REUNION.
The church is finished--old Mr. Bruce is delighted, for he fancies
that he has had much to do with its completion.
Stanley is settled as the pastor, and ministers with great
acceptance. The day has arrived for its opening, the ringing of the
bell summons the worshippers from all quarters; and Madeline, with
her bright and happy face, has taken charge of the choir, and sweet
is the music which from grateful hearts rolls through the solemn
edifice.
At the close of the first Sabbath evening, the family of Woodcliff
are gathered in the drawing-room.
"How many do you number among your communicants, Stanley?" asked
Roland.
"About eighty," was the reply.
"You may record me as another, Stanley, for as the head of a family,
there must be no division in that important matter; and I can be very
happy in worshipping with you, my dear friend, in your own solemn and
holy forms of worship."
"Thank you, dear Roland," said the wife, "this is so pleasant to have
you with me as a fellow-communicant; we have been for a long time
fellow-pilgrims, but this outward union is peculiarly gratifying."
"You must make some allowances, dear, for my still liking a good
old-fashioned doctrinal sermon, even if it is pretty long; and
therefore, father and I must go once a day to the church of our
ancestors, for that is all that I have to remind me of good old
Scotland."
"Certainly, dear Roland, and I shall go with you; good Mr. Stewart
and I have always been the very best of friends; he is on excellent
terms with our own pastor, for he is one of God's dear people, and I
love him as such."
Madeline is very happy, for she is busy in fitting up the pretty
parsonage of Glendale; as soon as the finishing touch shall be given,
Helen will take her place there, as the pastor's gentle wife.
Early in the autumn, the preparations were completed, and Stanley has
brought his bride to the pleasant home.
"What a beautiful study!" said Helen, as she looked around at the
neat furniture; "such a complete table for a minister! such a pretty
book-case! and so well filled! such a comfortable lounge! and cosy
rocking-chair! I really think, husband, that I shall often bring my
work here, when you are not too much occupied."
"You will be welcome any day after twelve o'clock, Helen; for I must
be alone until then. I have a system to live by. In the afternoon
we shall ride out to visit my people, for I must make you acquainted
with the humblest."
"What a happy work is ours, dear husband! laboring together for that
blessed kingdom which is to prevail upon the earth, and at last to
sit down at the marriage-supper of the Lamb."
At the appointed time, Edmund brought home his young Scottish bride,
and settled in New York for the winter, spending their summers near
Woodcliff; Annot retaining her connection with the church of her
fathers, but often worshipping at Calvary, with the friends that she
loved so well.
* * * * * * *
Ten years have passed--their rolling cycles bringing the changing
seasons--spring, with its fresh young buds of life, summer with its
ripening fruits, autumn with its fading glories ready to drop into
the lap of winter; nursed tenderly through the night of nature, until
the children of another spring proclaim their joyous advent, by the
swelling buds, the winged songsters, the smiling skies, the music of
babbling brooks, and balmy breath of the resurrection season.
This, without the walls of Woodcliff--within also, there is growth,
harmony with the visible works of the Divine renovator. The little
seed planted so long ago by feeble boyish hands has germinated; often
seeming almost lifeless; hidden from the light and the sun, but not
from the great husbandman, who has watched its mysterious life.
First the little sprout, then the delicate leaflets so tender and
faintly green, then the stronger plant. Thus hath it been with the
spiritual world at Woodcliff--the Divine workman invisible, the work
so silent, yet so powerful!
"The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou hearest the sound
thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh, and whither it goeth:
so is every one that is born of the Spirit."
The changing culture appointed each day, each hour, each minute, on
to the very latest breath of mortal life, by the great husbandman of
immortal fruits.
Under the eye of the glorious three, the silent, wondrous work is
going on. The _Father_, planning the scheme of man's redemption; the
_Son_, executing it by sacrifice of himself; the _Spirit_, with his
powerful breath vivifying the sleeping germs.
And then the glorious harvest, when the reapers come to gather in the
sheaves! O, blessed day of jubilee, when Jesus comes! There has
been but little of the discipline of sorrow thus far in the life of
Madeline. That refining process was deemed best for Roland in his
early days--now, a long season of sunshine hath succeeded, and the
deeper incisions of grafting and pruning are reserved for future
years.
Blessed are they who wait in patience on the hand of the wise and
loving cultivator!
Ten years have passed over husband and wife, each year deepening and
purifying their love.
