صور الصفحة
PDF
النشر الإلكتروني

the lifting up of our eyes to the skies which pour down righteousness, may bring into our hearts the sense of Him who feeds His flock like a shepherd, who gathers the lambs with His arm, and carries them in His bosom, and gently leads those that are with young. The inspired men who have taught us most of the love and righteousness of the Son of God, and of the salvation which we may have in Him out of all our sins and darkness, have not failed to teach us that by Him all things were made, and in Him they are now kept together. We cannot live, our Maker never meant us to live, as if we were out of the visible world; let it be our endeavour to use the world rightly; to gain the true sympathy with nature, by giving thanks always for all things to God the Father, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ.

GOOD WORDS FOR EVERY DAY IN THE YEAR.

OCTOBER 9.

"We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed."-2 Cor. iv. 8.

"For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his pavilion."-Ps. xxvii. 5.

Trouble without, peace within; the Christian ought to expect his share of the first, and ought to pray for and also to expect the promised gift of the second. There is not only real safety, but the sense of safety for those whom God takes into His pavilion and hides there in the time of trouble. May He enable us to experience this, so that we may not be distressed though we may be troubled on every side. The remembrance that Jesus has loved us, and even now loves us, may well banish from our sky many a cloud, and if He deigns to lift up the light of His countenance on us, as He often does when outward troubles surround His people, our complaints will be turned, like David's, into songs of joy and praise, "The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?" But it is not by brooding upon our sorrows that we shall arrive at this conclusion. It can only be when, with single purpose of heart, we can say, like the Psalmist again in this beautiful Psalm, "One thing I have desired of the Lord, that will I seek after; that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the beauty of the Lord and to inquire in his temple."

"O Lord, I would delight in Thee,
And on thy care depend;
To thee in every trouble flee,
My best, my only Friend."

OCTOBER 10.

"O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me." -Ps. cxxxix. 1.

It is only those who have their "hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience" by the blood of the Lamb, that can face this truth. It is only those who have cast themselves and their sins at the foot of the cross, that can venture to approach Him whose "eyes are as a flame of fire." David had thus come to God in faith, and therefore he shrinks not from the awful thought of the eye that was ever upon him, but rather delights in contemplating the omniscience of the Lord, "How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God." Search me, O God, and know my heart." I observe that he does not set forth merely in a general way the grand truth that God sees all things, he brings it home to himself (and here lies the lesson for me), "Thou hast searched me, and known me." Ah, what a proneness there is to escape from this application! How ready

am I to forget the eye that searches and knows me, and to turn to the thought of His dealings with others; or to be so solicitous as to what men may think of my conduct, that I am not sufficiently heedful of my state of heart before God.

Almighty God, unto whom all hearts be open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid, cleanse the thoughts of our hearts by the inspiration of Thy Holy Spirit, that we may perfectly love Thee and worthily magnify Thy holy name through Christ our

Lord. Amen."

OCTOBER 11.

"I am a stranger and a sojourner with you; give me a possession of a burying-place with you, that I may bury my dead out of my sight. | And the children of Heth answered Abraham, saying unto him, Hear us, my lord: Thou art a mighty prince among us," &c.—GEN. xxiii. 4-6.

[ocr errors]

All Abraham's wealth could not make this man of faith forget his true position upon earth: it belonged not to him; he belonged not to it. In the eyes of men he was a mighty prince;" in his own eyes he was a stranger and a sojourner, seeking as his only earthly possession a "possession of a burying-place." "Oh, that I may be enabled to remember, like Abraham, that I have nothing here which I can call my own, except that last resting-place to be taken possession of when I shall cease to be a stranger and a sojourner! May I seek to have treasure in heaven. Alas! how many of those who are richest in this world are poorest there, and have nothing either for time or eternity but the possession of a burying-place! In a very few years the distinctions which here separate men shall cease for them for ever; the mighty prince and the poor beggar shall stand alike empty and bare before their God; those who have had "their portion in this life," be it little or great, will be alike deprived of their all then, while the man of faith, who was content to pass through life as a stranger, will enter on his only real inheritance, his eternal home! Grant that this may be my portion, O Lord! "When I can read my title clear To mansions in the skies, I bid farewell to every fear, And wipe my weeping eyes."

OCTOBER 12.

"Wherefore, let them that suffer according to the will of God commit the keeping of their souls to him in well-doing, as unto a faithful Creator."-1 PET. iv. 19.

