LENTEN SERVICES—BAD NEWS.
ON Ash Wednesday morning the new church was well-filled, and in the
evening it was quite crowded,—a number of persons coming over from
Raeburn, so that it became necessary to provide extra seats.
Mr. Laurence began his course of Lent Lectures by explaining the
origin of Lent, and its uses as a season of especial humiliation and
prayer. He trusted, he said, that the services would be sustained and
fully attended, and that his own labors would be accompanied by the
efforts and prayers of his people, and he hoped and believed that in
such a case they might expect the most blessed results, not only to
themselves, but also to those who were unhappily still out of the Ark
of Safety, and without a good hope of salvation through Christ. He
intended to give lectures on Wednesday evening and on Friday afternoon,
and on Thursday afternoon he would be happy to meet any who were
desirous of personal religious instruction, and especially any persons
desirous of receiving Baptism. The Holy Communion would be administered
at Easter, and there would be an opportunity for adult Baptism at the
same time.
As the family were going home in the evening, Ruby-Anne, who was
walking with Edah, apparently absorbed in thought, suddenly said—
"Miss Edah, I didn't know before that Episcopalians believed in change
of heart!"
"What do you mean by a change of heart, Ruby-Anne?" asked Edah.
"Why—what Mr. Laurence said to-night—conversion. I thought they did
not believe in any such thing; only that a person must be baptized and
confirmed, and all that, and that it made no difference what they were,
or how they felt. Now Mr. Laurence seems to preach as if that was the
main thing, and no one could be saved without it. I don't know—I never
was in the habit of thinking much about such things before I came to
live with you—I've thought a sight more since then, and I'd give the
world to feel as he says we ought to. I would like to be a Christian,
if I only knew how."
"The way is very plain, Ruby," said Edah; "if you wish to be a
Christian, you must ask God, for Jesus Christ's sake, to forgive you
your sins, and to make you love Him; to give you a new heart, as you
say. Christ says, 'Ye must be born again;' but He also says, 'He that
believeth on the Son, hath everlasting life, and shall never come into
condemnation.' He gives the command, and He also gives the power to
fulfill it."
Ruby-Anne sighed.
"I know it's so," she said, "and yet I can't feel so. I can't make it
seem as if it really was true, that He died for me. I've wanted to get
religion this great while, but somehow I don't seem any nearer to it
than I did at first."
"Have you prayed to God to give you a heart to love and fear Him?"
asked Edah.
"Why no; I thought I must get religion first, before I prayed; I didn't
know as I could hardly."
"And how did you think you were going to get it without asking for it?
Jesus says,—
"'Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out.' 'If ye shall
ask any thing in My name, I will do it.'
"But He says nothing about giving His Holy Spirit to them that are
afar off, and do not seek to draw near. '"Ask," and ye shall receive;
"seek," and ye shall find; "knock," and it shall be opened unto you.'
There is not a word of promise to those that do not ask, and seek, and
knock, you see."
"But there was St. Paul—I was reading about his conversion only last
night, and it was when he was going down to Damascus, breathing out
threatenings and slaughter, that the Lord met him."
"Very true, and thus He meets many a one in the midst of their sins;
but after the Lord met him, what were the first words he said?
"'Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?'
"His next act was one of unquestioning and immediate obedience; and
when Ananias was commissioned to go to him, that he might receive his
sight, and be filled with the Holy Ghost, it was said of him,—
"'Behold he prayeth!'
"You say that you wish to be a Christian, and that you have been
thinking about it this great while. God has thus met you in the way,
and now you must do as St. Paul did—pray that He will open your eyes,
forgive you your sins, justify you by Jesus Christ, and sanctify you by
His Holy Spirit; and depend upon it, if you do this, you will receive
an answer. I wish you would go to the church Thursday afternoon, and
talk to Mr. Laurence."
"I kind of hate to," said Ruby-Anne, hanging her head. "I'd rather talk
to you than to him, and I'm afraid folks will think strange. If my
cousin should see me going there, and tell Uncle Jacob, he'd make no
end of fun of me next time I go home."
"And yet you want to be a Christian, you say! I am afraid you will
never be one, if you are ashamed to have it known that you are seeking
the right way. No, no, that will never do, Ruby; you cannot expect
Christ to bless you while you are ashamed of Him."
"I suppose that's so. I don't know, either, why I should mind their
laughing. If it isn't that, it will be something else."
This was not the only conversation of the kind that Edah held during
the week. Several of the scholars in her day-school came to her for
instruction, for encouragement, for sympathy. Some thought that they
were truly penitent and believing, and desired sympathy in their
overflowing joy; and what joy of earth is like his who feels assured
that his sins are forgiven—that his prayers are heard and answered
in Heaven? Others there were who, convinced of their sins and their
danger, could as yet find no way of escape, and no comfort anywhere—who
needed to be drawn away from the vain attempt to save themselves by
their own efforts, and to be led to that precious corner-stone, the
sure foundation on which whosoever buildeth shall not be ashamed. Edah
did her best to counsel, to warn, to teach, but she felt how weak and
ignorant she was, and she shrank from the responsibility imposed upon
her by her position, and by the confidence and affection of her young
friends.
