DEATH OF A POSSESSOR.
EARLY the next morning, the young minister called to ascertain whether
Mr. Knowles still wished to enter the pulpit.
Frederic hastened to the study, but started back at one view of his
father's face.
"It shone like that of an angel," he said afterward.
"Yes," he answered, when the young man's question was put to him. "Yes,
I do wish it, but I have thrown aside the sermon I had prepared. Helen
has given me a text, and I shall speak of the glories of heaven to the
redeemed."
On hearing the church-bell, he made ready as usual, his wife with
trembling fingers tying the knot in his white cravat as she had
done for fifty years. And then arm in arm they proceeded across the
well-beaten path to the house of God.
Never will those present forget the occasion. Leaving his wife at the
pew-door, his son offered his stronger arm for support, but he refused
aid and walked slowly but firmly up the pulpit steps.
Frederic performed the introductory service, gave out the hymns which
his father had selected, offered the first prayer, and then sat down.
When the aged man arose and pronounced his text, scarcely a breath
disturbed the intense stillness. It was this: "Who is the King of
glory? The Lord of hosts, He is the King of glory."
Never, in the days of manhood's prime, had the utterances of the pastor
been so impassioned, his voice so clear and sonorous, his style so pure
and elevated, his persuasion so powerful.
After depicting the glories of Christ, as the present ruler and king
of the church, he dwelt in the most enrapturing strain upon the future
revelation of his glory, when he shall have delivered up the kingdom
to God, even the Father; when he shall have put down all rule, and
authority and power, and have put all enemies under his feet.
The close, with words of tenderness and love, besought every one of
his beloved flock to yield submission to this glorious King, and meet
him at the right hand of God. This was solemn and affecting beyond
description. Weeping and sobbing were heard from every part of the
house, and were only restrained by noticing that the customary prayer
at the close of the sermon was omitted, and their dearly loved and
venerated pastor was spreading his arms to pronounce the benediction:
"Now may the God of peace which brought again from the dead our Lord
Jesus Christ make you perfect in every good work."
A few words were spoken to his son and then Frederic repeated the
request that the congregation would unite in singing the words:
"Praise God from whom all blessings flow."
Some near the pulpit afterward said they saw their pastor's countenance
change as he took his seat, but he leaned forward and rested his head
on the cushion. When the doxology was finished, he did not move. The
congregation slowly left their slips, as if conscious that this was the
last time they should hear warning or entreaty from his familiar voice.
Alas! His lips were already sealed in death. While the praises of God
were sounding in his ear, his summons came,—"Friend come up higher!"
Wondering at length at his father's prolonged silence, Frederic
gently touched his arm. There was no response. Then a dreadful terror
seized him, and kneeling down, he looked into his father's face. What
did he see there? Death had come and set his seal, but it was death
deprived of his terrors; for a countenance so radiant as his when they
reverently bore him out of the church, none ever remembered to have
seen. It was as if the sound of the archangel's trump had met his ear,
and as if his whole soul was entranced with ecstasy as he welcomed the
messenger, sent to summon him home.
Thanks be to God for his unspeakable gift, the gift of one who has
given us victory over death and the grave, even our Lord and Saviour
Jesus Christ.
The parsonage, with seventeen acres of ground near it was owned by the
good pastor. After the funeral, which was an occasion to be remembered
for years, to be dated from and recalled with loving affection, a will
characteristic of the writer was found in his desk. It bore date after
Frederic's marriage and was as follows:
"I give my soul, redeemed by the blood of Christ from everlasting
death, to my Creator.
"I give my body to the worms that will feed upon it, resting on
the gracious promise, 'It is sown in corruption, it is raised in
incorruption: it is sown in dishonor, it is raised in glory: it is sown
in weakness, it is raised in power.'
"I give to my beloved wife and my daughter Sybil, all of worldly goods
that I have to bestow, assured that He who styles himself the God of
the widow, the Father of the fatherless, will never forsake them.
"I give to my beloved Frederic and my beloved daughter Helen and to my
other children, a father's love and blessing."
The land near the parsonage was purchased more than fifty years before,
at a time when such property was held of little comparative worth. It
had gradually risen in value, until now it would command a high price.
A new street had been laid out within a few years, the old pastor
cheerfully yielding his consent that it be cut directly through his
land. This arrangement more than doubled the value of his farm, giving
him beautiful sites for houses on both sides.
It was Frederic's proposition that one house lot be sold, and the money
put at interest for their immediate necessities. There was no occasion
for other change. The farmer, under Sybil's practical training, would
till the land and furnish nearly all they needed for their support.
The remainder of the month was passed by the newly wedded pair quietly
at the parsonage. All felt it was a privilege to be there where the
sound of the father's voice seemed still echoing in the familiar rooms.
But at last other duties called the young pastor away. He went buckling
on his harness for his chosen work. He went followed by the prayers
of many, that his father's mantle might fall upon him,—that his life
experience might be as full of joy, and his death as full of peace.
