FATHER AND SON.
THE wedding of Mr. Wallingford and Miss Gilbert was over; and the happy
couple were on their wedding tour. They were to be absent till August;
and Gertrude was both busy and happy in superintending the enlargement
of Rose Cottage. Little Paul, at first almost frantic in his joy at
seeing her once more, now followed her lovingly about, only fearful
lest she should again depart.
One morning, on opening her letters, she found an envelope, post
marked, "Philadelphia." She had wondered for a week why she heard
nothing; for it was time Mr. Dudley should arrive, if he sailed at the
time he expected; but now her heart almost ceased to beat. Seizing her
boy by the hand she flew to her chamber, shut and fastened the door and
sat down to read.
The address was in the chirography of his sister Anna, now Mrs. Ridley;
but the letter was traced by a feeble hand and contained these words:
"Through the favor of the Friend who has promised to lead me safely
to the end of my journey, I reached home two weeks ago; but I have
been too much exhausted to notify you of my arrival according to your
request."
"Later. My strength fails so fast I must hasten to make of you one last
request. Do not gratify me unless you think it best; or, if it will
pain you too much. I am near my end, and with my whole heart I yearn
over the child I have never seen. Will you bring him to me, and at
once, before it is too late?"
The closing sentence was written by his sister. She went on, "Dear Mrs.
Wallingford. If you are willing to gratify my poor brother and bring
little Paul to his father's death-bed, you will convey one more lasting
obligation on hearts that owe you already more than they can express.
Our dear, distressed invalid fainted after writing the above; and I
have taken it upon myself to forward this to you. He has often since
his return told us your motto in regard to him has been, 'Good for
evil.' Acting upon this will you not come to Philadelphia at once?"
"Evening. I had written so far, when I was summoned to my brother's
bed, where it was thought he was dying. He motioned me to his side, and
gasping with every word, he said faintly:"
"'Tell her, if the blessing of an humble penitent is worth any thing,
I leave mine for her and our boy. Tell her, Christ has made himself
known, the One above all others; matchless in love and grace.—Tell
her I shall shine as a star in her crown.—Tell her, Christ is all my
salvation and all my desire. If he will save such a sinner as I am, the
very chief, there is no need for any to despair of mercy.—Tell her, to
go on doing good to all around, and train her little Paul to follow his
Saviour's steps. Farewell.'"
"I cannot stop to narrate the paroxysms of pain with which these
disjointed sentences were uttered. He has now fallen asleep under the
influence of opiates. Our physician still thinks he may survive two or
three days longer."
"In the deepest affliction,"
"ANNA D. RIDLEY."
In less than an hour from her receipt of the letter, Gertrude with her
boy and accompanied by her faithful Bridget, were on their way to the
landing to be in season for the twelve o'clock boat.
If she were prospered she hoped to be in Philadelphia by seven o'clock
at latest; and her whole soul went up to God in earnest prayer, that
she might be in season.
"Will she come?" This question had been repeated many times during the
day; and now as twilight approached it was evident to all, that before
the sun, whose rays were gilding the western horizon, should rise
again, the soul of the sufferer would have fled away from earth, to his
mansion in the skies.
Suddenly a carriage is heard dashing through the street. It stops at
the door, and a lady hurriedly alights, after directing the driver to
ring the bell. Then a servant more leisurely follows, holding by the
hand a lovely boy.
"She has come," murmured Mrs. Dudley, bending over her dying son.
"God be praised. I have nothing more to ask. Will you leave us alone?"
The door softly opened and gentle steps advanced to the side of the bed.
"Papa," said a sweet, childish voice, "I'm your little Paul. Mamma told
me you were sick; and I wanted to come right off and see you."
The father held the small, dimpled hand, and tried to articulate one
word; but the emotions had been too much for his feeble frame, and for
a few moments his paroxysms of distress were terrible to witness. But
he did not lose his consciousness; and seemed so fearful Gertrude would
take Paul from the room, that she bent over him, murmuring:
"I will not leave you. It is hard not to be able to help you."
He was soon relieved, and said panting:
"It is all right. He," pointing upward, "orders every pang. I shall
soon have a whole eternity to rest in."
"My son," he repeated solemnly, placing his hand on the boy's head, "I
prayed God to allow me to see you, and now I want to say, 'Fear God
and keep his commandments.' This will render you happy in life and
triumphant in death."
He turned his dying eyes upon the weeping figure before him and said
tenderly:
"You will love to remember that you complied with the request of one
who even in his dying hour, mourns over his own blindness, folly and
guilt. Tell our boy to take your motto for his own and learn to render
'good for evil.'"
These were his last words, though he retained his consciousness for an
hour, and when repeatedly asked by Gertrude:
"Is Christ precious? Does he give you peace?" there was a pressure of
her hand.
At a quarter before ten, the same night she arrived, the end came; the
sick man quietly breathing fainter and fainter, like an infant going to
rest.
Standing there, gazing on those wan features, Gertrude's heart arose in
gratitude to God, that out of death, eternal life had begun in the soul
of the penitent believer; and she could almost hear the words of the
Saviour, "'This day thou shalt be with me in paradise.'"