but we
know from experience that the journey of a very few years in the path
of life can make even the very young sensible that this world is not
one of unmixed happiness, and that there is often but a step from
careless childhood to a painful maturity,--painful because unnatural.
Such was the case with poor Will Raymond; and new comfort dawned on
the widow's heart as she remarked his untiring efforts, not only to
cheer her, but to aid, by such labour as he was able to perform, in
their mutual maintenance. With a maturity of judgment hardly to be
expected in one of his age, he entered not only into all her plans,
but, during the spring and summer succeeding his father's death, went
regularly to some kind of work, by which he gained wages, small
indeed, but which, added to the general stock, would help to provide
against the severities of the coming winter. There are always some
kind hearts to be found in every community, who are willing to comfort
the feeble-minded, support the weak, and encourage all virtuous
effort, although the service rendered be but trifling. A kind-hearted
farmer, hearing of the little boy's exertions to aid his mother,
employed him to wait on his reapers during harvest; and as the time of
fruit-gathering and hop-picking in the autumn furnished plenty of such
work as he was able to do, all his time was, as one might say, filled
up. And when he brought home the hard-earned money, the fruit of his
toils, and marked the lighting of his mother's eye as he poured his
little treasures into her lap, child as he was, he felt there was a
sweetness in the gains of labour which no gifts can bestow; and
William and his mother were not the only ones to remark that bread
earned by honest toil is sweeter than any other.
There was another, besides the farmer, whose heart turned warmly
toward the fatherless boy. Old Nicholas Herman, the baker, was too
truly benevolent to forget his late tenant, and although not a rich
man, he had often something to send to the widow. He had learned the
beautiful precept: "Give bread to the hungry, and from the needy turn
not away;" and was a true believer in Him who said, "Inasmuch as ye do
it unto the least of these, ye do it unto me."
Kept busy and from home throughout the day, the mother waited
anxiously for the twilight hour, for then William would return, and
great was the joy of her heart when, with bounding step and cheerful
face, he entered the house. The night might be dark and stormy, but
his presence always made her sun-light; and the tempest might beat
upon her lowly dwelling, threatening its destruction, yet she heeded
it not, for her earthly treasure was beside her. Although much
enfeebled by grief, she spent no idle moments, but sewed, knit, or
spun. William, child as he was, did not fail to note the faded look,
and exerted himself not only to assist her in her household duties,
but learned to knit; for he thought no occupation, however feminine,
disparaging to his boyhood, if by it he could only lessen her labours.
These hours were spent with double profit, for she taught him while
she worked, and light from her window was seen to glimmer long after
most of the dwellers in her neighbourhood had gone to rest. She taught
him the ordinary branches of school learning, which she well
understood; but she was much more careful to impress upon his mind the
more important precepts of the gospel, that only true chart by which,
man can steer through life safely, and which wisdom, she told him, was
of more value than gold. She grieved not that his face was imbrowned,
or his hands hardened by labour: toil is man's natural inheritance,
and he is bid to rejoice in his "labour, for it is the gift of God;"
but she rejoiced in the maturing of his heart, and saw that the good
seed she was sowing was taking root.
She had, however, one trouble concerning him, and not being able to
discern clearly what was her duty, it gave her more anxiety than even
her poverty. His love for sketching could not be repressed. She saw
that he shared his father's talent largely, but remembering what her
husband's views in reference to the cultivation of the noble art of
painting had been, the struggle between maternal pride and the natural
yearnings of a mother's heart to gratify a darling and worthy child,
in opposition to what seeming duty demanded, can scarcely be imagined.
Her late husband's opinions, tempered as they always were by judgment
and prudence, had acquired a character of sacredness in her view; but
when William, in showing her his sums, showed also the rude but
spirited sketches he had drawn on the border of his slate, she saw
that the gift was from God, and she could not condemn, although she
dared not praise. She was afraid of entailing misery on him by
fostering a taste beyond what his means would permit him to gratify.
