THE PATRIARCH.

"Gently on him, had gentle Nature laid

The weight of years.--All passions that disturb

Had passed away."--_Southey_.

Soon after my entrance upon clerical duties, in the state of North

Carolina, I was informed of an isolated settlement, at a considerable

distance from the place of my residence. Its original elements were

emigrants from New England; a father, and his five sons, who, with

their wives and little children, had about thirty years before become

sojourners in the heart of one of the deepest Carolinian solitudes.

They purchased a tract of wild, swamp-encircled land. This they

subjected to cultivation, and by unremitting industry, rendered

adequate to their subsistence and comfort. The sons, and the sons'

sons, had in their turn become the fathers of families; so, that the

population of this singular spot comprised five generations. They were

described as constituting a peaceful and virtuous community, with a

government purely patriarchal. Secluded from the privileges of public

worship, it was said that a sense of religion, influencing the heart

and conduct, had been preserved by statedly assembling on the sabbath,

and reading the scriptures, with the Liturgy of the Church of England.

The pious ancestor of the colony, whose years now surpassed four-score,

had, at their removal to this hermitage, established his eldest son in

the office of lay-reader. This simple ministration, aided by holy

example, had so shared the blessing of heaven, that all the members of

this miniature commonwealth held fast the faith and hope of the gospel.

I was desirous of visiting this peculiar people, and of ascertaining

whether such precious fruits might derive nutriment from so simple a

root. A journey into that section of the country afforded me an

opportunity. I resolved to be the witness of their Sunday devotions,

and with the earliest dawn of that consecrated day, I left the house of

a friend, where I had lodged, and who furnished the requisite

directions for my solitary and circuitous route.

The brightness and heat of summer began to glow oppressively, ere I

turned from the haunts of men, and plunged into the recesses of the

forest. Towering amidst shades which almost excluded the light of

heaven, rose the majestic pines, the glory and the wealth of North

Carolina. Some, like the palms, those princes of the East, reared a

proud column of fifty feet, ere the branches shot forth their

heavenward cone. With their dark verdure, mingled the pale and

beautiful efflorescence of the wild poplar, like the light interlacing

of sculpture, in some ancient awe-inspiring temple, while thousands of

birds from those dark cool arches, poured their anthems of praise to

the Divine Architect.

The sun was high in the heavens when I arrived at the morass, the

bulwark thrown by Nature around this little city of the desert.

Alighting, I led my horse over the rude bridges of logs, which

surmounted the pools and ravines, until our footing rested upon firm

earth. Soon, an expanse of arable land became visible, and wreaths of

smoke came lightly curling through the trees, as if to welcome the

stranger. Then, a cluster of cottages cheered the eye. They were so

contiguous, that the blast of a horn, or even the call of a shrill

voice, might convene all their inhabitants. To the central and the

largest building, I directed my steps. Approaching the open window, I

heard a distinct manly voice, pronouncing the solemn invocation,--"By

thine agony, and bloody sweat,--by thy cross and passion,--by thy

precious death and burial,--by thy glorious resurrection and

ascension,--and by the coming of the Holy Ghost." The response arose,

fully and devoutly, in the deep accents of manhood, and the softer

tones of the mother and her children.

Standing motionless, that I might not disturb the worshippers, I had a

fair view of the lay-reader. He was a man of six feet in height,

muscular and well proportioned, with a head beautifully symmetrical,

from whose crown time had begun to shred the luxuriance of its raven

locks. Unconscious of the presence of a stranger, he supposed that no

eye regarded him, save that of his God. Kneeling around him, were his

"brethren according to the flesh," a numerous and attentive

congregation. At his right hand was the Patriarch--tall, somewhat

emaciated, yet not bowed with years, his white hair combed smoothly

over his temples, and slightly curling on his neck. Gathered near him,

were his children, and his children's children. His blood was in the

veins of almost every worshipper. Mingling with forms that evinced the

ravages of time and toil, were the bright locks of youth, and the rosy

brow of childhood, bowed low in supplication. Even the infant, with

hushed lip, regarded a scene where was no wandering glance.

Involuntarily, my heart said,--_"Shall not this be a family in

Heaven?"_ In the closing aspirations, "O Lamb of God! that takest away

the sins of the world, have mercy upon us!"--the voice of the Patriarch

was heard, with strong and affecting emphasis. After a pause of silent

devotion, all arose from their knees, and I entered the circle.

"I am a minister of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I come to bless you in

the name of the Lord."

The ancient Patriarch, grasping my hand, gazed on me with intense

earnestness. A welcome, such as words have never uttered, was written

on his brow.

