is~ia
l —--   ---- --
Ilk
"I think," she said, "that both mothers and little children wonld like to
hear the story of a very dear babe,-the very best babe that eve or was born on
earth."




ONWARD;
OR,
THE MOUNTAIN CLAMBERERS.
A TALE OF PROGRESS.
BY
JANE ANNE WINSCOM,
AUITHOR OF "VINEYARD LABOURERSB, ETC., ETC.
"They go from strength to strength, every one of them in Zion appeareth before
God."-Ps. lxxxiv. 7.
NEW YORK:
D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
346 & 848 BROADWAY.
M.DCCC.LIX.








PREFACE.
Tins little volume is intended for the encouragement
of those who are endeavouring to fulfil life's great end;
- to glorify their God on earth, and to be rendered
meet for Iis eternal kingdom. It is for those who
are wishing, and for those who are striving; for the
dwellers in the valley, who look wistfully on the hills
above,-for the clamberers 6n the mountain side, who
are going from strength to strength, trusting to appear
before their God in Zion.
It is especially intended for the young, and the
ardent, and the aspiring. We do not wish to chill
Ally one's ardour, nor to check any one's aspirations.
We wish them to go " higher and higher," even until there is no mountain beyond,-until they reach the
land that is above the clouds of earth, until they stand
before the throne of God, and drink at the fountain



4                   PREFACE.
head of the pure fiver of life, whose waters, clear as
crystal, flow in Heaven's Paradise.
The mount of duty up which the Christian must
ascend is of tertiary formation. The primary rock is
the Love of Christ; and that which lies directly on it,
is Faith in His precious sacrifice. Then rise all the
duties and graces which Scripture enjoins; "add to
faith, virtue; and to virtue, knowledge; and to knowledge, temperance; and to temperance, patience; and
to patience, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly
kindness, and to brotherly kindness, charity." Love
is the base, and love is the crowning peak; even as
the primary granite, the foundation of God's mountain pyramids, is likewise the rock that forms the
highest peaks, that overtopis all the other layers, and
points its naked summits towards the sky. Let the
mountain clamberer's first step, therefore, be, to believe
in the love of the Son of God; and as he clambers from
ridge to ridge, as he surmounts duty after duty, still
let his eye be on the highest point, —the preserving
love of Jesus. And when the last step is taken, when
the highest summit is reached, the Everlasting Arms,
which have continually preserved him, shall bear him
from the Pisgah of earth to the Canaan of heaven.
Transforming grace shall then become transforming
glory, and' for progress from strength to strength,
shall be substituted change from glory to glory.




PREFACE.                 5
We have reason to believe that they who highest
climb earth's mount of duty, shall throughout eternity
ascend higher heaven's mount of glory.
Arise, then, Christian! time is short, and the ascent is long.  Gird thyself, and thou shalt attain.
Onward! the path hath been trodden by thy Saviour.
Upward! Jesus standeth at the right hand. of God.
With one hand He helpeth thee throughout the struggle, in the other He holdeth the purchased crown,
with which He will reward thy toil.
In this simple tale of mountain-clamberers several
true incidents are mingled. May God condescend to
bless it all, for the furtherance of His honour, by permitting it to promote the good of His people, rousing
some that rest in the valley, and quickening others,
who linger in the ascent. Especially, may it lead the
young to plant their footsteps on the mount of God
-to strive in the days of youth-to clamber highto " covet earnestly the best of gifts,"-and to' press
toward the mark for the prize of their high calling of
God in Christ Jesus."








CONTENTS.
CHIAPTER                                                   PAGE
I. LOOKING UPWARDS,....   9
II. COLIN. AND JEANIE,...      15
III. THE FAMILY AT ALLEYNE,...  23
IV. OFF! OFF! AND AWAY!.   31
V. ENDEAVOURING,....                            37
VI. EDWARD ARNOLD,....      47
VII. POOR, YET NOBLE,.....   57
VIII. LITTLE HARRY,....      68
IX. POOR JAMIE CLARK,.....  77
X. FIELDS WHITE UNTO THE HARVEST,..     87
XI. THE SAND-HUTS,...... 100
XII. THE DRUNKARD'S COTTAGE,.. 7.     112
XIII. THE INFANT S MINISTRY,..... 121
XIV. STAND STILL,......    127
XV. OLD MOSES AND LITTLE ADAH,.. 139
XVI. THE ROCKY GLEN,...    148
XVII. SALOME,.... 159
XVIII. WIDOW M'LEOD,....    173
XIX. STAFFA AND IONA,..... 186
XX. CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE,....    198




8                         CONTENTS.
CHAPTER                                                     PAGF
XXI. FAITH S CONFLICT,..... 211
XXII. FAITH'S VICTORY,.....    224
XXIII. REUNION,..                       241
XXIV. SUMMER DAYS,.....    246
XXV. THE FADING FLOWER,...                263
XXVI. THE UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL,.                            271
XXVII. A WEDDING-DAY,...... 283
XXVIII. THE MOUNTAIN-TOPS APPEARING,                        291
XXIX. HASTENING ON,.                                     301
XXX. THE SIRE'S BIRTHDAY,.314
XXXI. THE SUMMIT GAINED,... 323




O N W AR D.
CHAPTER I.
LOOKING UPWARDS.
"Higher, higher, let us climb,
Looking up and pressing on,
Hast'ning through the days of time,
Unto glory near the throne.
For all thy need
The Saviour cares,
So onward speedi
Thy pains he bears'
"Now, Ethie, won't you sing us something?" said Hubert,
as seate'd at the little table, where his own lamp burned, he
closed a volume on Nautical Science, which he had been
diligently studying.  " The clock is striking, so the young
ones may shut their books also, and we must have something
bright after the past hour of intense silence."
"Do, Ethic, do," said Gertrude; but poor Rowland
looked up rather despairingly, as he exclaimed " Oh! I had
1*




10                    ONWARD.
just got hold of this problem, and now it is vanished quite.
It is so troublesome!"
" Never mind," said his brother; " it will all come back
to-morrow morning. You have been long enough at books
now."
" That would do if I could master a thing, as easily as
you can, but you know I can't; " so Rowland took his books
under one arm, and Hubert's lamp in his hand, and ascended
the stairs to his own little room, which he used to describe
as "placed alone upon the housetop."
It was a slightly frosty night at the end of October.
The youth wrapped his railway-rug round him, and in about
twenty minutes the problem was solved.
"' Now I have done," he said; and he put out the lamp,
and opened his skylight window to observe what stars were
rising, setting, and culminating.
Rowland wjas of a quiet, plodding disposition. Though
not quick in apprehension, he was deep in reflection. His
temper was rarely excited by any disturbance; but his feelings seldom expanded to enter into the pursuits of those
with whom he associated. His maxim was, "Let people
alone; " and his entreaty was, " Let me alone."  There was
one, however, whom he loved with the strongest affection, in
whose soul his own seemed to be enfolded, and that was the
gentle, lovely Ethelda; but for others, whether brother,
sister, fatherr or school-fellows, he cared little. Ethie was
his idol, and himself filled up the rest of his heart.  He
had a sense of religion, was upright and honourable. but




LOOKING UPWARDS.                  11
there was no room for the love of God to possess his soul.
He was far from being thoroughly happy; and often wondered why he was so different to his beloved sister.
As he gazed at and noticed the stars that night, he
almost mechanically began to repeat the stanzas of a baby
rhyme, and without thinking of a word he uttered, proceeded to the commencement of the last verse:
"As your bright and tiny spark
Lights the traveller in the dark;
Though I know not what you are,
Twinkle, twinkle, little star."
Thought, then, suddenly arrested him. He mused as
he repeated each of these lines; and looking once more at
their tiny spark, exclaimed," Happy, useful stars.  Oh! that I were so also."
Then shutting the window, he descended slowly to the
drawing-room, where Ethelda and Hubert were singing
duets.
Only Ethelda observed Rowland enter; and she soon
noticed the rather sad expression of his countenance. The
duet finished, she smiling brightly, turned to her younger
brother," Now, Rowly, what would you like?"
"Any thing, Ethie; you know I don't care as long as
you sing."
" This is a favourite, is it not? " and her clear voice
commenced Longfellow's beautiful poem:



12.   ONWARD.
"The shades of night were falling fast,
As through an Alpine village passed,
A youth, who bore,'mid snow and ice,
A banner with the strange device,
Excelsior! Excelsior!"
"Everybody likes that song," said the bright-eyed Gertrude; " but I own it puzzles me. I do not like'Excelsior,'
because I don't understand it."
"I like you, Gerty, for always allowing what is true,"
replied Hubert.  "We must ask Rowland for the explanation, since he evidently enjoys it."
"The story is simple enough," remarked  Rowland,
"both beautiful and true; for many are ever striving, and
ever disappointed. They wave their' Excelsior' banner,
but in a little while the snow-wreath gathers round it."'
And then in an under-tone he added, " I have never unfurled
mine yet."
" I am not sure of that, Rowly," said Ethelda, who had
overheard him.  "I have sometimes seen you bear it, but I
own you have soon thrown it down."
"Without braving the awful avalanche," added Rowland, "' Excelsior' can never be my motto."
"A very dangerous one when climbing the mount of
human glory, but it is the device which God hath bid us
bear as we ascend towards the Heavenly City."
"I do not see why we may not hold it, and climb both
mountains," remarked Hubert.' I hope to be a great man
as well as a good man.  Whatever I do, it must be' higher I
higher!:"




LOOKING UPWARDS.                  13
" Goodness is the higher mountain," said Ethelda; "so
you should lose sight of Greatness; or, rather, they are one.
Greatness is a volcanic hill when it stands alone; and if we
reach its summit, it will open its mouth and swallow us up:
but climb Goodness, and true Greatness lies at your feet."
" Well, Ethie," replied Hubert, " you seem to stand on
the summit.  Tell us how we are to attain   "
"Hubert! "-and the tear filled Ethelda's eye-" I am
far, far from reaching there."
"  Oh, Ethie, I did not mean to distress you! I suppose
it is because we are so deep in the valley that we fancied
the point you had attained was the height of the mountain."
" You are all so metaphorical," said Gertrude, " that I
can hardly understand you better than Longfellow; but if
this is what you mean, I don't like it at all. Ethelda even
thinks she is not good enough, and Hubert is always longing
to be greater.  We are never to be content and happy, and
enjoy what we have, but to be always crying,'Excelsior!
Excelsior!' It may not sound so sentimental, but I do
think that Longfellow's boy would have been wiser to have
staid in the' peaceful village' than to have been found halfburied in the snow."
"Very true of Longfellow's boy; but speaking of ourselves metaphorically, Gerty," replied Ethelda, "' if we remain in the'peaceful village' we must be overthrown by
the avalanche of wrath.'Excelsior' is the Christian's
safety, for it is the command of our King; but He who
bids his people'Come up hither,' hath provided the needful




14                      ONWARD.
Guide, and promised the needful strength.  Higher up,
earth's mountain leads to the slippery glacier.  Higher up,
God's mountain leads to the Father's right hand, to the
effulgence of glory. Let us not forget the two last beautiful lines,"And from the sky, serene and far,
A voice fell, like a falling star,
Excelsior!"
" Do sing it again," said Rowland thoughtfully; and
as the beloved Ethelda's clear voice sounded " Excelsior! "
her brothers joined, and it seemed no longer to them "the
accents of an unknown tongue," but rather the expression
of a high resolve.
Rowland looked once more that night at the clear, shining stars; and they seemed to re-echo the word Ethelda
had sung, and the wish again arose, " Oh! that my tiny
spark might light the traveller in the dark!"
It was a high and holy desire, which should ere long
spring from a far deeper and purer source than the present
dissatisfied yearnings of his soul. The love of Christ should
soon constrain it; and then it would lead him " Higher!
higher! " until, having turned many souls unto righteousness, he should, in God's spiritual firmament, shine as the
stars for ever and ever.




COLIN AND- JEANIE.                     15
CHAPTER II.
COLIN  AND  JEANIE.
" Brother! waold'st thou Jesus seel
And be blest by Him in time?
Blest, too, in eternity?
Brother, then, abide in Him.
Oh! abide in Him, my brother,
Give thy heart up to Him whole;
This one thing, without another,
Is sufficient for thy soul,"
THE old family mansion in which the Alleynes lived did not
stand far from the banks of one of those clear winding rfivers
that intersect our northern counties. These, running rapidly through deep dells, give birth to many beautiful spots in
a country that might otherwise be deemed barren and uninviting.  Mr. Alleyne's grounds had been laid out with excellent taste, Nature being allowed to continue her dominion,
and Art being employed as her servant, rather than allowed
to become her supplanter.
Through one of the narrow mossy walks that run nearly
parallel.with the river, Ethelda and Rowland were passing.
The former had a small covered basket in her hand, whilst




1-6                   ONWARD.
Rowland carried a bundle beneath his arm. The day was
not inviting; it was a sunless morning in the month of November. The moss was very damp, and the banks slippery,
and innumerable rain-drops, which seemed as if they would
never be dried up, were suspended from each branch, and
from each brown leaf, that hung clingingly, but helplessly,
to the newly-denuded branches.
Rowland walked very silently, and hardly replied at all
to the remarks his sister made. These, consequently, became fewer and fewer,k and at length the cawing of the
crows seemed the only sound that disturbed that little
woodland.  And now they came to a green wicket-gate,
passing through which they entered a field partly stubble,
partly fallow-ground, in which the countryman with his
plough and horses was busily engaged.  On the other
side stood a thatched cottage.  Ethelda took the road
that led to it, and as she knocked at the door, turning
to Rowland, she inquired, " Now, Rowly, won't you go
in? "
"I'd rather stay outside," he replied, in a dissatisfied
tone.
"Very well," she said, somewhat sadly; but Rowland,
finding it awkward to transfer the bundle from his arm
to Ethelda's, said, with an effort, " I'll go in for once, if you
like it."
His sister's countenance brightened, and she cheerfully
entered the old man's home, accompanied by her young
brother.




COLIN AND JEANE.                17
"Good morning, Colin; and how are you and Jeanie today?"
" I think we are some better, ma'am; thank ye, kindly."
"I hardly expected to hear that during this dull
November weather; but you are looking more cheerful.
We have brought some warm things, we thought might
make you and Jeanie comfortable this winter."
" Oh, thank you, kindly.  I'm  sure we are much
obliged;"-and Ethelda undid the parcel, and made blind
Jeanie feel the warm stockings and other things that it
contained. In the meantime Colin inquired of the young
master whether he would not be seated, and moved his
stiffened arms, as much as rheumatism would allow, to place
one of the chairs in a more convenient situation. Rowland
observing this, and feeling that after the poor man's
trouble it would not be civil to refuse, sat down, wondering
what he could say.
Colin said something about the dulness of the weather, and Rowland said,'" Yes; " and then Colin hoped
that the days might become brighter as the fogs of
November cleared away, and Rowland said, " I hope so;"
and then Colin was silent, and Rowland was silent also.
Ethelda observing this, even whilst she was talking to
Jeanie, immediately turned to the old man, and begged
him to tell her brother of some of his adventures in early
life.
"Well now, master, I'll tell you, if, maybe, ye'd like
to hear. I was of a roving turn when quite young, so at




18                    ONWARD.
last I ran off from home and went to sea. I was always
wishing I was what I wasn't, and always dreaming of
making a fortune and coming back a great man. Twice
I saved some pounds, and then I was both times wrecked.
Indeed, master, I have found it doesn't do to be always
running after the money. The last wreck told hard upon
my health; we were nine days upon a raft, and were
taken up more dead than alive. I do not remember the
last of that; the senses were not left in me, when the ship
rescued us.  I was a regular wrecked man in health
and fortune, so I wandered home. Father, he took me
kindly in; but mother, I only saw the sod that was
above her grave.  Ah! that was sad to bear; and I
never shall forget it, sir. A child of my brother's was
on my knee, and he looks up at me and says,'Did ye
know granny?'  I says,' Yes, I am her son,' and the
boy looks up and says,' Are you the naughty laddie that
ran away, and that granny used to pray for every night;
and when she was dying she prayted the Lord Jesus, she
might meet her poor Coll in heaven?'  Ah! Master
Rowland, that went through my heart like a dagger, for
I loved mother!  It was worse to bear than any shipwreck.  Well, I never went to sea again, but I didn't
get better.  I now took to roving about the country,
selling mugs and basins. I was married then, and I had
several children.  I was often before the magistrates as
a vagrant, and I swore, and fought, and drank. Ah! I've




COLIN AND JEAN.                  19
been a wicked one, and I cannot think why I wasn't cut
off in my sins."
"Because Jesus has loved you, you cannot tell why,"
remarked Ethelda.
"Aye, ma'am, just so:" and the silent tear gathered
in the old man's eye, and then ran slowly down the furrows
of his aged cheek.  "Well, Master Rowland, I fear I
shall tire you; but I -grew old in my sins. The children
all were grown, but, except Jeanie here, cared little for
me; and then the mother died.  I dinnalike to talk of
her funeral; it was a sad disgrace.  We went to the
public-house after she was buried, and I and the lads
were all o' us drunk.  I wonder, we were not buried the
next. But now I was eighty years old, and I could not
go on with the wandering no more; so the parish allowed
me and Jeanie five shillings, and one of my sons, who has
got on well in the world, gives us three shillings a-week
more, and so we took this cottage, and, thank God, I've
come to live in it. Master Rowland, I did not believe the
Bible, but I had been here some years; it is about three
summers since your sister knocked at the door and asked
if I had a Bible. I told her,' No, I didn't need it, I
could do well enough without it.'  I dare say she was
sorry to see an old man tottering to the grave, and no
staff to lean on, for she did not take my rough answer,
but talked so nice like, I could not help asking her to
come to my poor cot once more;" and turning to Ethelda,
the old man continued,-" And ye know, ma'am, how




20                    ONWARD.
ye've come again and again, and how ye answered all the
objections I could bring forward; and now I find this
precious Bible is just like the chart that tells the sailor
when to go to windward or leeward, and will lead me right
on to the port o' yonder."
" Then, Colin," said Ethelda, "you are still pressing
forward, even in old age?"
"Aye, ma'am, the Golden City is still afore us. The
mountain we are getting up reaches ahint the clouds.
Jeanie and I often talk of the end, and I oft spell out to
her the two last chapters of the Revelation."
"I oft tell father," remarked Jeanie, with that placid,
happy look which so characterised her, "that I shall at
first have the advantage of him; it will be such a surprise
to my poor blind eyes to see all at once the King in
His beauty, and the city which hath no need of the sun,
neither of the moon to lighten it."
" Ah, Jeanie, you see that even now by faith, and so
even now you have the advantage over many."
"Yes, ma'am, yes, God has just covered me with
advantages. I'm sure, I should never cease to thank the
blessed Lord."
" Indeed we should not," added the, old man, " because
His mercy endureth for ever. I've now passed fourscore
years and ten, and that mercy, which bore with me
when I never knew it, may well be trusted during the
few months of life that remain. I only pray that so long




COIHN AND JEANIE.                21
as I live, I may live to the Lord, that as I get more
near to heaven, I may get more like to it."
"Always onward," said  Ethelda,-" onward  to the
Father's home."
" That is it, ma'am;" and the old man looked bright,
and so did Jeanie. Ethelda and Rowland wished them
good morning, and  soon closed the little  wicket-gate,
which led into their cottage-garden.
"Ethie," remarked Rowland, earnestly, as they retraced their steps, " I see that old man knows the meaning of' Excelsior."'
"Does he?  What makes you think so?"
"Because he is a mountain-clamberer, and with true pilgrim spirit, will not lay down his staff, till-I liked the
way he spoke-' he is ahint the clouds.'"
"I wish," replied Ethelda, "we could all take up our
staff in that way also."
"Oh! Ethie," said Rowland, with extreme earnestness,
" I am very unhappy,-I want to be very good, and I cannot. I feel I am cross and selfish, and the more I feel it,
the worse I seem to be. I go down instead of up,-lower
rather than higher."
"Don't be unhappy, dear Rowly," replied his sister;
"Paul died before he lived. He commenced the ascent
from the moment that he fell to the ground, overcome by
the bright light that shone from heaven."
"Yes; but he did then begin to ascend. I get lower
and lower, I feel it."




22                    ONWARD.
" So low, dear boy, that no one but Gpd can raise you
up."
Rowland was silent; a ray of hope beamed suddenly
over his sorrowful mind. He considered it with wonder,
and his heart continued too full to allow him to speak.
Ethelda did not know how God blessed that word so gently
spoken. Seeing that her brother was no longer inclined to
converse, she was silent. As soon as they reached home,
Rowland hastened to his little skylight-room. He poured
out the fulness of his heart upon his knees, and again and
again supplicated, "Lord, no one but thyself can lift me
up. Pity me for Jesus' sake, Amen."  Gradually, the conviction of the power of God increased in his mind, and the
doubt of his willingness seemed as gradually to remove, until he indeed hoped that God would fulfil to him the promise, " I will be -your G'od forever and ever; I will be your
Guide, even unto death."




THE FAMILY AT ALLEYNE.                     28
CHAPTER III.
THE FAMILY AT ALLEYNE.
" Yet, if it be His holy will,
I pray that, hand in hand,
We all may travel many a hill
Of this the pilgrims' land.
With Zion's shining gate in view,
Through every danger rise;
And form a family anew,
Unbroken in the skies.'
NOT far from Alleyne stood the old parish church..Its ancient spire pointing towards heaven, seemed to tell at once
the Christian's hope and duty.  A many-graved churchyard
surrounded that old edifice, and beside the wall which enclosed it, old elm-trees grew.  Under the shadow of some of
their branches there was a tomb of massive stone, which
contrasted strongly with the little green hillocks and simple
headstones, marking where the villagers had been laid to
rest. A lamb,'as it had been slain, was carved on one side,
and below were inscribed the simple words, "I lay my sins
on. Jesus; " on the opposite side of the tomb were written




24                    ONWARD.
the names of Ethelda, the beloved wife of Hugh Alleyne, of
Alleyne, and of Bertha, their infant child. " They are Ant,
for God took them," were the only words the surviving husband had engraven there. The morning that Ethelda and
Rowland walked to see old Colin, was the fourteenth anniversary of the sad day, when their valued mother had been
consigned to her lonely tomb. It had been but a short
week before, that in the morning there was great joy, for
another little girl was born, and in the evening there was
bitter weeping, because it was evident that the husband
must part with the wife he so tenderly cherished, that the
children must lose the mother they so fondly loved, and the
servants cease to call her, mistress, whom they so highly regarded.
The dying mother had requested to see her little ones
once more. She calmly kissed the fragile, new-born babe,
and the bright-eyed Gertrude; but her eye filled with tears
as her father placed his youngest boy on her pillow, and the
thoughtful-looking Rowly, but half understanding the scene,
buried his infant head on his dying parent's breast, and
lisped, " Mamma, darling mamma, don't leave Rowly,Rowly go too."  The mother could not speak, but her lips
moved in prayer, wafting, no doubt, a petition to the throne
of God that the Heavenly Father would never leave her
child. Hubert and Ethic also stood in that chamber of
death, and Mrs. Alleyne for a moment looked sadly at her
weeping children, who must so soon be deprived of a mother's care; but she knew in whom she believed, and doubted




THE FAMILY AT ALLEYNE.              25
not that her God would supply all their need. Her eye
eonce more brightened, she laid her hand on theirs, and
slowly said, "My children, ever-follow Jesus. Look up
to Him." Then her thoughts seemed to pass to her absent
first-born, for she was heard to whisper, " And Percy too."
And -now her last look rested on her broken-hearted husband, and she uttered, " Trust-trust."  Her own trusting
soul passed into the presence of her Saviour, and the others
were left to mourn, but not as those who have no hope.
The new-born Bertha survived her mother but a few hours,
and then her infant lyre was tuned to swell that chorus of
praise in which her parent had already united. From that
time Mr. Alleyne was, indeed, bowed low with grief. His
daughter Ethelda was the only one on earth from whom he
appeared to receive comfort; and as she grew into womanhood, he loved to trace in her the lineaments of her mother.
She strongly resembled her, not only in disposition and appearance, but in the strength of her faith and in devotedness
to her God. The poor people, who had loved Mrs. Alleyne,
declared that in Miss Ethelda they had their dear lady back
again.
Percy, the eldest son, had sailed for India. He there
filled an important civil office, had chosen for himself a
wife, accomplished and beautiful, and was the father of
one lovely child. Hubert was very clever, very ambitious,
and very warm-hearted.  He was the thorough English
sailor. His frank, lively manner, his kindness of disposition, and his handsome, ingenuous countenance, won
2




26                     ONWARD.
him friends wherever he went. He admired the religion of
Ethelda, because he knew that it was sincere; but —he
despised that of mere professors, because he hated its
hollowness.  Even from  Ethelda's piety he shrank,-he
did not like coming too near it; yet, although he. felt
that he had nothing in common with his sister's feelings,
he could not find out how to quarrel with them, and his
conscience was always whispering, "Ethelda is right, and
you are wrong.'? Amidst the allurements of a treacherous
world, with all its pomps and vanities, with all its honours
and deceitful promises, Ethelda trembled for the soul of
this brother, whom she dearly loved.
Gertrude's disposition, lively and.open-hearted, somewhat resembled that of Hubert. She had not his ambition,
his imagination, nor his talent, but they always: had been
very fond of each other; and whenever the young sailor
had a few days or weeks to spend at home, he delighted to
play with " little Gerty," to look at her innocent young
face, and to build castles in the air, as to how they should
some day live with each other.
From the time that their mother died, Ethelda had
always felt that Rowland. and Gertrude were her special
charge; and though she was then but a child herself, they
both loved her with that clinging, trustful affection that
seldom falls but to a mother's share. Over Rowland she
had the most influence; and though his disposition appeared
the least promising, he was the first of.the little circle of
brothers and sisters who turned with her to walk. in re