He had no present prospect but that of earning his bread by the sorest
labour. Even if his talent were an extraordinary one, it would take a
long time to cultivate it to a profitable point; and in the meantime,
how was he to be supported?
She told all this to her son; but when he begged her, as his only
recreation (for he never played with any boys except George Herman, as
good a boy as himself), to let him look over his father's portfolio of
sketches, could she deny the favour? or was she wrong? Nor could she
forbid some pen-and-ink sketches, in which she recognised familiar
objects, although she warned him against giving offence by
caricaturing; and while she described to him the wonders of this
glorious earth, with its embosomed treasures of mines and minerals,
and made him read in his Bible how God had created all and called it
good, she also showed him that man was the crowning work;--beloved of
God, notwithstanding his rebellion; made only a little lower than the
angels, crowned with dignity and honour; and so loved by the Saviour,
that he came to save those who otherwise would have been lost; and
still bearing much of the original impress in which he was created.
She explained to him how wrong it is to make game of the peculiarities
of any human being, ridicule his infirmities, or win a reputation by
exhibiting his defects; bidding him always, at the close of her
lecture, to read the sermon delivered on the mount, and to walk by its
rule, and he would not fail to do right.
There were times, however, when the mother's heart would almost
overcome this resolve. In her lonely hours fancy would portray her
son's future; and when does maternal hope discover aught but a
glorious one? She thought of what he might be, could he go abroad to
study the works of the old masters; how, with his genius (for she knew
not that _taste_ was often mistaken for genius) and persevering
industry, her boy might yet win a high place in the world, as many
others as poor as he had done. But she was too sensible to let her
thoughts dwell long on this flattering subject, and resolved to do
what she considered right as present duty, committing the issue to
God, in whom she so implicitly trusted.
Christmas-day came round again, and it was a mournful one in the home
of the widow and fatherless. Margaret had changed much during the
year: her face was deathly pale, silver lines showed themselves among
her dark hair, and her usually placid and subdued expression was
exchanged for a look of pain. A harassing cough troubled her by day
and prevented her resting at night; an accompanying weakness created
some little anxiety as to what its issue might be; but, with the
hoping spirit which is ever attendant on that insidious disease called
consumption, she believed that the coming spring would restore her.
It came with its wealth of sunshine, and renovated the earth to
promise of fruitfulness and beauty,--beautiful type of the
resurrection, when man shall rise to glorious immortality. All nature
rejoiced in its presence; the flowers came forth and filled the air
with healthful odours; the birds warbled as they built their nests;
the merry children rejoiced as they played on the green, and exulted
in the liberty the vernal season bestowed. But to the widow spring
brought no renewal of health; and now, finding herself unable to wash,
she consulted a physician, who told her it was too late; the disease
had made large progress, and she could not live through the year!
Such an announcement would startle most persons. Death is so repugnant
to man's nature, that there are but few who do not shrink from the
dread encounter. Poor Margaret had more to fear than this. She dreaded
not only the misery and poverty her tedious illness would entail upon
them, but she wept the bitterest tears when she thought of her orphan
child, poor, alone, and uncared for, when she should be taken away.
She was, however, too sincere a believer to remain long within the
shadow of the cloud. The God in whom she had ever trusted was ever
faithful to his own word. Had he not promised, "Leave thy fatherless
children to me, I will preserve them alive?" and is not his favour
better than life! And when she prayed, "Father, if it be possible, let
this cup pass from me," like Him whose true servant she was, she also
added, "nevertheless, not my will be done, but thine." When does the
Christian fail to receive comfort, when the child-like submission
inculcated in the gospel is exercised? Is not the chastening rod in
the hand of a Father who wounds but to heal? and he, who sees the end
from the beginning, nevertheless afflicts his children. Margaret
Raymond was therefore able to give up all into the unerring hand,
knowing that He who feeds the raven and clothes the lily would not
forsake her orphan child, but lead him, it might be by a narrow and
rugged path--but such is the way that leads to the strait gate, and
all who find eternal life must tread it.