網頁圖片
PDF
ePub 版

will grow full and round, and your little hands plump and firm."

[ocr errors]

"But now," said Julia, suddenly reminded of the time, we must leave you, Herbert, and what shall we do for you before we go."

"Let me have some of papa's droll books, Lucy," said the child, turning to his elder sister.

"You shall, dear," was the reply, "you have only to ask for any thing in our power to give you, and it shall be your's; and how I do wish I could make you well.”

"You speak sadly, Lucy; do you think I am in danger? I know mamma did not recover, but I am so young, so very young to die, sister," he continued in a low voice; "when people are ill, they ought to be good, but if I should die, I know nothing about God. Mamma taught me a few hymns, but I have forgotten them, and papa always tells me I am too young to think of religion, and yet I may not live to be older."

Lucy's reply was prevented by a summons from Mr. Maitland, and after a hurried ‘good night,' the sisters took their leave of the child.

It was a very merry party to which they went; the young people engaged in music and dancing, the more elderly in cards; there was no trace of gloom, no time for solemn thought; they sought pleasure, and in their excitement imagined they possessed it.

Lucy at length grew tired of dancing, and perceiving a seat unoccupied by the side of an elderly lady, she took it, but had not been there long, before the latter commenced conversation, by asking after her brother.

"He is very ill," replied Lucy, "he inherits dear mamma's tendency to consumption, and we fear much for his health.”

"And with too much reason, I am afraid,” returned the lady seriously; "would it not be well to prepare his mind for the solemn change which, perhaps, may soon be his?"

Lucy made no reply. Flattered, caressed, and sought after as she was, the language of truth fell with startling effect upon her ear, and subdued her to silence. Terrified and trembling, she had listened, and those few earnest words changed the aspect of all things present. She longed to reply to her companion, yet

suffered her to depart without making any effort to detain her.

The evening wore on, and gradually a strange gloom had usurped the place of enjoyment, for the whispered words of the old lady had taken effect upon the hearts of many to whom she had spoken. And why should this be; why should the mention of death have only the tendency to make sad and thoughtful those previously so full of enjoyment? It is not so in the house of God where we love to hear that there is a limit placed to the existence of man, and tremble not that its duration is uncertain, for we know that through faith we have hope of an incorruptible inheritance in a world where death is known no more. But the thought of death can never be welcome to the pleasure-loving, God-forgetting sinner, living in open disobedience to his commandments; he knows that all his pursuits are at variance with the will of God, and that if suddenly summoned before the judgment seat, eternal condemnation must be his.

[ocr errors]

Papa," said Lucy, to her father, on their way homeward, "I have long been wanting to ask whether you think dear Herbert is dangerously ill; do not decline answering this question, for I am very unhappy and anxious about him?"

"There is not any occasion for being alarmed, Lucy," replied Mr. Maitland, "for the doctor assured me there was no dangerfor the present, at least."

“Thank you, dear papa, my mind is indeed relieved, for I have been thinking very sad things about him to-night, but now all will be well;" and Lucy leaned back in a corner of the carriage, and during the remainder of her ride, gave herself up to thoughts upon the best method of carrying into effect, resolves formed from the impression which the conversation of the old lady had made.

Arrived at home, Lucy again sought her brother's room, but it now looked comfortless and desolate, for the lamp was flickering in the socket, and the fire had mouldered away. Herbert was asleep, and his hands still held cards, which, since his illness, had been his principal amusement; the coverlid of his bed was strewn with costly toys and books, and a table stood near covered with delicacies desired, yet untouched, by his capricious fancy. I am sure he wants for nothing, thought Lucy, as she surveyed

these things; he has every comfort. And yet there was a feeling at her heart which told her that he must often feel the want of attention in those he loved. "He is in no danger, there is plenty of time," she murmured when retiring to her room, “I would not disturb him to-night, but to-morrow I will put my plans into practice ;" and confident in her own strength, satisfied with her resolution to act rightly, Lucy felt happy and at peace with herself.

A week passed away; another drew near its close, yet none of Lucy's plans had been carried into effect,— her good resolves were put off for a season; there was, thought she, plenty of time— the parties would soon be over, she would not be so constantly engaged; in short it were needless to repeat one-half the excuses which Satan prompted for the non-fulfilment of her duty.

As time wore on, Herbert grew weaker, and so quiet he no longer asked to be amused; no longer murmured at the hurried visits of his sisters, or his frequent hours of loneliness; he was patient, gentle, and affectionate; but an acute observer might have discovered that, young as he was, he felt there was something wanting, something needed to render a sick bed endurable; we know not what his thoughts were, but the anxious expression of his features, the restless wandering of the eye, and his frequent tears, denoted any thing but happiness.

