LETTERS.
_From the Rev. Richard Laurence to a Friend._
"I RECEIVED your letter a week ago, my dear friend, and with it another
containing a call from the vestry of Christ Church in P. You mention
the probability of this call, and say very confidently—'I suppose we
shall see you among us soon, before Lent commences.' What will you say
when I tell you that I have declined the call to P., and accepted an
invitation from the inhabitants of Brooksville to preach for them a
year in the district school-house? Now, imagining you to have exhausted
all your exclamations, I will tell you briefly my reasons for so doing.
"But passing over all other reasons, I come to my principal one, which
you know we always put last. The vestrymen of Christ Church will easily
find some one else who will suit them as well as I should, for such
places do not go a-begging, but what will become of these poor souls
here if I leave them? They cannot pay, at the outside, more than two
or three hundred dollars salary. I have some doubt whether they will
do even that, and no one who has not other resources could live on
such a sum. By the almost unassisted efforts of one young girl, a
Sunday School has been established, without books, without maps, almost
without teachers, but still an efficient and flourishing school. By
the same agency an increasing interest in the things of God has been
awakened in the community, and the ground has been made ready for the
seed. It may indeed be said of her, 'she hath done what she could.' The
question now is, shall this ground be left for the occupation of the
devil, or shall it be made as the garden of the Lord? Shall the seed
already sown be left to die for want of care, or shall it be nurtured
and watered?
"You will perhaps tell me I might do much more good in P. I doubt it.
That is a common phrase in these circumstances; but I think those who
use it overlook the fact, that all souls are of equal value in the
sight of God, whether rich or poor, cultivated or ignorant, refined or
vulgar; and it is just as necessary that these souls should be saved
here as those in P. The Word of Gad may be as faithfully preached in
a district school-house as in a Gothic church, and while there are
many able and willing to enjoy the one, there are but few that can or
will serve in the other. I am fully aware of the advantages I resign
in giving myself up to this work: I have considered them all, and I
am content with my choice. When you were thinking of going to China
with Bishop B., you did not hesitate a moment from the thought of the
inconveniences you were to suffer, though you would have resigned much
more than I shall do in staying here. You counted all things but dross
in comparison to Christ's work and service; and why should I not do the
same?
"'With whom hast thou left those few sheep in the wilderness?' would be
the question continually sounding in my ears if I should, for the sake
of my own gain or pleasure, accept this call to P., and I could not
answer with David, 'What have I done? Is there not a cause?'
"In short, I have made my election, and am satisfied with it, and God
willing, I will devote my time and my talents to building up His Church
in this place. I hope to meet you in New York next week, and to talk
more fully upon this and other kindred matters."
_From Milly to Edah._
"I take the opportunity of Mr. Laurence's return, my dear Edah, to
send you a package of books and other matters, which I hope may prove
acceptable. We have found your friend a very pleasant guest, and
the more so, because he could tell us all about you. And first and
foremost, what is the reason of your teaching school, and why have
you kept it a secret from us so long? Father thought the allowance
Mr. Liston made would be amply sufficient for all your wants in such
a place as Brooksville, and thinks you must have some other reason
than want of funds. Aunty is sure that it grows out of some of your
Quixotic notions about doing good, and is quite certain that you will
ruin your health by so much labor, but Mr. Laurence assures us that you
are as well as possible. For my part, I cannot understand it at all,
but presume you have some very good reason. Don't forget to tell us all
about it when you write.
"You do not know how much we were all interested in the account Mr.
Laurence gave us of your little school, though indeed it seems to have
grown into a large one. Who would have anticipated, when you began
with teaching three or four children in the kitchen at home, that it
would have been the commencement of a church, as it seems likely to
prove? What an encouragement not to despise the day of small things!
Father was very much pleased, and I imagine he put some funds into Mr.
Laurence's hands for you, though I am not sure. I send my contribution
in the shape of a large package of Scripture and other prints, cards,
&c., for the instruction and entertainment of the infant department.
How I should like to look in, and see you at work! I must tell you, by
the by, that I have a class in Sunday School myself, and enjoy it very
much. Father was rather unwilling at first, but I persuaded him to let
me begin, and as I am most undeniably fat and rosy, he is content to
let me go on.