To learn how to suffer, this is no easy lesson. Nature rebels at the thought of suffering, and stoical pride has its own way of facing it which is not God's way; and so the difficulty remains unconquered, till the afflicted one lifts his eye to Calvary, and learns of Him who was meek and lowly in heart how to "suffer according to the will of God." One look to the Cross, one view of the bleeding Lamb of God will better enable us to bear our sorrows than all the teachings of philosophy. Let us look at his wounds, and remember that "He was wounded for our transgressions;" let us consider how His bodily sufferings were but a faint image of the travail of His soul, and remember that it was "the chastisement of our peace that was laid upon him;" and we shall find our own pains lighter because our hearts will be then raised higher, and filled with an object of surpassing glory which may well make us account our own affliction light! To Him let us "commit the keeping of our souls in well-doing;" our "faithful Creator" will not allow us to be tried beyond measure. Faithful is He to all His promises, and there is one which affliction makes especially our own, “ If we suffer, we shall also reign with Him."

[merged small][graphic][ocr errors]

66

I SUPPOSE she must come," said my father one summer morning at breakfast, tossing one of his letters over to my mother, who was busy reading her own. "She writes nicely enough, poor thing, and, as she says, has had her trials, no doubt, and it would be unkind to refuse, but I can't say I exactly wanted her;" and my father shuffled rather uneasily in his chair, and broke his egg with a sigh. My mother's bright face grew grave as soon as she saw the handwriting: "You don't mean, said she, "that Maria has invited herself here?" "Read for yourself," returned my father, harpooning a muffin. "Who is toming, mammy?" said little Tip, as we called the youngest of our family (I don't know why, for her real name was Angelina), "who is toming?" pulling my mother's sleeve into her tea-cup. My mother turned to the small round face with its large wondering eyes,

[ocr errors]

and for all reply took it into her hand and kissed it: "Bless you my Tip," said she, looking quite bright again. "But who is toming?" said the small thing impatiently, not the least propitiated by the caress. "A Mrs. Darville, a distant relative of ours," was the reply addressed to us all. "I will read her letter aloud, my dears," added my mother, quietly wiping her sleeve.

[ocr errors]

"O come," interrupted my father, swallowing his last mouthful, and jumping up in his energetic way, "never mind the letter. The long and short of it is, that it suits her convenience to pay us a visit." "My dear," said my mother archly, "you said she wrote nicely." For only reply a fist playfully clenched at her, and my father (the busiest of country gentlemen, what with his farm, his preserves, his magistrate's business, and his own particular hobby, the planting of trees on

barren hills, where trees had never been known to grow before) dashed out of the room. My mother folded up the letter, looked for the envelope which Tip had already torn into small pieces, then sailing in her saucer, and remained silent during the rest of breakfast.

66

66

My sister Ellen and I found much difficulty in getting the lessons ready that morning, the unusual prospect of a visitor was so very exciting. It was so strange, we thought, that we had never heard our parents speak of this Cousin Maria before. We wondered where she had been living of late; and then her trials, what could they have been? "But she must be old," sighed Ellen, "for you know, Carrie, mamma said she remembered her long ago. I wish she had not been old; one does not care so much about the trials of old people, they only seem natural. But oh, perhaps," said she in a mysterious whisper, "she was papa's first love. People who do not marry their first love never can be happy." Nonsense, Ellen," said I, rather sharply, for, never having myself gone through her present romantic stage, or cared a straw for Lalla Rookh, which she was always taking out with her to read under the lime-trees, I often thought her very absurd. Nonsense, child! I could not bear the idea of papa ever having cared for any one but mamma, and I am sure he is happy enough; why, this Cousin Maria may have a cross husband, and a dozen naughty children. After lessons are over, we can ask more about her." A few days later, the expected visitor came. We knew by that time that she was a widow and had but small means. Her husband had been a military man, from whom she had been parted a good deal, her health not having allowed her to accompany him to India. What her further trials had been mother could not tell us. She had seen nothing of her since before her own marriage, since they were girls together; there was, as she had before said, a distant relationship between them; "and between your papa as well," she added, " for, you know, we were second cousins." "Was she a dear friend of yours? did you love her very much?" asked Ellen. My mother did not seem to hear, turned the subject in a certain resolute way that she had, which we all minded, except indeed Tip, who minded

no one.