"Thirty-and-two years has my dwelling been in this forest. Hitherto, no

man of God hath visited us. Praised be his name, who hath put it into

thy heart, to seek out these few sheep in the wilderness. Secluded as

we are, from the privilege of worshipping God in his temple, we thus

assemble every Sabbath, to read his holy Book, and to pray unto him in

the words of our liturgy. Thus have we been preserved from 'forgetting

the Lord who bought us, and lightly esteeming the Rock of our

Salvation.'"

The exercises of that day are indelibly engraven on my memory. Are they

not written in the record of the Most High? Surely a blessing entered

into my own soul, as I beheld the faith, and strengthened the hope of

those true-hearted and devout disciples. Like him, whose slumbers at

Bethel were visited by the white-winged company of heaven, I was

constrained to say,--"Surely the Lord is in this place, and I knew it

not."

At the request of the Patriarch, I administered the ordinance of

baptism. It was received with affecting demonstrations of solemnity and

gratitude. The sacred services were protracted until the setting of the

sun. Still they seemed reluctant to depart. It was to them a high and

rare festival. When about to separate, the venerable Patriarch

introduced me to all his posterity. Each seemed anxious to press my

hand; and even the children expressed, by affectionate glances, their

reverence and love for him who ministered at the altar of God.

"The Almighty," said the ancient man, "hath smiled on these babes, born

in the desert. I came hither with my sons and their companions, and

their blessed mother, who hath gone to rest. God hath given us families

as a flock. We earn our bread with toil and in patience. For the

intervals of labor we have a school, where our little ones gain the

rudiments of knowledge. Our only books of instruction, are the bible

and prayer-book."

At a signal they rose and sang, when about departing to their separate

abodes,--"Glory to God in the highest, and on earth, peace, and good

will towards men." Never, by the pomp of measured melody, was my spirit

so stirred within me, as when that rustic, yet tuneful choir,

surrounding the white-haired father of them all, breathed out in their

forest sanctuary, "Thou, that takest away the sins of the _world_, have

mercy upon _us_."

The following morning, I called on every family, and was delighted with

the domestic order, economy, and concord, that prevailed. Careful

improvement of time, and moderated desires, seemed uniformly to produce

among them, the fruits of a blameless life and conversation. They

conducted me to their school. Its teacher was a grand-daughter of the

lay-reader. She possessed a sweet countenance, and gentle manners, and

with characteristic simplicity, employed herself at the spinning-wheel,

when not absorbed in the labors of instruction. Most of her pupils read

intelligibly, and replied with readiness to questions from Scripture

History. Writing and arithmetic were well exemplified by the elder

ones; but those works of science, with which our libraries are so

lavishly supplied, had not found their way to this retreat. But among

the learners was visible, what does not always distinguish better

endowed seminaries; docility, subordination, and profound attention to

every precept and illustration. Habits of application and a desire for

knowledge were infused into all. So trained up were they in industry,

that even the boys, in the intervals of their lessons, were busily

engaged in the knitting of stockings for winter. To the simple

monitions which I addressed to them, they reverently listened; and ere

they received the parting blessing, rose, and repeated a few passages

from the inspired volume, and lifted up their accordant voices,

chanting, "blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he hath visited and

redeemed his people."

Whatever I beheld in this singular spot, served to awaken curiosity, or

to interest feeling. All my inquiries were satisfied with the utmost

frankness. Evidently, there was nothing which required concealment. The

heartless theories of fashion, with their subterfuges and vices, had

not penetrated to this hermetically sealed abode. The Patriarch, at his

entrance upon his territory, had divided it into six equal portions,

reserving one for himself, and bestowing another on each of his five

sons. As the children of the colony advanced to maturity, they, with

scarcely an exception, contracted marriages among each other, striking

root, like the branches of the banian, around their parent tree. The

domicile of every family was originally a rude cabin of logs, serving

simply the purpose of shelter. In front of this, a house of larger

dimensions was commenced, and so constructed, that the ancient abode

might become the kitchen, when the whole was completed. To the

occupation of building they attended as they were able to command time

and materials. "We keep it," said one of the colonists, "for

_handy-work_, when there is no farming, or turpentine-gathering, or

tar-making." Several abodes were at that time, in different stages of

progress, marking the links of gradation between the rude cottage, and

what they styled the "framed house." When finished, though devoid of

architectural elegance, they exhibited capabilities of comfort, equal

to the sober expectations of a primitive people. A field for corn, and

a garden abounding with vegetables, were appendages to each habitation.