"I have discovered a new way of making myself useful to him: his German
clerk has left him suddenly, and he finds it difficult to supply his
place at once, so I have taken up his pen, and daily indite most
interesting documents relative to domestic cottons, prints, &c., &c.,
rather to the scandal of Aunt Maria, who considers such pursuits vain
and frivolous, compared to the creation of worsted cats and dogs, and
delicate crochet collars. I am very wrong to laugh at Aunt Maria, who
is very kind to me, but I cannot help grudging the time she spends on
such things.
"Father has become quite reconciled to my precise ideas, as Aunt Maria
calls them, and not only gives me free choice to do as I please, about
dressing and going out, but even admits that I am in the right. He
finds it very pleasant to have me at home in the evening, ready to play
for him, or talk to him, or read to him, as he happens to be in the
humor. He is fond of music, and really an excellent judge. I take pains
to practise and to learn all the new music to please him, and he says
I improve every day. Is it not a happy thing for me that late hours
and parties really do not agree with me, and that I grew thin and pale
under them?
"I hope to hear further accounts of your enterprises and undertakings,
and that you continue to succeed as well as at first. Pray write me
all the particulars you can think of, and especially how you get on at
home, where, from some things dropped by Mr. Laurence, I should think
you must have rather troublesome times.
"As ever, my dear Edah, truly yours,
"MILLY."
When Mr. Laurence returned from New York, he brought with him, not only
the prints and cards sent by Milly, but a good Sunday School library of
about two hundred volumes, fifty small Prayer-Books, an equal number
of Testaments, and a large, plainly bound, but well-printed Bible and
Prayer-Book for the desk. The school-house began to be crowded both
morning and afternoon, and a Wednesday evening lecture was also well
attended.
Almost every one was pleased with Mr. Laurence's plain practical
discourses, as well as with his winning manners; and it was a pleasing
sight to see the children crowding round him, after the Sunday School
was dismissed—each anxious for a word, a look, or a shake of the hand,
and no one going away ungratified. Every one, from Mr. and Mrs. Stuart,
who were decidedly the aristocrats of the little place, down to poor
Joe Fisher, who was drunk five days out of seven—every one felt the
influence of the young minister's kindly and polished manners, which
were the same to all. His bow of recognition was as kind and as elegant
to Mrs. Stuart's servant as to Mrs. Stuart herself, and not an old
woman or little child in the village, but found him ready to enter with
an unfeigned interest into all their troubles, spiritual, temporal, and
domestic.
He even conciliated Mrs. Downing, who considered the Episcopal Church
as identical with the Church of Rome, and held with Fanny Fern's Deacon
that a man who cannot take the curl out of his hair has no business in
the ministry. Mrs. Champlin liked him when she was in a mood to like
anybody, and sometimes when she was not. Susan held out for some time,
but was at last vanquished by his genuine interest in and sympathy for
poor Eddy, who would put out his little wasted arms to him whenever
he appeared, and had been seen to laugh and crow like other children
at being held up to pat his gentle horse. As for the boys, they were
enlisted to a man on the side of the new minister, and woe to the
unlucky wight who ventured to assert that Mr. Laurence was any thing
but perfection.
At home things went on very much as usual. Edah rose early, and thus
gained an hour or two before breakfast for her own purposes. This time
was usually consecrated to study, and she was surprised to see how
much progress she made. The family breakfasted rather late on Mrs.
Champlin's account, and Edah was usually obliged to hurry from the
table directly to school, from whence, if the weather was bad, she did
not return till five o'clock, taking her luncheon with her, and staying
an hour after school to hear some extra classes by which she added
something to her salary.
Meantime, Susan waited upon her mother, sewed, and took care of
Eddy, who was now eight months old. Mrs. Champlin had happily taken
to reading, which was a great relief to her daughters as well as to
herself. Mr. Laurence took care to keep her well supplied with books
of one sort and another, and as she generally took several naps in the
course of a page, one volume lasted her a long time. Thus Susan was
left to pursue her own reading and studies as she pleased.
