AUD ADAM OLLIVER’S “NUNC DIMITTIS.”
“The wise man, said the Bible, walks with God;
Surveys, far on, the endless line of life;
Values his soul; thinks of eternity;
Both worlds considers, and provides for both;
With reason’s eye his passions guards; abstains
From evil; lives on hope--on hope, the fruit
Of faith; looks upward; purifies his soul;
Expands his wings, and mounts into the sky;
Passes the sun, and gains his Father’s house;
And drinks with angels from the fount of bliss.”
_Pollok._
For several years after the stirring events previously narrated,
Nestleton Magna had largely reverted to the even tenor of its way. Not
that it could ever again be as it was in the olden time. The erection
of the chapel proved a very permanent and abiding source of good. The
society continued to increase in numbers; Kasper Grove was always the
very antipodes of Midden Harbour; the Sunday-school had grown in
numbers and in efficiency, until it occupied a position of the highest
value and importance, and all the younger generation of Nestletonians
were happily subjected to the godly influences there at work.
Waverdale Hall was a centre of blessing, a fountain whose continuous
outflow refreshed and purified the region through which it coursed in
wise beneficence and Christly love. Still, there was an absence of
startling or exciting events, and the quiet peacefulness which
generally characterises rural districts brooded over the village
undisturbed. At the Hall there was a growing family of attractive
little squirelings and more attractive little ladies. Master Ainsley
Olliver Fuller, the eldest son and heir of my favourite friends,
Philip and Lucy, had two brothers, to wit, Philip Blyth and
Theophilus, one little sister, who could be called nothing else than
Lucy, and another sister, who was called Beatrice, after the old
squire’s first and only love, long since gone to heaven.
Old Adam Olliver was even more rich in grandchildren, for around the
tables alike of Jake and Pete and Hannah, the olive-branches increased
at a surprising rate. Very happily and peacefully did the old man’s
last years ebb away. Judith was the first to receive the call from
that solemn messenger who brings his summons to every door. As she
lived, so she died; her departure was more a translation than a death.
She had not been well for some days, and one evening, while loving
Hannah was in the act of stroking her silver hair and speaking words
of cheer, she said, “Call your father.” When the old man appeared, she
said, with a radiant smile, “Adam, I’m going home. Jesus calls. I’m
going on before, a little while, and the way is very light. A little
while, dear, true, good husband, and we shall meet again.” And so she
slid quietly out of her clay tabernacle, and “took the nearest way to
her Father’s house.”
Old Adam did not long survive her. He had grown very feeble; age and a
life of hard labour had bent his frame, and for the last few months of
his life he had to be guided across the floor. Mary was a gentle,
loving, and unwearying nurse, and fifty times a day did he ask God’s
blessing on her for her kindly care. A bed had been set up for him on
the ground floor, as he was incapable of mounting the stairs, and
because he liked to have her near him, while she attended to her
household duties. But though the outward man was perishing, was
becoming a small, thin, filmy prison-house indeed, the inward man was
being renewed, beautified, and ripened day by day.
“Mary,” he would say, when he had sat still and silent for a long
time, and she had asked him how he felt, “Mary, ah’ve been i’ good
cumpany. Judy’s been wi’ ma’ i’ spirit, an’ ah’ve seen aingels wi’
breet an’ wavin’ wings, an’ Jesus is allus wi’ ma’. He says, ‘Ah’ll
cum ageean an’ receeave tha’ te myself,’ an’ ah says, ’Eaven seea,
Lord Jesus, cum quickly.’ Ah sall be gannin’ sum neet, an’ when t’
sun’s settin’ wi’ you, it’ll be risin’ wi’ me, an’ it’ll be mornin’
an’ nivver a neet nae mair.”
“Oh, Pete, mah lad,” he would say, “bud religion _is_ sweet. Thoo’s
crossed yah sea, an’ ah’s just aboot te cross anuther, bud it’s a
varry narro’ un’, an’ there isn’t as mitch ov a ripple as wad toss a
chip, an’ as seean as ivver ah tutch it, it’ll splet, an’ ah sall gan
through dryshod. An’ t’ other side, Pete! Ah gets a leeak at it noo
an’ then, an’ ah feels as though ah can hear t’ music, an’ see t’
saints o’ God i’ their glory, an’ hear t’ waff o’ their wings. Prayse
the Lord, deein’s nobbut like gannin’ oot o’ t’ kitchen inte t’
parlour, an’ ‘ah sall dwell i’ t’ hoose o’ the Lord for ivver.’”
