devotions of the family were concluded we took breakfast. The ground
was carpeted with the snow which had fallen last night, but the
weather was clear and dry above, and we contrived to reach church
without much inconvenience. On entering the sacred building, in
which I had on past occasions listened with delight to the glad
tidings of salvation, and where many who were then assembled had
received the first impressions of truth on their hearts, my eye
caught sight of the venerable Rector, who had just raised his
face from its concealment under the folds of his surplice, having
invoked in silent prayer the Divine blessing on himself and his
congregation. The time that had elapsed since I had previously met
with him had not passed lightly over his head, for he now bore
evident marks of increasing age and infirmity. When the audience
stood up, as he began the service, I thought of the venerable
patriarch who, when addressing the tribes of Israel just before his
departure, said--"I am an hundred and twenty years old this day;
I can no more go out and come in." Though his hand shook, and his
general appearance indicated great bodily weakness, yet his voice
was strong, and he read the whole service with great impressiveness
and solemnity. Having finished it he threw off the surplice, and
ascended the pulpit; and looking around with a benignant smile
on his crowded auditory, he once more knelt to pray to Him who
rewards with the open manifestations of his grace the prayers of his
faithful servants. He chose the following text:--"For Christ is not
entered into the holy places made with hands, which are the figures
of the true; but into heaven itself, now to appear in the presence
of God for us: nor yet that he should offer himself often, as the
high-priest entereth into the holy place every year with blood of
others; for then must he often have suffered since the foundation of
the world: but now once, in the end of the world, hath he appeared,
to put away sin by the sacrifice of himself" (Heb. ix. 24-26). After
a few introductory observations, he said, "Allow me to call your
attention to--
"I. The Saviour's appearance on earth. Mark,
"_First._ The time of his coming. It was in the end of the world;
that is, at the conclusion of the Levitical dispensation.
"_Second._ The design of his appearance--to put away sin by the
sacrifice of himself.
"_Third._ The perfection of the sacrifice which he offered--verses
25, 26.
"The Jewish sacrifices," said the venerable Rector, "removed
ceremonial defilement, and the guilt of the sins which were
committed against the political and ecclesiastical laws of the
theocracy; but they could not expiate the guilt of the sins
committed against God, nor restore peace to the conscience of the
transgressor: and their perpetual repetition, during the succeeding
periods of that dispensation, was an unequivocal proof of their
inefficacy. But such was the efficacy of the sacrifice which Jesus
Christ presented, when he offered up himself to God, that he made
a full expiation for the sins of his people, and procured for
them pardon, acceptance, and eternal life. When his enemies stood
gazing on him, as the blood was flowing from his veins, they were
unconscious of the great moral effects which that precious blood
was actually producing. It was throwing back an influence on the
ages which were past--cancelling the arrears which were due to the
justice of God from the redeemed who had been pressing into the
kingdom of heaven from the death of Abel to that hour; and it was
extending forward to the end of time a source of merit, which would
take away the guilt of all who should believe in him. And yet,
my brethren, though the Scriptures declare, in the most decisive
terms, that we have redemption through the blood of Christ, even the
forgiveness of our sins, many impeach the efficacy of the atonement,
and some would expunge it from the Christian system. But if they are
disposed to mistrust its efficacy in relation to themselves, why
not suffer it to remain for the benefit of others? Take away the
atonement of Christ from the scheme of redemption, and you commit an
act more cruel towards man than that of which a Levite would have
been guilty had he, under cloud of night, carried off the brazen
serpent, which was the only means of saving the people from the
agonies of a lingering but certain death. Take away the atonement
of Christ from the scheme of redemption, and you commit a deed more
cruel than that of which the high-priest would have been guilty, had
he drained off the waters of Bethesda the night before the descent
of the angel, by whose mysterious power they became the means of
healing the withered, the halt, and the blind. O, take not from the
sanctuary of the Lord the blood of sprinkling that speaketh better
things than the blood of Abel: it is the only voice that speaks the
words of peace to man, when stung by remorse, or agitated by fear.
"II. The Saviour's appearance in heaven.
"_First._ Where does he appear? In heaven itself.
"_Second._ For whom does he appear? For us.
"_Third._ For what purpose does he appear?