"I feel," said she, in relating some of these incidents to Mr.
Laurence, "as if I were very much out of my place in this matter, but
indeed I cannot help it. I try to persuade them to go at once to you,
but many of them are diffident and unwilling to do so. I cannot refuse
to give them all the aid in my power, though I often fear that I am
overstepping my proper bounds, and taking upon myself duties which
belong entirely to you."
"By no means, Miss Champlin. You are taking a course which I should be
only too glad to see followed by every Christian member of my flock. I
believe that one great reason why so few, comparatively, are brought
to a knowledge of the truth is that Christians do not do their duty in
this respect, but leave all to their pastor. From the nature of things,
they have many opportunities which he has not. An inquiring sinner will
often open his heart to a near friend, when he would be ashamed or
unwilling to do so to a minister, and if that friend is faithful, he
will encourage him to do so, and will strive to direct him to the true
source of health and help. What is more natural than that those who
have themselves tasted the good word of God, and have known the truth,
should wish to impart unto others of the good things which they have
themselves received? Such was the spirit of the Apostolic Church, when
every Christian, whether man or woman, was in some sort a missionary.
Could this state of things be brought about again, we should no longer
see crowds retiring from the Communion Table, and only a handful
remaining, but the altar rails would be filled till there should be no
place."
"I always try to send them to you," remarked Edah, "but they are not
always willing to go at first, especially the younger ones."
"Nothing is more natural than that they should feel more confidence in
you than in a comparative stranger," said Mr. Laurence. "I shall hope
after a time to gain their confidence. Meantime, let me beg of you
never to omit an opportunity of doing good in that way. Several persons
have applied to me who, I am convinced, never would have done so but
for you: among the rest, Mr. Bell's boys and your brother. I suppose
you know that they are all three desirous of being baptized?"
"Sam told me it was the case with himself, but I did not know certainly
about the others. I am not much surprised at hearing of it, for they
have seemed very thoughtful for a long time. I trust they will not be
the only ones who will avail themselves of the opportunity."
"Edah," said Sam, one beautiful spring day towards the end of March, "I
am going over to the Saw-Mills this afternoon to do some business for
Mr. Stuart, and I wish you would ride with me. I want a chance to talk
to you, and I will call for you at the school-house."
Edah, of course, made no objection, and at five o'clock the brother
and sister were driving through the woods, on the shaded and romantic
road which led over hill and dale to the great lumbering mills of
Stuart & Company. The birds had begun to make their appearance, and
the air was filled with robin and bluebird music, while now and then a
blue-jay added his by no means melodious notes to the concert. The sky
was deeply blue, and the great mountains of white cloud made it appear
deeper still; while the air was filled with the indescribable fragrance
which always pervades a wood in the spring, especially where there is a
large proportion of evergreen trees.
Edah was tired of talking in school, and she was very willing to be
quiet, and her brother's attention seemed wholly occupied with his
horses. At last, however, he broke the silence by saying—
"Edah, do you know how old I am?"
"Sixteen, are you not?"
"Nearer seventeen," said Sam. "I shall be seventeen my next birthday,
and that is next Monday."
"And I shall be nineteen. I thought there was more difference between
us, but you have always been so small till lately. Now you are taller
than I am."
"So I see; but that isn't the thing. I am old enough to think what I am
going to do with myself."
"You are doing very well with yourself now, I think," said Edah. "Mr.
Stuart says you are more and more useful every day, and that he never
had a clerk that he liked so much. He told me he should not be afraid
to leave you the whole charge of his business, if he were obliged to be
away for any length of time."
"He is very kind," said Sam, coloring with pleasure. "There is not a
man in the world I would rather live with than Alim Stuart. He has been
like—what a father ought to be, ever since I went to him. But after
all, Edah, it is not what I want to be doing. My heart isn't in it."
"It becomes tiresome now and then, I suppose," said Edah, "but any
business is wearisome sometimes. I am sure it is the case with
teaching. But when you are so well situated, it seems a pity to change,
unless there is some good reason, though, indeed, I never thought you
were as well suited to the business as to some other things—to studying
a profession especially."
"What kind of a minister do you think I should make, Edah?" asked Sam,
in a low voice, after a pause of some minutes, during which he had
employed himself in switching off the tops of the dry weeds by the
roadside.
Edah's heart bounded with joy. How often she had prayed—how fondly she
had hoped, that her darling brother's heart might be turned in this
direction!
