from study, but also as a time to indulge in that “dolce far niente”
life[A] so refreshing after months of prolonged effort. Not so in
my case. I must not take advantage of Miss Grimshaw’s kindness, nor
encroach too far on the benevolence of Mrs. Jeffries. Through their
goodness I had been enabled to finish the term, and now I must work as
faithfully as I had studied.
As there was little to do in the grocery and Mr. Willett already had a
boy, I thought best to try the farmers. True, I knew little of haying
or harvesting; but I was strong, and willing to do my best.
The next day after school closed I set out to find employment. Mr.
Cosgrove at the Corners was the first one to whom I applied.
“No; you have been to school for the year; of course that has spoiled
you for labor.”
“But mine has not been an easy life, Mr. Cosgrove. I walked three miles
to the academy and back every day. I can work just as well, for all
that?”
“No, indeed; books spoil every one for work. There never was a better
boy than Farley Steadman, till he took it into his head to go to
college; and now I would not let him drive a cart through a pair of
bars. He don’t know any thing; it has just spoiled him;” and the old
man drove the nail into the fence he was strengthening, with more force
than usual.
“Do you know of any one, Mr. Cosgrove, likely to want help?”
“Why, yes, every one wants help if he can get it; I do, but I don’t
want school-boys.”
I walked away not a little disconcerted. To get work would, I thought,
be an easy matter. I had never for one moment supposed my going to
school would be the least drawback. The next place was Mr. Colton’s;
he had just engaged all the help he would need for the summer. “Farmer
White on the hill might hire you,” he said; so I trudged off to farmer
White’s. “No, I have rented my farm, and keep no one myself.”
What to do I hardly knew; I had walked all the morning, and was tired.
Besides, I did not know of any one else that would be likely to want
extra help for the summer.
“There’s Mr. Wyman at the Cross,” said farmer White; “I shouldn’t
wonder if he might want you. You can try him; he is a mighty fine man,
and his wife is a good Christian woman.”
I started for Mr. Wyman’s. It was five miles from Mr. White’s, and the
hot June sun was pouring down his strongest beams. I walked fast, but
I could not help thinking; and almost before I was aware, I seemed to
feel the visible presence of Mr. Kirby, to hear again the prayer he
made in the mountain temple. I remembered too that he had told me how
much distressed he was when the doctor first told him to go into the
mountains. He had laid out his summer’s work, and was not willing to
leave it. Days passed; he grew worse, and again his physician advised
him to spend a few weeks among the hills. “I called it so much waste
time,” he said--“time in which I could do nothing for myself, or for
others. Yet it has not proved so.”
No, I knew it had not, for it was his constant aim to serve his
heavenly Father, and if he had for a time left his work in one place,
still he labored for souls wherever he was; consequently his daily life
among the hills blossomed into sweet charities which would ripen into
sweeter fruit.
What did I not owe him? Jennie too had remembered his words, and
studied the little Bible he gave her, first because he had given it,
and afterwards because its teachings responded to her spirit’s need. It
is hardly possible for one to be a constant reader of that blessed book
without a marked effect on heart and life. The diligent student of the
Bible will have his tastes refined, his affections made more pure, his
aspirations elevated, and his whole moral and mental tone immeasurably
exalted. I could see this in Jennie, and I trusted there was something
of the like in my own case. But as yet I knew nothing of the pardoning
love of the Redeemer.
I gained the brow of the hill from which I could see Mr. Wyman’s house,
and look down on the rich field of grain waving in the sunlight. Every
thing had a fresh, tidy appearance, and spoke of good management on the
part of Mr. Wyman. Looking along the road, I saw a boy of my own size
coming leisurely along; and as he approached I saw it was Ezra Metcalf,
a lad that I had seen in Claverton.
“A long time since I have seen you, Ezra,” I said as he came up. “Are
you going to the village?”
“Yes; I can’t stand it any longer. Old Wyman is so cross there’s no
doing any thing with him. It is work, work, work; and when I would
think it was all done, he’d send me into the house to wait on his wife.”
“Men hire boys to work,” I answered.
“Yes; but all the time is a little too much. Rain or shine, it made no
difference. It seemed to be all that he thought of, to get as much work
out of me as he could.”
I listened to his statement without any misgiving, and when he had
finished, I told him of my purpose to ask Mr. Wyman for work.