Cows grazed quietly around, and sheep dotted like snow-flakes, the

distant green pastures. The softer sex participated in the business of

horticulture, and when necessary, in the labors of harvest, thus

obtaining that vigor and muscular energy which distinguish the

peasantry of Europe, from their effeminate sisters of the nobility and

gentry. Each household produced or manufactured within its own domain,

most of the materials which were essential to its comfort; and for such

articles as their plantations could not supply, or their ingenuity

construct, the pitch-pine was their medium of purchase. When the season

arrived for collecting its hidden treasures, an aperture was made in

its bark, and a box inserted, into which the turpentine continually

oozed. Care was required to preserve this orifice free from the

induration of glutinous matter. Thus, it must be frequently reopened,

or carried gradually upward on the trunk of the tree; sometimes, to

such a height, that a small knife affixed to the extremity of a long

pole, is used for that purpose. Large trees sustain several boxes at

the same time, though it is required that the continuity of bark be

preserved, or the tree, thus shedding its life-blood at the will of

man, must perish. Though the laborers in this department are

exceedingly industrious and vigilant, there will still be a

considerable deposit adhering to the body of the tree. These portions,

called "turpentine facings," are carefully separated, and laid in a

cone-like form, until they attain the size of a formidable mound. This

is covered with earth, and when the cool season commences, is ignited;

and the liquid tar, flowing into a reservoir prepared for it, readily

obtains a market among the dealers in naval stores.

Shall I be forgiven for such minuteness of detail? So strongly did this

simple and interesting people excite my affectionate solicitude, that

not even their slightest concerns seemed unworthy of attention. By

merchants of the distant town, who were in habits of traffic with them,

I was afterwards informed that they were distinguished for integrity

and uprightness, and that the simple affirmation of these "Bible and

Liturgy men," as they were styled, possessed the sacredness of an oath.

The lay-reader remarked to me, that he had never known among his

people, a single instance of either intemperance or profanity.

"Our young men have no temptations, and the old set an uniformly sober

example. Still, I cannot but think our freedom from vice is chiefly

owing to a sense of religious obligation, cherished by God's blessing

upon our humble worship."

"Are there no quarrels or strifes among you?"

"For what should we contend? We have no prospect of wealth, nor motive

of ambition. We are too busy to dispute about words. Are not these the

sources of most of the 'wars and fightings' among mankind? Beside, we

are all of one blood. Seldom does any variance arise, which the force

of brotherhood may not quell. Strict obedience is early taught in

families. Children who learn thoroughly the Bible-lesson to obey and

honor their parents, are not apt to be contentious in society, or

irreverent to their Father in Heaven. Laws so simple would be

inefficient in a mixed and turbulent community. Neither could they be

effectual here, without the aid of that gospel which speaketh peace,

and prayer for his assistance, who 'turneth the hearts of the

disobedient to the wisdom of the just.'"

Is it surprising that I should take my leave, with an overflowing

heart, of the pious Patriarch and his posterity?--that I should

earnestly desire another opportunity of visiting their isolated domain?

Soon after this period, a circumstance took place, which they numbered

among the most interesting eras of their history. A small chapel was

erected in the village nearest to their settlement. Though at the

distance of many miles, they anticipated its completion with delight.

At its consecration by the late Bishop Ravenscroft, as many of the

colonists as found it possible to leave home, determined to be present.

Few of the younger ones had ever entered a building set apart solely

for the worship of God; and the days were anxiously counted, until they

should receive permission to tread his courts.

The appointed period arrived. Just before the commencement of the

sacred services of dedication, a procession of singular aspect was seen

to wind along amid interposing shades. It consisted of persons of both

sexes, and of every age, clad in a primitive style, and advancing with

solemn order. I recognized my hermit friends, and hastened onward to

meet them. Scarcely could the ancient Jews, when from distant regions

they made pilgrimage to their glorious hill of Zion, have testified

more touching emotion, than these guileless worshippers, in passing the

threshold of this humble temple to Jehovah. When the sweet tones of a

small organ, mingling with the voices of a select choir, gave "glory to

the Father, to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost, as it was in the

beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end," the young

children of the forest started from their seats in wondering joy, while

the changing color, or quivering lip of the elders, evinced that the

hallowed music awoke the cherished echoes of memory.