"I think you would make an excellent one, Sam, so far as I can judge of
you. I know of nothing that would give me more pleasure than to see you
looking forward to the ministry."
"It is what I should prefer above all other things," said Sam, with
animation. "I used to think I would rather be a lawyer than any thing
else, and I built a great many castles in the air about it, thinking
how I should enjoy working my way on, and making myself respected, till
I came to be as celebrated as Mr. Webster or Judge Story; but it is all
changed now. I would rather be a minister like Mr. Laurence, and preach
the Gospel in some such little place as Raeburn or Brooksville, than
be the greatest lawyer or statesman that ever lived. There is only one
trouble about it," he continued, and the joy in his face faded away as
he spoke—"I have turned it over and over in my mind, and I do not see
how it is to be done."
"Why not?" asked Edah.
"The why not is easily told," replied Sam. "If I had no one to do for
or care for but myself, it would be very easy—that is, in comparison to
what it is now. I could teach school, and live cheaply, and work myself
on almost anyhow. But even supposing that I succeeded in preparing
myself to take orders, preaching is not commonly a money-making
profession, you know very well; and there are mother and the girls—how
are they to be supported? For I don't suppose anybody is so foolish as
to expect any help from father."
"That is true," said Edah, echoing his sigh as he paused, "and yet
I cannot bear to give up the idea. Oh! If I were only two years
older—only my own mistress!"
"What then?" asked Sam. "What difference would that make?"
"Then I could live at home, and take care of mother and Polly with what
means I have. Susan and I would make it enough, and you would have, as
you say, nothing to do but to take care of yourself."
"Do you think I would let you do that?" said Sam, a little indignantly.
"Why, it would just amount to my educating myself at your expense."
"And suppose it were, how could I spend my fortune to better purpose,
than in sending laborers into Christ's vineyard? And who should I send,
if not my own brother?"
"Well," resumed Sam, "you are not your own mistress, and in one sense
you never will be—not as much perhaps as you are now. When Mr. Liston
returns, he will of course want you to come and live with him, and I
know he will be very unwilling to have you spend your money on us.
He will think, and with some reason too, that I ought to support my
sisters, instead of letting them support me."
"Nevertheless, if I were of age, I could do as I pleased."
"You could, undoubtedly; but ought you? Mr. Liston has brought you up,
and done every thing he could for you; and now that you are grown-up,
and able to appreciate his kindness, he will naturally expect a return,
and he has a right to expect it."
"You are right, Sam, and I am wrong. But we won't despair yet. I am
sure some way will be raised up for us. The Lord will provide, if it is
His will that you should follow out this plan; and I cannot but believe
that it is."
"I hope so, I am sure," replied Sam, "for I do not feel as if I could
be happy in any other way. Of course I don't mean to be so self-willed
as to be determinedly miserable, because I cannot have my own way; but
the more I think about entering the ministry, the more desirous I am to
do it; and so I have told Mr. Laurence."
"What did he say?"
"Just what you do. He bade me not be discouraged, since if the call
was from God, He would certainly provide the means for its fulfilment.
He advised me to employ all my spare time in study, and gain as much
information as possible; and he has offered to teach me Greek himself."
"I will study it with you," said Edah. "It is always easier for two to
go on together, than for one to work alone. I will lay aside my Spanish
for the present, and if you have a mind to rise as early as I do, we
can have a good hour before breakfast. It is surprising how much one
can accomplish in an hour, by making the most of it. I often think that
I do more in that little time, than I used to in all day at school."
"Time is like money in more ways than one," remarked Sam. "One does not
appreciate the worth of it, as long as one has as much as one wants.
And, by the by, is it not more than time for you to hear from Mr.
Liston?"
"It is indeed, and I am very uneasy about him. If he went by the
overland route, as he said he should do in the letter I had from
London, I ought to have heard three or four times before this. I am
very much afraid that something has happened to him, for he is so
methodical in all his habits, that I am sure he has not forgotten it."
"Then about this matter of studying," resumed Sam, after a few moments'
silence, "you are quite clear that I ought not to give up the idea?"
"Indeed I am, Sam! I am sure some path will be provided for you, if you
are patient, and meanwhile you will not be losing any thing. You will
be gaining information and experience that will be as useful to you as
any thing you can learn out of books. I feel quite sure that you will
see your way clear after a while."
Edah had indeed become very anxious and uneasy at not hearing from her
guardian. She had expected to hear both from Malta and Alexandria,
but sufficient time had now elapsed for a letter to have come from
Calcutta, and yet she received no intelligence. Mr. Liston, as she
said, was a man who never forgot an engagement, or neglected a duty.
She was sure he would have written if he had been well, and it was very
unlikely that all his letters should have been lost. For some time
before the conversation recorded above, she had been in a state of
feverish impatience for some intelligence, and she felt that almost any
news would be a relief to her mind in its uncertainty.