“You had better not, if you want any flesh left on your bones,” he
answered.
I bade him good-by, and we walked on, each his own way.
I found Mr. Wyman in his field hoeing corn. He did not stop as I came
up and made known my errand.
“Yes, I want a smart, go-ahead kind of boy; one who knows how work
should be done, and will do it faithfully, whether I am by or not, if I
could only find one of that sort.”
“Will you try me, Mr. Wyman?”
“Have you ever worked on a farm?”
“No, sir; but I am willing to work, and I think I could do whatever
there is to be done.”
“What have you been doing for the last year?”
“I have studied at the Rockdale academy.”
“What is your name?”
“Marston Howe.”
“Marston Howe! I have heard Mr. Farnham speak of you as a good scholar.
If you work as you study, I will take you.”
“I shall aim to do so, Mr. Wyman.”
“Let me see you hoe;” and he rested a moment.
“That’s right, thrust your hoe deep; in that way you cut off the roots,
and they will not be apt to sprout again; while if you hoe lightly, you
only clip off the tops, and after the first rain they will be quite as
bad as they are now.”
It was new work to me. I went to bed at night tired as I never was
before in my life; and but for the remembrance of Mr. Kirby, I doubt
if I should have had courage to commence anew in the morning. But life
is something more than sleeping and eating. It is the maturing into
noble deeds, the consciousness of mental power, the exercise of that
power in heroic self-conquest, and in doing good to others. I thought
of this as I arose and looked up to the mountain we had once climbed.
There it stood clearly defined against the calm, pure sky, its sides
radiant with golden light that had not yet reached the valley. The
noble manhood that Mr. Kirby exemplified must be sought with tireless
footsteps and self-sacrificing heart.
The farmer was out as I came down.
“So you did not oversleep yourself,” said he as he bade me good-morning.
“I did not rise as early as usual this morning, Mr. Wyman; hoeing is
new business. I shall get accustomed to it, and can sleep just as well
after it as after any thing else, I suppose.”
“It is hard work, and so is every thing else. Some people make play out
of it, but that is not my way. I was brought up to think that any thing
that was worth doing at all, was worth doing well.”
There was no lack of work at Mr. Wyman’s, neither was it always
the same thing. Sometimes I felt like murmuring when, after a hard
day’s work in the field, I was obliged to take the horses to the
blacksmith’s, or carry corn to the mill, mend fences, or do something
else of like nature. Mr. Wyman did not hold to sitting still. There
were no idle moments, all were filled up; and when night came, I was
so tired that I fell asleep without so much as a verse in my Bible.
Then haying came on; and while the hands swung their scythes with an
easy grace that I tried in vain to imitate, it fell to my part to
do the raking. There was something so sweet and fragrant about the
new-mown hay, that I enjoyed haying much better than hoeing.
Once Jennie came to see me in the hay-field, and her dimpled face
lit up with excess of joy as she tossed the clover and chased the
butterflies, her heart full of sweet-springing thoughts. Resting a few
moments on the hay, with her glad blue eyes looking up into the sky,
she said a few hearty words about God’s love in opening up a path to
us. Young as she was, she was beginning to feel the sweet influence of
his Spirit in her heart, inciting her to love and serve him, believing
that his promises were sure, and that he would never leave nor forsake
her.
Sweet little comforter; she hardly knew from what her words often saved
me, desponding as I not unfrequently was, and inclined to go back
instead of forward, feeling tempted to half do my work, and never dream
of any thing more than present comfort.
Coming to me in my need, repeating the words Mr. Kirby had spoken,
going over with her Sabbath-school hymns and texts, she reminded me
more and more of our sainted mother, and stimulated me more than
words can tell to make use of every means in my power to get good and
do good. Thus my evil thoughts did not gain the ascendency; and by
continual striving I grew to enjoy my labor as my study, doing both
with a will and determination to succeed.
Every Saturday I walked five miles, for the purpose of hearing
Jennie’s weekly lesson and walking to church with her on the Sabbath.