"It hath pleased God," said the preacher, when illustrating this
part of his subject, "in the conveyance of blessings to man, to
appoint a regular system of agency and means as the medium through
which they are given. To object to such an appointment is no less
an insult to his authority, than an impeachment of his wisdom. It
is but rarely, indeed, that such an act of folly and impiety is
committed in relation to the minor gifts which he bestows. Life is
preserved, not by a direct and arbitrary exertion of his power,
but by the reception of food prepared by the labour and skill of
man, and received according to the ordinance of his appointment.
Evils which threaten our honour and happiness are averted, not by a
visible interposition of his providence, but by the influence and
exertions of our friends, who are employed under his direction. If,
then, on this general principle the ordinary affairs of his wise
and benevolent administration are conducted; and if this principle
be admitted by us, and we feel its practical utility, why should
we object to the adoption of it in reference to a more important
and a more momentous course of procedure? Why refuse to admit that
Jesus Christ is the medium through whom all the designs of mercy
and grace, in relation to man, are accomplished? If it hath pleased
the Father that in him all fulness should dwell, ought we to object
to such an arrangement? Is it wise? Is it becoming? Is it safe?
But, brethren, I hope better things of you, though I thus speak.
You feel too deeply your obligations to the Redeemer, for laying
down his life a ransom for you, to wish to rob him of the glory of
your salvation--and are too deeply interested in the result of his
appearance in the presence of God for you, to exclude him from your
affections and confidence. He now appears in the presence of God to
intercede for you; and on his intercession your present safety and
happiness, and your future glory depend."
The looks, the tones, and the manner of the speaker showed that he
was thoroughly impressed with the importance of his subject; and
being earnest himself, an evident impression was produced on his
audience.
On leaving church, I was walking a little behind Mr. and Mrs.
Stevens, and Mr. Llewellin, and was much pleased to find my old
friend, Farmer Pickford, and his wife, waiting on the roadside to
speak to me.
"I am main glad, Sir, to see you back amongst us once more; and I
hope you will come some day and take pot-luck with us."
"Yes, do, Sir," said Mrs. Pickford, "we shall be so glad to see
you. Our eldest son often talks about you. We hope what you said,
when reading the Bible, and your prayer, have been made a great
blessing to his soul."
"He'll be a better man than his father, and no mistake. Why, Sir, he
knows more of the Bible already than Parson Cole; he can say more
varses than the Parson can; and he can tell the meaning of them too.
I and my mistress often sit up a bit at night, after the rest are
gone to bed, to hear his talk about the good things of the Bible."
"Have you established family prayer in your family?"
"Yes, Sir," said Mrs. Pickford. "Our son prays with the family every
night."
"Aye, Sir, it would do your heart good to hear our Harry pray. He
often makes me weep when I am hearkening to him. Why, at his age,
and a longful while after, I was a wild, wicked man. I have sinned
a main lot of sins in my time, the more's the pity; but now I know
the blood of Christ cleanses from all sin. What a mercy! Things are
changed amongst us for the better."
"Yes, Sir," rejoined his wife; "the wilderness is now a fruitful
field. We have no swearing, or drunkenness, or Sabbath-breaking,
amongst us now. We are so happy, and thankful to the Lord and to
you."
"I suppose, farmer, you would not like to have things changed back
again to their former state?"
"I would rather die first, and no mistake. What! swear again--and
get drunk again--and break the Sabbath again--and be the same man I
was when you gave us the first talk about the worth of the soul. The
Lord, I hope, will never let that come to pass."
"My heart would burst to see it," exclaimed Mrs. Pickford. "Our
Henry tells his father, that when the Lord begins the work of grace
in the soul, he always goes on with it."
"The Lord has done a little for me, I do believe; because I
should never have done it myself without him; but I can't get on
in knowledge and in grace, like my mistress and our Harry. I am
dullish like, except in the matter of farming. But I hate sin, love
my Bible, trust in Christ for salvation; and I think at times it
will be well with me at last. I am happy to tell you, Sir, we now
all go to chapel at night."
"So then, farmer, you have got over your scruples, and go and hear
my friend, Mr. Stevens, on a Sabbath evening."