Each anniversary of her wedding day, Madeline has learned to look
under her pillow for some sweet token of affection. A faithful
likeness of himself, finely set, a handsome pin with his mother and
sister's hair, a rich diamond ring, with united initials engraved
within the circlet, and various other dear mementoes, have marked
each returning wedding day.
Three lovely children are added to the domestic circle; Malcolm
Graham, a boy of seven, Mary Gordon, a child of five, and Lilian, a
sweet prattler of three years, fill the halls of Woodcliff with their
merry voices. One lovely boy, their little Lewis, sleeps in the
quiet cemetery, and the infant spirit has formed another tie to
beckon the parents heavenward.
Another anniversary morning has arrived, and the pictures of her
household darlings greet Madeline on her first awaking.
"This is indeed a treasure!" said the happy wife, "how perfect is the
likeness! you could have given me nothing that can please me better!
and now, dear, here is my own little keep-sake for this happy day,"
and Madeline produced a beautiful miniature of herself, in the bloom
of her ripe womanhood.
"Ten years, Madeline, have passed, and I can say truly 'how much the
wife is dearer than the bride,'" and Roland fondly kissed the sweet
lips, and calm, pure forehead, of the one he loved so well.
Stephen Bruce grows cheerful in the society of his grand-children,
and seems to be renewing his youth among these dear prattlers; his
piety is becoming more and more simple-hearted, more like that of a
little child.
Roland is daily growing more influential; and notwithstanding his
high principles of integrity, after a few years, there is found
virtue enough to send him to the Senate of the United States, and
Aunt Matilda is becoming quite reconciled that Madeline should be the
wife of a Senator.
At Washington in winter, Madeline is too truly a mother to leave her
children at Woodcliff, and too faithful, as a wife, to part from her
husband; consequently, the house is left under the care of a
housekeeper, and the family-circle take up their abode at the capital.
Madeline's attractions draw around her a number of admirers, who are
anxious to bring her into their circle as a new star; but devoted to
her calling as wife and mother, she simply returns the calls of the
leaders of fashion, and resolutely avoids the frivolity of the giddy
world. Aunt Matilda is sadly chagrined, for she had anticipated
Madeline's triumphs with great exultation.
"I cannot consent, dear aunt, to such a life," replied the wife to
her remonstrances; "if I were running this round of folly, what would
become of my household darlings?" and steadily, she pursued the quiet
tenor of her beautiful life. Occasionally, she accepted invitations
to dinner-parties, always being there the centre of attraction.
One pleasure she felt that she must indulge in, for whenever she knew
that her husband was to speak in Congress, Madeline was always one of
the most attentive listeners to his eloquence, ever on the side of
the right, the true the good.
"What were you musing about this morning, Madeline?" said her
husband; "I saw you in the gallery surrounded by so many ladies, all
busily engaged in conversation, and you in such a deep brown study."
She smiled as he replied, "I was thinking, Roland, about my childish
days; and was seated in memory by the lake at Woodcliff, when tired
of playing with my gold-fish, I used to amuse myself by throwing in
pebbles, and watching the little circles, as they widened in their
course, until I could trace them no longer. I thought, Roland, of
the boy on the shore at Woodcliff; I saw you just as you stood that
day when first I met you; I traced all your course, comparing it to
the little pebble thrown carelessly into the lake, drawing one circle
of influence round the spoiled child at Woodcliff, then beyond, at
college, another round Norris and Stanley, then around Helen Thornly,
another around my dear father through your own sister Effie, then a
broader, wider circle, embracing the poor, neglected news-boys of New
York, and encircling Woodcliff; and now a broader still around the
country that you serve, until I am lost in wonder, and can trace it
no farther; truly human influence is a wonderful agent, and we ought
both to exclaim 'What hath God wrought!'"
"How little did we know, dear wife, of the power of my mother's
blessed words, when she bade me 'Look aloft;' I listened to them,
then, as simply comforting; I have learned since how they have guided
my path as a beacon light, to beckon me onward."
A servant entered, interrupting the conversation.
"Mr. Bruce, a gentleman wishes to see you," and Roland entering the
parlor, is greeted by the fast friend of his college days, Dr.
Kingsley.
"How are you, my son?" said the good man, as he heartily shook
Roland's hand.
"I came to congratulate you on your success to-day, for I was in the
Senate Chamber and heard your speech; I cannot tell how my old heart
swelled with pride as I listened, and remembered you, Roland, as one
of my sons. I always knew that you would leave your mark upon the
world, and do honor to your Alma Mater."