But with what breathless attention did they hang on every word of

Bishop Ravenscroft, as with his own peculiar combination of zeal and

tenderness, he illustrated the inspired passage which he had chosen, or

with a sudden rush of strong and stormy eloquence broke up the

fountains of the soul! Listening and weeping, they gathered up the

manna, which an audience satiated with the bread of heaven, and

prodigal of angels' food, might have suffered to perish. With the hoary

Patriarch, a throng of his descendants, who had been duly prepared for

that holy vow and profession, knelt around the altar, in commemoration

of their crucified Redeemer.

At the close of the communion service, when about to depart to his

home, the white-haired man drew near to the Bishop. Gratitude for the

high privileges in which he had participated; reverence for the father

in God, whom he had that day for the first time beheld; conviction that

his aged eyes could but a little longer look on the things of time;

consciousness that he might scarcely expect again to stand amid these

his children, to "behold the fair beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in

his temple," overwhelmed his spirit. Pressing the hand of the Bishop,

and raising his eyes heavenward, he said,--"Lord! now lettest thou thy

servant depart in peace, for mine eyes have seen thy salvation."

Bishop Ravenscroft fixed on him one of those piercing glances which

seemed to read the soul; and then tears, like large rain-drops stood

upon his cheeks. Recovering from his emotion, he pronounced, with

affectionate dignity, the benediction, "the Lord bless thee and keep

thee; the Lord make his face to shine upon thee, and be gracious unto

thee; the Lord lift up his countenance upon thee, and give thee peace."

The Patriarch, bowing down a head, heavy with the snows of more than

fourscore winters, breathed a thanksgiving to God, and turned homeward,

followed by all his kindred. Summer had glided away ere it was in my

power again to visit the "lodge in the wilderness." As I was taking in

the autumn twilight my lonely walk for meditation, a boy of rustic

appearance, approaching with hasty steps, accosted me.

"Our white-haired father, the father of us all, lies stretched upon his

bed. He takes no bread or water, and he asks for you. Man of God, will

you come to him?"

Scarcely had I signified assent, ere he vanished. With the light of the

early morning, I commenced my journey. Autumn had infused chillness

into the atmosphere, and somewhat of tender melancholy into the heart.

Nature seems to regard with sadness the passing away of the glories of

summer, and to robe herself as if for humiliation.

As the sun increased in power, more of cheerfulness overspread the

landscape. The pines were busily disseminating their winged seeds. Like

insects, with a floating motion, they spread around for miles. Large

droves of swine made their repast upon this half ethereal food. How

mindful is Nature of even her humblest pensioners!

As I approached the cluster of cottages, which now assumed the

appearance of a village, the eldest son advanced to meet me. His head

declined like one struggling with a grief which he would fain subdue.

Taking my hand in both of his, he raised it to his lips. Neither of us

spoke a word. It was written clearly on his countenance, "Come quickly,

ere he die."

Together we entered the apartment of the good Patriarch. One glance

convinced me that he was not long to be of our company. His posterity

were gathered around him in sorrow;

"For drooping,--sickening,--dying, they began,

Whom they ador'd as _God_, to mourn as _man_."

He was fearfully emaciated, but as I spake of the Saviour, who "went

not up to joy, until he first suffered pain," his brow again lighted

with the calmness of one, whose "way to eternal joy was to suffer with

Christ, whose door to eternal life gladly to die with him."

Greatly comforted by prayer, he desired that the holy communion might

be once more administered to him, and his children. There was a

separation around his bed. Those who had been accustomed to partake

with him, drew near, and knelt around the dying. Fixing his eye on the

others, he said, with an energy of tone which we thought had forsaken

him,--_"Will ye thus be divided, at the last day?"_ A burst of wailing

grief was the reply.

Never will that scene be effaced from my remembrance: the expressive

features, and thrilling responses of the Patriarch, into whose expiring

body the soul returned with power, that it might leave this last

testimony of faith and hope to those whom he loved, are among the

unfading imagery of my existence. The spirit seemed to rekindle more

and more, in its last lingerings around the threshold of time. In a

tone, whose clearness and emphasis surprised us, the departing saint

breathed forth a blessing on those who surrounded him, "in the name of

that God, whose peace passeth all understanding."

There was an interval, during which he seemed to slumber. Whispers of

hope were heard around his couch, that he might wake and be refreshed.

At length, his eyes slowly unclosed. They were glazed and deeply sunken

in their sockets. Their glance was long and kind upon those who hung

over his pillow. His lips moved, but not audibly. Bowing my ear more

closely, I found that he was speaking of Him who is the "resurrection

and the life." A slight shuddering passed over his frame, and he was at

rest, for ever.