"He's a wonderful man. I sometimes think he can preach better than
our Rector; though he is a main good preacher. He is more simple and
plain-like. Somehow or another, but I don't know how it is, what he
says gets farther into my heart, and stays longer there than our
Rector's sermons. I wish he would preach in the morning too. The
youngsters like him best. Our Harry leads the singing at the chapel,
and teaches in the school. He is a kind of a right-hand man amongst
'um."
"Keep steadily on, farmer, in the good way; avoid temptation; let no
sin have dominion over you; read your Bible, be constantly coming
by faith to Jesus Christ, to pardon, to purify, and save you, and I
shall see you in heaven at last."
"The Lord grant it may be so. Will you speak to me then if you
should happen to see me there?"
"Speak to you! yes; and hail you as a son of God, made perfect in
knowledge and in purity."
"Well, I'll live in hope. You will come and take pot-luck with us
before you leave Fairmount?"
"Yes, do, Sir," added Mrs. Pickford; "we shall all be so glad to see
you, and so will dear Henry."
"I forgot to say one thing," observed the farmer, "which mainly you
would like to know, Sir."
"And what is that, Mr. Pickford?"
"Why, my mistress and our Harry have set up a bit of a prayer
meeting like, in our kitchen, on a Wednesday night. Our youngsters
and sarvants, and some of the neighbours come to it, and fill it;
and we have some good singing, and all the rest of it, as they have
at Mr. Stevens' chapel."
"I am happy to hear this, farmer; but have you a sermon?"
"No, Sir, not always; but we have a sarmunt now and tan, when we can
get hold of a preacher; and when we 'ant got one, our Harry says a
few things from the Bible, and you would be main pleased to hear
him. He puts out what he says in a plainish sort of a way, but we
all see that what he says comes from his heart, and it gets into our
hearts, and does us good. Will you come, Sir, some Wednesday night
while you are here, and give us a prayer and a sarmunt? You shall
have a full kitchen."
"Yes, do, Sir," said Mrs. P.; "we shall be so glad to see you and
hear you. I'll invite all our neighbours."
"And if the kitchen be not big enough to hold them, I'll have the
barn cleared out, and we'll go there."
"Very well. I'll be with you next Wednesday."
We then shook hands and parted, and I hastened to rejoin my friends,
who I found, in the interval, had met with the Roscoes, including
Miss Roscoe, who had now happily completely recovered from her cold,
and consented, evidently to the satisfaction of Mr. Llewellin, to
accompany her parents in the evening to Fairmount. I informed them
of my conversation with Farmer Pickford, and how I had arranged to
conduct a prayer meeting at his house on the ensuing Wednesday. We
then proceeded homeward, discussing the topics of the sermon we had
just heard, with, I trust, much mutual profit. Early in the evening,
Mr. and Mrs. Roscoe, and Miss Roscoe, appeared, agreeably to their
promise, and we spent a very pleasant Christmas evening together.
The tranquil joy visible in the countenances of Mr. Llewellin and
Miss Roscoe was especially manifest--our courting days, as Goldsmith
remarks, being generally about the happiest in our lives. After tea
we had a little sacred music, both Mr. Llewellin and Miss Roscoe
being admirable performers on the pianoforte. We then all joined in
singing together the Evening Hymn. Thus terminated our Christmas at
Fairmount, during which we had all experienced how much better is
the employment of the day in the purposes of devotion than in those
of conviviality and mirth.
On Christmas Day, when the scattered members of a family are
gathered together to enjoy, around the social hearth, the pleasures
of social intercourse, those who are the avowed disciples of the
Redeemer should be on their guard, lest they conform to the custom
of the world, which too often celebrates his birth by indulging in
the pleasures of eating and drinking, and thoughtless merriment,
rather than by improving conversation and the interchange of
devotional sentiments. We are required to set an example; and
while I am no advocate for the exclusion of innocent recreations
and indulgences from the domestic circle, I must enforce the
imperative necessity of a dignified consistency of conduct on the
part of those who profess to be wiser in their generation than
the men of the world, and who contemplate, with wonder and with
gratitude, the scheme of redemption, consummated by the appearance
of the Saviour, on which many pour contempt, or look with unmoved
indifference. You may have your family parties, and you may invite
your friends to partake of your bounty, and you may assume and wear
an air of cheerfulness and pleasantry; but no excess of eating, or
of drinking, or of levity should be tolerated, as your profession
has raised you to the summit of observation, and the irreligious,
no less than your fellow-Christians, expect that you will let your
moderation appear unto all men. Your children, if they are not
decidedly pious, may wish, on this day of festivity, to trespass
a little farther on the gravity of your domestic habits than they
presume to do on ordinary occasions; and though I would not advise
you to transfer the sanctity of the Sabbath to this day, as you have
no authority for so doing, yet there is a propriety in observing
it with decorum, as commemorating the birth of him who came to put
away sin by the sacrifice of himself. The slightest reference to the
_design_ of his mission will suggest to your mind the importance of
celebrating this day in a suitable manner, by offering "thanks unto
God for his unspeakable gift," and by giving a practical proof that
he came to save his people from their sins.