After tea, Sam commonly read aloud, while the girls occupied themselves
with their sewing or knitting. Sometimes Edah drew a little in the
evening, but not often, as she found that it tried her eyes. A chapter
in the Bible usually concluded the reading, and the family retired
early. On the whole, Edah found herself decidedly more comfortable
than when her father was at home. For one thing, Susan's temper was
much less irritable than formerly, though she now and then had a fit
of her old perversity, when she delighted in teasing all about her,
particularly Edah, whose naturally warm and hasty temper was not so
subdued by all her efforts as to be proof against these attacks,
especially when they were directed through Pauline. She was often
provoked to hasty retorts and angry remonstrances, for which she
afterwards suffered severely, and at such times she could not help
wishing that she had accepted Milly's invitation, and left the family
to their fate. These untoward events did not, however, occur very
often, and they became more and more infrequent.
Pauline was to Edah a source of almost unmixed pleasure. There was
no denying her improvement both of mind and body since she had been
under her sister's care. She had formerly been indulged by her father
in eating every thing to which she took a fancy, whether hurtful or
not; thus she was in the habit of drinking strong tea and coffee twice
and sometimes three times a day, and of eating an unlimited amount of
spices, pickles, and sweet things. Her mother well knew that these
things injured her, but she had not sufficient fortitude to cross her
inclinations, even if Mr. Champlin would have permitted her to do so.
It was the same with going out and going to bed—Pauline did as she
pleased, except when her father now and then took a fit to govern her,
which he did always harshly, and almost always unjustly, and thus the
poor child's life was passed in a condition of continual contradiction
and discomfort.
Of course the habits formed by such a state of things were not to be
overcome in a day. Pauline was often fretful, sometimes selfish and
sometimes shy; but her affection for Edah was unbounded, and her own
good sense showed her that she was much more comfortable when she was
guided by her sister than when she was left to her own devices. By
degrees Edah coaxed her to leave off the tea and coffee, substituting
warm milk and water, well sweetened, and served in a beautiful china
mug procured expressly for her, and consecrated to her sole use.
Proper precautions enabled her to take out of door exercise without
getting cold: regular employment and suitable hours of repose did the
rest, and Pauline was in a fair way of becoming as well and hardy
as other children. Reading opened to her a source of inexhaustible
delight. Her active mind exercised itself upon all it received, and her
sisters were often amused and sometimes puzzled by the sagacity of her
questions—questions which it was impossible to answer satisfactorily to
the mind of a child, or indeed to answer at all.
"I don't know, my dear," or "You must wait till you are older,"
were answers which she often received, and which always annoyed her
excessively.
"I wish I knew every thing under the sun," she exclaimed one day,
rather petulantly, after receiving one of these unsatisfactory answers
to some grave metaphysical query—"I wish I knew every thing there is to
know."
"Then you would have nothing to learn," said Susan, "and you would take
no more pleasure in reading. What would you do then?"
"I would write books," returned the little lady, without a moment's
hesitation, "and explain things to other people, and I would never tell
anybody that they were too young to understand."
Sam had improved almost as much as Pauline in the same time. He was now
a tall, manly boy, looking upon himself as the head and protector of
the family, and consequently despising all childish things. Mr. Stuart
had taken him into his store, where he received a tolerable salary, and
soon made himself a favorite, not only with his employer, but with all
who dealt with him. He took a certain pride in dressing and behaving
like a gentleman, and Susan never complained now of his teasing her,
though it must be allowed that she sometimes put his good temper and
forbearance to pretty severe trials. He was very much attached to Mr.
Laurence, and a great favorite with that gentleman, who exercised great
influence over all the boys in the village.
Bob Raymond was also growing up tall and manly, and he and Jack
Downing, who still lived at Mr. Bell's, constituted themselves a sort
of body-guard for Edah. They did her errands, made her fires, carried
her to and from school on stormy days, and were never weary of devising
ways and means to give her pleasure.
Mr. Downing could not avoid expressing his wonder that Mr. Bell had
so little trouble with Jack, at the same time that he governed him so
little. He did not believe the boy had ever had a whipping since he
left home.