“Do not forget the Sabbath,” had been one of the last injunctions of
my dear mother; and when tempted, as I often was, to stay from church
or from Sabbath-school because I was tired, or my dress was old and
patched, or to read and study since I had so little time in the week,
the thought of transgressing against her wish, rather than because it
was a positive command of God, has often led me to his house, trying
to cultivate a proper spirit on his holy day. And now that I have
learned more of his law and of the wonderful plan of redemption for a
guilty world, I bless his great name that I was early inclined to keep
his Sabbath. Let me ask any little boy or girl who is trying to be a
climber, to remember the Sabbath; not to think idle, foolish, wicked
thoughts, neither to make companions of those who are accustomed to
doing this; but reading God’s word, thinking of his love, listening to
his servants, and praying for the indwelling of his Spirit.
The Sabbath before the fall term of the academy was to commence, Mr.
Harlan preached at Claverton. His text was, “The entrance of thy word
giveth light; it giveth understanding unto the simple.” He spoke of
light as the great vivifier, the life-giving principle, the beautifier.
It paints the leaf of the lily and the rose, veins the violet, and
tinges the varied landscape with beauty. Without sunlight the visual
scope would be limited, and the beautiful around us would fail to
awaken our interest.
Before the Creator uttered that great fiat, “Let there be light,”
darkness was upon the face of the great deep; all matter was in a
circumfused mass, no ray of light to penetrate the gloom; and when
there was light, it presented the earth without form and void. But when
the sun was set in the firmament of heaven, then the earth brought
forth grass, herbs, trees, and flowers; even the angels were charmed
with its beauty, and the morning stars sang together for joy.
So without the Lord Jesus Christ, who is the great light of the moral
firmament, all the light man has can only present a world without
form, void of all beauty and all good; and it is only so far as “the
Day-spring from on high has visited us, to give light to them that sit
in darkness and in the shadow of death,” that the moral earth begins
to shoot forth the choicest plants and to produce the richest fruits,
so that the sons of God shout for joy and heaven rings with anthems of
praise.
The Scriptures set forth the birth of Christ under the figure of the
rising sun. How glorious is this figure! When the heart drinks in the
beauty of his words, when the light of his countenance shines upon
the repentant soul, what a flood of rapture thrills the entire being!
Christ is to us what the sun is to the material world, the dispenser of
light, life, and joy.
We have seen vegetables growing in corners or cellars, pale and
delicate, creeping feebly towards a ray of light that penetrated some
small crevice, like beings in distress stretching out their hands for
help. Like those delicate and sickly plants, watching eagerly every
ray of light, feeling their way through the darkness, hoping to find
some opening that would lead out into a world of beauty, is often the
experience of the individual Christian. Religion is not a thing of
gloom and clouds. It is a lamp, a light, a sun; the very thing to cheer
a desolate heart, and to brighten still more a cheerful, happy spirit.
“That was what made Mr. Kirby so good and happy, wasn’t it?” said
Jennie as we went home.
“And Mr. Brisbane,” I continued. “I often wondered how he could be so
happy when he was always suffering.”
It had always been a habit since we had been with Miss Grimshaw to
repeat as much of the sermon as we could to grandma, as we called Miss
Grimshaw’s mother. This morning the sermon was easy to remember; and
when we finished the poor woman took off her spectacles, and wiped the
tears from her wrinkled face. She was one of God’s chosen ones; but
her life had been darkened with much sorrow. Of eight children, she
had buried all but one. Still was she uniformly cheerful and happy.
A simple untaught woman, her understanding had been developed by the
reading of His word, and his precious promises were familiar utterances
in her humble home.
Monday morning I rose early; the dew-drops sparkling on the grass,
and the birds filling the trees with music. Jennie walked through the
village and beyond the mill with me. Stopping to say good-by, we heard
a noise of distress, and a fluttering of wings in a thicket near the
roadside.
Jennie was attracted at once, her loving heart responsive to the agony
of the fluttering birds. On careful inspection, we found two little
birdlings on the ground. They had fallen out of their nest, and though
able to hop a little, could not fly.
“Come, brother, put them back again,” and she held the little panting
things, while I parted the leaves and found the nest, standing on
tiptoe to put them in, and then retreating a little distance to see
what the old ones would do.
“Fallen out of their nest, just like us, brother; but God will take
care of us. He has, and he will;” and she flung her arms round my neck
and kissed me good-by, and I ran on as fast as I could.
“Like birds fallen out of our nest.” I thought of it till I reached Mr.
Wyman’s. I had lost a little time, for Jennie could not walk as fast as
I could. Breakfast was nearly over; but Mr. Wyman was not cross, and
Mrs. Wyman gave me a cup of coffee, and a plate filled with what she
had set away for me, and for which my early walk had given me a keen
relish.