THE FAMILY AT ALLEYNE.             -27
ligion's ways, to climb the heights of the holy mount. It
had- long been decided that he should go through a University course, though it was yet undetermined, whether he
should ultimately enter the  law  or the Church.  For
many years Ethelda's strong but secret wish had been that
her brother might be chosen an ambassador of the Cross
of Christ, that she might hear her beloved Rowland, with
a voice that spoke the deep-felt utterance of the heart,
proclaim salvation by Jesus only; and this petition had
been so often laid in humble submission before the throne of
grace, that Ethelda felt assured it would be answered by a
God that heareth prayer.  Mr. Alleyne left entirely, to
each of his sons, the choice of their future life. He was
one whose principles were far too high to influence a child
to enter the ministry from any thoughts of worldly advantage. When he did speak on the subject, he seemed rather
to lean- towards the barrister's profession, because he felt
that Rowland was not sufficiently under those  sacred
influences which he deemed all-essential to the ministry of
the everlasting Gospel. It had been arranged that Rowland
was to spend the time between school-days and college-days
in travelling, partly to enlarge his mind, but principally to
restore his health, as severe fagging at school was already
beginning to weaken a delicate constitution.
December's days were growing very short, so short that
Hubert thought a polar winter-night would be  almost
preferable, for then they would have the Aurora Borealis
and the excitement of adventure.  Hubert was likewise




28                    ONWARD.
becoming very expectant; he was longing for a fresh appointment.  "Nothing to do" was unbearable to  him.
Rowland was looking much more cheerful, much less selfish;
and one or two little things, which he had done, had made
Gertrude say that he was "going to be just like Ethic."
The postman had brought day after day the leathern bag,
with the " Times" and with letters, but not the one for
which Hubert longed. The chit-chat letters from aunts
and cousins which his sisters received, or the more important
ones directed to his father, were turned over by him nearly
as carelessly as the many circulars concerning garden-seed,
or table-beer, or music masters, or pianoforte-tuners.
However, a morning came at last when the sun shone
rather more brightly than usual, and the murkiness of
November, which appeared to have run into the following
month, had somewhat cleared away.  Hubert had discovered work to do in the garden, but at post-time he
found himself very near the drawing-room window; and just
as he tapped at it to inquire about letters, the servant
knocked at the door and brought in the important bag.
Gertrude opened the same. " For papa,-for papa, —for
Ethie,-for Rowland,-for —" and then there was a mischievous appearance of being sorely puzzled, "for —Lieut.
H. Alleyne, R. N.," and then she turned over the letter,
and laughingly exclaimed, " Ah, it has an Admiralty seal
too; but you must come round, this window is so stiff with
the rain that nobody can open it."
" I never gave you credit, you old thing, for rheumatic




THE FAMILY AT ALLEYNE. 2.9
panes before," said Hubert, merrily addressing the window
as he leaped over the flower-beds, that way being the nearest
to the front door.
The envelope was quickly opened and flung aside, and
the letter within was at once read aloud, so that Hubert
and his sisters knew at the same moment the good tidings.
" So here is your brother, Lieutenant in Her Majesty's
-ship,' The Harbinger.' Hip, hip, hurrah! " shouted the
merry-hearted Hubert, "and it is bound for China; so
I shall see half, if not all the world, before I am at home
again."
" That is a long way," said Gertrude, tears of pure affection filling his sister's eyes. "I wish it had been at Spithead or Sheerness, and then you would have constantly been
running down to pay us a visit."
"Sheerness, Gerty? no, no, thank you. Ho, ho, for the
far East! I shall bring you home, Gerty, ladies' pinched-up
shoes, and, if I could get it, a Chinaman's tail; and then I
would get all the strange corals, and sea-weeds, and shells I
could find for Rowland; and idols and joss-sticks, and extraordinary books and porcelain, for you, Ethie; and a mandarin's cloak for my father. Oh, it will be capital! And
then we may have aln opportunity of showing that I am
brave, in beating those rascally pirates;-all steps to being
Rajah of Paripak, or Sir Hubert Alleyne, at some future
day. What say you, Ethie?"
Ethelda looked at her brother's handsome, animated
countenance. The eye which had been sparkling so bril



o0                    ONoWARD.
flantly rested on her, and in a moment became more thoughtful. He saw that her cheek wore a smile and bore a tear
at the same moment. She tried to speak, but there was
something that seemed to choke her.'" Ethie, darling, what
is the matter? Haven't we been always wishing for this? "
"Yes, I know, Huie; I am very glad. It is quite the
voyage you will like. And," as he came near and kissed
his sister, she continued, "my own dearest brother, may a
Father's outstretched hand bring you to our own shores
once more in safety."
"Oh, yes, Ethie, three years will pass quickly away."
"But, you know," replied his sister, "we can't stand
still as they go forward.'Changes will surely come,' only
if we trust in God, we need not fear to see them. My
precious Hubert, seek first the kingdom of heaven. That
is our noblest ambition."
" I know you are right, Ethie; and you know I mean
both to be good and great. At least I shall try," added the
young lieutenant, speaking for once with thought as well as
determination; " but now I must go and tell my father the
news;" and with an elastic step and upright mien the ardent
youth hurried towards the library.
"Heavenly Father! be Thou my brother's Guide and
Guard," prayed Ethelda; and He, who listens to each whispered petition, prepared to answer the sister's cry, and
guided the blind in a way that he knew not, and guarded
the careless one through dangers, of which he was not
aware.




OFF! OFF! AND AWAY!                 81
CHAPTER IV.
OFF! OFF! AND AWAY!
"Our times are in Thy hands,
0 God, we wish them there:
Our life, our friends, our souls we leave
Entirely to Thy care."
THERE was but one thing concerning the new appointment
that Hubert declared was provoking.  He must be in town
on the 24th of December, and consequently could not be at
home on the following blessed day of family-gathering, the
birthday of the Prince of Peace. Many Christmas-days had
passed since he had stirred the "yule log," or partaken of
the goose-pie and fadge, or decked with holly-leaves and berries the stag-antlers that adorned the hall. To forego all
this, somewhat damped the pleasure of his ardent anticipations; and then he likewise began to think of the reality of
what Ethelda and Gertrude had felt on first hearing of the
appointment, that three years of hemispheric separation were
long, and that many changes might take place whilst he was
far away.




32                    ONWARD.
Hubert had a small morocco Bible, with a gold rim all
round it, that had been given him by Ethelda, when first he
started as a naval cadet. It had ever since been his constant companion, and though often he passed the day and
tumbled into his berth at night without opening it, he had
yet enjoyed, on Sunday especially, hours of study over the
Sacred Volume, and valued it not only from early association, but likewise from some faint appreciation of the value
of its contents. It was near midnight on the evening before
he started, that Ethie, imagining her brother was in bed,
gently opened his room door. She was surprised to see him
sitting near the fire, bending over the gold-rimmed book.
He hastily shut the volume, and seemed as if he wished to
turn his face from her. The manly Hubert had been weeping, and his brilliant eyes were at that moment suffused with
tears.
"I hope I don't disturb you, Huie. I thought, my boy,
you had been in bed. I was only going to put this parcel
into your carpet-bag."
"Let us see-what is it, Ethie? " he said, smiling as
he spoke, and endeavouring to assume his usual careless
manner.
1" A little bit of Ethie's work to rival mandarin shoes."
"Why do you do such pretty sort of things?" said
Hubert, examining the slippers.  "How can I turn these
heels down and tread your work under foot? They are
very pretty, though; I like them very much, my old girl.
Oh, Ethic, I wish I could take you all away with me, and




OFF! OFF! AND AWAY!                33
then I should be as happy as a king,-or rather, a great deal
happier."
Ethie bent down and fondly caressed her brother. The
tears, which had been gathering in her eyes, now fairly ran
down her cheeks, and quite in vain were all her efforts to
speak. At length Hubert said gently, and rather cheerfully, " Come, Ethie, this won't do. Sailors' sisters must
always make up their minds for parting with their brothers.
I was reading a verse I liked very much just now, and I
wanted you to tell me exactly what it means.  This is it,
Psalm lxxxiv. 7,' They go from strength to strength, every
one of them in Zion appeareth before God.'"
" Oh, Hubert! that is a beautiful verse. It speaks of
grace now and of glory hereafter. It is the description of
those who are clambering up the Mount of God. Now it is
progress; hereafter, fruition of joy: now from strength to
strength; hereafter, in the heavenly Zion, appearing before
God-present with him, whom not having seen, we have
loved."
" It is not that, Ethie," replied Hubert, sadly; " not, we
have loved."
"Whom we will love, then?:
"I dare not say that. You, dear girl, do not know how
wicked I have been; and what must God think of it, when
He chargeth even His angels with folly, and declares that
even the heavens are not clean in His sight? "
"And," added Ethelda, "knowing that we cannot
help ourselves, He has laid help on One that is mighty,
2*




34                     oNWARD.
and, knowing that our guilt is heinous, He has promised
to wash crimson and scarlet sins until they are as white as
snow."
Hubert did not reply to these solemnly spoken words,
but he looked unusually thoughtful.  As Ethelda once
more kissed his brow, she said, "Let that verse in the
Psalms be a constant subject for prayer between us; let
us daily seek grace to go from strength to strength; and,
darling Huie, if we do not meet on earth again, may it be
on the summit of the Mount, in the presence of our Saviour
God."
Early the following morning all the members of the
household were astir.  Hubert had partaken of a hasty
breakfast, and the horses were ordered to the door in a
quarter of an hour.
" Is the governor up?" he inquired of Ethelda, as she
came out of the library.
"Our dear father is waiting to see you," she replied, in
a tone that conveyed a mild reproof for the use of a word
which, she often had told Hubert, was wholly devoid of
affectionate regard.
Old Mr. Alleyne had risen earlier than usual to bid his
sailor son, " farewell,"  He gathered together all his children, and, knelt with them round the throne of grace, commending the young voyager to His care who neither slumbereth nor sleepeth, His words were very few, but he
said earnestly, "' God:bless you,- Hubert;" and he tried to




OFF! OFF! AED AWAY!                35
hide his strong emotion as he added, " You'll write sometimes?"
" Often, I hope, dear father; " and Hubert inwardly resolved to give no more cause of anxiety to the beloved par.
ent, who stood before him with hairs silvered by the pro.
gress of the last few years.
Soon the brothers were off to the station. The quick
canter at which it was necessary that the horses should go,
contributed to raise Hubert's spirits, and he already began
to sing aloud,"The sea, the sea,.the bright blue sea,
Where I would ever, ever be."
The railway whistle was heard as Jeannette reached the
top of the hill, still two hundred yards from the station,
She seemed to understand the necessity of speed, and galloped onwards. Rowland followed on "Dapple Grey."  In
a moment the reins were given to the servant in waiting.
" Take care, George, of my beautiful Jeannette till I come
back," said he, frankly shaking hands with the groom.
"Goodby, old Rover; keep off from the engine. Where is
the luggage? All right? Now I am in. Rowly, my boy,
goodby.  Companionship  with  my own thoughts here.
Goodby, Rowly I" and the train was gone, and the lighthearted Hubert was off! off! and away!
There was an earnest need for prayer, and though he oft




36                    ONWARD.
forgot his high and holy privilege, there were beloved ones
at home who interceded for their absent one; and those
supplications which ascended as the- mist of morning were
to collect on high, until a Father's hand poured them down
in showers of blessings, on the absent son, on the far-separated brother.




ENDEAVOURING.                        37
CHAPTER V.
ENDEAVOURING.
"Oft in danger, oft in woe,
Onward, Christian, onward go;
Bear the toil, maintain the strife,
Strengthened with the bread of life.
Onward, then, to glory move,
More than conqu'rors ye shall prove;
Though opposed by many a foe,
Christian soldiers, onward go,"
QUIET but pleasant days passed at Alleyne after Hubert's
departure. Every one missed the young sailor, but no one
so much as Gertrude, whose bright young face wore a cloud
that did not often overshadow it. This was, however, soon
dissipated by an arrangement that her father made, for her
to spend the winter in London, taking lessons of different
masters in various branches of study and of art. Ethelda
and Rowland were thus left for some weeks alone. They
took sweet counsel together; they walked as friends, they
urged one another to love and to good works, they grew together as fair trees in the vineyard which the Great Husbandman had planted.




38                    ONWARD.
Rowland's mornings were devoted to study, and each afternoon, he enjoyed either a walk or a ride with his beloved
sister.  Colin and Jeanie were often visited, and Rowland
no longer found it difficult to discover something to say to
the old man. Sometimes he would venture to go alone, and
after he had listened to tales of the sea, and of wayside wanderings, he would hear the testimony that the aged believer
bore to the faithfulness of his God.
" And now, master," one day said old Colin, " has not
the Lord helped us hitherto?  Surely, surely, we need not
fear; nor, need you, my young sir, if you do but trust Him,
and look at Him straight.  The L*rd can bear a straight
look, for I-Ie has nought to hide; and we need not fear it
neither, for our robe has nae flaw.  It's all the work of
the Lord Jesus."' But, Colin, I can't be satisfied with myself-I can't
get on as I wish to do."
"Be satisfied with yourself, master I ye manna be that;
but be satisfied with the Saviour, for ye canna have no
better."
"I know that, Colin," said Rowland, very earnestly;
"but though he can't be a better Saviour, I wish that I was
a better servant."
"Aye, that's true, young master; and if ye say so, who
are so early walking in the right path, much more reason
have I, a poor auld grey-haired sinner."  The tears filled
old Colin's eye, and a look of great distress came over his
countenance. At length a smile once more lit up his face,



ENDEAVOURING.                  39
"But we manna look for sin; God says it is blotted out,
altogether gone. We must just look up-up —and see the
Lord; and looking up, we must clamber up. I think, sir,
that is just the way."
Old Colin's words seemed as a sunbeam that pierced the
shadow, which clouded Rowland's Christian course, and
often when his soul was grieved on looking within, he remembered that the old man was comforted by looking up,
and he likewise lifted up his head and beheld the Saviour.
The village of Alleyne consisted of houses joined one to
another, and lacking the ornamental cottage gardens that
usually form the chief beauty of an English village. There
was no pavement in front of the houses, round grey stones
supplied its place, and sloped from either side towards the
macadamised road which passed through the centre. It was
situated on a steep bank, which sloped from the beautiful
castle that crowned its summit to the churchyard, of which
we have already spoken, that occupied the lowest ground
round which the river wound. Near the centre stood a low,
white-washed cottage, with a thatched roof; a long frontage,
a door with a well-worn flag beneath it, and three windows,
the largest of very moderate size, and the smaller one hardly
sufficient to hold the dusty geraniums which helped yet
further to block up the, light.  The room which possessed
that little window was occupied by Edward Arnold, a young
man of prepossessing countenance, intelligent in his conversation, and industrious in his work. He was, moreover, an
earnest Christian,; experiencing the value of salvation, he




40                    ONWARD.
longed to make it known to others; tasting that the Lord is
gracious, he desired to tell of Jesus to all around. In the
early morning, Edward would be studying his Bible, making
memoranda of what he read, and praying to his heavenly Father to guide him through the trials of the opening day; and
Edward's kind words of sympathy and readiness to assist
made him a village favourite; and the boys were'well pleased
to be placed in his Sunday-school class. When his day's
toil was over, Edward had, generally, an aged friend or a
little child to instruct.
It was on Easter Monday that Ethelda and Rowland,
with Mr. Graham and two of his little daughters, stood on
the grassy bank below the castle, surrounded by many boys
and girls, to whom they were distributing the variously-coloured paste eggs that filled their baskets. As each child received its gift, a look of pleasure lit up the eye, and the bow
or the curtsey was made; and then it was off to the bowlinggreen, where the hard-boiled eggs were rolled up the hill,
and caught again in their descent, and whence peals of merry
laughter were heard, as the broken shell fell in fragments,
and the scattered yolk was either left for the feathered warblers, or gathered by the juvenile prattlers.
Rowland Alleyne had with him a large foot-ball to give
to the boys of the National School.  Hubert had usually
presented it, with that easy, manly air, which won him the
golden opinions of all the young ones around; his own foot
would give it the first stroke, and his own merry hurrah
would be echoed by all the group. Rowland felt bashful,



ENDEAVOURING.                  41
he twice or thrice essayed to go forwards, but it was in vain;
a foolish timidity overcame him, and at last he begged of
Mr. Graham to give it through Edward Arnold. The young
man came forward, expressed the thanks of the boys; but,
looking towards Rowland, he inquired, " But will not Mr.
Rowland give it himself?"  It was in vain.  The youth,
who was fearless under bodily danger, could not summon up
courage to go forward amidst some forty or fifty merry boys;
and, out of humour with himself, he urged Ethelda to leave
the playground.
During his walk home, he seemed in one of his old, silent moods, thoroughly crusty in his replies to Ethelda's
remarks. At last, with an effort, he said," Now, Ethie, tell me what is the use of what we, or
rather you, have been doing to-day; for as for me, I have
made a fool of myself?"
"I think, Rowly, that by showing a ready sympathy
with the young ones in their innocent recreations, we warm
their hearts towards ourselves, and we all listen more readily
to the teaching of those we love, than of those about whom
we do not care. And then again, when, next Sunday, I talk
with my little girls on the joys of heaven, I can illustrate
the subject by the joys of this Monday's holiday, and contrast their littleness and shortness with the everlasting pleasures that are at God's right hand.  I should not have
thought of this, if I had not seen how very happy they were
this afternoon."
"I was wishing to speak to Mr. Graham about a class in




42                    ONWARD.
the Sunday-school, but I couldn't.  I think I could ask
Edward Arnold best, only he saw what a fool I was; and I
suppose the boys will think I don't care about their play,
and will at once dislike me as a teacher."
" Oh, no, Rowly; you are vexing yourself far too much.
I hardly know Edward Arnold, but I should like very much
to have some conversation with him. We will walk down
to the village to-morrow, and if he does not give himself a
second holiday, we are sure to find him at his last."
"Very well, Ethie; but remember you speak for me."
" Indeed, I don't promise," his sister replied laughingly.
"Yours is a barrier on Mount Utility, that must be overcome."
Tuesday came, and morning studies completed and luncheon finished, the brother and sister started for their walk
to Alleyne. They stayed for a little while at a poor man's
cottage upon.the road. It was the first visit they had paid
to its inmates, but Ethelda had heard the previous evening
that a little girl there had been sadly scalded. No one replied to Ethelda's gentle knock, so, raising the latch, she
sought to discover if there was any one at home.
On a little three-legged stool, crouching towards the fire,
sat a poor, wan, stupefied-looking boy; his eye was large
and his cheek was hollow, and the poor fellow was evidently
in an advanced stage of consumption.  He stared at the
strangers. Ethelda approached him, and said,- " I heard
that there was a little girl here who is very much scalded."
" Aye, she's there;" and he pointed towards a box bed,




ENDEAVOURING.                  43
with its wooden shutters only sufficiently open for creeping
in and out.
"Is she much hurt?"
"Aye, she's very sore."
"How did it happen? "
"Mother had lifted the yetling off the fire, and left it
there," pointing to the middle of the room; " and she comes
running along and tumbles in."
" Poor child! " said Ethelda, and turning towards the
bed, she pushed the shutter gently back, and saw that the
poor little thing had fallen asleep, with an expression of pain
yet resting on its countenance.  Having ascertained that
the parish doctor had seen it, and had done for it the best
he could, she turned to the poor boy and said, " You seem
very ill, my boy?"
"Aye, I'm ill; but they say there's no cure for it."
"Then do you think you'll die?"
" I'spoSe so."
"And do you hope to go to heaven?"
"I don't know; I hope it."  But the lad did not look
up; he rather seemed as if he was counting the stitches in
the patched knee of his trousers.
" But, my poor boy, would you not like to know that
when you leave this world you are going to a brighter? Do
you know anything of Jesus?"
"Of Jesus Christ, ma'am? Aye, He's the Son of God."
"And He loved you, and cared for you, and died for
you. You know how He was crucified?"




44                    ONWARD.'"Aye, I've read it.'He was crucified, dead, and
buried."'
"Have you ever read in the Bible how he was nailed to
the cross?"
"I don't think it.  I never got so far on as the
Bible."
"' I think, then, my brother will read it to you." Rowland gave a ready assent, and the lad looked up gratefully,
his countenance growing somewhat brighter. "But first,"
continued Ethelda, "I will tell you something about Jesus.
He is, as you said, the holy Son of God; and he loves
us all very much,-so much, that as He knew that we
must be punished on account of our sins, He died, and
thus was punished instead of us. All the time He lived,
He was very good, and cured the blind, and lame, and
sick people, and spoke kindly to the poor.  He need not
have died, for He might have come down from the cross;
but then we should have been lost,-you, and I, and every
one of us must have gone to hell. You know why we deserve to go to hell, don't you?"
" Why?-yes, ma'am."' Can you tell me why, my boy?"
" Why? I don't think it just the now."
"If you had a bag of marbles, and another boy stole
them, and the master found it out and punished the boy,
would it be fair?"
"To be sure- he'd desarve it."
"And if your father brought in some money, and laid it




ENDEAVOURING.                  4'5
down there, and you took a penny of it, and he punished
you, would that be right? "
"Yes; but I never stole nothing."
"That is right; but you have sometimes done wrong,
told a lie, or quarrelled, or used bad words, or forgotten to
pray."'
The boy hung down his head and muttered, "Sometimes."
" And so have I," said Ethelda; " so we are both sinners, and God would do quite right to keep us out of
heaven, if He had not so loved us that He punished Jesus
in our place; and now, if we ask Him, He will open wide
the gates of-heaven for us, poor, sinful children.  Now,
Rowly, if you will read part of the 27th chapter of Matthew, we shall hear how Jesus died."
The poor sick boy listened  attentively.   When it
was over he said, "Thank you; and will ye look in
again? "
" Yes,"' said Ethelda, "C that we will; but we don't know
your name yet."
"Jamie Clark, and the little lass is Bessie."
" Very well, I shan't forget that. And will you pray
these little words:' O God, make me to love thee, for Jesus
Christ's sake? "
The boy repeated them after Ethelda.  Then taking
some oranges out of her bag, she said, "These will do for
you and Bessie till I come again.'
Poor Jamie put up his emaciated hand to pull the




46                   ONWARD.
forelock of his hair, and thus he made his rustic bow;
and Ethelda and Rowland proceeded onwards on their
way.
"Ethie," said Rowland, "do you think I could often
go and see that poor boy, and perhaps talk with him?"
"Do, Rowly, and God will speed you."
A sunbeam had entered that dark cottage, —yea, more,
a ray of its brightness had been shed on the poor dying
youth's immortal soul; and it was a sunbeam from the
throne of glory, which should shine more and more until
lost in heaven's perfect day.




EDWARD ARNOLD.                      47
CHAPTER VI.
EDWARD  ARNOLD.
"My times are in Thy hand,
Pale poverty or wealth,
Corroding care, or calm repose,
Spring's balmy breath, or winter's snows,
Sickness, or buoyant healthWhate'er betide,
If God provide,
Tis for the best, I wish no lot beside."
THROUGHI the aforesaid little geranium-flowered window,
the faint glimmer of a candle might have been observed
very early on that Tuesday morning. It was Edward at
work-not, however, with his awl and his last, but with
his books-a Greek Testament which, self-taught, he was
now able with tolerable facility to peruse, and Parkhurst's
Greek Lexicon, a second-hand copy of which he had once
with his slender finances managed to purchase.
Edward had been a clever, industrious boy, always the
first in his class at the village-school; —the boy of whom
the kind-hearted master augured great things, because he
felt that his pupil had even outstripped himself in the
path of knowledge. When Edward was twelve years old




48                    ONWARD.
his father died, and his widowed mother was left with six
young children. Of these he was the eldest.
"1Mother, you look worse than ever to-day," said Edward, very tenderly to his parent, when he returned from
school, the third day after his father's funeral.
" And it's no wonder,"' replied the poor woman, bursting into tears.  "They say we must go to the workhouse."
" But we won't, mother! we can't-we mustn't; " and
the boy stood still for a moment, till, finding the scalding
tears course each other down his flushed face, he suddenly
turned round, flung down his satchel of books, hurried
towards the field, and there throwing himself on the ground,
cried in bitter agony:
"LMIy own mother go to the workhouse-my sisters,
myself?  No, no-never, never! But what can I do?what shall I do? I am miserable.  0 God of the fatherless, pity thy poor wretched boy! I thought I'd get on
with my schooling. My master has always said I'd be a
gentleman some day-and now to go to the workhouse!
Oh, no, no!" And again he raised his swollen eyes to
heaven, and said,"  0 Lord, help us in this strait, and show
me what I can do! "
The boy had lain for long on the damp grass in that
field, when a word of consolation seemed whispered to his
aching spirit, " Commit thy way unto the Lord, and He will
bring it to pass."  Rising up, he knelt beneath the old elmtree, and implored of his God to undertake his cause, and




EDWARD ARNOLD.                   49
so to provide for his parent, that she might never be forced
to enter the workhouse; but he could not yet add, " Thy
will, 0 Lord, be done." Though he felt some relief from
prayer, there was still the consciousness of a rebellious will;
there was the striving of the heifer unaccustomed to the
yoke.  He had at length to hasten away, for it was the
night of Mr. Graham's Bible-class.  The subject, that had
been recently commenced, was the life of Elisha; and on
that evening the fourth chapter of the Second of Kings was
the portion for study.  The beautiful tale of God's multiplying the widow's oil, and thus providing for her and her
fatherless boys, was read by Edward as if he had never
observed it before. He laid hold of it by the hand of faith:
he appropriated it as his own; his heart was comforted, and
he resolved to trust. And then they read further; they
read of the Shunammite's trial, of the blasting of her fondest hopes, of the withering of her fairest flower, and of the
strong faith which enabled her to hear, amid the storm, the
still small voice of her heavenly Father, and to reply, "It
is well." As the pastor spoke of resignation to the will of
God —even when it crosses our own will-even when it is
pulling down our proud imaginations, and humbling us in
the dust-Edward felt how different were his own sentiments, how rebellious was his own spirit.  He could no
longer think of any promise, which would assure him that
his family were not to be sent to the dreaded workhouse.
He heard his pastor say that all was well, because 0God
would make all things, however sad at present, work for
3




50                    ONWARD.
His people's everlasting good. He listened to his illustrations of the dark and threatening cloud dispensing the lifegiving shower, of the rolling billows floating the vessel to its
destined haven; but consignment to the workhouse seemed
to poor Edward rougher than the roughest billow, darker
than the darkest cloud. As the young men left the class,
Mr. Graham stopped Edward for a little while.
"How is your mother, my lad? "
" She's very down-hearted, sir, the night."
"I am  very sorry for her," said Mr. Graham. "Try
to tell her of the Shunammite's faith; and tell her, too, how
God multiplied the widow's oil."
" But, sir, they say we must go to the workhouse.  Do
you think God can keep us from going there? "
" He can, Edward; for nothing is too hard for Him."
"'Then, sir, do you think  He will?  May I tell
mother so? "
" He will, my boy, if he sees that it will be for your
good."
" But it cannot be for our good to go to that horrid place
Oh, sir, and my father was so respectable! 
" Edward, what would you have said if you had been in
Joseph's place, bound as a slave and taken far from home
and kindred?."
The boy hung down his head. At length he looked up,
and with an expression which showed that he felt he could
only give one answer, he frankly replied, " I suppose, sir, I
should just have said what I have now been doing."