WINTER SCENES.
The weather had been intensely cold since our arrival at Fairmount,
and for two days the snow had descended without intermission; but
on the second evening a severe frost set in, and when I stepped
out in the morning, I found that the fallen flakes had become so
hardened that I could walk on them without leaving the impression
of my foot on the surface. I love the country at all seasons, and,
though certainly preferring it in the genial seasons of summer and
autumn, when the woods are decked in their mantle of green, and the
fields brighten in the sunshine with their waving crops of golden
grain, I have nevertheless frequently experienced a large amount of
pleasure in rambling during winter along the frozen roads and lanes,
or contemplating the bleak landscape spreading out before me, with
its white carpet of snow.
After walking briskly onward for a little distance, I determined,
after some hesitation, to revisit the spot where, on a former
occasion,[29] I had sat to feast myself on the enchanting scenery of
the country, which was then clothed in its gayest summer dress; but
now the scene was completely changed. The skeleton trees extended
their leafless branches sprinkled with snow-flakes; many of the
evergreens in the shrubbery presented a withered and scorched
aspect, from the influence of the frost; while the little birds,
who in the summer had delighted us with their music, were now
roaming about the country in search of food, and some of them not
unfrequently found dead on the roadside from hunger and cold.
[29] See vol. i. p. 92.
As I stood viewing the change which the winter season had made in
the appearance of nature, my mind reverted to the changes which
as suddenly take place in the dispensations of Providence; and I
recalled to my remembrance many who, during my short pilgrimage,
had sunk from the heights of prosperity to the depths of adversity,
and whose opening spring of plenty and of hope had been succeeded
by the sterile and stormy winter--closing up the visions of their
anticipated bliss in the gloom of disappointment and of woe. While
thus musing on the mutations of nature and of Providence, I saw two
lads approaching from a distant meadow, and when they drew near
enough for me to trace their features, I recognized the children of
the woodman whom I visited on the evening when his little daughter
died.[30] They looked very sorrowful and dejected, and exclaimed,
as soon as they recognized me, "O, Sir, we are again in trouble--we
have lost father! Have you seen him, or heard of him? We have been
walking about ever since daybreak, but we can't find him." They then
gave me an account of the calamity which had befallen them.
[30] See vol. i. p. 104.
After the interment of his daughter, he regained his usual flow of
spirits, and felt resigned to the will of God; but within the last
few weeks he had sunk into a low, desponding state, and often spoke
of his decease as one who believed the hour of his departure was at
hand; and yet health nerved his arm, and he was strong to labour.
"Mother often told him," said the eldest son, "that he ought not to
mistrust Providence, who had always provided food and raiment for
us; nor yet to think that he was going to leave us. But she could
not comfort him; for, after coming home at night, he would sit and
weep, and talk to us till we all wept with him; and we knew not
why, for we saw no danger coming. We were all well and happy except
father."
He had gone to his work on the preceding day, at his usual hour,
taking with him, in his bag and bottle, his refreshment, and was
seen by his master about noon, walking away from the field in which
he had been at work, with his dog by his side, but neither of them
had been heard of since. "We fear, Sir," said the lad, who sobbed
aloud as he spoke, wiping away at the same time the falling tears
with the sleeve of his frock, "he has tumbled into some pit, and
has perished in the snow; but, Sir, we cannot trace any marks of
his footsteps, nor yet hear Trail bark nor howl. Farmer Pickford
and his son have just been away searching for him in one direction,
and we in another; and the whole village is up looking for him, but
we can see nothing like him anywhere, and I feel assured that poor
father is gone. O, Sir, if you could but come and speak a word of
comfort to mother! She is so unhappy, she does nothing but wring her
hands and cry, for she does not know what to do."