"I can never cease to thank you, Dr. Kingsley; for had you turned me
away, I had no other resource."
"And then, Roland, the world would have lost a noble laborer in the
cause of all that is good and true."
"You will not reject other poor aspirants, my good friend, for there
are many struggling spirits who need just such a hand as yours to
guide, and such a heart to sympathize."
Introducing his old friend to Madeline, an hour's pleasant
intercourse closed the interview, with a cordial invitation to the
good man to visit them at Woodcliff.
"Congress will adjourn to-morrow night," said Roland.
"Then for dear Woodcliff," answered Madeline; "are you not glad,
father?" turning to old Mr. Bruce.
"Yes, indeed, there is sae much that needs my care, an' I am tired o'
this noisy, bustling place; but I am glad that I came; for I canna be
separated frae the bonnie darlings."
Immediately on the close of the session, they turned their faces
homeward, and a joyful party met once more around the domestic
fireside. The winter curtains were yet up, for it was cold and
cheerless out of doors, and a warm fire and cheerful supper greeted
them, with Stanley and his wife ready to welcome them home again.
The next morning, Roland came in from the library with the delightful
news, that Uncle Malcolm and Aunt Lindsay were coming to pay a visit
to America.
"The best room shall be prepared for dear Uncle Malcolm," said
Madeline, and she busied herself in making ready for the good old
friend.
"They will be here in three weeks, at the farthest," said Roland,
"and we must have a nice lounge, and rocking-chair put in his room,
plenty of books, and a secretary; for Uncle Malcolm could not be
happy without his usual pursuits."
Annot was sent for, with her husband, and two sweet children, little
Roland and Anna, the one five, the other three years old.
"I can scarcely wait," said the anxious daughter, "for it is seven
years since I hae seen my mother."
One evening Roland arrived from New York with the news that the
steamer was below.
"They will be here to-morrow or next day," was the answer to Annot's
anxious questions.
Merry as a kitten, she was never tired of telling her little ones
that Grandma and Uncle Malcolm were coming.
Old Mr. Bruce and his grandchildren were playing on the front
lawn--little Malcolm driving his sister Lilian in a small carriage;
and grandfather amusing himself by keeping close to their side, to
keep them from danger.
Suddenly, Mary cried out,
"There comes the carriage!" and the little girls ran rapidly into the
house with the news; while Malcolm, holding his grandfather's hand,
stood in anxious expectation of the arrival.
The carriage stops--Annot is folded in the arms of her dear mother,
and Uncle Malcolm grasps warmly the extended hands of Roland and
Madeline.
"Welcome a thousand times to Woodcliff, dear uncle!" exclaims Roland;
and Stephen Bruce also advances with a timid step, but placid smile,
to greet the new comers.
"What little boy is this?" asks the good man, as he lays his hand on
the head of Roland's son, standing by anxious to be noticed by the
stranger.
"This is Malcolm Graham," answered the happy father.
Mr. Graham changed countenance, and whispered,
"How came this, Roland? I aye thought it strange that ye did na name
him Stephen."
"My father named the boy himself."
Uncle Malcolm smiled gratefully at this token of entire forgetfulness
of the painful past, and lifting the dear child in his arms, kissed
him fondly, as he laid the hand of blessing on his dark brown hair.
While Madeline is presenting her other darlings, Annot's eyes are
moistened with happy tears, as she leads little Roland and Anna up to
their grandma and uncle, who pronounce them "darling pets," and the
proud young mother is full of innocent delight.
Changes have taken place in all the party--ten years have added many
silver hairs to Malcolm Graham's noble head, but to him they are
indeed a crown of glory.
Mrs. Lindsay is stouter and more matronly--Madeline has exchanged the
bewitching charms of young girlhood for the ripe beauty of a queenly
woman, retaining still the brightness and vivacity of early youth,
and the arch expression of her lovely face.
Roland is a noble man of thirty-seven, with a fine, commanding
figure, the same dark eagle eye, and sweet expressive smile of
benevolence.
Annot is no more the lovely child, with her wealth of golden ringlets
falling round her face and shoulders; but the blooming wife in the
first flush of sweet young womanhood.
Seated between the two, Uncle Malcolm takes the hand of each, saying,
"Here are baith my daughters! well, ye are making Uncle Malcolm an
auld mon, wi' yer bairns skipping around me; but I hope that my heart
will ne'er grow old."
"You will never grow old in feeling, uncle," said Madeline; "and we
are so happy to have you with us; but you must be tired; come, Annot,
let us show Uncle his room."