EDWARD ARNOLD.                  51
"Yes, Edward, and so did Jacob. You remember he
exclaimed,'All these things are against me!' Perhaps
your heavenly Father is preparing some great good for
you. Tell your mother to trust the widow's God, and then
she may believe that all is for the best; and tell her, too,
for this may cheer her, we have been writing about your
sister Ellen, and we hope to get her into the Orphan Institution at C-."
"Thank you, sir, thank you;" and Edward left Mr.
Graham, with a will somewhat subdued, though not altogether submissive.
Edward passed through some years of bitter trial. The
prayer so vehemently urged was granted.  Neither the
widow nor her children were forced to enter the workhouse.  Edward was apprenticed to a shoemaker in a
neighbouring town, but he proved a hard task-master. He
obliged Edward to do the work which, in his own usually
intoxicated condition, he could not complete; and bitter
were the persecutions the poor youth endured because he
would not work on the Lord's day, and because it was discovered that in his little garret-room he read the holy word
of God and other books. Often as he partook with his
master's family of the bare pittance portioned out for him,
and endured their reviling language, the thought of his
heart was, " Henceforward do thou, 0 Lord, undertake for
me, nor permit me again to choose the lot of my inheritance." And yet, though Edward was taken from his muchloved home, from every opportunity of study, from listening




52                    ONWARD.
to the ministration of one who fed his people with the bread
of life, God was teaching him-He was leading him-He
was guiding the blind by a way which then he knew not.
Edward was taught, that to be a Christian was a nobler
ambition than to be a gentleman; that to glorify God in his
earthly calling was the  chief end of mlan; that to be
amongst the saints of the Most Holy, was a far higher aim
than to be of those whom man calls great. He was satisfied
to await God's time; he was content to be guided in his
onward course by the right hand of his heavenly Father.
Before his apprenticeship was over, his poor mother,
worn out in mind and body, had followed her husband to
the grave; his two younger sisters had been cut off by
fever; and of the three that remained, one was still in the
Orphan Institution and two in service. Edward, therefore,
returned to his native village, but not to his kindred; he
seemed alone in the world, but he was not alone: he looked
above, and his Father's eye ever watched him; he looked
around, and brothers and sisters were everywhere beheld;
and he determined to live for the good of man and for the
glory of God.:Intently fond of study, he redeemed for this
purpose the early hours of morn; and when his day's work
was over, he had either a class of untutored villagers, who for
some reason did not attend the day-school, or met with other
young men with whom he read God's sacred word. Edward,
though young,. and poor, and friendless, was using all his
influence to the glory of God, and God honoured his faithful
servant, and gave himi many seals of his humble ministry.




EDWA.RD ARNOLD.                 53
Ethelda found Edward, as she had expected, busily
engaged at his trade. At first he seemed rather embarrassed at the unexpected appearance of visitors, but, with
the natural courtesy that he possessed, he begged of the
lady to be seated, as she must be somewhat tired with her
walk.
"We came to talk with you, Edward, about the boys'
Sunday-school; how is it going on now?"
"Very well, indeed, ma'am, I am thankful to say; the
boys are attending much more regularly, and I was only
saying the other day, how uncommonly attentive they had
been the last few Sundays."
" That's very good," said Ethelda; "and how.are you
off for teachers? "
" We just want one more, and then, I think, the school
would be perfect. I mean," said he, as if he had been
guilty of using an inappropriate word —" I mean, that our
organisation would be complete."
"Could I be the teacher needed?" said  Rowland,
making an effort, and looking much more afraid of Edward,
than the latter was of him.
"Would you, sir?" asked Edward, his countenance
brightening.  "I am sure we are very much obliged to
you.'  And then he told him the kind of boys who wanted
a teacher, and in a pleasant, unpresuming manner, he sought
to encourage the young gentleman. After a little conversation, Edward, with a good deal of embarrassment, inquired, " May I make bold to ask you, sir, the meaning of




54                    ONWARD.
a little Greek that sorely puzzled me this morning? I am
not a Greek scholar, you know, sir; but I have just been
trying to teach myself to read the Testament in the very
language in which the holy apostles wrote it."  And then,
with a face crimsoned to the very roots of his hair, he asked
leave to show what seemed to him a difficult passage.
Rowland was well pleased to explain it, and was much
struck by the intelligence and amount of learning that Edward, in the most simple manner, manifested. He offered
him the loan of several books, and begged that he would
come up some day to Alleyne, and take what volumes he
thought might be most useful.
"Ethie," said Rowland, as they were returning home,
" I do not think that young man should be making shoes all
day. Could we not do something to give him a higher employment? I wish he could go to college"
" I am not sure that that would do him good; but I do
agree, partly, with what you have said. I could not help
thinking, whilst we were talking to him, that he might be
very useful as a Scripture-reader in the parish  or, I was
imagining the other day, how very much good a serious man
might do, going about the country as a colporteur of Bibles
and of good books."
" Colporteur! Ethie, what do you mean by that outlandish word?"
"That is the name which is given on the Continent to
what we would call in English phrase, book-peddlers. The
Bible-colporteurs have done great good in France and Bel



EDWAD ARINOLD.                  55
gium, and many other countries; and I do not see why they
might not be much blessed in England. In many a distant,
country village, and on many a single farmstead or lonely
cottage, a goodbook would be willingly purchased, and in
not a few, the well-printed Bible would, to say the least, be
a welcome boon."
" I do think that is a capital idea. Let me see, what
could I do to further it?"
"A  great deal, Rowly.  First, you must consult our
father and Mr. Graham about it; for, you know, before we
propose to Edward to give up his trade, we must find him
some other subsistence. Then there will be the secretaries
of different societies to write to, for a supply of books-a
license to procur,e-routes,to fix with Edward, &c., &c."
"But, Ethie, you will help me? "
" Yes, if necessary. But I think, Rowly, it is just the
very thing in which you will delight; and it does not seem
beset with many difficulties-an inviting piece of hill-clambering."
" Yes; I quite like the thought of it, and," he added,
with an earnest expression of countenance, " I do hope God
will help us."
"I hope so, Rowly. The first step of our clambering
must be with prayer, and then we may expect the light of
God's countenance the rest of the way."
They had reached Alleyne, and young Rowland entered
the house with a bright and sanguine eye. He had forgotten himself in the thought of others. He felt the happiness




,56                   ONWARD.
of the conscious striving to do good. He had climbed a
few steps of the mountain ascent, and was now full of hope
for the future, and enjoyment of the present.  His heavenly
Father shall speed his blessed and noble path, and Rowland
shall experience that not only are there pleasures at God's
right hand for evermore, but that the road thither is the
only way where true peace and happiness can be found, the
only path of joyful progress, and of triumphant termination,




POOR, YET NOBLE.                         57
CHAPTER VII.
POOR,  YET  NOBLE.
"Adorn'd with glory from on high,
Salvation shines upon his face;
His robe is of th' ethereal dye,
His steps are dignity and grace.
Inferior honours he disdains,
Nor stoops to take applause from earth;
The King of Kings Himself maintains
Th' expenses of his heavenly birth."
ON that evening, four neighbouring gentlemen dined at Alleyne. There was Mr. Graham, the excellent vicar, and Mr.
Taylor, the village doctor, Sir Claude Wentworth, and Captain Fitzpayne, whose estates lay contiguously.
" I thought I saw you, Miss Alleyne, upon the Castlelawn yesterday," said Mr. Taylor, with a deferential bow.
"I imagined the juvenile party were greatly delighting in
their Paschal gambols."' Oh, yes," replied Ethelda, smiling,- "they were a very
merry, joyous party.  Do you know," continued she, turning to Captain Fitzpayne, " of our old Northumbrian Easter
customs?"
3*




"Do you mean what I hear called'paste-eggs?  I
never heard of them till I was in Ancaster yesterday. I
was riding across the bridge, which has the stone lion on iti
when I observed the whole of the large meadow opposite to
the castle covered with groups of children and others in
holiday attire. I inquired of a countryman passing, the
reason, and in his broad, rich dialect, he replied,'Ah, it's
a' for the young folks. They've a custom-I've kenned it
ever since I was a boy, and long afore me —of going there
on the Easter Monday to bowl the eggs; and they're his
lordship and her ladyship gone among them themsels, and
givin' basketfuls away,' I watched the scene for a little
while, and felt how truly all classes can appreciate kindness
in little things; and I rode off thankful that there were
places where the rich and poor could meet, and mutually
render each other happy."
" Do you consider, however," inquired Mr. Taylor, "' that
the inferior grades of the community are sensible, generally,
of such condescension on our part?"
"I cannot answer for your north-countrymen," said
Captain Fitzpayne; "I have been for so short a time a
resident among them: but in other parts of the world my
experience has been almost uniform. What do you say, Sir
Claude?"
" Really," replied the young baronet, ingenuously, "I
cannot speak on the subject.  I never thought about it.
Condescending kindness on my part has, I must acknowl



POOR, YET NOBLE.                59
edge, been more shown to my dogs and horses than to my
own species."
" And if my experience be correct," replied the doctor,
" more gratitude would be manifested by the brute creation,
than by the inferior members of the human family."
" You cannot mean," said Ethelda, warmly, " that the
poor, and the inferior members of the human family, are
synonymes? "
"There are exceptions, Miss Alleyne, to every rule; I
was only expressing myself on general principles."
" Then you must allow me wholly to dissent from such
general principles. A better coat does not make a better
heart."
" Quite right, Ethelda," said old Mr. Alleyne, pleased
with his daughter's animated and energetic manner, on a
subject so near his own heart. " There is many a noble feeling under maybe a ragged coat, and many an intelligent
brain under a battered hat."
"And," added Mr. Graham, "there are many poor of
this world, whom God hath chosen rich in faith and heirs of
the kingdom."
" There may be much truth in those remarks," continued
Mr. Taylor, with increased consequentiality, "but, professionally, I have seen phases in the life of the labouring
classes which Miss Alleyne, I'll engage to say, has never
witnessed; and more consummate ingratitude, unmanliness,
and want of every finer feeling, could not be imagined."
" Perhaps you can give instances," observed Sir Claude.




60                     ONWARD.
".I confess myself wholly an ignoramus, and I wish to. form
a just opinion, but it must be based on facts. These are the
stubborn things in the Englishman's mind."
" Selection from  such numberless instances -is a difficulty. As for ingratitude, I may say it is universal. The
commonalty of England are incapable of appreciating genuine
benevolence.  You demand facts.  One instance is presented just now very vividly to my imagination."
" Pardon me, doctor," interrupted Sir Claude; " I was
calling upon your memory, not your imagination."
"Only a lapsus linguce, Sir Claude," continued Mr.
Taylor, rather  discomposed.  "My memory recalls the
following incident.  It was approaching six o'clock, one
morning in midwinter, that a man came up to my house.
It was a tempestuous morning-a snow-fall had occurred the
previous evening, and though stars did manifest themselves
occasionally in the interstices of the clouds, it was, as you
will comprehend, a very frigid light. I arose. His wife
was suffering from an acute attack of pneumonia. As I was
going along-after, mind, I had left all the warm comforts
of enveloped bedclothes-the man said,'I was almost, sir,
afeart to come, for I don't know if we shall ever be able to
pay you; but the' parish doctor was away five miles off, and
my wife is so ill, I fear she'may die.' The fellow was in
great distress, so, after some hesitation, I still -continued
riding on. I saw the woman; she was in a very critical
state. I used, of course, the proper remedies, and the
disease presented favorable symptoms.  The man began




POOR, YET NOBLE.                 61
thanking me, and talking much of his gratitude, and then
he said,'And you'll come back again, sir?' Now, this was
too much.'No,' said I,' you must go to the parish-doctor
now; he is there for people such as you.' Then, if you
had seen the man's insolent bearing, and heard his iniquitous language, you would not have said much more for
the gratitude and finer feelings of the poor."
"Is the man you speak of Ned Pringle? " asked Mr.
Graham.
"The exact person.  I can believe you  have often
marked his vulgarity."
"I can tell a story of the very same man," said Mr.
Graham; " I remember his wife's illness well; poor fellow 
he took it much to heart.  Mrs. Graham and I often went
to see- her, and we always had a welcome from  either of
them. The poor woman recovered.  One morning, when
we were at breakfast, the servant came in with a large basketful of blackberries.' Please, sir, Ned Pringle's children
have brought these for the young ladies. They were the
best they could get.' I suppose they were a return, (and
was it not a rich one?) for the strawberries my Mary and
Isa had taken her in summer."
" Those are two facts on which I must form my own
conclusions," observed Sir Claude.  "Perhaps Miss Alleyne will tell us something in favour of the clients, whom
she has so warmly defended."
Ethelda cheerfully complied.  She told the simple tale
of Edwad Arnold's efforts among those, who were poor like




62                    ONWARD.
himself; and then, deeming the opportunity somewhat
auspicious, she mentioned the plan of the colporteurage of
Bibles and good books. The proposal met not only with
approbation, but with furtherance. Sufficient funds were at
once provided, and the business was left in Rowland's
hands.
"Would you tell me where young Arnold lives? " said
Sir Claude, addressing Ethelda. "I should like to see a
young man of that sort; for, till now, I have always doubted their reality."
Ethelda described his house, but Rowland said, "I
believe, Sir Claude, he will be here to-night. So, if you
wish it, you can have the opportunity of seeing him at
once.'
Sir Claude was naturally of a generous, noble spirit,
but he had been brought up regardless of God, and
thoughtless of his fellow-man.  His father was a practical, if not an avowed infidel, and his only son had
received an education in which the Bible held no place.
Convinced of the existence of a Deity, he denied the existence of a Divine revelation, and placed the God, whom he
had formed for himself, at the tribunal of human reason.
lHe rested not in his vague unbelief. He sought a substance, but he found that he only grasped a shadow. He
followed the bright light of his imagination, but, like the
ignis fatuus of the marsh, it eluded his pursuit.  He
hovered over the waters of human philosophies; but, like
the dove from the ark, he found no rest even for the sole




POOR, YET NOBLE.                 63
of his foot. Though outwardly gay, and reckoned one of
overflowing spirits, he was really weary and heavy-laden;
and yet he was too proud tb hear the voice of Jesus of
Nazareth, " Come unto me; and I will give you rest."
Ethelda had retired to the drawing-room, when a young
man, wishing to speak to Mr. Rowland, was announced, and
he and Sir Claude were soon in the library, engaged in conversation with Edward Arnold.
After Rowland had lent the promised books, he told Edward of the plan of the colporteur, saying, "I fear at first
it may not be so profitable as the shoemaking trade, and at
any rate will be more uncertain, but you would be helping
in a good cause."
"' In the very best of causes. I cannot tell you, master,
how pleased I am; " and the tears filled his honest eyes.
"'I only wonder I should ever have been chosen to be a
candlestick, however humble, to hold forth the Light of
life."
" Now, my good fellow," said Sir Claude, "is it-the
Bible you mean by that expression? "
"Yes, sir, no doubt," replied the young man, almost
offended by such an inquiry.
".Then why do you call it the Light of life? I am
asking for my own sake; for, either fortunately or unfortunately, I don't believe that the Bible is true."
Edward's countenance, which at first rather expressed,
" Why should I be catechised in schoolboy-fashion? " wholly changed.  Whilst it now wore the expression of the




64                    ONWARD.
deepest earnestness, there was likewise a look of indignation,
as if something very dear had been assailed.
"I call the Bible the Light of life, sir, just because 1
know it is so; for it has lightenea my own soul, and taught
me to see two wonderful things."
" What may they be, Arnold? " inquired Sir Claude.
"The first was my own lost and helpless state. I knew
always that I was a sinner, but I thought I could help
myself, till I read what Paul said about his own righteousness; and then the second thing I learned was, that the
Lord is my righteousness, and thus help is laid for me upon
One that's mighty."
" Very good; you've heard what you think very good
news. But how do you know it is true?"
"' They're many ways showing that, which Paley and
others can do better than I can. But I know it's true;
something within me answers to every word of it. I've not,
sir, been accustomed to much logic, but I should not require
a proof the sun was shining, if I saw it."
" But how would you convince a third person, who denied it?"
" I suppose, sir, I couldn't convince him at all; but, if
it were possible, I'd get an oculist to open his eyes, and he
would see. Pardon me, sir, if I'm too bold; but, if you
want to see, ask of the Lord Godj and He will open your
eyes, and you'll never doubt any more."
" Of one thing, Edward, I am quite sure-the Bible
can do no harm; and I for one would gladly have all the




POOR, YET iNOBLE.                65
people read it. But do you think the poor can generally
appreciate such a book? "
"Oh! sir, did not our blessed Saviour say,'Unto the
poor the Gospel is preached?' It is our own book, sir; it
tells us that the Lord careth for the poor. I was going to
say, we should do wvorse than you without it; but, excuse
me, sir, a rich man drowning would need the helping hand,
just the same as the poor."
" But what makes you so assured that the Bible is the
word of God? "
"We know, sir, man can't read the heart, but we
may well imagine, He who formed it knows what's in it.
The Bible tells all that's in mine.  The Bible told me
the very thing I was wanting; it told me how I could
get it, and how I should then feel. I tried it, and I felt
just as the holy word of God said. Sir, truly the writing
on the fleshly tables of the heart, and the writing. in
that precious book, are by the same author, and IHe is
God."
"' Then has the Bible made you happy?"
" Most truly. It showed me how I could be justified
by faith, and now I've peace with God."
Edward said these words most solemnly, most heartily.
The baronet replied, "Thank you, Edward, for what
you've said; I shall think of it, and let one of your first
colporteur expeditions be to Laverock Priory, and we will
have another lecture on the subject."




66                    ONWARD.
In the course of the evening Sir Claude said to Ethelda,"I have seen your friend Arnold, and I think he deserves
that appellation."
"And did you like him? " Ethelda inquired.
"He at once secured a high place in my good books,
though I am afraid I was put down very low in his bad
ones."
"Oh! no; Edward would never think little of any one
anxious to circulate God's holy word."
Sir Claude coloured; he felt that in subscribing liberally
for the colporteur, he had led Ethelda to regard him almost as an earnest Christian. To appear under false colours
was what his ingenuous soul abhorred. With an effort he
replied," Miss Alleyne, what would I give if, with Edward Arnold, I knew and believed that it was God's word! "
Ethelda was startled.  She had not any idea of the
sceptical opinions of Sir Claude.  Her heart was filled
with pity, as she saw the real sadness of heart of one who
always seemed so thoughtless and volatile, and she replied
earnestly," Faith is the gift of God. You must ask of Him who
giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not."
Sir Claude returned home by moonlight late that evening. He did not urge forward his beautiful horse, as was
his wont. He watched the moon's reflection in the clear
waters of the winding river, and he thought of Edward




POOR, YET NOBLE.                  67
Arnold's assurance, that thus the lamp of life illuminated
his heart, that because he felt its reflection he knew
that it shone. A prayer arose from his lips, not in the
words, but in the spirit of the Psalmist of old, " Open
thou mine eyes, that I may behold wondrous things out of
thy law."




68                         ONWARD.
CHAPTER VIII.
LITTLE  HARRY.
"0 child! O new-hborn denizen
Of life's great city! On thy head
The glory of the morn is shed,
Like a celestial benison!
Here at the portal thou dost stand,
And with thy little hand
Thou openest the mysterious gate
Into the future's undiscovered land."
LONGFELLOW.
" DEAR father," said Ethelda, as, a few mornings after, she
entered the library with the contents of the post-bag in
her hand, " here are two foreign letters,-one, a ship one,
from  our Hubert, and the other from  Percy.  Do let me
read them to you."
Old Mr. Alleyne at once pushed away his papers, and
wiped his spectacles, as he said, "No, no, I must see them
myself;" and he broke Hubert's seal with a trembling hand,
or, more properly, tore open its gummed envelope.  He
commenced reading,"H. M. S. Harbinger'.
Lat. 3~ S. Long.
"I can't make it out. Here, young eyes will do better
than mine, Ethie. I will read it afterwards, when I'm by




LITTLE HARRY.                  69
myself." And the sister, who had been standing with rather
impatient feelings, gladly took the letter, to read the tidings
of her sailor brother. There was much of the breeze, but
nothing of the battle; much for enjoyment, nothing for
complaint; two storms, and all the better; no calms, and
therefore most fortunate; and yet, notwithstanding the
thoughtless tone of that letter, there was an undercurrent
of deep and solemn feeling.
" We landed at St. Helena. I saw Napoleon's grave,
the staff of his' Excelsior' banner broken in the ascent of
the mount of'Human Greatness.' What would I give to
hear Ethie sing' Excelsior,' and listen to her sage remarks!
How is Rowly getting on? I am determined to be a firstrate sailor, and am studying and practising hard, but I
doubt that I shall ever have an opportunity of showing it
off. The chaplain and I are very good friends. I never
heard anything so solemn as the thanksgiving after a storm.
The men seemed all to feel-we could not help it-that it
is God who rideth on the wings of the wind. I've often
thought, that was a fine expression, but it requires a tropical storm quite to appreciate it. How is my little Gerty?
I often wish I had her here, to watch the bright blue waves,
always sparkling like her dear blue eyes. Tell Ethie I
have come to the conclusion there is no animal in creation
more happy than the sea-gull,-diving, floating, flying, at
home in the deep blue ocean or on the crested surface of the
wave, or on the heights of the dizziest rock. Were I not a
man I should envy the sea-gull. May I never write, be



70                     ONWARD.
cause a man with living soul, I therefore envy the soulless
bird.  How is Ethie's'Billy?' I have a little Dick in my
cabin, and its song always brings me back to that jolly, old
land of ours,-dear, dear, old England."  And then there
were messages to at least half of the household, and after a
promise of the next letter to Ethelda, this was concluded:
"I hope, dear father, never to give you another hour's uneasiness, but trust that you may yet have reason to be proud
of your old sailor-boy,
" HUBERT."
"Read that last part over again, Ethie," said the old
man, blowing his nose, to hide the emotion that he felt.
Ethelda complied, and her father remarked, " God grant that
I may be thankful, not proud, for such a son!"  Then, after
a few moments' silence, "But didn't you say there was a letter from Percy?':
This, likewise, was read with deep interest. It told of
the alarming illness of his precious little Harry; of the
necessity which was laid on his parents, immediately to part
with him; of an opportunity that offered for him to leave
by the steamer, that would convey the present letter, and
requested that-some one might meet the dear child at
Southampton to take him to Alleyne,'where it had long been
arranged, that, if spared, his boyhood should be passed.
" Our hearts are almost breaking," wrote Percy, " to
part with our loved and lovely child; but we thought lately
he was being called to a country, whence he could never re



LITTLE HARRY.                  71
turn to us. Our Father has spared him yet a little while;
but He has taught us the frailty of our tender plant. We
needed the lesson: for our hearts were too much bound up
in our child. Now my anxious wish is that our darling
should be trained for heaven. I know Ethelda will be as a
mother to the temporary orphan; that she will endeavour to
lead Harry to love his Saviour; and to her charge we commit the most precious earthen treasure that God has given
us. The Good Shepherd of the sheep careth for His little
lamb; and if we see not our darling again on earth, I trust
we may all be folded together above: one fold, one flock,
one Shepherd."
It was a long letter; and Ethelda read it with deep and
mingled feelings. She loved the little Harry for her brother's sake. She loved him because of his own helplessness.
She knew the responsibility and the anxiety that the care of
him would entail; but with woman's self-devotion she rejoiced to think of the service she could render the little one,
and at once expressed her resolution,"I must go up, dear father, without delay, to Southampton.  The mail is expected on the 27th, and this is
the 22d."
"You, Ethie! alone? "
"Not quite. I will take Thompson with me, and I dare
say Uncle Seymour, or one of my cousins, will run down
with me to Southampton. You see, dear father, a little boy
not five years old requires a lady's care, and the lady who,
Percy says, has so kindly promised to look after him and his




'72                   ONWARD.
bearer, does not come up to London, but at.once branches
off to Exeter."
"' Would not your aunt go down?"
"I don't know. Do let me, dear father. Percy says he
gives his little Harry into my charge, and I shall feel responsible from the day of his arrival in England."
" Then, Ethie, go, and may God bless you. But don't
be foolish about the.child, and don't love it too much."
Ethie smiled through her tears. A little while, and she
was kneeling beside her bed, imploring that her Father in
heaven would teach her in this new responsibility, that He
would write the little one an heir of heaven, and would Himnself train it for its high and holy destiny.
Light had not dawned on the morning of the 27th, when
the gigantic Oriental, with its Eastern freight, entered the
Southampton river. It was not, however, a silent hour on
board the many-peopled vessel; all seemed astir; all were
rejoicing on breathing again the fresh, cool air of an English
April morning. The voices of many children might have
been heard.  Some were crying, some were shouting in
English, some were chattering in Hindoostanee, some were
looking vacantly aroun-d, wondering what was meant by this
unusual disturbance. In one of the smallest berths lay a
fair, delicate, pale-faced boy, watched over by a faithful
Indian bearer.  This child was he whom Ethie had come to
seek, and the vessel had been a very short time moored
when she likewise stood beside the dark-coloured attendant.
The little one looked very fragile and very lovely. On his




LrTLE HARRY.'73
placid brow clustered his wavy auburn hair; his closed eyelids were fringed with long dark eyelashes, which contrasted
with the whiteness of the skin; his:dear little mouth, with
its ruby lips, wore an expression of intense calmness. Ethie
stood there for some minutes, praying inwardly for her new
and precious charge.  She then stooped down and kissed
the child's fair forehead; and as the little one opened his
large, soft, blue eyes, and as.the colour rushed into his
cheeks on the sight of a stranger, Ethelda thought the little
SHarry the very picture of infant beauty, and she loved her
brother's child with an increasingly ardent affection.  Boosa
soon dressed the little fellow, who before long was on friendly terms with his Aunt Ethelda. His cheeks had become
pale again; and Ethie trembled as she observed his evident
weakness.
"Does Harry pray to the great God? " said Ethelda, so
soon as the child was ready dressed.
" Yes, auntie, Harry does; but Boosa, dear Boosa,
doesn't, and sometimes Harry forgets."
The little boy knelt at the corner of the berth, and repeated rapidly,"' Great.6od, make me a good boy. Bless
papa, mamma, and everybody," and then the child said more
slowly, " Bless Boosa, and make him good man for Jesus
Christ's sake," and then the Lord's Prayer and the blessing
were said in one, and all in railroad pace.
Harry and Boosa were strongly attached to each other,
and both begged with tears that they might not be parted.
" I do love Boosa so very much, auntie," said the little
4




'74                   ONWARD.
boy, one day when in London; " I love him better than any.
body, and I know he loves me."
"But Boosa will wish to go home again to his father,
and mother, and brothers."
"No, auntie; Boosa says, he loves me better than all.
Auntie dear, we mustn't let Boosa go back."
" Why, darling?"
" Harry couldn't do without dear Boosa. And perhaps
Boosa would die."
"But God can take care of him."
"But Boosa doesn't pray to God. He prays to idols,
wooden dolls. I sometimes tell him not. I say,'Boosa,
those things can't hear you.' He says,'IMaster Harry,
these be my gods.' And one day I got into a passion with
him, and I take his god and throw it down, down on the
floor, and it broke. Boosa was very angry; but I said,.' Boosa, that can't be God, when it lets a little boy break
it.' Boosa cried, and put his hands together, so that at last
I cry too."
"Then. what did Boosa say? "' Oh! Boosa never like to see me cry, so he says,'Never mind, master, I mend it soon;' but you know,
auntie, how can that be a God which I can break, and which
Boosa can mend?"
"Of course it cannot, darling."
"But then if Boosa goes back to India," continued the
little fellow, with increased earnestness, " he will always be




LITTLE HARRY.                  75
praying to those foolish things; but if he st'ays with us, I
think, he will some day love our God."
"I trust so, Harry, but we can't change his heart."
" But we can teach him, auntie."
"Yes, and pray for him."
"I do, auntie; indeed I do. I often ask God to make
dear Boosa put away all his ugly idols."
" Then, Harry, if he goes with us to Alleyne, you must
still teach him, and try and be a gentle boy; speak kindly
to Boosa, and do not get angry, as I heard you this
morning."
Harry rather hung down his head, but soon raising it
again, he replied, "But, auntie, I did not strike him; and
it was really so provoking for him not to put sugar on my
bread and butter."
" I hope Harry would never strike Boosa."
" Not very often," said the child, colouring.  " Only
when he vexes me."
"Harry, when Jesus was a little boy, He was very
gentle, and his little children must try to be gentle also.
Boosa will not think that Jesus is kind, unless you are so
too."
"Then I will try, auntie; but it is so difficult."
"Yes, darling, very difficult; but ask God, and He will
help you."
Then Ethelda and the little Harry knelt down together,
and prayed that poor Boosa might learn to love the name of




76                    ONWARD.
Jesus, and that the kind Saviour would change little Harry's
heart, and make him meek and mild.
And thus the infant boy, supplicating strength from on
high, was enrolling himself a mountain clamberer, and his
little feet were being made ready for the difficult ascent.