The news came at last. Edah received a letter from Mr. Amory, inclosing
one from the American consul at Alexandria, which contained the
mournful news of her kind guardian's death at that place. The consul
stated that Mr. Liston had called upon him immediately after his
arrival in that port, and that he seemed very unwell, so much so that
he invited and urged him not to return to his hotel, but to remain
at the consular residence, which Mr. Liston at last consented to
do, though he made light of his illness, attributing it entirely to
fatigue. In the morning, however, he was so much worse as to be unable
to rise, and he continued to grow worse for about three weeks, when
he died. He had had the best of medical attendance, the consul said,
and a clergyman of the Church of England, who had come to Alexandria
at the same time, was almost constantly with him. He had retained full
possession of his senses till the last moment, and had frequently
talked of his friends at home, particularly of his dear child, as he
called her. The day before his death, he had received the Sacrament,
and he had especially desired that this fact might be communicated to
Miss Champlin.
The writer of the letter stated that Mr. Liston had made many friends
in Alexandria during the short time that he remained there, and that
every respect had been paid to his memory that his friends could
desire. Mr. Amory's letter was full of the kindest sympathy, and
contained a pressing invitation to her to come to New York, and make
her home with him.
The sorrow and desolation which Edah experienced on receiving this
intelligence can only be appreciated by those who have suffered similar
bereavements. She felt herself entirely alone in the world, without
home and without friends, and it almost seemed to her as if God himself
had dealt unkindly with her in taking away her beloved guardian. For
a while she felt that she could never be happy again. But Edah's mind
and heart were too healthy for such a mood to be lasting with her, and
these feelings soon passed away. She was enabled to find relief—where
alone it is to be successfully sought—in earnest, humble prayer, and
to appreciate all the blessed comfort contained in the account of her
friend's last moments. She felt deeply thankful that even so late in
life his attention had been turned to preparation for eternity, and
that she was enabled to cherish a good hope of meeting him again in
that world where partings are no more.
Mr. Amory's first letter was immediately followed by another, urging
Edah to come to New York, if only for a few days as there were some
matters of business which rendered her presence necessary, and
inclosing funds for the journey. She was sorry to leave Brooksville
just at this time, but there was no alternative, and she felt, too,
that the companionship and sympathy of Milly would be the greatest
possible comfort to her.
On consulting the school committee, no objection was made to giving the
school a vacation of two weeks; longer than this Edah did not intend to
be absent, as she was very desirous of being in Brooksville at Easter
not only because Sam was to be baptized, but because she had promised
to stand sponsor for two of her pupils, who were to be admitted to the
fellowship of Christ's flock on that day. Mrs. Hildreth willingly took
charge of her Sunday School class, and kind Mr. Bell, always anxious
to smooth every thing for her, assured her that the vacation would be
a real advantage, as they were desirous of making some repairs in the
school-house, which could be made at no time so conveniently as now.
Pauline was now the only subject of uneasiness with Edah. She had not
so far overcome her former perverseness but that sparks of it would
occasionally break out, especially towards Susan, who was not always
very reasonable or judicious with the child, and she feared that the
two weeks of her absence would almost undo all she had done. At one
time, she thought of leaving Pauline with Miss Gilmore, but a little
reflection had shown her that this would be a direct affront to Susan,
as implying that she was not to be trusted with the care of the child.
She had finally decided, though with rather an anxious heart, to let
matters take their course, when she received another note from Milly,
saying—
"Father says he has forgotten whether or not be asked you to bring
Pauline with you, but he desires that you will do so by all means, as
it will give him the greatest pleasure to see her."
Edah held a consultation with Susan and Sam, before she showed this
note to Pauline; but as they both cordially approved of the plan, she
informed the little girl at the dinner-table that if she wished it, she
could go to New York with her.
Polly's eyes sparkled, and her cheeks flushed—it was a felicity beyond
her highest hopes; but in a moment a change came over her bright
countenance—"Susan will be so lonely," she said.
"I shall have Sam to keep me company, you know," said Susan.
"Yes; but then he is away all day, and suppose you should be sick. I
think, 'upon the whole,' sister," she said, trying to speak firmly,
though her eyes filled with tears at the thought of the sacrifice she
was making, "I had better not go."
"You are a darling girl, Polly," said Susan, kissing her, with tears
in her own eyes, "and I love you dearly, but I cannot have you stay at
home for me, my dear. If I am lonely, I can have Selina come and stay
with me; and then you know you have learned to write now, and you can
write me such nice entertaining letters from New York about all the
things you see there."
Thus, it was finally settled, and Pauline was at liberty to run over to
Miss Gilmore's, and pour out all her hopes and expectations into the
ear of Selina, her bosom friend, while her sisters were busily occupied
in preparations for the journey.