Often have I thought that those who neglect the religious culture of children, incur if possible, still greater condemnation; they were the chosen favorites of our Saviour; an especial notice marks his love for them, for we are told, that of such is the kingdom of heaven. And yet how frequently religion is altogether omitted in their education, on the absurd and sinful plea, that their minds are not sufficiently matured to understand its nature. Those who thus think, can never have seen the sustaining power of religion attendant on the death-bed of a child, where love, joy, hope, and perfect peace, are often vouchsafed in a peculiar degree. Can you suppose, that a tender child, when stricken by disease, and racked with pain, is better able of its own innate strength to endure this, than man, who, under similar circumstances, can call mighty energies to his aid, and whose sensibility to pain is perhaps rendered less acute, from his having longer travelled the weary way of life? Yet in the latter case no effort

is left untried by pious relatives to win the soul to God, and to gain peace and the consolations of religion, to support him through the last mortal agony. The soul of a child is of equal value in the sight of God with that of the aged pilgrim. You, who devote your time to efforts for the salvation of others, remember this! Remembering also, that the heart of a child is comparatively tender, susceptible, and retentive, never neglect to speak a word in season.

It was on the return of Mr. Maitland and his daughters, from a gay assembly, where they had remained until a late hour, that they were greeted with grave and tearful looks by the domestics. Herbert is worse, thought Lucy; and avoiding any efforts to detain her, she eagerly entered his room, but the eyes which were wont to brighten at her approach were closed, and the gentle voice was mute; for the spirit of the child had departed! He had died suddenly in their absence; his attendants not knowing where to send for them.

What a striking contrast were the living and the dead in that still room; the one attired in all the folly and extravagance of fashion; the other, already prepared for the tomb-a sheet his covering, his luxuriant hair the only ornament, and his painworn and sunken features scarcely wearing a look of peace even in death. He had been dead some hours; the hand which Lucy had so eagerly taken was icy cold, and yet she did not relinquish it; she could not weep, but stood with agonized and fixed looks gazing upon all that remained of her brother, while her mind wandered as if in a dream-a terrible dream from which she had no power to awaken. Memory is ever busy when we look upon the dead, and thus it was with Lucy, who again, in imagination, received her little brother from her dying mother with the solemn charge, to bring him up in the fear of the Lord. How had she fulfilled that trust? His own words, "Mind, sister, I know nothing about God!" recurred with fearful power, and condemned her. Every trait of his joyous and affectionate nature was vivid before her; she remembered how implicitly he had looked to her for guidance; how willingly he had always obeyed her slightest wish; how much he had loved her; how patiently he had borne her neglect of him in illness; a sacred trust had been given to her, and she had been unfaithful! And where was now the

soul of the young sufferer? Lucy dared not think; she dared not contemplate the awful consequences of her neglect. Upon her conscience lay the heavy sin of neglecting the salvation of one entrusted to her,―condemned already by her own heart, her agony seemed insupportable; but the condemnation of God would be far more tremendous than that of her own heart, and how could she endure it?

But we will not dwell longer on this sad scene; we trust that time may prove, that the death of Herbert, and the circumstances attendant may be productive of good, not only to his family, but to those who read this narrative - in warning them never to neglect an opportunity of imparting religious instruction. What can equal the bitterness of knowing that our power to do good is past, especially where it concerns the salvation of an immortal soul, whose future destiny we might, under the blessing of God, have been the means of influencing? What can in such a case afford comfort, when an opportunity is lost for ever? Let me then urge upon you who have the care of the souls of others, a due consideration of the importance of such a trust, as remembering that you are accountable to God for your right fulfilment of a sacred and solemn duty. H.D. H.

THE DREAM OF ONE HALF-AWAKE.

PERHAPS there are very few among our readers who have not at some time or other ventured on the bosom of old father Thames, to Margate or Herne Bay; and fewer still who have not enjoyed a steam-excursion to Gravesend. If they have done so, they cannot have failed to notice the extensive level on the north bank of the river, stretching from the Isle of Dogs almost to the Nore, and offering by its comparatively monotonous aspect a striking contrast to the Kentish coast opposite. With pretty exceptions here and there, it is one large grassy flat intersected with brooks, and dotted with groups of cattle for some distance inland, when it gradually rises into varied uplands, the details of which are mostly too remote from the river's brink to interfere with the general character of this long and dreary tract of pasture land. This tract is well known by the designation of "the Essex marshes," and its insalubrity is almost prover

« 上一頁繼續 »