POOR JAMIIE CLARK.
CHAPTER IX.
POOR   JA M I E  C L AR K.
"I heard the voice of Jesus say,
Come unto Me and rest;
Lay down, thou weary one, lay down
Thy head upon My breast.
I came to Jesus as I was,
Weary, and worn, and sad;
I found in Him a resting-place,
And Hie has made me glad."
DURING the fortnight of:Ethelda's absence, Rowland found
his time fully occupied. It is true, Mrs. Crowe was very
indefatigable in supplying the persons on the list that her
young mistress had left with all the needful things that the
culinary department could furnish.   There was often the
plateful of meat for old Colin and blind Jeanie, or the pudding  for poor  Jamie Clark, or the "sup broth' for his
suffering  little  sister, besides sundry  little delicacies or
necessaries for the cottagers around, according as might be
required.   Rowland had, however, learnt to visit, and to
care for the poor. He now knew, that the daily portion
from  the hall was of little  comparative benefit, either to
giver or receiver, unless accompanied with personal inquiries.




78                   O1OWARD.
Likewise, he had learnt to think of the wants of others; to
consider before he left home what was needed, or what-was
likely to be welcome to the inhabitants of the special cottage
he wished to visit; and thoughtful love had so grown upon
him, that some of his complimentary friends declared that,
"Master Rowland was just like a woman, in the way that
he understood what would please them."' He would go
himself into the garden to gather violets for blind Jeanie;
whilst for the less refined taste of Jamie Clark he would
select, from the vase of drawing-room flowers, the most
showy geraniums and lilies. Sometimes he made mistakes,
as when, for Thomas Nesbit, just recovering from fever, he
put into his pocket an early cucumber, which his mother
boiled, and meshed it as if it had been a turnip; or when he
sent a bunch of young rhubarb to a family that were ill from
the effects of indulging in unripe gooseberries.  Usually,
however, Rowland was successful, and his father remarked
with pleasure the increased brightness of his boy's countenance. The old man had not penetrated through Rowland's reserve, and discovered that he had begun a noble
work, that with feet shod with love to-God, and with strength
imparted from on high, he was endeavouring to clamber the
ascent of human duty —duty of the creature to its Creator,
of the sinner to his Saviour, of the brother to his fellow-man
— and that, as he ascended, the young man was experiencing
that duties became privileges, and that even now their
ways were ways of pleasantness, and all their paths were
peace.




POOR JABIE CLAIK.                 79
On a bright -afternoon in May, that Rowland had, been
enjoying a ride'on the sea-shore, he had fastened Jeanette
to a- stake on the links, whilst he searched among the. rocks
for some of the bright and wonderful sea-anemones that there
abounded. He removed a few from their rocky nests, and
placed them in a small tin can that he had brought with him.
" What treasures these will be for Ethie's new aquarium! "
thought Rowland, examining their varied beauties. " How
wisely they are constructed for the supply of their few wants!
How suited for the place, which in our Father's vast creation
they fill!" And then he began to muse on the impossibility of a God, whose minutest work testified deep design,
giving man a living soul with ardent aspiration after Him,
and yet withholding any revelation of Himself or of His
will. He thought of Sir Claude Wentworth's denial of the
inspiration of Scripture, and then exclaimed, " But does it
not give to man his birthright? Does it not assure him of
life and immortality; without revelation, how could we do
otherwise than conjecture, whether man the highest, like
this creature almost the lowest of the animal world, is
formed merely to live and die, merely to enjoy life whilst
it lasts, and drop into the grave when it is over? What a
dark, uncertain future would ours be, did not Scripture assure
us,'The morning cometh!'  What a wearisome ascent,
were we not told that in the'Father's house are many
mansions!' I would rather be the lowest creature upon the
earth, than a man without a revelation of his Creator's




80                    ONWARD.
design in forming him, of his Father's character, or of his
future destiny."
Rowland had nearly regained the spot where Jeanette
was fastened, when he observed, about fifty yards distant,
two women, each holding an infant child. Nearer him there
stood three little things, looking intently at his horse.
They wore no shoes, no cap; a thin, tattered-looking garment, seemed to hang on each of them; but as they saw
Rowland, the little curly-haired urchins ran away, and stood
peeping out from behind their mothers' dresses. Rowland
then perceived that in the side of the sandy bank were huts,
with a kind of door, a kind of chimney, and in two or three,
a sort of window. The roofs were covered with the long
bents that grew all over the hillocks, and Rowland did not
wonder that he had never before observed these extraordinary human habitations. He was hardly courageous enough
yet to go among the strange people, but he marked their
abode, and determined to propose to Ethelda a visit of inspection.
As he rode away, his conscience rebuked him for neglecting an opportunity of doing good. Hie more than once
irresolutely drew the bridle to return, but his endeavours
to gain the victory over self were not sufficiently strong;
he at length quieted his mind by promising to visit the
huts another day, accompanied by his beloved sister. Then,
giving the well-known signal, his gentle horse cantered far
across the links.
On returning, he passed James Clark's cottage, and




POOR, JAMIE CLARK.               81
Jeanette, almost of its own accord, turned towards the gate
of the lane through which it stood. The little Bessy was
able again to play about; but the; poor lad was growing
daily more and more weak, and it was very evident that he
was nearing the end of his earthly pilgrimage.
" How is James to-day?" asked Rowland of the mother,
who opened the door.'Aye, sir, he's no better; he will never get up May
hill, the year. He was out a wee bit the day, but he came
in very shabby like."
" I am sorry to hear that, James," said Rowland to the
boy, who was crouching over the fire, as if it had been
Christmas. "I was in hopes the fresh air, this morning,
would have done you good."
" I thought it did me some gqod, sir, but I've been all
in a tremble since.T"
"Perhaps you went too far?"
"I suppose I did; but I walked down to the water, and
it was so pleasant like-just clear as glass-and then I
began to cough terrible."
"There is a brighter land than this, James, where
the river is altogether clear, where upon its banks grows
the tree of life; where we may ever walk, and never tire,
for in that land the inhabitant shall no more say,'I am
sick.':'
"That's heaven, sir, isn't it? I thought of it when I
was a-down yonder."
" Yes, James, I mean heaven,-the -promised land."
4*




82                    ONWARD.
"Promised to such as ye, but not to the like of
me."
"Yes, James, promised to you if you will but go to
Jesus."
"Well, sir, I have been saying the prayer you taught
me, very often. Is that going to Jesus? "
"If you say it from the bottom of your heart, really
wishing it."
" I do wish it, sir; the thought came over me the other
night, when you spoke po of gaining all the world and
losing the soul."
"But you don't wish it more than the Lord does himself. I remember thinking, that I was very anxious to
be saved, and I was much surprised to find that Jesus
was far more anxious than I. There is a beautiful story,
that I was reading the other day.  A New Zealander,
once a heathen, had heard of the love of Jesus, but had
been unable to believe how completely that love could
blot out all his sins. One morning the missionary went
to see him, for the poor man was very ill, near death.
He found him looking bright and cheerful.'Sir,' he
said,'I had last night a dream. I thought that I was
climbing up a steep mountain: I tried to get on; I could
not-I always fell back again. I sat down very sad and
hopeless, for I wanted to get to the other side of the
steep, when.I saw a drop of blood fall upon it, and it
began to melt,-it melted all away; there was a level
passage left for me.''My friend,' said the missionary,




POOR JAMMI CLARK.                 83'and what do you understand from this?''Oh, sir,' he
replied,'the blood, —the blood of Jesus-can melt away
my sins.' Now, James, can you just believe as true, that
the blood of Jesus Christ His Son cleanseth from all sin,
and therefore from your sin?"
"I'll try, sir; will ye print me that verse?"
"Yes, that I will," and Rowland's first work that
evening was to print, in large and distinct letters, those
blessed words.
As the young student became more and more interested in practical work, his taste for Greek and Latin
seemed to diminish, and often did he mutter, as he went
towards his skylit rooms for the purpose of study, "That
detestable Latin!  Those horrid classics!"  Mr. Alleyne
heard his son one day indulging in these epithets; and
then he spoke to him gently and wisely on the advantage,
during after-life, of taking a good position at college, of
disciplining the mind in youth, of forcing it to conquer
what was naturally distasteful, and of laying a good and
solid foundation for future usefulness.  On Hubert such
advice was always thrown -away.  He would listen with
many impatient gestures, and show by his hasty retreat
that the father's words had no effect; but Rowland's disposition was altogether different.  He was not chafed by
the parental admonition: but his usually rather grave
countenance relaxing, he would say, "'Well, father, no
royal road to anything good or great.  I shall some day




84                    ONWARD.
get over odious Latin and tiresome Greek; and then,
perhaps, I may find out their concealed treasures.  I
won't give up!-Excelsior!   And then the youth would
proceed to his little room to spend some hours in close,
plodding study.
On the morning following the last recorded conversation  with James Clark, he commenced his reading
earlier than usual, that he might spend'an hour before
luncheon in running over to the invalid's with the large
printed text which he had prepared. The poor boy was
much worse; the difficulty of breathing had greatly increased, and his incessant cough occasioned much suffering.  He was, however, more comfortably seated than
before, being' placed in a rough but commodious arm.
chair.  He was much pleased to see the text that Rowland had brought. He placed it before him and read it
over to himself several times; and then looking up, his
eye moistened with the tear- which had been gathering,
-" Yes, yes;'from  all sin'-thank you, sir," and then
very slowly and solemnly he added, "Thank the Lord."
Rowland felt encouraged, and uttered some sweet words
of comfort; and as he left, the poor lad grasped his hand,
and spoke as his breathing permitted, " God bless you, sir!
bless you! I'm happy now. The drop of blood is a' enough
for poor Jamie Clark."  Rowlatid had intended speaking to
the mother of various temporal'needs, which he thought
might require to be supplied, but his — heart was too'full.




POOR JAMIE CLAR                  85
He left the cottage silently, thanking his God in his inmost
soul.
When he returned home, he begged Mrs. Crowe to take
to the poor lad in the course of the evening whatever she
thought might be useful. The worthy housekeeper repaired
to the cottage as soon as possible, with a refreshing draught
for the sick one, and some wine, should it be needed. He
was stretched upon his straw pallet, gasping for breath.
Some neighbours stood beside him, and one was Edward
Arnold, the thoughtful framer of the rough arm-chair.
Whilst Mrs. Crowe remained, the dying lad lay for a short
time in comparative ease. Edward proposed to pray, and
he commended his soul to the Saviour's care. After he
rose, he inquired, " James, where lies your hope? "
The poor lad raised his languid eyes, and faintly uttered, " The blood."
The struggling for breath again was heard, and Mrs.
Crowe left the poor boy in great bodily agony. It lasted
but a few hours. Ere the morning's sun arose, his spirit,
washed in the blood of the Lamb, returned unto the God
who gave it, and joined those of just men made perfect.
Rowland had never thought that with poor Jamie disso.
lution would be so rapid. He rejoiced to know, that in this
lately ignorant, careless boy, there had been manifested another trophy of " Victory through the blood of the Lamb;"
but to his own mind, God, by Jamie's death, seemed, in the
voice of warning, powerfully to speak, ", Work, whilst it is




86                    ONWARD.
called: day, for the night cometh when no man. can work."
He remembered the families on the links, concerning whom
he had neglected the dictates of conscience, and he determined to seek their habitation without waiting the return of
his beloved Ethelda.




FIELDS WHITE UNTO THE HARVEEST.                 87
CHAPTER X.
FIELDS  WHITE  UNTO  THE  1HARVEST.
" Go, labour on I spend and be spent,
Thy joy to do thy Father's will;
It is the way the Master went,
Should not the servant tread it still?
See thousands dying at your side,
Your brethren, kindred, friends at home;
See millions perishing afar;
Haste, brethren, to the rescue come."
SOME days had passed before Rowland had the opportunity
of accomplishing his purpose, and then the one came, on the
evening of which, Ethelda, with, her precious little charge,
was expected at Alleyne. Rowland felt much inclined to
wait one day longer, but a faithful inward monitor warned
him of delay.  "What would Ethiq take to those people to
win their regard?" thought Rowland; and'then the idea
struck him of a roll of coloured engravings of ships, which
might amuse the children, and having sought out the six
brightest of these, and put them into his pocket, with a
school Testament of good print, and a few large-printed,




88                    ONWARD.
striking tracts, he mounted Jeanette, and cantered off in
the direction of the links.
Rowland had much personal bravery.  Fond of horsemanship, there was not a steed too fiery for him to mount;
delighting in clambering, there was hardly a crag upon that
rocky shore which he had not gained; excelling in rowing,
the stormy sea had to him its special charms. Nor was he
deficient in moral courage.  At school he dared to say,
" No," when he thought an action wrong, and would not
care to be called mean, rather than exceed the allowance
permitted by his father. Yet there was a foolish bashfulness in his disposition that was most difficult to conquer, and
often showed itself on occasions almost absurd. At one
time he would rather have met a wild bull than have spoken
to Mrs. Crowe, and an hour's search for a favourite plant
was far preferable to asking an under-gardener if he knew
where it had been placed. It was with this feeling of timidity that he approached the sand-huts. The doors were wide
open, but no one was to be seen. He stood outside, and
knocked at one very gently. No reply. He knocked again
with the same result-he knocked again, and more loudly,
but in vain. He was turning away, when one of the curlyhaired children came running round. The little fellow in
his turn was afraid, and as Rowland said, " Here, my little
man," he ran away as fast as possible. He waited some
time, hoping that the child would return, but no one appeared. The other huts seemed likewise empty, and he was
on the point of giving up the attempt as hopeless, when a




FIELDS WHITE INTO THE HARVEST.          89
young woman came round the house, carrying one child on
her back, and leading another by the hand. Whilst Rowland was hesitating what to say, the poor woman relieved
him.' Good-day, your honour; you've found out our little
cottage.  Will ye not walk in and rest?"
"No, thank you, I have only just got off my horse. I
saw some children playing here the other day, and I brought
them these pictures, which I thought might perhaps amuse
them."
" Ay, your honour, they're beautiful; " and she gazed on
them for some time. " I never. saw their like afore. I'll
go and call the brattens;" and then she was off, but shortly
returned, followed by about six boys and girls of various
ages. These were bright-eyed, mischievous-looking children,
who first glanced at Rowland,-then viewed the pictures,then more boldly eyed the young gentleman,-and at length
ventured to say,' Are these for us?."
" Would you like them?" inquired Rowland.
" Ay, to be sure."
" Like them, ay."
"I'll have this one."-" And I will have this."-" And
I'll have that beauty yonder."-" And you, mavourneen,
you shall have this one," said the mother to the little fellow
that had toddled at her side. And the pictures seemed
in jeopardy of speedy destruction from the many active
fingers.
Unfortunately there were only six pictures for seven
children, and each had appropriated one, excepting a gentle



90                    ONWARD.
looking little girl of five or six years of age. Tears of disappointment filled her full blue eyes, but she did not say
anything. Rowland had not observed the unsuccessful candidate for the treasures; but the little one's brother, a noblelooking boy of nine years old, saw it all. He had secured a
splendidly-coloured steamboat, with flags floating from every
mast. He looked at his picture twice or thrice, and then
accosting Rowland, c" Plase, your honour, will ye cut this.
picture here in two's? "
" Why, my boy? it would spoil it."
" No, sir, I think not; and I don't know how else I can
make two pictures."
"But why do you want two?"
The boy's colour mounted in a moment. "That's my
sister Elleen, yonder, and she hasn't any."
Rowland smiled at the Irish way of making one picture
two, but he was delighted at the interesting trait of character thus manifested by the ragged boy.
" We must not cut it," he replied; "'but if you will give
that to Ellen, I will bring you a wooden ship with sails and
masts, that you may make swim on the water."
" Oh, thank you, your honour. Here Elleen, darlint, is
this big one for you, and I'm to have a wooden boat." And
Rowland was well pleased to see the bright glances of the
happy boy's eyes.
"Can any of you read?"' No, your honour," replied the woman; " we have not
had no larning. Peter's father, there, can read some."




FiIELDS WHITE UNTO THE HARVEST.          91
"What is your other name, Peter?" said Rowland,
turning to the same boy.
" M'Gee, your honour. There be five of us: me and
Arthur, and Ellen, and Rose, and Catherine."
"And where are the rest? "
"Mother has Catherine with her, and Rose went away in
the cholera, and Arthur, he is a big'un, he's goin' to be a
soldier."
" Do you think your father will read this paper?"
"Ay, sure he will."
Rowland would have liked to have said a few wordcs
about Jesus. He knew that Ethie would have done so, but
something seemed to seal his lips. The subject of the tract
was, "the Cross," and inwardly praying that God would
bless the silent messenger, he left the little colony, followed
by the blessings of the youthful group.
Peter ran forward to hold his horse's rein, and with
another promise of a speedy return, Rowland cantered
away.
He was much pleased with the children, but he was
displeased with himself. He felt that he had allowed an
opportunity of telling something about their best Friend and
only Saviour to pass away, and he did not know whether so
favourable a one might again occur.  However, it was a
step gained; at the least he was sure of a welcome when next
he went; he had made friends with the families, and he had
made others happy.
"The progress up the Mount is pleasant," he soliloquised,




92                    ONWARD.
as he returned home; " but when I would go forward, some.
thing holds me back; when I would do good, evil is present
with me.  Oh, for more strength, for more resolution of
purpose, and power of action!"
It was on the afternoon of the same day that a man of
intelligent, though modest mien, humble in his clothing, and
trudging beneath the weight of a peddler's pack, might have
been observed walking up the beautiful avenue that led to
Laverock Priory.  The broad walk was shaded by beech
trees on either side, and their young and tender leaves
seemed to delight in the soft rustle caused by the gentle
breeze. The river also was faintly murmuring, as the clear
stream rolled onwards; and though the birds seemed waiting
for eventide to pour forth their full melody, yet the notes of
the linnet and thrush were occasionally heard, and the
cuckoo's call sounded through the wood again and again.
Edward Arnold was not insensible to the beauties of
Nature, but he thought of them as multiplied exceedingly
by that blessed revelation, which he was endeavouring to
make known.
Arrived at the hall, he asked for Sir Claude.
" He never sees the like of you," answered a footman,
scornfully.
"He bade me call."
"A likely story!"
" I speak the truth," said Edward, his eyes for a moment
flashing with indignation. "Would you tell your master




FIELDS WHITE UNTO TUE HARVEST.          98
that Edward Arnold, the colporteur, whnl he saw at Mr.
Alleyne's, of Alleyne, is here, and, has called as he desired"
"And what may your ware be? "
"Bibles and other books."
"Bibles! —ha  ha!. You're wrong in bringing them
here; they don't go down in this house."
"They are, then, doubtlessly needed," replied'Arnold,
quietly, and he took off his pack, undid the leather, and
displayed to three or four of the servants, who had gathered
round, the ten-penny gilt-edged copies of the Word of God,
or the more expensive morocco ones, with margirnl
references.
"I have plenty of Bibles, anyhow," said one of the
housemaids; " and I don't think many read their Bibles in
this house. Have you no story books?"
"Yes, several;" and he opened a package of miscellaneous literature, all of which had a decidedly religious or
moral tendency.
A book peddler was something quite novel; and Edward,
who had been at frst so rudely received, was now surrounded
by eager applicants for books.
"Here's'Little Jane.'  What a neat book! only sixpence! I'll have it for my sister Jane."
"And I'll take one of the ten-penny Bibles for my
nephew up away there in the west."
" Well! but I want a better kind. Have you any halferown ones? I want it for my god-daughter. I must give
her something handsome."




94                      ONWARD.
"Please, sir, have you one with the references?" said a
quiet, plain-looking girl.
"Well, Nell, are you going to pore over that Sunday
afternoons?" inquired the footman.
"There, now, what does that concern you? " she replied
quickly.
" Yes, my good girl," said Edward, "it concerns us all.
In poring over the Bible, we are searching out a great
secret, which is of the utmost consequence."
" I hate secrets! " said the cook.
"But this secret concerns our getting a fortune —
crown-a throne. I think she's a wise girl who tries to find
it out; for it is a fortune we can never lose, a crown far
brighter than what Queen Victoria wears, and a throne
better than King Solomon's. The secret about it is truly
in this book; but we can't find it out by merely, reading it."
"What else, then, must we do? "asked the footman,
sneeringly.
"Mark, learn, and inwardly digest,"' replied the upper
housemaid, with an air of conscious superiority.
"Rather tough with its leathern back," said the footman, laughing coarsely at the same time.
Edward did not notice these remarks. He said"If we bring a light into a room that's full of people,
who either cannot or will not open their eyes, we do not
make them see.  So, if we give you the Bible, the lamp of
life, until the eyes of your understanding are opened, you




FIELDS WHITE UNTO THE HARVEST.          95
will never say with David,' Thy word is a light unto my
path.  "
"Then I suppose you think us all blind?" said the
housemaid, with an offended air.
"I don't know you at all," said Edward.  " Once I
was blind; and then I never knew, that, though my sins had
nailed Jesus to the cross, He, instead of hating me, loved
me still. Until God opened my eyes, I could not understand that He was ready to receive me at once, without
ny waitingtill I was ready to come; that all the fitness
He required was my need of Him; that with all my sins I
was welcome; that he never upbraided me, but only said,
Go and sin no more.'"
" Well, you would make a good parson, at tany rate," said
the footman. "I don't think Sir Olaude will like your
preaching, but I suppose you wish to see him."
"Yes, he bade me call."
And as the footman went to inform his master the servants
made their various purchases, poor Nell especially appearing pleased with the Reference  Bible, which she had
chosen.
Soon Edward was admitted into Sir Claude's library.
It was a large room, with oaken floor and Turkey carpets,
and handsome writing tables, whilst well-filled book-shelves
covered the entire walls.
The young baronet received Edward kindly, and was
pleased to hear of the success that he had hitherto experienced in colporteurage.