If it be thought strange that two girls of fourteen and sixteen should be so much occupied with the prospect of a visit, it must be remembered that we led very quiet lives in a very quiet part of the country. We were-I know it now as I look back-a happy family nevertheless. My father was, as I said before, a thoroughly busy man, always kind to us, but not interfering much with our management that he left to my mother; she too thoroughly understood the art of "judicious letting alone," allowed our characters free development after their kind, and tutored and found fault almost as little as my father. My sister and I had never been separated, and never would have associated a thought of pleasure with the brightest prospect unless it included both; but we often differed, and sometimes a little sharply, in our views of life, and sometimes she would tell me that I did not understand her. Tip was our torment l our darling. Each saw that the other spoiled

her, but practically all found it impossible to refuse her anything. She had such irresistible toddling, lisping ways, was so round and dimpled and downy, and so preternaturally sagacious in her mischief. There were always anecdotes relating to Tip circulating in the household, and my father would stop short in any flurry of business, and my mother lay down her most favourite books, to listen to one of these, whoever it was who told it.

I really do not know whether we were a remarkably well-brought up family or a well-managed household. Perhaps not. But I know that we three elder ones, William, Ellen, and I (though William did get rather difficult to please by the time the holidays were half over), would have done or not done, as the case might be, anything in the world rather than give our parents pain; and if the servants had their own way too much, they lived with us for years. If we had to humour John's temper a little, I've heard my father say he could trust him with uncounted gold; and when my mother had her long illness after Tip was born, Sally, the housemaid, though she never could be got up early in the morning, and had not certainly a keen eye for dust, took her turn in sitting up every other night for weeks together, and was ready to give notice when my mother once talked of having a nurse from London to save her trouble.

But by this time Mrs. Darville has arrived, and I have got to give an account of her. She was a very little woman, and very beautifully dressed. When I saw her first, I thought her quite lovely, her features were so regular and delicate, and her head and ears so neat and small. She had with her an Italian greyhound, the daintiest creature possible, dressed in a little blue silk coat, bound with black velvet, which showed off the gloss of its delicate fawn-coloured skin. To me at first both seemed the prettiest things imaginable, and very like each other. When William, who had travelled with Mrs. Darville, and got out at the bridge to fish his way up the river, came in flushed, with his fishing-basket on his back, we girls caught him in the hall, and after our first hug of delight, "Isn't she beautiful, Will?" Ellen said, "and so gentle, so loving!" "O bother !" said Will, "where's mother? I've got such a jolly dish of trout for her. She likes trout, you know. I've made myself such a capital new fly, you girls shall come and watch me to-morrow. The fish take it like fun." But, Will, do tell me where you saw her first, and how you knew her, and all she said to you.' "As if I cared what she said," growled Will, peeping in at his fish; "with her fuss about Eton and Harrow. What could she know about them? I was precious glad to get out, I can tell you, and have done with her jaw." "I don't like her, William,” said I, “and I'm glad you do not either." "I don't care about her," returned he, "only I wish she had been quiet about public schools. I've been trying all this last half to leave off wishing to go there, as papa's so obstinate about it, as I told her, and it unsettles a fellow. Hallo! here's Tip!" and then came such a romp that there was not another rational word spoken. At dinner Mrs. Darville sat by papa, of course, and she talked to him a good deal in a low voice. I could not hear what she said, but she looked as though

[ocr errors]

66

1

she found papa very pleasant. I thought him a little sharp to William once or twice, which was unusual. Two things struck me a good deal that first evening, or perhaps they have struck me more since, in looking back to it,- —one was, the way in which Mrs. Darville always supported her own statement or opinions by quoting what some one else had said; and the other was, that some one else had always something censorious to say. She seemed, indeed, to have been condemned to live with most disagreeable people; yet surely not condemned, for she need not have paid these visits she was describing. Besides, she would profess to be very fond, or rather would give us to understand that she was much beloved by these characters that appeared so unpleasing. "Dear Mrs. So-and-so, such an affectionate soul,-at least to me! Such a pity that her temper is so uncertain! Her sister told me sad tales, and I believe her poor husband has had serious thoughts of a separation," and so on. "Good Mr. Cole, you know, of course, his sad embarrassments? No! I fancied every one was aware of them. Their family lawyer said before me one day, speaking of the eldest son, Poor fellow, poor fellow! how will he ever live at Hulton ?" Or, "Miss E. an affectionate daughter? I am sure I hope so; but it is sad to see how she rules her parents. Her poor mother told me one day she had no wish but Eliza's," and so on, and so on, till, when I went to bed, the world seemed to me a much worse place than it had ever done before. And all the time Mrs. Darville had looked pretty and pleased, and when we went up stairs she pressed Ellen to her heart with a quite enthusiastic fondness, so that we all but quarrelled about her, for Ellen did nothing but rave of her grace and sweetness; while I, though I had no particular reason to assign, could not help feeling and saying, that I did not like Cousin Maria.