A voice of weeping arose from among the children, who had been summoned

to the bed of death. Ere I had attempted consolation, the lay-reader

with an unfaltering tone pronounced, "the Lord gave, and the Lord hath

taken away: _blessed be the name of the Lord._"

Deep silence ensued. It seemed as if every heart was installing him who

spake, in the place of the father and the governor who had departed. It

was a spontaneous acknowledgment of the right of primogeniture, which

no politician could condemn. He stood among them, in the simple majesty

of his birthright, a ruler and priest to guide his people in the way

everlasting. It was as if the mantle of an arisen prophet had descended

upon him, as if those ashen lips had broken the seal of death to utter

"behold my servant whom I have chosen." Every eye fixed upon him its

expression of fealty and love. Gradually the families retired to their

respective habitations. Each individual paused at the pillow of the

Patriarch, to take a silent farewell; and some of the little ones

climbed up to kiss the marble face.

I was left alone with the lay-reader, and with the dead. The enthusiasm

of the scene had fled, and the feelings of a son triumphed. Past years

rushed like a tide over his memory. The distant, but undimmed

impressions of infancy and childhood,--the planting of that once wild

waste,--the changes of those years which had sprinkled his temples with

gray hairs,--all, with their sorrows and their joys, came back,

associated with the lifeless image of his beloved sire. In the

bitterness of bereavement, he covered his face, and wept. That iron

frame which had borne the hardening of more than half a century, shook,

like the breast of an infant, when it sobbed out its sorrows. I waited

until the first shock of grief had subsided. Then, passing my arm

gently within his, I repeated, "I heard a voice from heaven

saying,--Write, from henceforth, blessed are the dead, who die in the

Lord." Instantly raising himself upright, he responded in a voice whose

deep inflections sank into my soul, "Even so, saith the spirit, for

they rest from their labors, and their works do follow them."

I remained to attend the funeral obsequies of the Patriarch. In the

heart of their territory was a shady dell, sacred to the dead. It was

surrounded by a neat enclosure, and planted with trees. The drooping

branches of a willow, swept the grave of the mother of the colony. Near

her, slumbered her youngest son. Several other mounds swelled around

them, most of which, by their small size, told of the smitten flowers

of infancy. To this goodly company, we bore him, who had been revered

as the father and exemplar of all. With solemn steps, his descendants,

two and two, followed the corpse. I heard a convulsive and suppressed

breathing, among the more tender of the train; but when the burial

service commenced, all was hushed. And never have I more fully realised

its surpassing pathos and power, than when from the centre of that deep

solitude, on the brink of that waiting grave, it poured forth its

consolation.

"Man, that is born of woman, hath but a short time to live, and is full

of misery. He cometh up and is cut down like a flower. He fleeth as it

were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay. In the midst of life,

we are in death. Of whom may we seek succor but of thee, Oh Lord!--who

for our sins art justly displeased? Yet, O Lord God most holy--O God

most mighty,--O holy and most merciful Saviour, deliver us not into the

bitter pains of eternal death. Thou knowest, Lord, the secrets of our

hearts, shut not thy most merciful ears to our prayers, but spare us, O

Lord most holy,--O God most mighty,--O holy and merciful

Saviour,--suffer us not, at our last hour, for any pains of death to

fall from thee."

Circumstances compelled me to leave this mourning community immediately

after committing the dust of their pious ancestor to the earth. They

accompanied me to some distance on my journey, and our parting was with

mutual tears. Turning to view them, as their forms mingled with the

dark green of the forest, I heard the faint echo of a clear voice. It

was the lay-reader, speaking of the hope of the resurrection: "If we

believe that Christ died and rose again, even so them also, that sleep

in Jesus, will God bring with him."

Full of thought, I pursued my homeward way. I inquired, is Devotion

never encumbered, or impeded by the splendor that surrounds her? Amid

the lofty cathedral,--the throng of rich-stoled worshippers,--the

melody of the solemn organ,--does that incense never spend itself upon

the earth, that should rise to heaven? On the very beauty and glory of

its ordinances, may not the spirit proudly rest, and go no more forth

to the work of benevolence, nor spread its wing at the call of faith?

Yet surely, _there is a reality in religion_, though man may foolishly

cheat himself with the shadow. Here I have beheld it in simplicity,

disrobed of "all pomp and circumstance," yet with power to soothe the

passions into harmony, to maintain the virtues in daily and vigorous

exercise, and to give victory to the soul, when death vanquishes the

body. So, I took the lesson to my heart, and when it has languished or

grown cold, I have warmed it by the remembrance of the ever-living

faith, of those "few sheep in the wilderness."