Having heard this tale of woe, I resolved to accompany the two lads
to the cottage, and endeavour to soothe their mother's distress.
The distracted wife was standing at the door, and, on seeing me,
she clasped her hands in an agony of grief, and began to repeat to
me the affecting tale. "I have thought, Sir, at times, he would not
live long, for within the last two months his spirit and his prayer
all seemed to prove that he was getting ripe for glory; but I did
not expect to lose him so soon, nor in this way."
"You do not," I remarked, "suppose that he is murdered?"
"O no, Sir! He has tumbled into some pit and perished in the snow,
which fell yesterday in larger and thicker flakes than I ever saw
before; but I feared no danger, because he knows the parts so well.
I expected him home sooner than usual, on account of the badness of
the weather; and as I thought something warm would comfort him, I
had got a stew ready, but"--she could add no more.
I was very much affected by the aspect of the interior of the
cottage, which still showed the preparations made on the preceding
evening for the poor woodman's return. The neat round table stood
near the fire, covered with a clean cloth; a deep wooden trencher,
with a spoon and salt-cellar made of the same material, were placed
beside it; the oak chair was in readiness to receive its owner,
and the small kettle was still hanging over the fire, which had
been suffered to dwindle from the bright blaze into dying embers. I
endeavoured to comfort her in this hour of her sorrow; but she was
so overpowered with anguish, that words of consolation appeared to
be of no avail; and after praying with her I left, with a promise
that I would call again. The lines of the poet Thomson, with which
I had been long familiar, now recurred to my recollection, and I
could not repress the tear which their remembrance on the present
occasion involuntarily caused:--
"Ah! little think the gay licentious proud,
Whom pleasure, pow'r, and affluence surround;
They who their thoughtless hours in giddy mirth,
And wanton, often cruel riot, waste;
Ah! little think they, while they dance along,
How many feel, this very moment, death,
And all the sad variety of pain.
How many sink in the devouring flood,
Or more devouring flame! How many bleed,
By shameful variance betwixt man and man!
How many pine in want, and dungeon glooms,
Shut from the common air, and common use
Of their own limbs! How many drink the cup
Of baleful grief, or eat the bitter bread
Of misery! Sore pierc'd by wintry winds,
How many sink into the sordid hut
Of cheerless poverty! How many shake
With all the fiercer tortures of the mind,
Unbounded passion, madness, guilt, remorse!
Whence, tumbling headlong from the height of life,
They furnish matter for the tragic muse.
Even in the vale, where wisdom loves to dwell,
With friendship, peace, and contemplation join'd,
How many, rack'd with honest passions, droop
In deep retir'd distress! How many stand
Around the deathbed of their dearest friends,
And point the parting anguish! Thought fond man
Of these, and all the thousand nameless ills,
That one incessant struggle render life,
One scene of toil, of suffering, and of fate,
Vice in his high career would stand appall'd,
And heedless rambling impulse, learn to think;
The conscious heart of charity would warm,
And her wide wish benevolence dilate;
The social tear would rise, the social sigh;
And into clear perfection, gradual bliss,
Refining still, the social passions work."
On my return to Fairmount, I found the Roscoes there; and, on
entering the parlour, Mrs. Stevens said, "We have felt somewhat
uneasy on your account. I hope nothing unpleasant has detained you."
"I have been, Madam, to the house of mourning, where grief is still
raging unassuaged." I then narrated the melancholy tale, which
deeply affected the whole party; and various plans were suggested
for the recovery of the lost woodman.
"It will be impossible for us," said Mr. Roscoe, "to do anything
in the way of searching for this poor man; but we may make some
provision for the support of his widow, as I fear she may now too
truly be termed, by commencing a subscription for her, which I think
is no less our duty than our privilege."
"Very good," replied Mrs. Stevens, who immediately drew from her
pocket-book a five pound note, which sum was increased to the amount
of £17 by the donations of the rest of the party.