96                    ONIVARD.
"I have been looking into the Bible, more than I ever
did before, since last I was at Alleyne; and it is, I confess,
the best book that I ever read, and likely to have a very
beneficial effect upon the people; but I cannot believe that
it came from God."
" Might I make bold to ask you, sir, in that case, how it
came?"
" Good men wrote it."' But, sir, they cannot have been good, if they were
liars; and they tell us over and over again, that they speak
not the word of man but of God."
" They were not deceivers, but deceived."
"It seems presumptuous of me to speak, sir; but the
book is very dear to me. Would it not be passing strange
if those men, who you say have made the finest book in the
world, were all under a delusion? When far cleverer men
than the poor fishermen of Galilee have tried to write a
book as from heaven, they have made a strange mess of it.
I was thinking that, when I was -looking the other day
over a book which the Mormons have, as their revelation.
Then the Koran, and the Hindoo Shasters, and the old
Greek Mythology, as they call it, are all quite different
things to our Bible."
" How do you know that?"
"I've read extracts from them, sir."
"I believe you know more than I do; for I neither believe, nor don't believe. I hope to. do one of the two some




FIELDS WHITE UNTO THE HARVEST.            7
day; but I hardly know what to read, for theology has been
banished from this library."
"If a poor man, like me, might speak, I'd say, just keep
to the Reference Bible. Scripture explains Scripture so
wonderful; and if you read it, sir, upon your knees, God is
sure to show you His way more perfectly."
"Welll I  don't know about that last. I think it would
be treating the Bible rather in the way that the Romanist
regards his crucifix."
"I don't mean literal, sir. I meant, read the'Bible,
praying God that you may understand it."
" But how shall I pray without faith?"
" I don't understand the nice distinctions of theology,
sir; but we do not read in the Bible, that when our Lord
told the man with the withered hand to put it forth, he said,'I cannot, for I have no strength.' Faith is the gift of
God; not a locked-up, hidden mystery, but an open, poureddown gift."
"However freely given to others, it has not been bestowed on me."
"' But it is offered, sir, and you have only to take it."
"I wish for it, Edward, I confess."'
"Oh, then, sir, turn your wish into a prayer, and you
will get it!"
Edward said this with an earnestness that almost startled Sir Claude. He, however, broke off the subject rather
abruptly, by asking for a large printed  Bible that he
wished to giveto an old man. This was soon purchased,




98                    ONWARD.
and after directions that Edward should partake of refreshment, ere he proceeded on his onward way, the rich and the
poor man parted.
Which was the rich man? Surely he who could say,
"All things are mine-life-death —things present-things
to come," and could tell the other of the free,-the sovereign offers of his Father, God. He might be poor in this
world, but he was rich in faith, and heir of an everlasting
kingdom.
Sir Claude remained for some time in a deep reverie.
He was surrounded by most of those enjoyments which are
supposed to make life happy, but he felt their utter worthlesstess. He resolved in his own mind, again and again,
the question, " Which is best off, Edward Arnold or myself?" and as he looked up and saw from his window the
young colporteur proceeding on his journey of blessing with
an untired step, he envied that soul, which was conscious of
thus fulfilling its Maker's will.
Suddenly the Heaven-sent thought appeared to strike
him, that it would be well to search in the Bible itself for
its own credentials. Hle determined that he would commence the New Testament, and opened the large-printed
volume which he had just purchased. He read attentively,
until he came to the blessed command and promise," Ask,
and you shall have; seek, and you shall find; knock, and it
shall be opened unto you."  "Here is what I want-a test
given by the writer of the book, whereby I may know if it
is true;" and looking unto heaven, he earnestly pleaded,




FIELDS WHITE UNTO THE HARVEST.          99
"0  God, if thou hast inspired this book, give unto me faith,
according to the promise I have read,' Ask, and you shall
have; seek, and you shall find."'
In this petition there was not the simple faith of the little child, but there was the going unto Jesus of the weary
and heavy-laden soul-the trying.of the fountain by one
who thirsted. God never said unto the seed of Jacob,
" Seek ye me in vain;" tHe never sent the hungry empty
away; He never denied His own promise, nor cast out him
who came. The wish, by God's own Spirit imparted, had
become the prayer by God's own Spirit breathed, and blessings, purchased by the blood of Jesus, were ready to be
poured from on high on him who prayed.




100                    ONWARD.
CHAPTER XI.
THE SAND-HUTS.
"Jesus, where'er Thy people meet,
There they behold Thy mercy-seat;
Where'er they seek Thee Thou art found,
And every place is hallow'd ground."
IT was a happy hour when Ethelda entered the old hall at
Alleyne, with the little Harry by her side. Her beloved
father was there to welcome her, and his eye filled with a
tear of joy as he looked at his beautiful but delicate grandchild. The little boy had jumped from the carriage with
glee; he-had heard so much of grandpapa, that he expected
to see a familiar face; but when he observed a stranger, he
for a moment clung to Ethelda's dress.
The old man clasped the child to his heart.  "My Percy's boy!  How my poor wife would have liked to have
seen her own child's son! God bless you, my'darling!"
and he fondly caressed the little fellow. The child looked
at his grandfather for a few moments, and then spying the
gold-fish in the window, he, with a childish bound, sprung




THE SAND-HUTS.                101
out of the old man's arms, and hastened to watch the beautiful things in his aunt's aquarium.
Mr. Alleyne delighted in little Harry. It was his
greatest pleasure to bring him a new toy, or to show him a
new picture, to give him a tit-piece of bread and jam at
breakfast-time, or to gather for him in the garden all the
flowers that the child might demand. The little prattler
oftentimes amused his grandfather by his innocent remarks,
and diverted what might otherwise have been a current of
sad thoughts, whilst he again would laugh with his ride on
grandpapa's foot, or canter off on the silver-headed stick,
which he had transformed into his horse. Harry seemed
somewhat in danger of being spoilt; but though grandpapa
seldom contradicted him, he never interfered with Aunt
Ethelda's management, and she strove hard to bring up the
little one in the nurture and admonition of the Lord.
Boosa was still his favourite attendant, and Harry learnt,
by slow degrees, to speak to him more gently, and to quell
the angry passion that would lead him to raise his little
hand to strike, and his tongue to speak, in Hindostanee,
words that no Christian child should utter. He grew in.
creasingly anxious that Boosa should love Jesus; and often,
when the black attendant and the fair English child walked
together, the little instructor would say," My Boosa, you see the bright sun,-it was my Father
in heaven made it; you see the beautiful flowers, —my
Father in heaven made them, and every thing, and you and
me. My Boosa, won't you say, he is Boosa's Father, too? "




102                   ONWARD.
And sometimes he would recount the Bible stories Aunt
Ethelda had told him, and sometimes would try to teach
Boosa to sing of the " happy land," or of the " Hosannahs,"
that little children raised to the Lord Jesus.
One evening he was seated on his aunt's knee, and his
usually merry countenance was clouded.
"Auntie dear, I don't think Boosa will ever learn to'
love Jesus."
"Why, my darling?"
" Because I have been such a naughty boy. I got into
such a passion this morning, and kicked, and struck him."
" Oh, Harry! why did you do that?"
" I don't know; I meant to try and be very good. I
suppose Satan came near and told me."
" But Harry might have got strength from Jesus to fight
with Satan."
" Why doesn't God kill Satan, auntie? I wish he was
dead; I should like to crush him beneath a cart-wheel."
" That would do no good, Harry."
"No, auntie, I know; for he is a spirit. But God
could kill him, couldn't He?'.'
" Yes, if He chose; but I think God wishes us to show
that we are brave soldiers, and love our King, by fighting
against our King's enemies."'
" Then am I a soldier, auntie 2 "
"I trust so, darling,-a soldier of Jesus. Satan is
fighting with you, for he wants both to get Harry's soul
and Boosa's."




THE SAD-HUTS.                103
"But he shan't," said Harry, in a very determined tone.
"Why?"
" Jesus won't let him, and Jesus is stronger than Satan.
Do you think Satan thought that he had got my soul this
morning?"
"Perhaps he did, and through you he very likely hurt
Boosa."
The little boy's eyes filled with tears. "Yes, auntie,
Boosa said,' You wicked Master Harry, don't tell me anything more about Jesus.' I am so very sorry, but it is so
difficult to be good."
" Very difficult, but Jesus will help His little child;"
and again did Ethelda teach the infant mou tain-clamberer
how he might go "from strength to strength."
"Ethie, dear," said Rowland a few mornings after her
return, "I wish you would ride down with me to the links
this afternoon; I do wish you, very much, to speak to those
poor people."
" With pleasure, Rowly. Papa is not going further
than the garden this afternoon, so I am quite at liberty. I
long to see these demi-savages who are so near us."
" I don't know if we can quite call them that,-at least
not my little friends Peter and Ellen."
"We must at any rate endeavour to raise them from
their savage state; we will lay our plans, and, by God's
help, I trust we'may succeed."
The horses were at the door immediately after luncheon;
the toy-boat was not forgotten, nor yet the precious word




104                   ONWARD.
of God; and the brother and sister set off joyfully on their
mission of love. - Bright visions were in Rowland's eyereformation of parents-instruction of children-cleansing
of habitations —change of heart. Once, he would have
thought that this was almost within Ethelda's power, but
now he remembered, "Not of the will of the flesh, nor of the
will of man, but of God;" and his heart ascended silently
in prayer, that God would speed their mission and direct
their way, that He would rend the cloud, and bid the sunbeam of mercy dart forth, which should fill those poor people
with joy unspeakable and light unimaginable. As they
rode down the village of Alleyne, they stopped at Edward
Arnold's door to inquire concerning the success of the colporteur, who, they learned, had not yet returned from his
journey westward.  Whilst talking, Mr. Graham joined
them. From him they heard that Edward had met with
more than the success that he had anticipated, and had requested that another large parcel of books might be sent to
him to the village of Rotherburn, where, -for a few days, he
proposed remaining. Ethelda told Mr. Graham about the
people whom Rowland had discovered in the sand-huts. He
had heard of them; he had twice made ineffectual attempts
to find them at home, but his mind being occupied with
other things, he had of late forgotten them.
"I confess I have been negligent," said the good old
man; "but though it is no excuse for me, if your brother,
Miss Alleyne, will consider that little district especially his
own, we shall see good spring out of evil. May God speed




THE SAND-HUTS.                 105
-you both, and may you gather there some of the precious
gems that shall ever shine in the New Jerusalem! "
Jeanette and Dapple Grey didU not like standing. They
thought themselves at length released, when again the rein
was tightened, as they met Sir Claude Wentworth; —he was
in search of Edward Arnold, but on hearing that the young
man was still from home he turned his horse's head, and
accompanied Ethelda and her brother towards the sea-side.
At first the conversation was desultory, and then the
accounts, which had been received of the colporteur and his
work, were mentioned, and to these Sir Claude listened with
marked attention.
"I don't, know why I;feel so great an interest in that
young man," said Sir Claude; " I suppose it is that he is so
intelligent, and earnest, and one-hearted.  I never saw any
one more completely forget himself, in his anxiety concerning the mission of his book."
" It is anxiety concerning no common mission," said
Ethelda, rather hesitatingly.
" And I can well understand that those, who believe it,
feel no common anxiety concerning it. The marvellous
thing is, that so many who are Bible-readers, and profess to
be Bible-believers, are not Bible-distributors.  I fancy that
if I knew the Bible came down from God, and knew that it
was the message of salvation, I should wish everybody to
know it likewise."
"Oh, Sir Claude! I wish you did know it," said Ethel5*




106                   ONWAsRD.
da, in her earnest manner; for she felt that this young man
was not far from the kingdom of heaven.
"May God grant your wish!" he said inwardly, and
with a look of gratitude he parted from the brother and
sister, at a place where two roads met.
Many conflicting thoughts passed through his mind as he
rode on the side of the river whence he looked at the peaceful vicarage, the church and its spire, the many-tombed
churchyard; and again and again did his tearful eye rise to
heaven with the silent aspiration, "That I may find the
truth and lose it not," and he thought of the promise, "Seek,
and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened." Ethelda
and Rowland likewise pursued their way in the opposite direction. To many, their mission to the sand-huts might
appear a work of trifling importance, but the immortal souls
of men were at stake, and the message that they carried was
a royal pardon to the captives-tidings of a way of safety to
the long-lost wanderers.
The children soon descried Rowland's approach, and
with their bare little feet and ragged clothes ran forwards to
welcome him. Rowland introduced his sister, and having,
with much more ease than usual, given Peter the promised
boat, and received the boy's oft-repeated thanks, he left to
Ethelda the rest of her conversation. Outside the hut
where they stood there were gathered four grown-up women,
three young girls of modest mien, but wild and uncouth in
appearance, and nearly a dozen children of all sizes, from




THE SAND-HUTS.                 107
our old friend Peter to a sleeping baby, whose little span of
time could be reckoned in the plural by weeks only.
Ethelda heard from the mothers which claimed.the respective children, and listened to some short tale concerning
the proficiency of Mrs. Macartney's Maggy, of Mrs. Malony's Catherine, of Mary O'Donnell's Patrick, and of Mrs.
M'Gee's " Peter, the boy yonder."  The difficulty was, the
hearing all the stories at very nearly the same time; and
the danger was, lest she should raise maternal jealousy, by
appearing to listen to one relation more attentively than to
another. Ethelda, however, really cared to hear most of
"Peter yonder, and Elleen the bairn," perhaps because the
noble, manly brow of this young Arab at once arrested her.
attention.
Having listened for some time, she inquired if any
amongst the children could read. A negative reply only
could be given both for the old and young. " I know, however," she continued, "that all children love to hear a story.
Shall I tell one, which I feel sure will interest everybody
here? "
"Plase, yer lady, we should like to hear it," said Mrs,
M'Gee, with a bright smile, and Peter forthwith rushed into
one of the neighbour's huts.
" What are you afther, yonder, Peter?" cried Mrs.
Malony, loudly.
" I'm getting a seat for the lady, and your chair with a
back is better than ours, that haven't none."
" Oh, yes; and you're welcome," said Mrs. Malony,




108                   ONW-ABw.
turning to Ethelda, and speaking in a. rapidly changed
tone.
And soon Peter had returned. "Plase, my lady, it is
our best chair, for we have not got no other. This leg is
broke, but I'll make it sound by putting the stone underneath. Now, my lady, it will not tumble, if you'll sit a little
to this side, and I'll get the gentleman a sort of one;" and
off was Peter once more, into another of the semi-savage habitations, and brought out a rough piece of wood, which had
been cast upon the beach in a storm, and had been converted
into a stool by Peter's ready hammering on of three rough
pieces of strong stick. Peter sat down at Ethelda's right
hand, and the little congregation of women and children sat,
or stood, or lolled, on the side of the sandy hillock that rose
opposite Ethelda. She offered a silent prayer that God
would teach her what to say, and that He would break the
stony heart, and bend the stubborn will, and make this the
hour of His power.
"I think," she said, " that both mothers and little children
would like to hear the story of a very dear babe,-the very
best babe that ever was born on earth. It was the child of
a poor woman, whom God loved very much. No man was
its father, but it was the Son of God. Its mother's name
was Mary."
"Was it the blessed Virgin Mary, the holy mother of
God?" inquired Mrs. Malony.
"It was the blessed Virgin Mary," replied Ethelda.
"She loved God, and one day she had a stranger visitor, dif



THE SA'D-HUTS.                109
ferent to any you or I ever saw. He was a bright angel.
Mary was afraid; would you fear to see an angel?"
"Ay, sure we would, you lady."
"But why? are they not very beautiful and very
good?"
" Ay, we think so, sure' enough. But we are too bad for
the Lord to send them on a message of good to us."
" And so the blessed Mary-thought, but the angel told
her not to be afraid, for God loved her very much, and had
chosen her to be the mother of Him who should be called
Saviour, or Jesus, because He would save us from  sin.
Mary was glad, very glad; and after the angel had left
her she sang a sweet song full of joy, because of God her
Saviour."
Then Ethelda told of the long journey to Bethlehem, of
the "no room in the inn," of the stable-shelter, and of the
heavenly infant's birth. Then she described the shepherds
watching in Bethlehem's plains, the bright light in the midnight sky, the angel's message, and the shepherds' worship
of the infant Saviour.
"And now," continued Ethelda, "I am not, dear friends
and little children, telling a wonderful and beautiful story
about a person who never cared for us-but I am telling
you of our God, of Him who made that wide ocean," and
she pointed to the waters, the constant roar of which was
heard; " who made yonder blue sky and bright sun," and
she pointed upwards; "who made these dear babes,' and
she looked at the little ones; " who made us all, who loves




110                  ONWARD.
us all, who is now in yonder beautiful heaven, making ready
places for all who go to Him, and who has promised to you
and me, that if we come He will never say,' I cannot hear
you.' Shall we go to Jesus now? shall we ask Him now
to be the Lord our Saviour, to take away all our wickedness, and to make us holy?"
"Yes, my lady, sure we will," replied several voices;
and Ethelda bade them kneel, and beside that wide seashore, beneath that high, blue canopy, Ethelda and her
brother bowed the knee, and the wild Irish children and
their untaught mothers bent likewise, and a simple, earnest
petition in the name of the One Mediator ascended to the
Hearer and Answerer of prayer. The tear which spoke the
earnest desire of the heart had gathered in Ethelda's eye;
and as Peter M'Gee ran forward to assist the young lady in
mounting her horse, she observed that emotion appeared to
choke his utterance.
"What do you wish to say, my boy?"
"I wish to say' thank you' a thousand times, and I'm
sure what you say is nothing else than the rale truth."
"Why, Peter?"
" Because it is too beautiful for anybody to think; and
what would have been the use of His coming, if He hadn't
loved us? But will' you come the next time, when father
is at home?"
" When does he come home?"
"He leaves off work general at six, but I'm sure isn't it,
that he'd like to hear you speak."




THE SAND-RUTS.                111
"I'll try then, Peter, to come in the evening next time
-God bless you, dear boy I"
Ethelda and Rowland rode home rather silently, but in
the evening they talked over their visit to the huts, and rejoiced in this path of usefulness, opening in their mountain
ascent.
"And, Ethie," said Rowland, "we must not forget. to
pray for our poor people."
"Right, my precious brother. And we know that our
God will not be slow to answer, for He cares for His lost
sheep far more than we can think."
Poor Peter's simple prayer ascended that night with
those of Ethelda and Rowland Alleyne.
God heard in heaven, His dwelling-place, and prepared a
gracious rain, to refresh this barren and thirsty portion-of
His inheritance.




112                       ONPWARD.
CHAPTER XII.
THE  DRUNKARD S  COTTAGE.
"Speak gently I it is better far
To rule by love than fear.
Speak gently I let not harsh words mar
The good we might do here.
Speak gently to the erring! Know
They may have toil'd in vain:
Perchance unkindness made them so;
Oh, win them back again I"
"I THOUGHT Of going over to the Clarks this morning,"
said Ethelda to Rowland at breakfast-time.  " I must go
early, for don't you wish, dear father, to drive into Ancaster
this afternoon? "
" I was talking of it; but who are the Clarks?"
"The family at the Dry Mill Gate. The poor boy died,
and I want to persuade the mother to send little Bessy, who
was so scalded a few months since, to school."
"Promising, no doubt, to be yourself at all the expense?"
"But, father dear, there are several of the family, and
they seem very poor."




THE DRUNKARDrS COTTAGE.             113
"Is there a man to work?"
" Yes, there are two, the eldest son is old enough to have
regular wages."
"And of how many does the numerous family consist?"
"There are father and mother of course, and the eldest
son, and there was poor James; but he is gone. Then, I
think, there are two who scare the crows, and one girl who
sometimes goes to school, and Bessy, the one that I wish to
send to the infant-school."
" Then, there are only two who can do nothing to earn
their bread; that family should be comfortably off."
"They appear miserably poor," replied Ethelda, thoughtfully; "but I allow, dear father, they are not a pattern
family: the mother is always untidy and complaining, and
her home is the picture of discomfort. Perhaps she drives
her husband to the public-house, but I felt sorry for the
poor little girl,.who has already suffered from the mother's
carelessness.  They will never send her to the infant-school,
if they have to pay two-pence a-week."
" If you pay for her, Ethie, you are only encouraging
idleness; Help people who are really trying to help themselves. You can drag no one up the hill of improvement."
"But then the poor, unfortunate child, dear father?"
"Well, don't pay for her altogether.  Give one penny,
on condition of the mother giving the other; or offer to put
the child in the clothing-club if the mother sends her to
school. - I fear school lessons will do little good when home
lessons are so bad."




114                   ONWARD.
"But it is a counter-influence, dear father; and God,
to show that His power is everything, sometimes allows
even little children to be very useful."
"Oh, I won't stop you, child. Your mother used to
talk that way. I only caution you. I like to encourage
those who are really trying to live respectably."
"I believe papa is right,-partly, at any rate," said
Ethelda to Rowland, after her father left the breakfasttable; "and yet we have the example of Jesus,. who came
to seek and to save them that were lost."
" Yes," said Rowland; " and the highways and hedges
were to be sought, and people invited to come in."
"But that does not refer to the giving of charity.
We must'"do good to all men, but especially to those who
are of the household of faith.' 0 Rowly! the spending of
money is a fearful responsibility; and the alms given may,
very easily, do harm rather than good."
"Then what must we do —hoard it, or give it all to
societies, and thus throw the responsibility off our own
shoulders? "'
"Rather take it, with all the rest of our cares, to God.
He knows the channel through which it will bring most
glory to His great name. He will teach us thoughtful
love. He will in some way make us to know the wants His
people feel."
"I was laying some plans, Ethie; but I fear now that
you won't like them. I must think thema all over once
more, and we will discuss them this evening. My father




THE DRUNKARD'S COTTACE.            115
wishes me to ride over to Sir Claude's this afternoon with a
note; and now for a morning with old Homer and Virgil."
Ethelda's mission, concerning Bessy Clark was very
unsuccessful. The mother declared that she "could not
afford a penny anyhow; " that " the child was not decently
clothed; " that she could "not get Nancy ready for the
school, much less this wee thing;" that it was "all very
well for gentlefolks to attend to the schooling, but not
for the like of her." Ethelda waited patiently until the
unhappy woman's volubility was stayed; and then she
spoke to her firmly and gently concerning her duty to her
children.
"C Well, ma'am, it may be all very true; " and, choking
with a passionate emotion, she continued, "but a mother,
the likes of us, don't get many thanks. The very lads I
have borne, cursed me this morning to my face, and joined
their drunken father in reviling me. It's very hard to
bear; and I'm sure they had no occasion to treat me so."
"It is very sad," replied Miss Alleyne. "Are they
coming in to dinner? "
" No, they're at work four mile off: nor to tea neither.
They'll go to the public-house till ten o'clock the night,
spend all their money, and leave me and the girls to starve."
-Ethelda marked the woman's flashing eye, and felt sure
that her temper as well as her slovenliness drove her
husband from his fireside. She sat beside her for some
time, and endeavoured to persuade her, by all that she
felt dear, to strive to win again her husband's regard.




-116                  ONWARD.
The woman at length seemed softened; and as Ethelda
arose to go, she said,"Well, ma'am, I wish we could send the child. You
might make something of my husband, if you could talk
to him about it. He is general at home on the Sunday
afternoons."
"I will try and see him then," said Ethelda; "and
now good morning, Mrs. Clark."
" Good morning, ma'am, and thank you for your trouble.
I'm much obleeged for your talking so kind like to me."
The object of Ethelda's visit was not accomplished,
but yet there seemed a dawn, a small dawn of hope; and
as she crossed the threshold of the door, she prayed that
the inmates of that miserable habitation might yet become
the happy people whom -the Lord hath blessed. She had
time to go round by old Colin and Jeanie's. It was a
bright sunny day, and the old man was gathering some
weeds out of his little garden, and blind Jeanie was seated
at the cottage door, industriously knitting worsted stockings.
" Good day, Colin! I'm glad to see you, able to be in
the garden again."
"Yes, thank you, ma'am;" and the old man looked up
cheerfully. "Heaven's sunshine is, after all, the best cure
for rheumatics."
"And what is best for a desponding spirit?:' said
Ethelda, in a somewhat depressed tone.
"Ah I for that, it is the light of the Lord's counte



THE DRUNKARD'S COTTAGE.             117 
nance, I suppose. But, ma'am, you may not be suffering
from that? " continued Colin.
"No, not exactly," said Ethelda; "but I have just
been in the cottage of a drunkard; and it is a sad, helpless,
hopeless sight."
" Not past the Lord's power, Miss Alleyne. Look at
poor auld Colin; is not he a monument of the Almighty's
grace?"
"True, Colin; and God's hand is not shortened that
it cannot save. Will you, my old friend, pray for a poor
drunkard's family, all of whom seem far from God? "
"Ay, ma'am, sure I will, and Jeanie too; for what
maketh ours to differ?  Free grace:'tis all free grace;"
and old Colin took the back of his dusty hand, and wiped
away the tears, that had altogether blinded his dim eyes.
" God is more ready to give grace than we are to seek
it," said Ethelda.
"That's very true. The clouds often stand oVer our
heads rich with blessings; and they wait long, and then
disperse without a shower, just because we do not ask. I
was just thinking the shower of last night had made the
weeds far easier to pull up."
" And what would you have me learn from that?" said
Ethelda, with a pleasant smile.
"Well, ma'am, you see when God's grace comes, the
strong weed of drunkenness even may be right uprooted."
"Thank you, Colin, I must just trust my God and take
courage;" and Ethelda left the cottage, where she seemed




118                   ONWARD.
to catch some of the sunbeams that lighted the old man antd
blind Jeanie.
As Ethelda returned from church the following Sunday,
she stopped at the cottage at Dry Mill Gate. Two men,
habited in their working dresses and smoking pipes, were
seated on a rough bench outside the door. Ethelda's heart
rather misgave her as she approached, and it was with a
timid voice that. she inquired,"Are you the father of poor James that died here? "
"It's me, ma'am," said the further-off man, remaining in
the same position.
"Then you are the father of little Bessy, too; she's
your youngest child, I suppose? "
" I hope so, ma'am, and I hope she always will be."
"You would like her to be a comfort to you? "
"Well  I'spose so, but I don't expect it."
"Why? You are looking on the dark side, I think."
" Because I have no comfort in any of them. There's
my wife there, she keeps my house a perfect pigsty, and
scolds me whenever I put my foot in it."
" That's very sad; but treat her kindly, and I dare say
things would mend."
" Oh! I treats her well enough anyhow. I trouble her
very little, and she has her own way."
"But, about little Bessy; I like that little girl."
"Do you, ma'am? I always thought she was the best
of the lot," said the father, with rather a pleased expreasion
of voice.