[ocr errors]
[ocr errors]

The next morning, happening to be down early, I found my father and mother together in the hall looking over Will's fishing-tackle. "I like the fellow to have a good notion of fishing, and don't quarrel with all these flies, though I suspect such a hook as this has out-run his pocket-money; but I am disappointed that he should speak so disrespectfully of me and my judgment." "O papa,' I was beginning, for it struck me that it was Mrs. Darville who had put some wrong notion in his head; but prayer-bell rang that very moment, and afterwards all the others were down, and I never had a chance. At breakfast, Ellen must sit by Mrs. Darville, and it was "My dearest Ellen," or "My child," every moment. But Tip was evidently one of my faction. It came out afterwards that Tip had wanted to carry Tiny down stairs, and been peremptorily refused the indulgence. So that she now sat on her perch by my mother, with one round shoulder pushed out of her frock, and her round flushed cheek resting upon it, and kept muttering to herself, "I don't 'ike oo; Tip don't 'ike oo," in a way unintelligible to our guest, though fascinating to me, and I suspected to my mother too; but Ellen resented it, unfortunately, and said, "Tip, how can you be so naughty ?" which inclined the balance of Tip's conflicting feelings the wrong way, and led to a roar.

By the time that Cousin Maria had been a week

in the house, some great change seemed to have come over us all. Ellen and I had gone to sleep three nights running without kissing each other. (It is not pleasant to hear that your younger sister finds you uninteresting and commonplace.) Papa and William had had three or four sharp contests. Sally and John were at daggers drawn, and Tip was naughtier than I had ever seen her before (but perhaps we were not so ready to play with her); while our mother had not only grown more touchy on the subject of Tip-she used only to laugh when we vowed she spoilt her-but was silent and reserved, and quite unlike her usual cheerful self. Cousin Maria, however, seemed to be perfectly contented, though most days she had some grievance to convey to us. We never knew before how full of draughts our dear old rambling house was, nor how deficient in their duties the whole household. To be sure John had always been a despot, and Sally perhaps a little of a sloven, and old Mrs. Privet, the housekeeper, never did display much genius in the second course; but none of these things annoyed us before. Our eyes seemed unpleasantly open now; while, on the other hand, none of the servants would bear to be spoken to.

V

When we were all together, Mrs. Darville seldom spoke much, except, indeed, to Tiny; but what she delighted in was a succession of tête-à-têtes. Sometimes, on Sundays especially, a walk with my father, sometimes with my mother; but the latter generally made some excuses, and very often a summons would come to Ellen and me to go and sit with her in her own room. Walter even would be invited to a stroll, but he always contrived to elude that privilege. Whoever did go would invariably return with a more constrained and anxious look than try took out with them. I shall never forget the sad heart I brought back after one of these tête-à-tête rambles. I knew well enough that I was a plain, awkward girl,— -so stunted and broad no one could have guessed me to be her daughter; but I never knew before that my mother cared about this,- -never dreamed that it could give her a disinclination to take me out. When invitations came that included me, my mother had always told me I was too young; and passing her hand kindly over my head, had once added, "But even when my good, sensible, little Carrie is older, I am glad to think that she will not be a mere gaietyloving girl,-will not always want to be dragging her poor mother out of her shell." There was nothing unkind in that, only she must have spoken in a very different tone to Cousin Maria, or why her sympathy, and why did I return feeling, for the first time in my life, that it was a wretched thing not to be handsome, since even my mother had less pleasure in me because of this; and then that Ellen, forsooth, must be yearning for some one more congenial,-should find home life so monotonous! Yes, I did wish that she were sent to school, and then her foolish Lalla Rookh would be taken away from her, and she would have to learn dry dates instead of poetry, and she would know, perhaps, when surrounded by strangers, what it was to long for her elder sister's love.

Meanwhile the time wore on, and I do not believe that a much more unhappy family was to be found in the whole county. Perhaps, indeed, to

[graphic]
« السابقةمتابعة »