Each taking an arm, they led him to his pleasant chamber; Annot
retiring with her mother, and Madeline busying herself about Uncle
Malcolm.
"Here is a warm winter wrapper, and a pair of chamber slippers; I
knew that you would like them, uncle."
The old gentleman sat down in his comfortable chair; and, looking
around on all the arrangements of his room, with the bright fire
lighting up the whole, said,
"Well, Madeline! this is comfort! ye will spoil the auld mon among
ye."
"No danger, dear uncle," as she kissed the calm forehead; "we can
never do too much for you, for are you not my husband's dearest,
warmest friend?"
Sweet was the incense of gratitude and praise that ascended from the
family altar that night, as Uncle Malcolm led the devotions, and
Madeline conducted the singing of the hymn.
The next morning, after breakfast, Uncle Malcolm called Roland aside,
and said,
"Tak' me to the spot most sacred in America;" and, alone, they
proceeded, with solemn step, to the cemetery.
Standing at the foot of his mother's grave, the strong man stood for
some minutes in silence, reading the inscription on the humble
tomb-stone; then Uncle Malcolm, overpowered by the floods of sad and
touching memories, lifted up his voice, and wept aloud. Roland stood
with his arm around the old man, and whispered,
"We must not mourn for her, dear uncle, a blessed spirit around the
throne."
"I dinna, Roland; but I could na but feel how happy I should hae made
her; how I wad hae sheltered her frae the rough world; for while I
was enjoying a' that wealth could gie, my puir Mary was suffering
years o' penury an' toil."
"It is past, dear uncle; through all her trials she enjoyed the peace
of God, which passeth all understanding; and there is the blessed
hope of reunion; do you not think that we shall know each other in
the better land?"
"I do, my son, confidently hope to meet that blessed spirit, purified
an' full o' holy love, where there shall be nae mair parting; while I
live, Roland, I shall luve her memory," (and he took out of his
pocket-book once more the lock of golden hair,) "that must be buried
wi' me, Roland."
None asked where Uncle Malcolm had been, for the serious and tender
expression that dwelt upon his face, and softened the tones of his
voice throughout the day, spoke volumes.
Interested in all the benevolent schemes around Woodcliff, Malcolm
rode out with Roland; and, with a full heart, listened to the account
of all their plans for good. On Sunday he attended the church at
Glendale; and as he listened to the Christian statesman, seated so
humbly before his large class of young men, he could not but bless
God for the grace which had so faithfully directed the footsteps of
this good steward of his Master's gifts.
As he watched the earnest look, the respectful reverence, the deep
interest of the youth who surrounded Roland, he rejoiced in the
inward conviction that none of this good seed would fall to the
ground unblessed; and many a tale of sacred influence and private
benevolence reached the ears of Uncle Malcolm in his private visits
among the people of Woodcliff, for Roland was not one to blazon his
own good deeds.
"We hae had a blessed day!" said the good man, at the close of a
Sabbath-day at Woodcliff; "what a holy privilege we hae enjoyed in
worshipping a common Saviour!" for they had attended on the services
of each church, and had heard faithful discourses from both ministers.
"Stanley seems a maist devoted mon," said Uncle Malcolm, "how meikle
o' Christ there is in his sermons!"
"Yes, that is the secret of his success; while he does not neglect
nor undervalue the scaffolding of the Christian church, the whole
power of his ministry is to lead sinners to build their hopes upon
the corner-stone, Christ Jesus our Lord."
"It seems to me, Roland, when the heart is filled with luve to the
Master, an' a sense o' the danger o' immortal souls, men canna spend
their time in preaching sae meikle on these minor things. I hae
felt, syne I hae been amang ye, perfect communion o' spirit, for I
hae heard naught but Jesus, an' him crucified."
"I have often thought, dear uncle, how sweet is this communion of
saints! How blessed is the feeling that every Sunday so many
pilgrims are worshipping the dear Redeemer in the great cathedrals of
vast cities, and the lowly temples of the village lanes of good old
England; the solemn worship of its ancient church mingles with that
of its American child, throughout the length and breadth of this vast
country; while the prayers and hymns of Christians mingle daily from
the hills of Scotland, and the green island of the shamrock. All
over the world the songs of pilgrims, on their heavenward march, roll
up to Heaven; and, dear uncle, when you are in Scotland, we can still
commune in spirit; you, in your fathers' venerable church, and we in
the one we love."