The haying was over; but there was grain to cut, and I took my sickle
for the first time. All day my heart was light and cheerful; I felt
the influence of the Sabbath rest, and I seemed continually to hear
Mr. Harlan’s text, “The entrance of thy word giveth light; it giveth
understanding to the simple.” I resolved that I would study my Bible;
it should be to me a daily friend and companion. Mr. Kirby’s words too
went ringing through my brain: “Do what you do well, and God will open
a path where He sees that you can do something better.” Then Jennie
and the birds came up again; and thus with a continued succession of
pleasant thoughts, the day went happily away.
Mr. Wyman was kind, and more jovial than usual; and after the evening
meal, when I had filled the buckets with water, and helped Mrs. Wyman
in the dairy, I drew up my chair to the table and commenced reading the
weekly paper. Presently Mr. Wyman left his seat on the porch, knocked
the ashes from his pipe, laid it on the mantel, and said,
“Wife, have you told Marston what Mr. Farnham said?”
“I have not had time; you had best tell him, papa.”
I looked up in surprise. What had I done now? Was it because I was
a few minutes behind time in the morning? There was no room for
conjecture. Taking the arm-chair, Mr. Wyman began:
“Have you any plans for the fall and winter, Marston?”
“I was hoping that you would need me for the fall, Mr. Wyman; and in
the winter I should like to go to school,” I answered with a choking
voice.
“Mr. Farnham was here Saturday night, after you went to Claverton. He
spoke of you, and said that you was trying to study, and hoped to go
through college. Do you really think of any thing like this?”
“If I can, Mr. Wyman, although I am sometimes afraid it will take
a long time. I can only hope to go to school winters, at least for
several years.”
“That is just what Mr. Farnham said, and as we no longer have a boy to
educate, he made me more than half believe that I ought to help you. He
said that you could nearly pay your board with errands, and odd jobs
for Mr. Harlan; and I told him I would pay you wages through this month
and the next. So if you want to go to school, you had better begin
Wednesday. The more one knows, the better they may get along. Learn all
you can, and try and make a man. Boys sometimes think their employers
have no hearts. There has not been a day since you came here, in which
I have not remembered my Willie, and felt for you. I could have made
your work easier, but that would not be the way to make you a prompt,
useful, industrious man.”
My head bowed low while he spoke. I wished that I could live over the
past months. I had tried; but there had been many days when I had
dragged on, working because obliged to, yet not cheerful and happy. So
many resolves I had made and broken; so many times felt like running
away, and hiding myself out of sight and sound, longing to be free from
responsibility and from effort, and then in a moment ashamed to think
I should so forget, should be so weak and vacillating. Could I only
live the vacation over again, I would be more watchful, more patient in
trial.
It is thus we ever feel, when we look back. Yet do we always gain
wisdom from the retrospect? The future instead of the past calls for
our resolves, and the wail of memory blending with the whispers of
conscience, should be our incentive to a more useful life.
But when Mrs. Wyman came in with some nice new shirts that were once
Willie’s, and a handsome blue cloth jacket, that “looked so like the
dear boy,” she said, I broke down entirely.
“I do not deserve all this,” I said, choking down the tears. She put
her hand on mine.
“We give you these, Marston, to show that we approve your effort.
Mr. Farnham told us how you went to school last year. There were no
obstacles you did not overcome. A long walk twice a day, with bitter,
stinging cold, and still you made no excuse. You have worked faithfully
during vacation, and Mr. Wyman will let your wages run through the next
month. But you cannot go to school without clothes; we have no one to
wear them now;” and tears were on both of our faces. “Here’s a cap, and
boots too, that were Willie’s. I shall be glad to see you wear them.
Willie loved books. He would have gone to college, had he lived.”
I could not answer; it was all so sudden, so unexpected. I could look
back and see so many places where I had failed. With a full heart I
hurried up to my room, thankful that I was to go to school, that a path
had opened; and resolving anew that each moment should be spent to the
best advantage.
How it would gladden Jennie’s heart. “One step at a time,” she had
whispered to me so often; “Mr. Kirby said that was enough for you to
plan now. All that you are required to do is the work of the present
hour, and then forward to the next. You will do it yet, Marston, I know
you will.”
Borne up on the encouragement of her words, I felt that I should. It
would take years; but others had gone over the ground, and I could do
the same; and with the thought of Mr. Kirby and Jennie, I fell asleep.