They went forty miles out of their way to meet Frank in the city. The
following letter was the occasion of their visit:—
"DEAR HELEN: I have concluded to take the journey of which I spoke in
my last. I have engaged a celebrated geologist to accompany me, and we
have provided everything necessary to facilitate our work. I found a
piece of ore among some rubbish in Mr. Tracy's sanctum, marked 'lead
mine.' My friend declares it a prophet of good for us. Still I do not
wish you to be too sanguine. The mine which has swallowed up two thirds
of our fortune may prove to be of no value. We expect to start next
Monday. I have some painful duties to perform before that, of which I
can at present say nothing.
"Your affectionate brother,
"FRANK."
On reaching the city, they drove directly to Mr. Edmond's boarding
house. He was out, and it was doubtful when he would return. Much
disappointed, they were about to leave a note of farewell for him and
hasten to Morrisville by the next train, when the door opened and he
entered.
One glance sufficed to convince the visitors that something unusual had
occurred.
Frank's face was extremely pale, but there was an expression of
satisfaction in his eye for which they could not account.
"You are just in time," he exclaimed, warmly embracing his sister.
"There is a chance for you to show yourself a true Christian."
"What is it? Tell me all."
Glancing hurriedly at his watch, Frank threw himself into a chair,
exclaiming:
"I must go at twelve, and you will go with me."
"Go where?"
"To the Penitentiary, with Mrs. Tracy. But let me begin my story. I
came home the other night, worn and worried with my labors, when my
landlady told me there was 'a person' waiting to see me in the parlor.
It was Mrs. Tracy, but so changed I should never have recognized her.
"'Perhaps,' she began, 'you will think it strange I should come
to you who have lost everything through my husband: but I have no
other friend,—at least no one I would like to ask to do so much,—and
then,—there is another reason why I think you will do it. You were
staying with us, I was passing your door, and I heard you praying, not
saying prayers,' she repeated earnestly, 'but praying: and you prayed
for him as if you really meant it. If you did mean it, I think you will
forgive him and take me to see him.'
"Her request was, as you see, not very intelligible. But her weakened
frame, her trembling voice and pallid features so affected me, that I
hastened to assure her whatever she required, if it were in my power, I
would assist her. I did not calculate upon the effect of my words. She
sank down on the floor at my foot, and cried aloud.
"When I had succeeded in partially soothing her, she began the story
of her married life, how that little by little their happiness melted
away; he, as she invariably called Mr. Tracy, became engrossed in
business, writing speeches, etc., until his affection for her seemed
wholly gone.
"'It is hard for me to accuse him,' she said hesitating, 'but I'm
afraid his kind of religion didn't restrain him from doing whatever he
thought for his own interest.'
"At any rate it wasn't of the kind to make him happy. As to his
business, he never consulted me, and I never offered any advice. But
once I begged him not to annoy Helen with Roswell's attentions. I saw
she didn't fancy him, though I think if he could have had a happy home,
he would have been a good man. Just before the—the crash,' she said,
hesitating, 'he came up to my chamber and put this into my hands.'
"'"There Cynthy," he said, "I've made over this house and fifty
thousand dollars to you. If anything happens to me in business, we can
live on that."
"'When I heard what had been done, I was frightened, and if I could
have got my husband out of the Penitentiary, I wont deny I should have
kept the fifty thousand and gone off with him. But since it is as it
is, I feel that I can't keep it, and so I brought it to-day.
"'"If he doesn't scorn me. If his prayer was an earnest one," I said to
myself, "and he forgives my husband, I'll give it to him." Here it is!'
"I read it, not without emotion, of course, and then I explained to her
that the paper wasn't worth a straw to her. But it was worth thirty
thousand dollars to me, and fifteen thousand to young Quincy, her
husband's other ward. I went to a memorandum book where I had noted
down the amount of stock in this bank and that, which had mysteriously
disappeared, and I showed her that on her paper the very same bank
stock was made over to her for their joint use. I told her too, that
Quincy's lawyer had obtained a clue to this very document, and that
whenever she went to draw the money, he would pounce upon her as an
accomplice in the fraud.
"Poor woman, I really pitied her more than I can express.
"'I knew nothing about it, nothing at all,' she repeated, tearfully.
'I'm so glad I didn't keep it. I never cared to be rich.'
"'Now,' I said, 'tell me how I can help you?'
"She hid her face in her handkerchief and wept.
"'They tell me,' she said, 'that he is not as he was, that he is not
a proper subject for the Penitentiary. If you went with a physician,
perhaps they would let him out. I'll promise to take care of him. He
can't hurt anybody now. I'll work and support him.'
"I'm afraid that will be impossible,' I answered, 'but I will try. I'll
see the physician who attends the prisoners, at once, and do all I can
for you.'
"She wrung my hand at parting. 'I believe it,' she exclaimed. 'I
believe what our minister said once,—
"'"There is a difference between professing religion and possessing
it."
"''Tisn't every professor has the right sort. When I heard your prayer,
I thought maybe yours was the sort the minister meant, that it might be
a support in time of need. I know 'his' didn't help him.'"
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