The old squire of Waverdale came to see him, during those last failing
months, nearly every day. He was a capital listener. Seated by Adam’s
side, he would hold the old man’s hand in his, and listen, with an
occasional smile, exclamation or nod, by the hour, while the veteran
talked of his religious history, gave his opinion on Scripture
passages, or bore witness of the love and grace of God.
“Oh, Maister Fuller,” said he one day, “I hev a peeace ’at’s aboot
parfect. Ah’ve been thinkin’ o’ that text wheere the Lord says if His
people wad nobbut hae hearkened tiv His commandments, their peeace sud
hae floa’d like a river. Why, when fost ah gav’ me ’art te God, me
peeace floa’d wiv a rush for a while, an’ then gat inte t’ shallo’s.
Then it met fost a temptation, an’ then a trubble, an’ then a bit o’
neglect o’ prayer, an’ t’ streeam was owt bud eeather smooth or full;
it went like a shallo’ beck, wiv a lot o’ steeanes, an’ twists, an’
bendin’s in it, cheeafin’, an’ splutterin’, an’ bickerin’; frothin’ up
ageean this corner, an’ bubblin’ ower that, bud noo that it gets nigh
te t’ sea, it gans deeper an’ stiddier, an’ floas sae smooth ’at ah
can scaycely tell it’s movin’ at all. That’s just hoo ah feel te-day.
Ah’s near t’ sea; t’ aushun ov infanite luv an’ glory oppens oot
afoore ma’, and ah’s slitherin’ on an’ slippin’ away, still, an’
quiet, an’ ’appy; an’ ah sall seean gan inte t’ sea.” Here the old man
waved his arms as “one who spreadeth forth his hands to swim.” “Oh,
what a sea! t’ luv o’ Jesus, all on it. Prayse the Lord, ah’ve knoan
summut aboot it; ah’ve drunken it, an’ ah’ve dipped in it, an’ it’s
shed abroad i’ me ’art. Bud ah’s gannin te swim iv it, an’ te knoa Him
as ah is knoan. T’ Revalation talks aboot a sea o’ glass mingled wi’
fire. What it meeans ah deean’t knoa, bud ah think it meeans parfect
peeace glowin’ wi’ t’ glory o’ parfect luv. Halleluia! ah sall--
‘Plunge inte t’ Godheead’s deepest sea,
Lost i’ luv’s immensaty.’”
Is there anything on earth more beautiful than a scene like this? The
hoary head is indeed a crown of glory if it be found in the way of
righteousness. Age invests many things with a certain attractiveness.
An aged oak for instance, gnarled, widespread, stalwart and stately;
an ancient castle, weather-worn, storm-swept and furrowed with the
tooth of Time; an old church, moss-clad and ivy-covered; but of all
attractive pictures that Old Time can draw, nothing is more beautiful
than the silver locks and radiant features of a godly and joyous old
age. See this grand old saint, seated in “the old arm-chair,” looking
placidly back upon the line of trodden years, looking hopefully
forward across the borders of the Beulah land, while the light of
heaven gilds his hoary hair. “The beauty,” says Solomon, “of old men
is the grey head.” That is a glorious picture which John Bunyan
paints, of the last stage of the Christian pilgrimage--the land of
Beulah, a land of glorious beauty, a place of broad rivers and
streams, spanned with heaven’s undimmed blue, swept by breezes from
the hills of God, which bear on their fragrant wing the echoes of the
heavenly chimes, the foretaste of immortal joys. The Methodist
societies have ever been rich in a wealth of such experiences. A
careful perusal of the obituaries in the Methodist and Arminian
Magazines is quite sufficient evidence of the power of godliness over
pain, weakness and death to thrill the heart of the despiser, and
strike the sceptic dumb.