THE DRUNKARD'S COTTAGE.            119l
"I was wishing to do something for her, only I must
have her father's help."
" Thank you, ma'am."
"If she was at the infant-school, she might have the
advantage of being in the clothing-club. If you sent her
there, it is twopence a-week. I would pay for her clothingclub ticket, and then, at Christmas, she would get a nice
warm cloak, or pair of shoes, or something comfortable."
"Well I ma'am, just please yourself, I'm very agreeable;
I'll give her twopence on the morrow, and the mother can
send her off."
" I am glad you like the plan; I will tell a nice Ettle
girl, who passes' to school this way, to call, and then Bessy
will not be afraid to go alone. Do you like to read? "
" Yes, ma'am, well enough. I sometimes see the papers
at the public."
" I'll sometimes leave you one, if you would like to read
it, on this pleasant seat, out here. I have an interesting
book, which I can leave with you to-day, the' Bar of Iron.'
Good morning, Mr. Clark; and you promise to send Bessy
to the school to-morrow?"
" It sha'n't be my fault if she ain't there. Good morning, ma'am, and thank you."
Ethelda left the cottage somewhat encouraged. The man
did not appear to her quite so bad, as she had expected to
find him. There was evidently the father's latent feeling
towards the little child, and she thought of "How much
more will your Father in heaven give His Holy Spirit to




120                   ONWARD.
them that ask?"  She thought of old Colin's "cloud ofi
blessings" dispersing without the gracious rain, because
prayer was needed that the heavens might be opened and
the weary heritage refreshed. She pleaded in secret with
her God during that Sunday afternoon for the drunkard
and the drunkard's wife, and for their poor lost children;
and she believed that prayer has power with God, and
shall prevail.




THE  rFANT'S MINISTRY.                V21'
CHAPTER XIII.
THE  I NFANT S MINISTRY.
"A star of early dawn, and bright,
Shining within thy sacred light;
A beam of grace to all around;
A little spot of hallow'd ground."
" I AM 80 very, very happy, darling auntie; I can't tell you
how happy I am," said little Harry, as his bright blue eyes
sparkled with joy, and his little legs and arms were tossed
in all directions to dissipate, as it were, the exuberance of
his spirits.
" What is the matter, Harry? "
"My pussy-cat has got four little kittens; one quite
black, and one with some yellow on its back, and all quite
blind. That is one thing: and the other is-it does make
me so glad; " but the little eyes became graver, and the
tone more subdued: " Boosa says, that he will come in to
prayers, for he can understand what grandpapa says: and,
auntie dear, he does think that Jesus Christ must be
good, since he has heard so many beautiful stories about
Him."
6




122                   ONoWARD.
"That is good news, Harry. And does Boosa pray to
Jesus? "
"Yes, auntie, but he prays to his stupid idols, too; and
I tell him Jesus won't like that. But, you see, he is not
sure yet."
"What can make him sure, Harry?"
"I try very hard, auntie, but I can't. Could you, dear
auntie? But God can, can't He?"
" Yes, darling; and we must pray very hard that He
will."
"Oh, yes, He will: I know that."
"How, Harry?"
"Because he has said it, you know. You taught me,
auntie dear, that text,' Ask, and ye shall have;' and God
won't tell a lie."
"No, never, my boy; remember that. And I hope God
is already beginning to answer Harry's prayer. But how
will he save your Boosa?"
Harry was silent for a little while. "It must be by the
blood of Jesus; then when Boosa goes to heaven, and Jesus
says,' How have you got here?' he will say,' Because you
have washed me in your blood.' Won't that make Boosa
clean? "
"Yes, Harry. The Bible says that the precious blood
of Jesus cleanses from all sin."
"I thought so. Now I may go and tell Boosa that he
may come in every day to prayers; mayn't I?"
" Yes, that you may."




THE INFANT'S MINISTY.             123
" And, auntie, when will you come to see the kittens? "
Ethelda smiled, and promised a speedy compliance; and
as the little fellow bounded from the room with that buoyancy which marks health as well as happiness, his aunt
thanked her God for these blossoms of early promise on the
tender plant which He had intrusted to her culture; and
she prayed that they might ripen to scatter precious seeds
on earth, and to bloom forever in the Paradise above.
Sometimes she trembled lest this beloved child's frail, little
tenement should fall. "Jesus often goes into His garden
to gather lilies," she would muse; " but He does not always
choose those who are only in bud. If it be His will, I do
long that dear Harry be spared to fight manfully in the
Church militant, to gain a glorious crown of righteousness,
the purchase of His blood."
Little Harry ran out to the lawn, where Boosa sat
watching each movement of his young master; whilst Rover
frolicked with him quite unceremoniously. Soon " grandpapa" and another gentleman stepped out from the library
window. Harry ran to meet them. He had never experienced any one unkind, and so had full confidence in the
-stranger. Nor was it misplaced. The little boy was soon
borne aloft on the gentleman's shoulder; and Rover looked
at his companion, wagged his tail, made observation that he
was out of reach, and in a dignified manner walked back to
the sunny spot of his choice, and curled himself very deliberately for repose.




124                   ONWARD.
"And you are the little chatterer that I heard talking
to your aunt?"
"Yes: but where did you hear me?   I never say
yoNV'
"Ah! have you never heard that walls have ears?"
"Walls, ears! " said Harry, laughing  " you are as bad
as Boosa."
" How do you mean?  What does Boosa think?"
"He thinks pieces of stone have ears, and can hear his
prayers. Isn't that nonsense?"
" Indeed it is: but don't you tell him better?"
" Yes. I tell him that God, who made that bright,
bright sun, made Boosa, and that He has ears to hear him
pray."
" And does Boosa believe you?"
"Not quite; for he is not sure that God's Bible is true.
He does not know about it, you see, as we do."
"And what do you know about it, little man?"
" Oh! I know that the great God wrote it. Wasn't it
kind of God to write a book all. about Jesus, and tell how
very much He loves us? "
"And can you read it?"
"Not yet; for I am a little boy, you see. But when I
am big like you --— "
" Then may your faith be as simple and aspure as it is
now," said Sir Claude, with a sigh; and he put the little
boy down, kissing that open little forehead beneath its sunny
curls. Little Harry observed between the trees, that the




THE INFANT'S MINISTRY.            125
peacock was standing with its tail outspread; and off he was
in a moment to view the splendid bird.
Sir Claude and Mr. Alleyne continued to walk together,
and they spoke of the little child's simplicity.
"Yes," said old Mr. Alleyhe. "It illustrates the Saviour's words,' Except ye become as little children, ye can
in no wise enter the kingdom of heaven."'
" I never understood that text before," said Sir Claude,
thoughtfully. "I have been weighing carefully, for some
time, all the arguments for and against Christianity. My
understanding is almost convinced that the mind which
inspired Scripture is divine; but I cannot trust like that
simple child."
Old Mr. Alleyne was a man of very few words, and he
replied, c" Don't look to yourself trusting God; look to God
holding you."
As Sir Claude rode home, he pondered over these words;
and as he burnt his solitary lamp in his library till after
midnight, little Harry's conversation with his aunt Ethelda
was all remembered; and his earnest eye was raised to
heaven with the supplication, "When my soul shall stand
before Thee, 0 God, enable me with all my unworthiness to
say,' Thou hast washed me in Thy most precious blood.'"
The promise, "Ask, and ye shall have," was again pleaded;
and the little child's simple assurance, " God cannot tell a
lie," seemed re-echoed from above. In peace he laid himself down to rest that night, for at length he believed, that
in life or in death, his God sustained him.




126                  OXNWARD.
With hope he arose on the following morning; and the
inquiry of his thankful soul was, " Lord, what wouldst Thou
have me to do? "
He commenced the ascent of the holy mount of God;
and as he clambered upwards, the road became more bright,
the light of God's countenance shone, and the clouds of
doubt in which he had so long been enveloped appeared
to hang in the valley below. To him these were no longer
dark. He beheld them illuminated from above, and their
very presence seemed to cause a stronger reflection of the
ever-brightening rays of the Sun of Righteousness and of
life.




STAND STILL.                    127 
CHAPTER XIV.
STAND STILL,
"Nearer, my God, to Thee,
Nearer to Thee I
E'en though it be a cross
That raiseth me;
Still all my song shall be,
Nearer, my God, to Thee,Nearer to Thee!"
IT was on a brilliant evening in the month of June, that
Rowland and Ethelda rode to the sand-huts, in order that
they might accomplish their promised visit.  The air from
the sea felt very fresh; and as they cantered along the
smooth and hard sand,-the tide rapidly advancing, and the
rippling waves almost touching the feet of their steeds, they
felt their enjoyment enhanced by the remembrance that
their heavenly Father's hand had wrought the wonders of
that mighty deep. Some of the little children were, with
their tiny fingers, digging holes in the sand, and laughing as
the water filled the ditch which they had formed round their
miniature mounds; whilst Peter and one or two bigger boys
were at some distance searching for sand-eels.'His quick
eyes soon discovered his friends advancing on horseback.




128                   ONWARD.
" There they are!" he exclaimed; "and father is at
home to-night. Bill! Pat! come on, lads.' It's the good
lady that's like an angel, and the gentleman that gave me
the boat:" and Peter left his companions far behind, and
was at the rail above the huts as soon as Rowland and
Ethelda arrived, and with a native grace held the somewhat
impatient horse as the lady alighted.
" Oh, my lady! and I'm glad to see you, and father's at
home." And Peter looked at Rowland, too, with sparkling
eyes; only he had not time to repeat his welcome, which
was intended for both, because he bounded off to tell his
parents and the rest of the colony of the strangers' arrival.
The huts were erected on the sandy links that divided the
river from the sea. They were very near the mouth of the
same stream that flowed through the grounds at Alleyne,
and round the village castle and churchyard. Here it had
expanded to be, at full tide, almost an arm of the sea; a
narrow, wooden-way bridge had been erected across it, and
along this the women sometimes proceeded carefully, that
they might make sundry purchases in the opposite village.
On that evening two of them had gone on this errand, and
some of the men had not returned from their harbour-work;
either remaining beyond the regular hours, or resorting to
the beershop, there to spend a portion of their hard-earned
wages. There were, however, many precious souls, inhabitants of the sand-huts. All came together, for all were
pleased to. feel that Rowland and his sister cared for them.
Rowland had not yet courage to speak before Ethelda; and




STAND STILL.                  129
he was well content to be a learner also, trusting ere long to
tread in the footsteps of her whom he so loved. There were
about six men'present: and as they, the women, and children,
were arranging themselves on the sandy slopes, Ethelda
talked to Patrick M'Gee, the father of the intelligent Peter.
He was a fine, tall, stalwart-looking man, with dark-hair resting on a high and sunburnt forehead. His eyebrows were
strongly marked; and beneath them shone expressive, black
eyes, which might often flash with anger.  He had large
whiskers, which, however, did not conceal the openness of
expression that his whole physiognomy presented. Ethelda
liked Patrick, and felt that he was a fit father for so noble a
boy as Peter. She spoke to him of his son, and then of the
object of her own and her brother's visit.
"Well, ma'am, I wish to hear what your lady has to say,
for we don't often hear many words about these things.
The priest comes to the village over there, about twice
a-year; and I don't know, after all, if he cares much for us.
But I don't wish to hear anything against the Holy Mother
Church, my lady."
" Oh, no, Patrick!" replied Ethelda, smiling: "all I
wish to do, is to tell you of our blessed Lord Jesus Christof Him who loves poor lost sinners."
"Such words must be good. Do go on, your lady."
All were now seated; and then Ethelda read some verses
from her Bible, which proved man's total helplessness and
great sin, and endeavoured to press this home to the consciences of all around her. The little assembly listened at6*




130                   ONWARD.
tentively. Then, having earnestly lifted up her heart in
prayer unto the Lord, she made known unto them, how they
were welcome-how Jesus longed to save them —how He
cared for those who could not save themselves-how earnestly
He said, " Ye will not come unto me, that ye may have life."
Ethelda spoke gently and earnestly; and as she begged of
those who listened to go to Christ with all their sins and all
their sorrows, the tears ran down her cheeks, for her heart
yearned for these brothers and sisters of the human race.
As she concluded, she presently added, " And let us pray."
Each knee was bent. The sun had set in the far west, and
the light day-gusts of wind had ceased to blow; the sea-bird
had rested from its shrill cry, and the note of the sunny lark
was likewise hushed, when, in the stillness of the eve, the
voice of earnest, weeping entreaty ascended from the little
circle, that knelt beside the lowly huts. Ethelda cried, and
the Lord heard her, and in answer to her entreaty He delivered souls from death and prisoners from bonds. The
result was unknown on earth. The heavenwards impression
of the seal might have been read in the courts above-" The
Lord knoweth them that are His:" but that, which was
turned to earth, had yet to be manifested-" Let every one
that nameth the name of Christ depart from iniquity."
There was one countenance, which looked wholly unmoved. It was that of a big girl, who seemed about sixteen.
Whilst Ethelda read, she endeavoured to laugh and make
jokes with a younger child, that was near her, and when the
prayer was over she walked away, humming the tune of a




STAND STILL.                  131
wild Irish air. Before the little meeting was broken up,
Rowland repeated, line by line, the following simple verses,
applicable alike to the babe in Christ, or to the dying believer," Just as I am, without one plea,
But that Thou bid'st me come to Thee,
And that Thy blood was shed for me,
0 Lamb of God, I come!"
The simple children of Erin listened to the words, and
their voices rose in untaught melody to Him, whose praise
the ocean was likewise unconsciously sounding in its ceseless
strain.  Jesus rejoiceth more to hear the sinrer's earnest
cry than the archangel's loudest praise; and the Father
watches with joy the prodigal's return, and when he is yet a
long way off; he runneth to meet the son, "who was dead
and is alive again, who was lost and is found."
Before leaving, Ethelda gave to Patrick M'Gee a copy
of the blessed word of God. The Irishman received it with
many expressions of gratitude, and was well pleased when
the young lady, with her pencil, wrote on the fly-leaf his
name and her own.
In this first evening-gathering at the sand-huts, there
was much to encourage the brother and sister. Hearts
seemed to warm towards them, and the message of reconciliation, they were privileged to deliver, was cordially welcomed by these untaught, though nominal Christians.
"God has been far better to us than our fears," said




132                   ONWARD.
Ethelda, as she and Rowland slowly ascended the' sandy hill
that led to a plateau of open country.
"Yes," replied Rowland: "I never thought,'Ethic, that
you would have got on so well."
"I own I limited God's power, for the interest the little
assembly showed, was far more than I dared to expect. I
trust that He, who has been so present with us at the commencement of our little labor of love, will enable us to continue and end it to His glory."
" Oh, yes," replied Rowland hopefully, "the beginning
is the most difficult, and it has been excellent. I feel that
more than half of our troubles are over now."
"I don't think that, Rowly.  The shepherd will not
bear back the sheep without the lion roaring after them.
Satan will not lose a corner of his kingdom without a
desperate struggle."
" That is not like you, Ethie, for you are always looking on the bright side."
"I don't anticipate disaster, I'only expect a fight.
Just as, notwithstanding the sun's splendid setting this
evening, I think there are thunderclouds now spreading
over the horizon. Forewarned, you know, Rowly, is forearmed.  Consciousness of danger and consciousness of
strength may exist in the same heart, for we know there
is a stronger than the strong man armed."
"Well, I must say I am delighted with this evening's
work. But now let us canter quickly, for fear of a drip.
ping shower."




STAND STILL.                 133
Jeanette and Dapple Grey needed little urging. They
went quickly up the village and along the lane, and passed
lDry Mill Gate. A little further on, lying below the hedge,
was the drunken Ned Clark.   Ethelda's horse suddenly
started, and in one moment she was lying senseless on the
side of the road.
"How late you are, Rowland! where is Ethie?-" said
Mr. Alleyne in a tone of sudden alarm, as he looked at
his son, who, with a strong effort, retained the appearance of great composure.
"She's coming, father; but there has been a sad accident," and Rowland's voice trembled most painfully.
"Accident!-Ethelda!-hurt!-killed! "
"No, no, father; not killed.  We trust in God's
power to restore her; her horse started, and she has been
thrown."
Poor Mr. Alleyne remained transfixed to his chair,
his eyes fastened on Rowland, though, in reality, they
neither read nor understood anything.   Gertrude, who
had returned home two days previously, wrung her hands
with grief, and with a loud cry of "Ethie," she ran
hastily to the hall.  The carriage, which had been sent
for, unknown to Mr. Alleyne, had driven up to the backdoor, so that no unnecessary alarm might be felt by the




134                   ONWARD.
old gentleman. Three of the servants were now carrying
with unwonted tenderness, the apparently lifeless form of
their beloved Miss Alleyne.  A blow on the head had
produced concussion of the brain, and though life was not
extinct, there was indeed cause for great anxiety. Messengers for medical men had been sent in different directions, and those around Ethelda's bed seemed to hang
breathlessly on the report of Mr. Taylor, who was the
first to arrive. It hardly sounded one note of hope, and
poor Mr. Alleyne paced silently and fitfully between the
library and the room of his beloved child. He looked on
the countenance of each person that he met, but he did
not speak a syllable. Rowland tried to whisper words of
comfort, but they seemed only to die upon his lips. Gertrude wept all night, sometimes by her sister's bed, and
sometimes beside the window, watching the bright lightning that, throughout its dark hours, illuminated the sky.
Ethelda neither moved nor spoke, and it seemed sometimes difficult to believe that in that deathlike-looking
frame the imfimortal spirit still abode.
The morning dawned, the clouds of night were all
dispersed.  Trees and herbs and flowers were refreshed;
and, as a giant prepared to run his race, the sun was risen
in renewed.splendour.  Old Mr. Alleyne, wearied with
walking to and fro, and bowed down with anxious grief,
had rested in his library chair, and for a short time had
been overpowered with slumber.  The slanting, morning




STAND STILL.                  135
sunbeam, resting on his forehead, awoke him. There was
at first an undefined consciousness of horror o'n his mind,
then the feeling of the reality of his grief, and then the
remembrance of the last night's scene. The short cessation of sorrow seemed only to have increased it tenfold,
and in the bitterness of his feelings he wrung his hands,
exclaiming,'Why, Almighty God, why,-oh why is my
beloved Ethie smitten?"   The sorrowful tears coursed
down the old man's cheek, and he wept as in the days of
childhood. For a time, he failed to realise his own great
privilege of prayer.  He bore his cross, instead of laying
it at the feet of Jesus. He dwelt on the sickness of his
child, but told not his sympathising Lord that she, whom
He loved, was sick. A long time passed, but no one
came near the sorrowing father in his solitary chamber.
There was no change to report in the insensible form of
Ethelda, and the father's tears had flowed until they were
dried up again. At this time, there seemed to rest upon
his lips the words, "Light is sown for the righteous."
They were mechanically repeated again and again, and
though they had not entered the heart, and had hardly
reached the understanding, yet there was breathed in them
a far-off sound of comfort.
Little Harry was now up. He had been told that
Aunt Ethelda was very ill, and being somewhat left to
himself, had wandered with an unusually slow and quiet
step, through the half-opened door of the library.  Mr.




136                   ONWIARD.
Alleyne had not heard his noiseless tread, and he started
as the little hands were laid upon his arm. He looked on
him somewhat vacantly, whilist the soft voice of the child
whispered, " Grandpapa, dear I "
Old Mr. Alleyne took the little one on his knee and
stroked his flushed cheek. He was relieved, and the fountain of his tears was again opened.  He bent over the
child and wept.
" Grandpapa, why do you cry?  Why is Auntie Ethie
ill? I wish she wasn't."
" Why, Almighty God, oh why, is my Ethelda smitten?" was once more the bitter exclamation of the old
man.
" Has God made Auntie Ethie ill, grandpapa?" inquired the little one, half inclined to cry also. "I thought
it was the nasty, drunken man in the lane."
"God has allowed it, Harry," said his grandfather,
sadly.
"Then if God made auntie ill, we must ask Him to
make her well. Mustn't we, grandpapa?"  The old man
did not reply, but the child continued, " Grandpapa dear,
mustn't we?  Shall I ask God now?" and Mr. Alleyne
passively let him clamber down from his knees, and the
child knelt beside a chair, and with his little hands closed,
and his large, blue eyes raised to heaven, he supplicated,
" Great God, my Auntie Ethie is dreadfully hurt, do make
her well again; don't let her die; don't take her away




STAND STILL.                  13 7
from  grandpapa or little Harry. Do make her well for
Jesus Christ's sake. Amen."
The child arose, and returning to his grandfather, he
looked at him with a brightening smile.  "Now, grandpapa, I will go and ask how Auntie Ethie is, and see if
God has not made her well."' Very soon the little ministering infant returned.
"Dear grandpapa, it's all right. Nurse says, Auntie Ethie
has opened her eyes."
"Thank God! " ejaculated the old man, and Rowland,
entering at that moment, confirmed the tidings, and supported his trembling father to their beloved Ethelda's room.
She had again opened her eyes, and with a sweet smile she
recognised her honoured parent.
"Thank God!" he again said, "truly light is sown
for the righteous, yea for the undeserving;" and he
watched his child for a little while, and then returned to
his own room, and wept, because he had not believed, and
rejoiced, because the mercy of the Lord had abounded over
unbelief.
"'Trust,'" he exclaimed, referring to his once cherished wife, "were the last words of my own  Ethelda,
when she was taken; and'Trust' seemed in the smile of
her Ethelda, when she was restored. The little one says'Trust,' and Thou, Almighty Father, sayest'Trust.'  0
Lord, increase my faith, and may I become as a trusting
little child, and enter the kingdom of heaven."  Old Mr.




138                   ONWARD.
Alleyne's prayer was heard, and, " Even so, Father, for so it
seemeth unto Thee good," was ever after the language of his
heart, the breathing of his soul.
The "Why, Almighty God?" was hushed, the mount
of faith was climbed, and he ever continued there, holding
converse with his God, till called higher up to the mount of
Glory.




OLD MOSES AND LI1TLE ADAH.             139
CHAPTER XV.
OLD  MOSES AND  LITTLE  ADA H.
"Jerusalem, Jerusalem I enthroned once on high,
Thou favoured home of God on earth, thou heaven below the sky,
Now brought to bondage with thy sons, a curse and grief to see,
Jerusalem, Jerusalem, our tears shall flow for thee."
HEBER.
THE work at the huts was for a time suspended, as Rowland
went abroad, and Ethelda was many weeks in regaining her
former strength. And yet it was only man's work that was
stayed —God's work could not be hindered. The seed had
been cast on the waters, and it was springing up, the husbandman knew not how. Though no human hand watered
or nurtured the same, God was watching and quickening it,
and preparing it to accomplish that which He pleased.  The
grief of the poor people was great when they heard of
Ethelda's sad accident; and daily did Peter find his way up
to the Hall, to inquire after the good young lady, and sometimes he carried sea-anemones, such as the young gentleman
had sought, or a bouquet of the sweet dwarf-roses that
abounded on the links, or sometimes a small basket filled




140                   ONWARD.
with the shrimps he had risen early to  catch.  When
Ethelda knew of his visits, she would send out a little book
or a hymn, and the cook was not unfrequently ordered to fill
his basket with oatmeal, with vegetables, or with broken
bread. Peter's father always greedily laid hold of the little
book. He first read it to himself, then to his boy, and
afterwards he sometimes read it to his neighbours. Ethelda's words had touched a chord in that poor Irishman's
heart; they had directed him the road to heaven, and with
the help of that word, which David experienced as a light
unto his feet, he was following on to know the Lord.
"Peter lad, suppose we go to the church at Alleyne
yonder this afternoon," he said to his son, some Sundays
after the accident.  "I would give something to see the
young lady's face again, and I don't think there's no great
harm in going, for I'spect the place where they read this
Holy Book is not so very unholy afther all."
" Ay, that'll be nice, father; the Book I'm sure is good,
though they said it was bad: and, maybe, the place will be
the very same."
" Ay, the milk is often said to be sour when it's not
wanted to be drunken; but, lad, what for your jacket and
shoes?"
"Well, father, I'll have mother sew  this patch in
again; and as for shoes, father, it isn't cold, and my feet
will do."
"That's not bad thought of; but I fear the people will
stare at you uncommon."




OLD MOSES AND LIETIE ADAH.           141
"I sha'n't look at all the eyes, father; I shall just look
at the lady's on the earth, and think of the great God's in
the heavens; and neither of them will think less of Peter, for
he hasn't shoes."
And so Peter and his father found their way to God's
holy house. They heard His word-they received it as
those who find great spoil.  "The sheep that was lost,"
formed the subject of that afternoon's sermon; and on the
-two following Sundays the minister said he would speak of
the sheep that was sought and the sheep that was found.
Though neither Peter nor his father could see Ethelda, they
had not attended God's house in vain: they felt that the
clergyman spoke of themselves; they felt a longing to hear
about the seeking of the lost; they rejoiced in what they
heard, and they determined to go again on the following
Sunday.
Two more Sundays passed, and Peter, to his great joy,
observed his dear young lady come into church, leaning on
her venerable parent.  She looked pale and weak, but the
Irish boy thought her more beautiful than ever; and she saw
him in the porch as she passed out, and told him to call at
Alleyne on the morrow. And in her turn Ethelda was well
pleased to find how greatly increased was Peter's biblical
knowledge, how readily and simply he explained the gospel:
message, how firmly he believed in the Shepherd's care for
the wandering sheep, and how well he could narrate the
relations of the Saviour's life and death. She thanked her
God, and took courage, and in her beautiful little apartment,




142                   ONVWARD.
on her soft Turkey carpet, the very contrast of poor Peter's
hut, she and the boy knelt, and prayed to their one Father,who is in heaven. She told Peter that she was going from
home for some weeks, but sent him to Edward Arnold's,
that he might be measured for a church-going pair of shoes,
and she felt assured that Edward and her favourite Peter
would soon become true and steady friends.
*         *         *          *k        *
A few days more and Mr. Alleyne and his family were
in the Highlands of Scotland, enjoying the fresh mountain
air, and delighting in the picturesque scenery. Standing on
the deck of the small steamer that conveyed them to the
Isle of Arran, they observed near them an old, greyhaired
man, whose long. white beard, aquiline nose, and quick dark
eye, seemed to mark him of the royal race of Israel.  A
beautiful black-eyed child stood beside him.  She was
watching with her grandsire the steamboat's approach to the
rocky mountains of that island, and observing the waves as
they gently rolled round and beneath the vessel. One billow, rather larger than the- other, throwing down the little
one upon the deck, Ethelda, who was standing near, raised
the child. She soon soothed her cries, and little Harry put
in her hand some of the grapes, which remained from the
bunch that he had been eating. The child looked pleased,
but her grandfather, though he bowed, and very politely
expressed his thanks, drew the little Adah to himself, and




OLD MOSES AND TtLMLE ADAH.           143by his manner betokened a wish for no farther notice of
him or of his young charge. Harry did not understand this.
The beautiful child held under her arm a small Scotch
terrier,. and the dog's funny face, hidden beneath its long
silky hair, and the child's bright and coyish smiles, attracted
little Harry till he pulled Boosa to stand with him very near
the Jewish girl; then, whispering rather shyly, "May I
touch it? " he placed his hand over its head, and pretended'
to jump away as the animal put out its tongue, to show its
appreciation of the young master's notice. Adah laughed at
Harry's fears, and putting her own little hand forward,
caressed  the pretty plaything, calling, "Skye, Skye,
Skye!"
" Skye I " said Harry; " why do you call it that? Dogs
don't come from the sky."
"Did you never hear that it sometimes rains cats and
dogs?" said a gentleman, who, standing near, had been
amused with Harry's exclamation.
Harry ttrned round and looked at him very earnestly.
" I never saw it rain cats and dogs; does it? "
"To be sure, very often,-as long as my arm sometimes."
" And did this doggie, this dear little thing, come from
the sky? " said Harry, looking first at the gentleman, and
then at Adah. "I wish it would rain cats and dogs now."
The gentleman laughed at the little child's earnestness
and turned away, but Harry evidently was perplexed. Aunt
Ethelda was not near, to ask if it were quite true, and




144                   ONWARD.
Boosa was not the person for appeal. Turning to Adah, he
inquired,"Did you see it come from the sky?"
"No," replied Adah, " and I do not think it did. Did
it, grandfather?" she inquired, rather timidly, of the aged
man.
"No, my child; the gentleman was only using a common
saying when it rains violently. There is an island, not very
far hence, where mountains like those before us may be
descried. These dogs come from thence. It is called Skye,
and so your favourite has received the name of its birthplace."
"Why was not I called Jerusalem, then, grandfather, the
name of my birthplace?"
" It is not a name fit for girls; but mayest thou, my
child, be called by its new name,' Hephzibah,' for the Lord
shall yet delight in her."
"Were you born," asked Harry gently, " at the Jerusalem that Auntie Ethie tells us about out of the 1]ible? I
want to be a traveller, and go and see Jerusalem. I 1hve
it so."
"Why?" the old Israelite, somewhat sternly, inquired
of the Christian child.
"Because God loves it, you know."
"The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, the God of
my fathers, bless thee, my child!" and he turned away
his head, and once more intently.watched the approaching
island.