Eddy alone of all the little family did not seem to partake of the
general improvement. He did not thrive at all, with all Susan's care
and nursing, but continued the same puny, sickly little creature,
seldom laughing and playing like other children, not often crying, but
lying still and silent in the arms of whoever would hold him, with his
large gray eyes wide open, apparently musing on his unhappy condition.
He was afraid of almost all strangers, and cried if he were left alone,
but otherwise he was very good, and very little trouble, though a
constant source of anxiety. Of late, he had begun to be troubled with
a cough, and some difficulty of respiration. The doctor did not think
it worth while to disturb him with medicine; but upon being pressed for
his opinion, said frankly that nothing would do him any good. He might
linger for a few months longer, or even a year or two, but he would
never be well, and his death might take place at any time.
The evening of the day on which he gave his opinion, Edah and Susan
were sitting together by fire-light—Edah knitting and looking at the
fire, and Susan holding her poor little pet who was asleep in her arms,
both sisters seemingly absorbed in their own meditations. Suddenly
Susan said—
"Edah, don't you think Eddy ought to be baptized?"
"I was just thinking of that very thing," returned Edah, rousing
herself from her reverie. "I think so certainly, and I have always been
anxious to have it done, but I did not know how you would feel."
"I suppose I should have laughed at any one who had proposed such
a thing six months ago," said Susan, musingly; "but I feel very
differently now. I should like to have the dear little fellow—" She
paused, and then went on abruptly: "I suppose you don't see any change
in me, do you, Edah?"
"Yes, I do," replied Edah; "you are hardly like the same person that
you were when I came here. I think you are very much improved."
"But you think there is room for improvement still?"
"There is room for improvement in everybody," said Edah, smiling. "I
suppose you don't pretend to be an exception to the general rule."
"But when I tease you about your church, and about Mr. Laurence, and
Pauline, don't you wish I was in the Red Sea?"
"No," said Edah. "I wish you would not do it, certainly, because it
makes me uncomfortable, and very often makes me do wrong, and I don't
think you are any happier for it yourself. But, Susan, you are not half
as fond of teasing people as you used to be. Don't you remember how you
and Sam used to quarrel when I first came here?"
Susan smiled.
"Sam is growing a fine fellow, isn't he? I only hope he will not be led
into bad company, or any thing of that sort."
"I do not think there is much danger," replied Susan; "he has seen
enough of that to last him all his life. But about the baby—what do you
suppose mother will say?"
"I hardly think she will object," said Edah; "and if she does, Mr.
Laurence has so much influence with her that he will soon bring her
over. I think we might have Polly baptized at the same time. Oh, Sue,
if you would only join them!"
Susan shook her head.
"Not now. I may perhaps come to it in time, but not at present. My head
is too full of other things; and besides, I am not prepared. I should
have to be very different from what I am now."
"How different?" asked her sister.
"I don't know that I can tell you—different entirely. I must learn to
put more constraint upon myself. I must be better, in short. But, as I
said, I cannot think enough about it just now to make up my mind. When
will you speak to Mr. Laurence about Eddy?" she added, rather hastily,
as if to change the subject.
"To-morrow," answered Edah. "He told me he was coming here, and I will
ask him to mention it to mother."
"Don't say any thing to him about me," said Susan, quickly. "Now
promise, Edah, that you won't."
Edah could not avoid giving the promise, though she did it with regret,
for she was anxious that Mr. Laurence should converse with Susan. She
could only hope that he would have sufficient penetration to perceive
the state of her mind, and himself introduce the subject of personal
religion.
Mr. Laurence called the next day, and being informed of the affair,
undertook to persuade Mrs. Champlin to consent, in which he succeeded
with but little trouble, for, as Edah had said, his influence with her
was almost unbounded. That day week was the one fixed upon for the
service, as Edah wished for some little time to instruct Pauline, and
prepare her mind to appreciate its solemnity and importance. In this
she succeeded beyond her hopes. Polly was much interested and very
serious: she asked a great many questions, both of Mr. Laurence and
her sister. Several times Edah found her at prayer by herself, and she
could not help hoping that the child of her love was indeed meetly
prepared, by the Holy Spirit's gracious influences, to become in Holy
Baptism, "a member of Christ, the child of God, and an inheritor of the
kingdom of heaven."