At length, it became evident that Old Adam Quiver’s hours were
numbered. As he felt his end approaching, he sent for friend and
neighbour, and bade them, one by one, a loving good-bye, mingling ever
a blessing with his parting words. His sons and daughters and his
grandchildren gathered round his bed, and, like Jacob, he blessed them
all by name.
When Nathan Blyth came to take a last farewell, the old man said, with
a smile, as he noted Nathan’s tears,--
“Nay, nay, and friend! That’ll nivver deea. You owt to be Blithe Natty
noo, if ivver yo’ wer’ i’ yer life. Ah’s Blithe Adam, hooiver. It’s
all sunshine, Natty,--
‘Nut a clood doth arise,
Te darken mi’ skies,
Or te hide for a moment my Lord fre’ mi’ eyes.’
‘Roond aboot an’ underneeath ma’ are the ivverlastin’ airms,’ an’ iv
’em ah sail swing inte heaven, as Mary tosses ’er bairn till it fair
screeams wi’ joy. God bless yo’, dear and friend. Ah sail seean sing
as weel as you, an’ when you’ve waited a lahtle bit langer, we’ll sing
tegither the prayses o’ wer Greeat Redeemer. Deean’t yo’ remember yer
aun sang,--
An’ when ah’m landed on Canaan’s breet shore,
Befoore aingels an’ saints will ah shoot it!
Give Glory te Jesus the King ivvermair
The King ’at ah tell’d all aboot it!”
On the day of his death, Squire Fuller, Philip, Lucy and the little
children, gathered round his bed to receive his parting blessing.
Philip had rightly said, “Old Adam’s benediction on the children will
prove a richer heritage than houses or land.”
On one and all the patriarch placed his feeble hands, the while he
breathed a silent prayer, and said aloud, “O Lord, mah God an’
Sayviour! bless the bairn!” The children were dismissed, the elders
remained, and were joined by Adam’s sons and daughters, who gathered
round to see a golden sunset such as was never equalled by any
gorgeous glory of the western sky. The old man lay propped with
pillows, his scant white hair smoothed from his brow, and his thin
brown hands laid on the spotlessly white coverlet of his bed. The
shadows of evening had not yet fallen, but the sun was fast declining,
and its slanting beams fell upon his pillow, and lit up his features
with their glow Mary partially drew down the blind to shade his eyes.
“Nay, nay, mah lassie,” said Adam, “draw t’ cottain up; ‘It’s a
pleeasant thing for t’ ees te behold the sun.’ It weean’t ho’t ma’;
mah poor and ees iz gettin’ a cottain drawn ower them, bud that only
’elps ’em te see t’ leet o’ t’ glory ’at’s jost dawnin’ upo’ ma’. Will
yan o’ ye read t’ ninety-fost Psalm?”
Lucy read it, and as soon as she began, he said, with infinite
tenderness,--
“God bless yo’, mah dear; ah’ve heeard yer pratty voice ivver sin yo’
had yan, an’ it’s sweeter noo then ivver. Oh, Maister Philip! bud you
_are_ rich! Some fooaks get a treasure _wiv_ a wife, bud you’ve gotten
a treasure _iv_ a wife. Bless ’em, Lord, ten thoosandfoad wi’ Thi’ luv
an’ fayvour.”
When the Psalm was ended he turned to the old squire.
“Gi’e ma’ hod o’ yer ’and,” said he; “the Lord’s dealt boontifully wi’
yo’, Maister Fuller, an’ noo, prayse the Lord! that psalm belangs te
you as weel as me. ‘He that dwells i’ t’ seeacret pleeace o’ the
Meeast High,’ that’s iv His luv i’ Jesus Christ, ‘sall abide under t’
shado’ ov t’ Almighty.’ _Abide!_ hey, for ivver an’ ivver an’ ivver!
‘He sall cuver thee wiv ’is feathers.’ Halleluia! Warm ageean His
’art, an’ oot o’ t’ reeach o’ ’arm. Ah’s there! nestlin’ an’ cuddlin’
an’ seeafe. ‘Thoo sall nut be aflaid for t’ terror be neet.’ Flaid!