"'Tis a vera holy bond, Roland, an' wae be to the Christian who can
allow bigotry or intolerance to chill sic holy worship."
"Let us never forget, dear uncle, the tie of Christian brotherhood as
the dearest and purest of all earthly bonds."
"I could na bear to think o' parting, my son, if I did na realize
this sacred bond o' union."
Many such hours of hallowed intercourse were spent between these two
noble spirits, so elevated above the common masses of humanity.
Little Malcolm is a child of promise; and the parents are teaching
diligently the first great lesson of obedience to their children; not
a day passes without its lessons: "Line upon line, precept upon
precept," looking upward for God's blessing, both parents train their
dear children in paths of obedience, truth and love. Little Mary is
a gentle, loving child; but Lilian is a repetition of Madeline,
happily under the controlling influence of wise and loving guidance.
Aunt Clara is daily ripening for the skies.
Lavinia, the same vain, frivolous devotee of fashion, no longer
young, still unmarried, is rapidly becoming that most unhappy of all
miserable beings, a censorious and disappointed old maid.
The declining years of Stephen Bruce are calm and tranquil;
surrounded by a family who encircle him with tender, affectionate
reverence, his latter days are his best; and he is passing on to "the
rest that remaineth," full of calm unshaken trust in his Saviour.
Stanley has gathered round him a devoted flock; and Helen is the
happy wife of a tender husband, the mother of a lovely family, the
helper of her husband's labors; sharing in his cares and sorrows, as
well as in his joys.
Glendale is a blessed sanctuary, and Calvary Church the centre of a
holy influence in the midst of the homes of Woodcliff.
Harry and Charles have not learned wisdom yet, for their youth was
one of folly, and they are reaping the fruits, in advancing years, of
uselessness and discontent; affections withered, intellects wasting,
time flying, and their Lord coming for his reckoning--such is the
life of thousands--who can bear to read their everlasting destiny?
"Cast ye the unprofitable servant into outer darkness."
Uncle Malcolm's visit is drawing to an end, and he seeks an occasion
of private conference with Edmund.
"My son, I feel as if I canna gae hame wi'out ye and Annot; I am
growing auld, Edmund, an' the cares o' life begin to weigh heavily
upon me; why na move yer family to Scotland?"
"It would be just the life that I should love, Uncle Malcolm; for
years I have longed for the country. I am not calculated for
commercial pursuits, and I know that Annot would only be too happy to
be once more in her dear old home; there is but one difficulty--my
mother would so mourn over the separation."
"I hae enow to occupy us baith, Edmund; an' there are sae mony
openings for usefu'ness, I am sure that we should be happy together.
Then I am anxious that Annot's bairns should be trained in Scotland,
for their inheritance will be there."
Edmund spoke to Annot on the subject.
"Can it be, dear Edmund? I hae sae langed for a return to my ain
land, an' I agree perfectly wi' Uncle Malcolm that Scotland is the
hame for our bairns."
Mrs. Lindsay most earnestly added her influence, and Mrs. Norris,
convinced that it was for Edmund's worldly prosperity, finally
consented. American friends were pained to miss the dear faces of
Annot's family from among their circle, but both Roland and Madeline
saw that it was right.
Uncle Malcolm had learned to love his little namesake, and, on the
evening before their departure, took the child into his own room,
and, after warm, affectionate counsels, prayed with the dear boy for
God's blessing on his childhood and his youth. Going to his
secretary, he brought out a handsome rosewood writing-desk,
completely furnished.
"This, my boy, is frae Uncle Malcolm; as soon as ye are auld enow, I
hope that ye will mak guid use o' it. Ye will find i' the stable,
too, a dear little pony that I hae bought for my namesake to ride; he
is quite safe, an' papa will teach ye how to ride; ye maun ca' him
Selim, after mamma's pony."
"Thank you, dear good Uncle Malcolm; I'll try to be a good boy, and
then you won't be sorry for these gifts," and the boy kissed the good
old man again and again.
Going down stairs, he called the little girls to his side.
"Noo, Mary, what do ye think that Uncle Malcolm has for his bonnie
lassie?"
"I know just what I want, uncle."
"What is it, my bairn? dinna be afraid to tell."
"I want a pretty baby-house, uncle, for Lilian and me."
Uncle Malcolm smiled pleasantly, and, taking the hands of the little
girls, led them into the library, and there was the sweetest
baby-house, entirely furnished with such a handsome outfit, and,
seated on chairs in another part of the room, two beautiful dolls
from Aunt Lindsay. They were quite beside themselves; Mary in quiet
wonder, and Lilian skipping about the room in ecstasy.