OLD MOSES AND LITTLE ADAH.            145
Very beautiful was the scene. The sun was setting behind its pointed heights, touching a little spot here and
there with its burnished gold, and causing by contrast a
deeper shade to rest on the eastern side of the hills. The
Bay of Brodick, which they were entering, was calm and
undisturbed; the sea-weed seemed to wave like a field of
grass far beneath its clear, transparent water; the fishermen's little huts, which encircled the shore, looked bright,
contrasting with the dark woods of the castle. Far away on
the other side were seen the shores of Ayrshire, bathed in
the glorious light of the last sunbeams of evening. Ethelda,
and her father, and Rowland observed it also, and Ethie's
eyes were full of tears, because of the loveliness of the landscape.
Little Harry, who, with Boosa, had found his way round
to the part of the ship where his aunt stood, soon, however,
broke her reverie by exclaiming, "We are just going to
stop, auntie, and the little girl has got such a pretty dog,
and they call it Skye. Can you guess why? " added the
little fellow, very archly; and without waiting for an answer
he told all about it, and also how the pretty Adah was born
in Jerusalem.
The steamer was now stopped; the luggage was placed
in one boat, the passengers in another; and as the little
barque neared the shore, Ethelda was rather disappointed to
see that their Jewish acquaintances were gone forward in
the steamboat.  They were parted for a time, but Harry's
simple love for Jerusalem had struck a chord in the old
7




146                   ONWARD.
man's heart; it had done more to remove his prejudices
against Christianity than all the intercourse of nearly fourscore years.
" I- love that Christian child," he several times muttered;
and then, as if astonished that he used such words, he would
add, "' I don't know why, but I cannot help it."
Rabbi Moses was a Jew of a highly respectable family,
that had lived for many years in Hungary. In early life he
had settled in England, where he had continued, excepting
during occasional visits to the Holy Land. Strongly prejudiced against Christianity, he had become tenfold more incensed, owing to the conversion to that faith of his once
favourite daughter Naomi, and the strong inclination to embrace its tenets shown by his only remaining child, the
mother of the beautiful Adah.  She was left a widow in the
Holy Land, when her little daughter was but a few months
old. She had passed through many trials, and, from her
husband's relatives, had experienced many of the hard things
of this world. With fond hopes blighted, early expectations
crossed, and youth's affections snapped asunder, Salome had
returned in widowhood's sorrow to the home of her childhood. It was changed, and she was changed. The gay,
mirth-loving child, had become the widow who had seen affliction. Her favourite sister, the thoughtful Naomi, had
been driven an exile from her father's house, and the old
man dwelt in wrathful grief, hardening his heart more and
more against the one Name, that could have brought consolation, Not so' Salome. Trials had been to her as the




OLD MOSES AND LITTLE ADAH.          147
ploughshare, which prepared the ground for the seed of Divine truth, or as the pruning-knife, which fitted the plant for
the new graft. Salome's tempest-tossed soul longed for a
refuge to flee unto; her broken heart had need of a physician
to heal. She had heard a little of Him, who said, " Come
unto me, and I will give you rest; " and she longed to know
whether Jesus of Nazareth was indeed the Messiah that
should come into the world. The aged Rabbi strictly prevented all intercourse between the sisters, and anxiously
watched that Salome should form no friendship with those
who love the name of Christ.
God purposed, and man could not hinder. He designed,
and no one could frustrate.




148                        ONWARD.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE ROCKY GLEN.
Oh I! Child of grief, why weepest thou?
Why droops thy sad and mournful brow?
Why is thy look so like despair?
What deep, sad sorrow, lingers there?
In all tho varying scenes of woeThe lot of fallen man below,
Still lift thy tearful eye above,
And hope in God, for' God is love I "'
NOT far from the village of Brodick, in the Island of Arran,
the inland hills project, and on either side lie picturesque
valleys, with the clear mountain-stream gurgling along. At
the foot of the mountain, where the valley divides, stands a
farm-house, decidedly not of large dimensions, but, attracted
by the loveliness and quietude of its situation, this, for a
time, became the abode of the Alleynes.
It was on a sunny morning, not long after their arrival,
that Harry played beside the little rivulet, "pretending a
feast," making the sea-side shells his dishes, choosing the
red pebbles for ham and salt beef, the brown ones for roast
joints, cutting up sorrel leaves for salad, and ornamenting




THE ROCKY GLEN.                149
the whole with the purple heather, the yellow tormentilla, or
the blue milkwort. Boosa stood beside him, and not far off,
under the shade of the few scant trees that grew, Ethelda
sat and read. Some Highland women were washing clothes
a hundred yards down the stream; two were rinsing them
in the clear water of the brook, one was throwing a piece of
peat on the fire, and another was carrying water to fill the
large kettle, which hung on a bar, made to rest on two huge
stones, which were seemingly placed for that very purpose.
At this moment, a little island car drove up to the spot,
and a gentle voice inquired if one could drive further up
the glen.
" Nae, ma'am, I fear ye canna; but it is pretty gude
walking for a long way ayont that wall," pointing to a
disused sheep-fold of stones, loosely placed one upon another.' Shall we alight, father? do you think we could saunter
a little way up the valley? The scenery is wildly beautiful, and will no doubt improve as we ascend."
" Yes, my child, get down; I will go as far as I can. I
wish that either Adah or I could walk with you to the head
of the glen."
So saying, the old man with some difficulty alighted,
and the island charioteer lifted down little Adah, who ran
forward with the quick step of childhood. Suddenly she
saw before her little Harry, and his black attendant, and the
tiny feast outspread; she immediately ran with a beaming,
joyous countenance, to her mother.




150                   ONwARD.
1" Mother, that's the little boy in the steamboat, and his
black servant."
She need not say more, for her mother knew all she did
about Harry and Boosa.
Having recognised Adah, he, tossing down green plates
and pebble joints, ran to the road along which they were
walking. There he turned shy, and so did Adah, and they
would have passed each other with only timid glances, had
Adah's mamma not accosted the little boy, and referred, in
a kind tone, to the steamboat voyage. Ethelda, perceiving
the strangers, joined the group, and endeavoured to give the
information concerning the glen that was required.
" My brother has gone to-day to sketch a little brawling
cascade, that comes tumbling down the mountain-side. It
is but a short distance. I can go so far with you, and from
that point show you the way."
" Thank you much,:' said the old man; " but the road
looks rough. If you please, I will allow my daughter to
accompany you, whilst I and the child remain here. Salome, you will enjoy this rugged valley."
" It promises intense wildness, and that I admire more
than the plenteous, peaceful vales of England."
" Do you? " said Ethelda inquiringly, and leaving the
old Rabbi and the little children, she and Salome proceeded
on their way.
The old man felt that day very feeble. This accounted
for his willingness to allow Salome to accompany the kind
stranger, whilst he was pleased himself to sit down under




THE ROCKY GLEN.                151
the dwarfish trees, where Elhelda had been resting. Her
book was laid upon the grass, and old Moses, prompted partially by curiosity, took it up, and as his eye was not dim,
commenced its perusal. It was a Christian pastor's travels
in the land of Israel. It was written by one who loved the
children of Judah. His interest was deeply engaged, and
when he had read many pages of it he closed the volume,
and a long and gloomy train of thought followed. "The
promised seed disinherited of the promised land —Jerusalem trodden by the Gentiles-Palestine no longer the garden of the Lord-the land which Jehovah blessed given
unto strangers-our people despised-our city contemned;"
but at that moment, raising his eye, he saw the blue-eyed
Christian child gambolling with his Adah. He was silent
for a little while, and then, as if a sumbeam burst upon the
gloominess, " No, not always contemned; that little one
loves our city, and knows that God loves it. Yes-Thou
God of glorious majesty-Thou art Jehovah, who changest
not; Thou hast engraven Jerusalem on the palms of Thy
hand; let our city be no longer called' Desolate,' nor our
land,'Forsaken.'  Wherefore? oh! wherefore hast Thou
cast us off? What is our sin, and the sin of our forefathers? "
Just then little Adah came running towards her venerable parent: she observed the tears that ran down his
cheeks, and staying her play, she climbed upon his knee,
and soothingly took her tiny pocket-handkerchief, to wipe
the same away.




152                   ONWARD.
Harry came too, and stood near. His face, with a very
concerned expression, looked earnestly at the old man; but,
as if unable to solve the mystery, he advanced nearer and
nearer, till, laying his little hands in the trembling ones of
the Rabbi, he said, "Why do you cry, grandpapa? " for so
Adah called him. " What makes you so sad?  Shall I go
and tell my grandpapa to come? "
"No, my son, no. Leave a poor old man to himself.
He cannot stop his tears, and no hand can wipe them
away.'
"But God can," said Harry earnestly; " He says He
will wipe all tears from our eyes."
"Poor Christian child!" said the Rabbi, stroking compassionately the fair hair of Harry. " Hast thou to remind
an Israelite of the promises made to his forefathers? Go
again to thy play, my child, and the God of Abraham, Isaac,
and Jacob bless thee!' "
Harry did not comprehend all this, but with the inconstancy of childhood he turned to his. little companion,
"Now, Adah, grandpapa is better, come, come away; I
want to show you where I haf& a hairy caterpillar: it is
such a beautiful thing." Adah lingered one minute longer
to receive a kiss from her grandsire, and then the little
hands were placed one in the other, as they ran towards
the clear brook.
And as the children played, and the old man mused, the
widowed Salome and Ethelda walked up the rugged valley.




"Is that dear child your only one? " asked Ethelda, after a
little conversation.
" Yes; my married days were very few. My Adah was
only four months old when my husband died, and I was left
friendless in a stranger land, for the land of my forefathers
is not the country of my home,  I was very desolate, and
still am desolate, for my sorrows are those with which a
stranger intermeddleth not."
"Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he will sustain
thee," replied Ethelda, in the language of the Psalmist.
" He hath borne our griefs and carried our sorrows."
"N Ah I but God has afflicted me in the day of His fierce
anger. He has chastised me, and as a bullock unaccustomed to the yoke I have rebelled."
"And you are weary of your rebellion, and feel the
yoke a heavy burden?" said Ethelda, in a tone of earnest
sympathy.
"Yes," replied Salome, "I am weary, very weary. This
rugged valley seems an apt illustration of the place of my
sojourn, and it is hemmed in on every side;.there is no way
of escape."
" Lot was told to flee unto the mountains, lest he should
be consumed.''' Yes, but I know not where to flee. On the right hand
is an angry God, on the left hand is a consuming fire. I
know that I have made God angry; that He is not my
friend; that He hath destroyed me on every side, and removed my hope like a tree. I long for some one to plead




154                   ONWARD.
for me with God; but there is no one. I long for a guide
to lead me to the everlasting hills, but in the inmost feelings
of my soul, I am altogether alone."
" I could tell you," Ethelda earnestly replied, "' of One
who is a covert from the storm; who never said,'Seek ye
me in vain.' He once spoke to the sorrowful, and said,' Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden, and
I will give you rest."
" Do tell me who said that? " said Salome inquiringly.
"It was the Lord Jesus Christ," replied Ethelda, inwardly praying that that Name might become precious unto
the sorrowing daughter of Abraham.
" I thought so. It is some months since, I was walking
on a Sunday along a lane near home and picked up a bright,
little, yellow ticket, which some school child had dropped,
and those words were printed on it. I felt as if they were
written for me, but I dare not inquire concerning them.
My sister is a Christian, and my father is very much afraid
lest I hear anything of your religion. Yet I am weary and
heavy laden, and I long to know if Jesus can really give me
Test."
As she said this, they had reached the low, loose stone
wall, and somewhat tired, she rested on it, her beautiful
dark eyes raised to Ethelda with earnest inquiry."  He has
given me rest," Ethelda replied, "and many, many others,
and can indeed give you rest, if you ask."
"But then I don't believe in Him. I have read the
Gospel (I think you call it) of Luke long ago. I liked His




THE ROCKY GLEN.                155
character. I sympathised in His hard fate; but I did nof
believe the story of the resurrection, and cannot persuade
myself that the Messiah should die."
"Isaiah says,' The Lord hath laid on Him the iniquity
of us all;' and Daniel, that' the Messiah should be cut off,
but not for Himself.' Now put these two things together;
and from your own prophets may you not know that, because' He was wounded for our transgressions, and braised
for our iniquities,' therefore the Prince of life was
killed? "
" But the Messiah was to come and restore all things.
He was to sit on the throne of David and give back the
kingdom to poor, despised Israel."
"And so He will. He shall come again with glory;
and His feet shall stand on Mount Olivet. He shall deliver
Israel, and Judah shall again be pre-eminent among the
nations of the earth. I believe this; for the mouth of the
Lord has spoken it."
"Then you don't despise Israel? " said Salome, looking
hopefully at Ethelda.
" My Saviour was a Jew; and he loved even those who
crucified Him."
" Perhaps He loves me," thought Salome, and as she
and Ethelda proceeded up the valley and talked of the
Messiah in His humility, and the Messiah in His glory, her
heart warmed more and more towards Jesus of Nazareth,
and th8 conviction grew upon her understanding that this
was, indeed, the Saviour that should come into the world.




156                    ONWARD. -
As yet, her vision was very indistinct. She had long been
groping in midnight darkness, longing for light, but perceiving none. Now a faint streak seemed in the horizon.
She feared lest it was all a delusion, a mocking of her
misery; but it was a ray from the Sun of Righteousness,
an earnest of His rising on her darkened soul, and shining
with a light that should only be lost in heaven's perfect
day.
The newly-formed friends had now reached a rustic
foot-bridge, which crossed the little rivulet below the
cascade. This, dashing and tumbling, made its way, with
all possible speed, from the summit of the mountain to the
valley beneath. It rapidly leapt the precipitous ridge; and
then, in the deep pool below, seemed to rest to recover its
strength; then, foaming with exertion, onward it would go,
curling round that protruding rock, or whirling round
yonder little eddy, and then would leap in short and
rapid steps, until, collecting for a moment in stiller water,
it, in a manner far meore dignified, fell over a deeper
chasm, and, repeating its efforts in the succeeding tiny
cascades, reached at length the foot of the hill, and, with
a gentle turbulence, the little stream passed below the
wooden bridge.
Salome and Ethelda, watching the beautiful stream for
a little while, soon descried Rowland far above, jumping
from crag to crag, and making his descent almost as rapidly
as the water. Having finished his sketch, he had scrambled




THE ROCKY GLEo.                15 7
up the mountain-side to collect wild plants, and to find the
source of the stream.
"And have you succeeded? " asked Ethelda.
"Yes, tolerably. Here are the specimens;", and the
young botanist showed a beautiful plant of white heather
and a piece of blue gentian, which he had not seen before.
"But," he continued, "the source of that stream completely
baffles me. I am sure I went a mile along a pretty little
burn, but I never seemed to find its end."
"Clear waters have their springs high," said Ethelda,
smiling.
" It is well, then, that they come to us without insisting
on our tracking them," replied Rowly, wiping the perspiration off his brow.
He then threw himself to rest upon the grass, whilst
Ethelda and her Jewish friend slowly retraced their steps
to the cottage. As they went, they talked of " the river of
living waters, which is in the midst of the throne of God."
"We cannot gain its source," said Ethelda, "till we
reach the heavenly Mount Zion; but its streams now make
glad the city of the living God. We may drink of them,
and be refreshed as we mount upwards; for even now Jesus
has said,'If any man thirst, let him come unto me and
drink.' "
Before they reached the cottage, the weary-hearted
Salome begged Ethelda to pray that the eternal God would
give her rest. Her anxiety concerning Christianity was




158                   ONWARD.
greatly increased; and she resolved to procure a Testament,
even at the risk of her parent's anger. The knowledge,
which she now sought of her heavenly Father, was more
precious to her than the blessing of her earthly sire, though
he was so dearly loved, so highly honoured.




SALOME.                          159
CHAPTER XVII,
SALOME.
"Cling to the Crucified I
His death is life to thee,Life for eternity.
His pains thy pardon seal;
His stripes thy bruises heal;
His cross proclaims thy peace,
Bids every sorrow cease.
His blood is all to thee;
It purges thee from sin,
It sets thy spirit free,
It keeps thy conscience clean.
Cling to the Crucified I"
IN a cottage window, that looked upon the beautiful bay of
Lamlash, might have been seen for several nights consecutively the glimmer of a candle, which shone at the midnight
hour, when each other light seemed extinguished. - Lamlash
was a picturesque village on the same coast as Brodick.
The features of the scenery were not so grand; there were
not the same lofty mountains rising behind it, nor the same
deep glens running far into the interior. But for this there
was some compensation; a beautiful rocky island rose in the
centre of the bay, and formed quite a new object in the
landscape.  Its dark rocks looked frowning beside the clear




160                   OXWARt,
waters beneath; but, casting their protection over the haven,
they caused a great contrast between the turbulent sea
beyond and the smooth belt, that separated the little isle
from the mainland,
The glimmering light marked the room where, when
others slept, the widow Salome perused that blessed Gospel,
which hath brought life and immortality to light.
As she read, she prayed for faith; and as she prayed,
faith grew; and as faith increased, love spread its blessed
influence over her heart, and urged her unto further prayer;
and thus, by God's grace, she had entered, as it has been
beautifully called, that "-everlasting circle" of prayer, and
faith, and love, which shall ever enlarge until, in an eternal
world,-prayer being changed to praise, and faith being lost
in knowledge, —deeper praise, extending knowledge, and increasing love, shall be the ever-widening circle of the glorified
soul of man.
Salome pondered over the words of the Baptist, " Behold
the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world! "
She read and re-read in the Testament those first words,
which had shed on her sorrowful heart a ray of comfort:" Come unto me, and I will give you rest." She was struck
with the perfect sympathy of the manhood of Jesus, and
then was almost startled by the sudden display of his Omnipotent Godhead.  The "Jesus wept " of the eleventh
chapter of John, revealed the Man of Sorrows; the " Lazarus,
come forth! " declared the Lord of life. As Salome read
that beautiful chapter, she looked up to heaven, and in




SALOMB.                     161
words, which had now become familiar to her, she felt ready
to exclaim, " Rabbi, thou art the Son of God, thou art the
King of Israel."
Her little candle was then burning in its socket, and her
watch pointing to an early hour of morning. She hastily
kissed her slumbering child, and whispered the prayer,
" Jesus of Nazareth, suffer my little one to come unto
thee," and then she stood for a little time beside the casement window. The moon had risen late, and was pouring
a flood of silvery light over the entrance of the bay; the
dark, frowning island, raised its huge rocks against the
clear, deep azure of the starlit sky; the distant herringboats might be descried by the lights which seemed to
twinkle like the far more distant stars, and sometimes a
small fishing vessel going out to its morning toil crossed the
path of the moonbeam.  It was a lovely scene, and as
Salome watched itfor a few silent minutes, she seemed to
read in it the lesson of the eleventh of St. John, the sympathy and the majesty of the eternal God, exhibited for the
benefit of the children of men,-the children whom, though
rebels, He had loved,-though enemies, He had redeemed.
Salome rejoiced with joy unspeakable; the sorrowful had
found comfort, the weary had tasted rest, the friendless had
gained a Friend,-a Friend who for her was dead once, but
is alive for evermore.
In the morning, the thought of present trial presented
itself to her. It was a portentous cloud; but the sunlight
over her soul made it appear only a shadow. It was a




162                   ONWARD.
nauseous ingredient; but the sweetness of her cup, was such,
she could not taste its bitterness.  She taught the little
Adah to bend the knee, whilst, like Salome of old, she
brought her child to receive a blessing from the Lord Jesus.
She told her the story of His death, and Adah's eyes filled
with tears as she heard of the crucifixion of Him, who was
never wicked, but was always good and kind.  Salome
fondly kissed her lovely child; she sighed to think of the
influences that would probably surround her, when she
should be gone; but again she thought of the almighty sympathy of the Lord Jesus, and she cast this burden upon
Him, assured that He was able and willing to sustain her.
And now the hour approached when she must meet her
father.  Must she conceal from him the truth, that she
believed Christianity? or must she reveal it? She felt that
she could bear his anger, but she could not behold his grief;
that, strong in the faith, she could withstand the fire of his
eye: but her heart sunk as she thought of the hands wrung
in agony, and of the tear. that would fall over his aged
cheek; but then again she had read in the Gospel, "Whoso
loveth father or mother more than me, is not worthy of me.
He that confesseth me before men, him will I confess before
my Father which is in heaven." Whilst Salome was thus
pondering on the conflicting thoughts, which again and again
crossed her mind, the aged Rabbi entered, and, with the
usual patriarchal benediction, he blessed his daughter.
Salome trembled as she took her father's hand; and, pale
and nervous, she sat down to the morning repast.  The




SALOME.                    163
resolution of the preceding night seemed to have given way,
and Salome learnt once more that her own strength was perfect weakness. The breakfast passed over silently; the old
man observed the paleness of his daughter, and as the Scotch
servant was clearing the table, he remarked, "My child, I
do not think the mountain breezes are doing the good I
hoped. You look very pale this morning."' "Oh, no, my father, I am quite well, and I do enjoy the
air of this island."
"I think, however, it is time that we tried further
change;" so, turning to the servant, he said, "You may
tell your mistress that we shall be leaving the day after
to-morrow."
"' Weel, sir, if it be for the ladye's bad look, it is no to
be wondered at. The air by day will do her no gude, when
she has not the sleep by night."
"Wast thou ill last night? " inquired the old man of
his child.
" No, father, not at all; I slept well."
"What, then, can the girl mean? "' inquired the old
Rabbi, for the servant had left the room.
The sudden flush mounted into Salome's face, as she
remembered the late hour at which the light in her little
window was put out.
"I was busy, father, and I sat up late. I suppose she
has known that," replied the Jewish widow.
"Working, I suppose, for thy child? Salome, don't do
that; take care of thy health for thy father's and thy daugh



164                   ONWAiRD.
ter's sake. They have none left but thee; and may the Great
Jehovah gather me unto my fathers before thou art called
hence!"
" There is Naomi, father."
"Naomi the Nazarene!-my curse and my shame!
Mention not her name, and let her not come nigh my habitation."
" 0 father-" said Salome, but the old man thought she
was only going to plead for her sister, and he hastily left the
room. Salome remained for long, endeavouring to measure
what would be the grief, the anger, of her beloved parent,
and ever staying herself with the remembrance of the words
of the Lord Jesus, " He that confesseth me before men, him
will I confess before my Father who is in heaven."  And
then from Him, in whom strength and wisdom dwells, she
sought for grace according to her need.
She anxiously watched her father's return, feeling that
each hour Satan was assailing her with fresh doubts as to
the need of acknowledging her persuasion of Christianity,
whilst the difficulty of revealing her convictions seemed
ever to increase. At length, to her surprise and joy, she
saw Adah and Harry running towards the cottage hand in
hand, followed by Ethelda, who walked: slowly, beside the
aged Rabbi.
The little girl, with a look of quiet pleasure, came to her
mother, and told her how little Harry and his aunt were
going to dine with them, and to return by the steamboat in
the evening; and then she carefully took off Harry's hat




SALOME.                     165
and gloves and handkerchief, and making the little fellow
sit down on the corner of the. couch, in her gentle way she
said, "I hope you are comfort'le now, dear; stay there, and
I will show you some pictures."
Before the kind, little child returned, Harry had spied a
spider, and as Adah entered the room she saw her young
friend climbing on a chair and exclaiming earnestly, "Adah,
dear, do come here. Here is a real spider, really spinning
its web, and one poor little fly has been caught; do come;
it is so very, very curious."
Adah was soon standing beside Harry, watching the little insect, with almost the same earnestness as her friend.
And when Salome, who had gone to meet her father and
Ethelda, entered the room, Harry again begged to point out
his " great cure-riosity."
The Rabbi was soon left alone with theyoung ones, who
were still intent on the spider.
"My children," said the old man, " do you know what
the wise king, Solomon, hath said concerning the spider?'There be four things which are little on the earth, but they
are exceeding wise.  There are the ants, the conies, the
locusts, and,' saith the wise man,'the spider taketh hold
with her hands, and is in kings' palaces.' "
" I know that verse," said Harry; " Aunt Ethie taught
me to say it out of the Bible. I was thinking about it when
I was looking at the spider."
" But this is not a king's palace," said the Rabbi,
gravely.