No: what is there te be freetened on? Jesus ez killed all that,
because He’s slayn t’ enmaty, an’ God an’ uz iz yan. He sall give His
aingels chayge ower tha’. Glory be te God! they’re here! Ah can ’ear
t’ rustlin’ o’ th’ir wings. They’re waitin’ fo’ ma’!
‘Aingels beckons ma’ away,
An’ Jesus bids ma’ cum.’
Bud that last vess caps ivverything! ‘Ah’ll show ’im me’ salvaytion!’
Ah’ve seen a good deal, an’ felt a good deal mair, bud it’s nowt
cumpared te what’s cumin’. Ah’ve seen it through a glass darkly, an’
ah’ve felt it through a gluv. Noo ah sail see Him feeace te feeace,
an’ tutch Him as Thomas did, till me’ sowl is ravished wi’ glory an’
delight Moses saw t’ Promised Land, bud he was a lang way oft, and t’
river rowlled atween. Ah sall be on t’ spot, an’ be a citizen o’ that
cuntry. St. John saw it i’ Patmos, bud it was a vision an’ a dreeam.
Ah sail see t’ real thing an’ be payt on it, an’ hev it for t’ lot o’
me’ inheritance. St. Paul saw it, bud he ’ad te cum doon ageean te be
pricked wi’ thorns an’ buffeted wi’ trubbles. Ah sall gan oot nae mair
for ivver! Maister Fuller! Ah’ll be riddy fo’ yo’ when yo’ cum, an’
we’ll gan tegither te t’ King, an’ as Nathan Blyth says, we’ll shoot
and sing till we mak’ heaven ring wi’ prayse!”
It is not to be supposed that this and much other joyous and
triumphant speech was said without break and pause. Now and again he
was utterly spent with excess of joy, and the feeble tongue refused to
follow the spirit’s eager flight, and failed to syllable the rapture
of his exulting soul. About eight o’clock in the evening the messenger
came. The old man seemed to be asleep, but he suddenly opened his
eyes, and, looking upward, lifted his hand towards heaven; a strange
soft light and a beaming smile broke upon his face. “Heaven’s oppen!”
said he; “Ah see Jesus Christ standin’ at t’ right ’and o’ God. He hez
a star in His ’and. Beautiful! Beautiful!” The light upon his face
deepened; it seemed to be haloed with a glory. “He’s cumin’,” said he,
“cumin’ for me. No, it isn’t a star; it’s a croon. Oh, mah Sayviour,
cum quickly. A croon o’ glory!” Lifting up both hands, he half sprang
from the bed, crying, “It’s mahne, prayse the Lord, it’s mahne!” He
fell back upon his pillow, with a triumphant smile upon his face, and
Adam Olliver’s glorified spirit went to heaven to wear it--that crown
of righteousness which the Lord, the righteous Judge, had laid up for
him against that day.
So died Adam Olliver, and thus a life of singularly winning and
beautiful piety was fitly crowned by a singularly beautiful and
exultant end.
The old man was buried in the grounds around the chapel which his
faith and prayer had chiefly reared. The whole of the societies in the
Kesterton Circuit were represented at his burial, and the large
concourse which assembled to pay this final tribute of respect agreed
in this, that though he was but an old and illiterate hedger, his
holiness, his integrity, his wondrous power with God, had made him
royal, and that “a prince and a great man had fallen in Israel.”
Squire Fuller asked and received permission to erect a marble tablet
to his memory in Nestleton Chapel. There it continues to this day, and
every tourist passing through Waverdale, may turn aside and read for
himself the inscription thereon engraven. Beneath the record of his
name, age, and death, and a brief reference to his noble life are
inscribed the following texts of Scripture. Those who have read these
brief chronicles of village life will justify their choice.
“THE EFFECTUAL, FERVENT PRAYER OF A RIGHTEOUS MAN
AVAILETH MUCH.”
“A MAN FULL OF FAITH AND OF THE HOLY GHOST.”
“MARK THE PERFECT MAN, AND BEHOLD THE UPRIGHT,
FOR THE END OF THAT MAN IS PEACE.”
“LET ME DIE THE DEATH OF THE RIGHTEOUS, AND LET
MY LAST END BE LIKE HIS.”
_Printed by_ BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. _Edinburgh and London_
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