[Illustration]
VIII.
It was said by a celebrated divine, “What we wish to be, that we
become.” And perhaps it is so; for when our Creator allows a great
longing to fill the soul, in the wish itself lies the surest pledge of
its future realization. It was thus with me in reference to going to
school. In addition to what Mrs. Wyman had given me, Miss Grimshaw had
provided me an outfit, for it seemed she had an inkling that I was to
return in September.
I spent one night with Jennie, and Wednesday found me at Rockdale. Mr.
Wyman had taken me over in his buggy: he had business at Terryville,
he said, and would like to call at the academy; he used to know Mr.
Harlan. Taking a kind leave after a short call, he said,
“When your money gives out, don’t be afraid to call on me. You can pay
me when you get through, if you like. If not, it will only be a trifle
of what I should have done for Willie.”
This was the man whom I had often called cold and unfeeling since
that morning on which I met Ezra Metcalf going back to the village:
no sympathy for a young heart in its struggles, no encouragement to
give one trying to do right. How my heart smote me now, as I stood and
watched him till he was out of sight; and then I tried to concentrate
all my thoughts on my lesson.
The first day of the term is always a broken one. Lessons are laid out,
but not expected to be studied; new scholars coming in, and old ones to
greet. Frank Clavers and Robert Lovell were delighted to have me back
again, and Robert drew me into the same old seat.
“Not that,” said Mr. Harlan laughing. “I look to you for assistance as
well as study. Pupils that I know I allow to sit back; the seats near
the desk are for new-comers;” and together we went down the aisle to
the back seat.
Robert Lovell did not board in the academy. He was the only son of a
widowed mother, who lived in Terryville, and he paid his tuition by
teaching a class of the smallest boys. Hence he was looked upon as both
teacher and pupil; and his good sense and judicious bearing won the
entire regard of those with whom he had to do. Of Scotch descent, large
and overgrown, he looked much older than he really was. As a scholar,
he was deep rather than brilliant, with a powerful memory, and fine
appreciation of the beautiful. He was studying for the ministry, and
his heart was alive to the importance of the work; but why he gave me
such marked demonstrations of his friendship, I never knew; while for
him I soon felt a warmth of regard second only to that given Mr. Kirby.
Further advanced in his studies, he was of great assistance to me in
my lessons--not by helping with translations, solving problems, etc.,
but telling me circumstances connected with the time he was studying
such and such a book, what he was obliged to do, his walks to school,
and the efforts he had to make; giving me to see how small was my labor
in comparison with his, my self-denial nothing like that he had known.
Then drawing his chair nearer, and taking my hand, he would tell me the
sweet story of the cross, painting in such colors the matchless purity
and beauty of a life it was ours to imitate, that I forgot myself and
my books, and only saw the bleeding, dying Saviour; only heard the
sweet accents of his love, “Come unto me.”
I shall never forget the first Sabbath at Rockdale. It did not seem
that I could be denied spending the day with Jennie, and still Mr.
Harlan had specified that I was to remain there. Try as I would, I
rebelled not a little. Robert Lovell came into my room, and seeing
my sorrowful face, asked the cause. I told him of my little sister,
my mother’s charge concerning her, and that I could not be happy if
obliged to remain from her over the Sabbath.
“It is a great self-denial, I can see; but if you have the right
spirit, you do not need to go to Claverton to spend Sunday properly.
God looks at the heart; he sees all your love and devotion, and he
is not one to forget. You want an education; through the kindness of
friends, you are put in a position to help yourself. This involves
your being here at your post all the time, and Saturday is of course
your busiest day.”
“I know it, and I feel quite ashamed of being so gloomy about it; but
Jennie will miss me at Sabbath-school.”
“That is just what I came in for. I want you to spend the Sabbath with
me. Mr. Farnham has given me a class of boys about your age, and I
should like to have you with us. We study together. I do not know so
much more than they do, but I am willing to do what I can, and we shall
improve in proportion as we become interested in that blessed book.”
“So am I willing to do any thing,” I answered. “I am sorry I have been
so fretful this morning. As you say, if I have the right spirit, I can
spend the Sabbath here as well as in Claverton. I can think of Jennie
as she sits in her little room; and when we do meet, we can compare our
lessons and note our advancement just as we do in our other studies.”