"Noo, mamma, I hae only ane request to mak, an' that is, should these
little lassies quarrel aboot these gifts, please deprive them o'
their use for ane whole month; but I hope that they will na be sae
naughty."
Both the children thanked good Uncle Malcolm, and, kissing each
other, made faithful promises not to dispute about the pretty gifts.
The day of parting had arrived; always painful, but doubly so now, as
it removed a dear family from the midst of this circle of friends,
with but little prospect of meeting again on this side of the better
land.
"God bless ye! my ain dear children," said Uncle Malcolm, as he laid
his hand upon the heads of Roland and Madeline; "let us aye remember
the precious words o' our departed saint, 'Looking aloft,'" and tears
trembled in the eyes of the good man as he tenderly repeated the
blessed words.
The carriage drove off with a tearful company, and Roland, kissing
the lips and encircling the wife with his sustaining arm, led her in
to the library.
"This is life, dear Madeline; there must be partings here. Reunion,
lasting and eternal, must be beyond this mortal shore."
Life still rolls on at Woodcliff. Roland and Madeline have not yet
reached the perfection of existence; but, as far as mortals can,
theirs is truly living--living that life on earth which shall be
perfected hereafter in the kingdom that is coming.
'Tis true that these are the creations of fiction--ideal man and
woman--but let none say that such can never dwell in mortal flesh.
Christ came to make such. There is not one trait exhibited here, but
is commanded in the Gospel, and from which can be drawn grace to form
just such characters upon the earth. Such monuments of grace have
walked the earth like angels, and such there will be again; for there
is a time coming, when the world will be filled with such lively
stones, in the glorious temple that shall hereafter be erected on the
earth. Why should not she who writes, and they who read, seek to be
one of these highly-polished living stones?
'Tis true that to mortal vision, this blessed kingdom does not _seem_
very near; for throughout the world are sounds of war, and tumult,
and confusion; man slaying his brother man on many fields of combat,
and the sweet dove of peace and love _far, far_ away; but there are
yet some left on earth in whose bosoms dwell, by bright
anticipations, the spirit of the millennium; above this strife and
tumult, dwelling in a world of their own, with folded hands, uplifted
eyes, and hearts whose pulsations are one eternal prayer. Precious
witnesses for the kingdom of peace, and love, and holiness, yet to
come! To come! Blessed be God! to come! And this little pilgrim
band whom we have followed so long, still "Looking aloft," and seeing
Him who is invisible, may confidently look for that everlasting
glorious kingdom.
"Looking aloft!" blessed talisman against the spirit of worldliness,
selfishness, and strife of every kind! "Looking aloft!" It inspired
Noah when sheltered safely in the ark, calm and happy amidst the
overwhelming deluge of wrath. It calmed the trusting heart of holy
Daniel in the den of lions, stilling their angry growls, and closing
their bloodthirsty jaws. It sustained David in the hour of his
darkest trials, and, centuries ago, inspired those sublime Psalms of
holy confidence which multitudes still sing in their pilgrimage as
they are marching home. It wakened the songs of triumph in the
prison of Paul and Silas, and cheered the great apostle beneath the
uplifted axe of the bloody Nero.
It lit up smiles of joy and peace upon the faces of that holy band of
martyrs who were stoned, sawn asunder, and burned at the fiery stake,
when even woman's earnest eye and childhood's tender glance were
turned calmly upward to the glorious Saviour; and from the stake and
the block the martyr's gaze of faith pierced the heavens, as,
"Looking aloft," they saw Him who is invisible.
Blessed talisman! sufficient for those dark and stormy days, it is
enough for all life's woes, and cares, and sorrows. It hath
sustained Roland Bruce in the days of poverty, trial, and
bereavement; and hath brought him into the quiet waters of
usefulness, peace, and love, with "the promise of the life that now
is, and of that which is to come" all fulfilled. Hand in hand with
the chosen partner of his joys and sorrows, we bid them both
farewell; with the certainty that such a union will be peaceful and
blessed while they tread life's changing scenes, and, in the world to
come, will be crowned by blissful, eternal reunion, so long as their
motto, beaming from the pole-star of hope, remains "LOOKING ALOFT."
THE END.
[Transcriber's note: there are several instances of Madeline taking
off, or putting on, her "flat". It's unknown if a flat is a type of
hat, or if it's a typographical error for "hat". All instances have
been left as printed.]