166                   ONWARD.
"No, no. It is afterwards; if we are like the spider we
shall be in the king's palace. But, Mr. Spider, I think you
have chosen a very pretty little room, and I must tell the
housemaid not to brush your little silken threads away."
"How do you mean, Harry?" asked the gentle Adah;
"how can we be like the spider? "
" You see, Adah, the spider has fixed its thread on the
wall, and there is no fear of its tumbling down."
" But I can't fix a thread that way."
" No, of course you can't that way. I can't explain it,
Adah, but Aunt Ethie can. You know the spider is a common, little thing, and yet it may be in the Queen's palaces.
We don't deserve to be in heaven; but if we take hold of
Jesus-trust him-you know, we shall be in God's palace.
Is not that it? " looking rather timidly at the Rabbi, and
not satisfied witli his own explanation.
Had any one else mentioned the name of Jesus, a look
of withering contemptwvould have been seen upon the Rabbi's face; but there was something in HIarry's simple faith
and earnest manner that disarnmed opposition.  " Thou
must not exercise thyself in such difficult matters," said the
bld man, with a sigh; and all would have passed over, if
the little Adah had not said, " Is that Jesus who was crucified?"
" What do you know of the crucified Nazarene? " demanded the Rabbi, in a stern and angry tone. "Mention
not His name again. The child of Israel has none other
gods but One."




SALOME.                   167
The children looked up frightened and astonished; and
the Rabbi, not wishing to impress the name in Adah's recollection by perhaps unnecessary alarm, said, " Talk no more,
child. Show Harry the pictures."
And as the little ones chattered, the old man sat and
mused. His fears were excited. How did Adah, who had
been so carefully attended by Jewish servants, know aught
of the crucifixion of Jesus? Had the lodging-woman talked
to her? Had Harry, when they played together, the previous day? Why had he ever consented to the growing intimacy with Christians? What was detaining Salome so
long? And then he answered, It could not be the lodgingwoman. Adah never liked to be near her. It could not be
Harry; the children seemed to talk of nothing but their
pebble-feast. He must tell Salome, he must put her on her
guard, lest the poison of Christian idolatry'be stealthily infused in the mind of her only child. Whilst these thoughts
were passing through the mind of- Rabbi MIoses, and his
anxieties were ever increasing by Salome's prolonged absence, she was telling Ethelda of her mingled joys and sorrows, of her hopes and fears.
Her heart rejoiced in God her Saviour; she felt that
Jesus was precious unto her, that he was her all in all, and
she was willing,-yea, longing, to confess Him before men.
And yet she said, " I do shrink from telling my father; I
remember his agony when Naomi declared herself a Christian; and, dear Miss Alleyne, he has ever been most kind
to me, and I do love him  with the utmost affection.




168                    ONWARD.
Through years of childhood and of sorrow he has comforted
me, and I thought to comfort him. I know," and the tears
rapidly flowed, "that he would rather follow his Salome to
the grave, that he would rather be wholly bereaved of his
children, than hear me say, that I love the name of Jesus;
but yet His name is precious, and I must confess it, —I cannot let it go."
"' As thy day is, so shall thy strength be,"'" said
Ethelda; and they knelt down together and prayed, that the
feeble one's strength might lie in Omnipotence, that each
step of her new and difficult path might be guided by
Omniscience, and that He, who could cause the water to flow
from the wilderness rock, would yet command the fountain
of living waters to spring up in the father's heart, though
now so hardened against the name of Jesus.
Salome rose from prayer comforted.  Faith in the promise of God, "Ask, and ye shall have; seek, and ye find,"
had akeady given her. a glimpse of her father's arrival at
the heavenly Zion, rejoicing in the faith of the once crucified, now glorified Messiah.  She knew that the path would
probably be difficult, that the road would be very rugged;
but something seemed to whisper, " Thy prayer is heard,
thy father shall be saved; " and confident in faith, instant
in supplication, she resolved to rest not, to cease not from
labour until her father should confess the name of Jesus.  If
her voice should be hushed by death's mighty power ere that
confession was heard, she felt that she could still trust- the
Lord, who had Qpened her eyes to see, her ears to hear.




SALOME.                     169
It was evening; the strangers had returned to' Brodick,
and it seemed to Salome unlikely that they should meet
again, for the next day they were to proceed to the more
northern Highlands. The widow had just laid her lovely
Adah to rest, praying that her gentle slumbers might be
blessed by Him, who blessed the little ones. She was again
seated beside her father, asking strength from on high to reveal to him her conviction of the Messiahship of Jesus of
Nazareth.  Suddenly the old man spoke: "Salome, you
must anxiously watch Adah. She has in some way heard
of the Nazarene, and knows that He was crucified."
"I told her, father," said Salome, the colour flushing
her usually pale cheek, and the tears rising in her large dark
eyes.
"' You told her! It is not wise at her age to speak of
such things. She must some day know of the blasphemy of
the carpenter's son,. but not now."
" Oh, father I " said Salome, and she threw herself on the
ground beside her father's knee, and with tears streaming
down her cheeks, she said, firmly and gently, "I believe in
Jesus of Nazareth as the Son of God, as the King of Israel."
The old man's eyes flashed anger, whilst his cheek and
lips were white with anguish and with rage.
For a moment he lost all self-control: " Unworthy Sa-w
lome! I spurn thee from my feet! " and pushing her away,
she fell pale and senseless on the ground.
And then, there was a return of parental feeling.
Alarmed at her death-like look, his trembling hand laid her
8




1'70                   ONWAiRD.
on the low hair couch of that little sitting-room; and when
Salome opened her eyes, she saw her father bending over
her to bathe her temples with refreshing scent, whilst the
large tear-dropifell, one by one, from his aged eyes.
"Father! my precious father! " she faintly said, as she
gently pressed her cold, nervous hand on his.
" A serpent in my bosom,"' he muttered, " and yet my
child.  Oh! oh! Why, why are my grey hairs thus
brought with sorrow to the grave? Surely, surely, all
these things are against me."
" No, no, father;'the Lord will give grace and glory.
No good thing will He withhold from them who walk uprightly.'
"Why, child, quote the promises of the prophets?  They
are not for them who forsake the religion of their forefathers, the altar of El-elohe Israel."
"'But, father, my faith is still the faith of Abraham,
Isaac, and Jacob. If I have erred, convince me of my
error."
"Art thou still open to conviction?" and a gleam of
hope seemed to brighten the despairing countenance of the
poor, aged Israelite.
" Yes, my precious father; let me tell you why I believe that Jesus of Nazareth is He, of whom Moses in the
law and the prophets did write, and you tell me why you
believe not;- and may our God, and our fathers' God, show
unto us,'the Truth.' 
The old man was silent for a little while; then, confi



SALOME.                    171
dent in his opinion that Christianity was a delusion, that its
belief was a lie, that it stood on sandy ground, from which
he could soon overthrow it; and seeing in the visions of the
future his Salome restored to the belief qf her childhood,
and that without his kindred knowing of her apostasy, a look
of pleasure beamed again upon his fine countenance, and.
with a kindling eye he looked upon his daughter, exclaiming,
"Amen, my child: soon shall the mist be cleared and thick
darkness no longer cover thine eyes. In thy light, thou
great Jehovah, may we yet see light."
Salome gratefully kissed her father's hand, and after a
little while, with a tottering footstep, she retired to rest.
She thanked the God of her salvation that He had tempered
the rough wind in the day of His east wind: she heard the
voice of Jesus say, yet more plainly, " My grace is sufficient
for thee."
Her agitated spirit gradually calmed, and though she
heard the old clock on the cottage staircase strike all the
early hours of morning, she at length fell into a gentle slumber, and dreamt that the Lord of glory stood before her
crowned with thorns; and whilst she gazed, each thorn
seemed changed into a beauteous crown, whereon were written the names of many whom she loved,-of Adah, and of
Naomi, of Ethelda, and of the little Harry; and then He
seemed to speak unto her, and said, " Be thou faithful unto
death, and I will give thee a crown of life." She replied,' My father, my father, too, 0 Lord!" but the bright light




17'2                  ONWARD.
vanished. She awoke, and the cry of her dream became the
earnest entreaty of her soul, "M My father, my beloved father!
O Lord, show him the glory of the Crucified!"  Again
Salome slept, and she woke strong in the faith, and girded in
the strength of her God, for the conflict of the day.




WIDOW  MCLEOD.                        173
CHAPTER XVIII.
WIDOW   M'L E O D.
"He looks abroad into the varied field
Of Nature, and though poor, perhaps compar'd
With those whose mansions glitter in his sight,
Calls the delightful scenery all his own.
His'are the mountains, and the valley, his,
And the resplendent rivers: his t'enjoy
With a propriety that none can feel,
But who, with filial confidence inspired,
Can lift to heaven an unpresumptuous eye,
And smiling say-' My Father made them all."'
CowPEs.
A GUSTY day, with heavy showers, was nearly closed.
hind the mountains of Mull the sun was setting very
stormily, and the waves, —crested as it were with flame,
reflected from the fiery sky,-rolled onwards among the
rocks and tangled sea-weed that lay on the northern side of
the Bay of Oban.
Ethelda, with Rowland, had been collecting specimens
of shells of the varied algme, and now, rather tired, they had
climbed a projecting rock, where Ethie observed, mused
upon, and delighted in the beautiful scenery, which her
brother's ready pencil sketched.




174                    ONWARD.
They watched, too, the steamer from Crinan, which they
expected would bring Gertrude, who was on that afternoon
to join their little party.  Soon the line of dark smoke was
observed among those little islets, which, so far as the eye
could reach, appeared one beyond the other, steadfast amid
the surrounding foam. And onward came the smoking boat,
lurching and rolling, and yet making steady progress; and
now the revolution of the paddle-wheels can be observed,
and the steam is being blown off, and the vessel stops at the
primitive pier.
Gertrude was under the care of MIrs. Mlaitland, a sister
of Sir Claude Wentworth, who, with her husband, was pro.
ceeding north to Bonaire. The rough sea had, however, determined the whole party to land, and very pleasant were
the greetings.
A large number of friends were thus assembled round
Mr. Alleyne's tea-table that evening; and with appetites
sharpened by the sea-voyage, mutton chops, Loch-Fyne herring, bacon and eggs, oatcake and all the other etceteras of a
Scotch meal, rapidly disappeared. It was a very cheerful
repast, for never are friends and acquaintances so cordial as
when they meet somewhat unexpectedly a few hundred miles
from home.
"Were there many passengers on board? " inquired Mr.
Alleyne.
" 0, yes 1" said Mrs. MIaitland-" quite enough, I can
assure you. I was almost suffocated in the cabin when the
showers came on: and some of the passengers were half dead




WIDOW MCLEOD.                   175
with sea-sickness. Nothing on earth will tempt me to return by sea."
"" Then you are not inclined for Staffa and Iona, I suppose?"
"Oh, no! I have had quite enough of it to-day. I
shall be quitd content to hear what others say. I decidedly prefer your tea-table, Mr. Alleyne, to those in the Iona's
saloons."
"I have a much more comfortable one at Alleyne," re
plied the old gentleman dryly.
"Ah! but where is the sunset of this evening?" said
Sir Claude: " I never saw anything more splendid-so angry
-so stormy —so brilliant-dipping below the sea, and setting it all on fire."
"Yes! it was quite the thing for a picture," said Mrs.
Maitland; " but, I think, considering all the concomitant
circumstances, I should prefer it in a picture-gallery. It
will be very pleasant to talk of, however; and there certainly was plenty of material for pencil studies.  You
observed, Claude, that beautiful group near us-the old
grey-bearded man, his widowed daughter, and the pretty
black-eyed child."
" I could not help it.  They were fit portraits for the
foreground of such a scene."
"Did  they  land?" inquired  Ethelda, rather anxiously.
"I don't know; I didn't observe," replied Sir Claude.




1 7p                  ONWARD.
"I think that they went forward.  Henrietta, do you
know?"
"Indeed, I don't. I only thought of' Number One'
in landing, I assure you. It always makes me so very
nervous, and they were not a family I could ask to sit for
their portraits."
"No," replied her brother; "there was too much dignity about the old man for that; and yet he looked so very
sorrowful, I could not help compassionating him. He had
a long white beard, and the whole family had a very Jewish
physiognomy."
" They must be your friends, Ethie," said Mr. Alleyne.'Yes; we met them in the Isle of Arran: I should
like much to meet them  again.  How  did the widow
look? "
" Extremely delicate. I fancied they were travelling
for her health.  The little girl and I became rather
friendly-at least, I threw down some bits of meat to her
dog."
"Our acquaintance commenced through the dog also,"
said Ethie; and then she related some particulars of the
Jewish family, in which even Mrs. Maitland was interested.
The following day was dark and gloomy, and before
breakfast was finished, the rain beat pitilessly against the
windows, wholly regardless of the party within, who had
left their comfortable mansions in England to see the lakes,
the islands, and the mountains of old Caledonia.




WIDOW M'LEOD.                 177
"I never saw anything so provoking," said Mrs. Maitland... "Really I do think we are the most' unfortunate
people upon earth."
"Etta." said Sir Claude, "just come and stand here
for a little while;" and he made room for his sister beside
the window, where he and Gertrude were observing the
weather.
At a short distance were sailors, hauling on shore a
boat, which was quite beyond the power of the unsuccessful
fishermen, who had evidently been out all night. Nearer
were a few nearly naked children, carrying water from a
well, and passing by at that moment was a comely-looking
woman, holding an umbrella, it was true, but wearing neither bonnet nor shoes.
" With which of those parties would the'most unfortunate person in the world' like to change places?'" Sir
Claude inquired with a smile.
" 0 Claude! you always take me up so; you know I
did not mean that."
" I do think," said Gertrude, "that they are better off
than we are, though I don't wish to change places."
"An explanation, madam," said Sir Claude, pleasantly.
"They have something to do, and we have nothing."
"A remedy for that," he replied, and quickly left the
room.
"What does Claude mean?" said Mrs. Maitland, as
they watched him go down the street. And soon he re8*




1.78                  ONWARD.
turned, carrying over his shoulder a large, brown-paper
parcel.
"What are you bringing that huge wet thing in here
for?" inquired Mrs. Maitland, as her brother entered the
room.
"Plenty of work for those who have nothing to do;"
and he laid down before them a quantity of thick, blue
flannel.
" And whatever can we do with this? " said Mrs. Maitland, despairingly.
"Surely a woman knows? "
"Yes; I know," said Gertrude; "but I don't know
how."
"Nor I," said Sir Claude; "but I am certain Miss
Alleyne can put you right."
"Oh, yes! Ethie knows everything." And Gertrude
soon found her sister, who thanked Sir Claude heartily
for the purchase, and quickly prepared the work.  Mrs.
Maitland did not find the morning so long as she had
expected.
In the evening it cleared a little, and some of the
party determined to explore the road to Dunstaffnage
Castle. They reached the old ruin, and climbed along
the walls within which the kings of Scotland once abode,
and whence the celebrated Coronation-stone in Westminster Abbey was transported. There were now few remains
of its former greatness, no appearance of royalty, no mark
of ornament. A brackish'marsh surrounded it on one side,




WIDOW M'LEOD.                  1'79
and weeds grew amid its stones. But the scenery was still
magnificent,-below it lay Loch Etive, yet foaming with
the strong wind of the morning, and beyond were the lofty
heights of Appin and Barcaldine, yet capped with the dark
clouds, which still lingered over the land, that they had so
plentifully watered. The deep waters of the yet more turbulent Loch Linnhe stretched to the north and west, and
on its further side rose the strong outline of the mountains
of Mull. All was dark, foaming, turbulent, and seemed
in unison with the decay of the royal palace, with the
passing away of earthly greatness. It was felt that over
the dying dynasties of earth, He is immeasurably exalted
who sitteth upon the water-floods, and maketh the clouds
His chariot, and rideth upon the wings of the wind.
"I am  glad we walked here this evening, but I
should not like  to  live  always amid  this scenery,"
Ethelda remarked to Sir Claude, as they walked homewards.
" Is it too wild and desolate for your taste?". he inquired.
1" Yes, it rather oppresses the mind. It is magnificent.
It speaks of power.  It seems to echo loudly, God is
great.  But one misses the still small voice, God is
good."
"Do you not think that is owing to our seeing it on
a stormy, cloudy day? "
"No doubt, in measure. When the sea is calm, and
the sun shines brightly, or when moonbeams play over the




180                    ONWARD.
clear, sleeping waters, it must be very lovely, —but still the
trees, the verdure, the rich luxuriance of dear old England,
I miss."
"I must differ from you for once. Were I a Scotchman, I think I should miss tenfold more the rugged
mountain outline, the stern wild coast —"
"You would miss the thistle, then.   I miss the
rose."
"Hardly that," he said, slowly. "Can that be compared to the thistle?" and they both involuntarily stopped
to gaze upon the scene before them, as the bright young
moon -shone out through an opening in the clouds, and gave
life to the dark shores of Kerrera, and made the waves
sparkle again beneath its brilliancy.
"You are right, Sir Claude; Love is written in the
works which tell our Heavenly Father's greatness, as well
as on those which more especially mark His sympathy. I do
admire this. Yet as a home, I still prefer the peaceful and
luxuriant vales of dear England."
" Truly, I do not wish to live on this bleak heather,"
answered Sir Claude, shrugging his shoulders, "but I can
imagine well the Highlander's fondness for home."
At this moment they passed a wayside cottage, at
the door of which was an elderly woman carrying in
clods of peat for the little fire.  The rain had again
commenced to fall, and the strangers rather halting, she,
with native hospitality, and with gentle Highland accent,
accosted them,



WIDOW M'LEOD.                  181
"A soft evening this; ye'll walk into the little cottage,
and shelter a little?"
Ethelda and Sir Claude readily complied, Gertrude and
Rowland following them.
"I fear ye'll not find it very commodious, but if ye
dinna mind it for a little, the showers will soon be past;"
and stirring the peat fire, she looked at Ethelda, and said,
" Now won't the dearie young ladye come here, for she
looks but delicate?"  Ethelda, going forward, observed
in the shade a modest, pretty-looking girl of sixteen or
upwards.
"Is this your daughter? " she inquired.
"Yes, ma'am; Sally, come forward and speak to the
ladies and gentlemen."
Sally blushingly advanced. "Ye've found me quite in
deshabille* this evening, ladies; but I had to feed the
chickens and the pigs, and the evening was so bleak
like."
" Oh, never mind," said Mliss Alleyne. "I fear we
may be intruders at this late hour; but we are only here
for a few days, and we wished to see much of your beautiful
scenery."
" Ah, that is a pity now! " exclaimed the widow; " and
this day has been so stormy. The scenery is very romantic.
Here is a way up that hill which gives you such a grand
view. If Duncan had been here, he might have taken you.
You see far away across the heather to the east, and then
* This word is frequently used among the Highlanders.
8




182                   ONWAnD.
adown the bay, and up the loch, and all the wee islands.
Them that are farthest away just look like specks, and the
near ones are so fair like, so steady like, just like a
promise from the Father in heaven, when we are in great
trouble."
"We don't know how precious and steadfast those
promises are," remarked Ethelda, "till the billows round
us roll."'True, ladye; nor can we see them, till we are on the
high land of faith. That thought just came across me the
other day."
" Yes, we must mount high before things, which are far
off, can be descried."
" Ay, it's just exactly so. Nature is full of preachings
for us, if we would but learn them."
"Would you tell us some of the preachings that you
have observed? " said Sir Claude.
" There are many of them; but you know, sir, if you
go out near to the midnight, you dinna hear a sound; the
birds are all as silent as can be. Then if you go out about
twa in the morning, they begin to sing, jist a note here and
there-they never take a sup nor a bite, but they sing first.
Is not that a preaching for us? Then if ye go into the
wood, and see how the grass graws-twa blades with a green
leaf round them, one big and the other little, yet they never
quarrel' Is not that a preaching for us? Oh, sir, if we do
but read it, God's word and God's world give us the same
preachings!"'




WIDOW'ILEOD.                 183'" Nor need we wonder; the hand that worked the one
is the same that wrote the other. How strange it is that,
believing this, we do not trust it more, for the same hand is
tracing now, as on a chart, the life of each of us! "
" True, sir, and making a book of it, which also will be
full of teachings; but we must be beyond the clouds when
we read that Book-it will not be finished, till the Mount is
climbed and the journey is over."
" Do you know these beautiful lines? "' said Ethelda, ad.
dressing the old woman:-'When we stand with Christ in glory,
Looking o'er life's finished story,
Then, Lord, shall we fully know,
Not till then, how much we owe."'
"Ay, true, ma'am, we don't know it yet, The only
things, that outnumber our debts, are our God's mercies. I
have many of them, both temporal and spiritual. Here's
this nice bit cottage, and my Sally there, and two as bonnie
boys as ever the sun shone on; they are both at sea, Donald
is in the Queen's navy, and Duncan goes in a boat down the
coasts there; they are both uncommon gude." Then turning to Sally she spoke in Gaelic, and Sally soon brought
little treasures-shells and other things that her brother
had got by dredging in the deep waters.  " The captain is
awfu' fond of curiosities, and he likes Donald well, and lets
him have these things. Will ye have this for a remembrance, ladye? I often give them to my friends."




184                  ONWARD.' Thank you very much," replied Ethelda; " I will take
it a long way with me, for my home is in England."
" Oh! do ye come from England? I have many dearie
friends in London. There's a Bible there —Sally, can you
bring it down? It was given me by one of the Peers of
England-the Lord Mayor of London. Do ye know him,
ma'am?"
"No, I don't live near London."
"He was such a nice man, ma'am. There were three
gentlemen travellers.  One was the Lord Mayor, and another was another Peer, Lord C-   they called him, and
they gave us this before they went away. Oh! we have
many dearie friends in England."
"And you must add us to your list of dear friends, will
you?" said Ethelda, shaking hands with Widow M'Leod,
and expressing a hope of seeing her again.
1" That we will, and may God bless you both, and make
you long happy together, and bless all of you," she added,
turning to the young countenances of Gertrude and Rowland.
" Thank you, Widow MI'Leod; may your prayers be answered," added Sir Claude, earnestly, and taking Ethelda
under the shelter of his umbrella, with some difficulty the
little party reached their Highland lodging.
"What a charmingly simple-minded, intelligent old woman!" thought Sir Claude. "I must bear in mind that
God is making a book of my mountain journey, a book of
parallel columns, recounting my wanderings and His long



WIDOW MLBEOD.                 185
sufferings. The simple cottager knows the lesson that to
me once was difficult, but now is plain. The story of the
world, of life, of the word,-of creation, of providence, and
of grace,-are alike written by the finger of God, the finger
of Almighty Love. Lord, open Thou mine eyes, that I
may behold wondrous things in Thy threefold revelation."
It was agreed that the work of the rainy morning should
supply the wants of those who sheltered them on the rainy
evening; and though the days to be spent at Oban were
very few, Gertrude and Harry found a morning to revisit
Widow M'Leod, and to supply her with clothes, which
during the cold winter days of that northern latitude, would
make her gratefully remember these "dearie" English
friends.




186                          ONWATRD.
CHAPTER XIX.
STAFFA   AND  IONA.
" The pillar'd vestibule,
Expanding, yet precise, the roof embow'd
Might seem design'd to humble man, when proud
Of his best workmanship by plan and tool.
Down bearing with his whole Atlantic weight
Of tide and tempest on the structure's base,
And flashing to that structure's topmost height
Ocean has proved its strength, and of its grace
In calms is conscious, finding for its freight
Of softest music some responsive place."
WoRDSWORTIr.
A DAY neither bright nor dull passed, and then there
dawned one of the most lovely of autumnal mornings.
There was a certain chilliness in the air, and the ground
felt almost crisp with the slight frost of the preceding
night, but the sky was a beautiful canopy of azure, and the
few floating clouds in the east were tinged with rapidly-fading gold, the prelude of the sun's yet more brilliant appearance.  It was scarcely risen, when the steamboat's bell was
heard hastening the various passengers for Staffa and Iona
to the little quayside of Oban. Among the last to arrive




STAFFA AND IONA.                 18'7
was the Alleyne party; Mrs. Maitland, who did venture
again into a steamboat, having very nearly caused all to be
too late.
The boat was hardly started, when she begged her
brother to take down a basket, and place it in a corner of
the saloon with special care. Sir Claude rather reluctantly
complied, for the sun was at that moment appearing in its
full glory in the east, and forming a golden pathway across
the smooth waters of the bay. In the saloon he was much
surprised to find the Jewish family, who had previously been
for a short- time his fellow-travellers. The widow was suffering from a severe fit of coughing, the keen morning air
having been too strong.for her delicate chest. Sir Claude
procured for her a glass of water, which was thankfully accepted, and he remained a few minutes, because he saw that
the old Rabbi and the little child were alike unable to help
the sufferer.  The cough was partially relieved, and old
Moses seemed inclined to speak to the stranger more than
was his wont. He made several inquiries concerning the
islands, whither they were steaming; and after some observations about the royal burial-ground, which they expected
to visit, so strangely situated among the desolate rocks of
that western ocean,"It is," said the Jew, " an emblem of my desolate nation,-once a living royalty, now the sepulchres of the
dead."
" But thy dead men shall live," answered Sir Claude;
"God is not the God of the dead, but of the living, the




188                   ONWARD,
God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and the God of their
seed to everlasting generations."
"Then, why are we now forsaken?  What is our sin
that we have abode so many days without a prince, without
a priest, without a temple?"
" Because you have rejected Him, of whom Moses in the
law and the prophets did write:'He came unto His own,
and His own received Him not.'"
"You are a Christian, I suppose, sir?"
" Thank God, I am; it is not long since I was an unbeliever."
Never since the evening on which Salome had acknowledged her faith in the crucified Son of God, had the old
Rabbi made any allusion to the subject. He had never
spoken to her an unkind word, but he had often passed the
whole day without words at all. He was bowed down with
grief. He frequently refused to eat of the meal that was
spread, or partook of it without any pleasure. Adah's
childish prattle seemed irksome to him; and when he
stroked her head, the blessing of the Almighty God of her
fathers was never invoked.  He watched Salome with
solicitude; and as each day she seemed paler and weaker,
and her cough became more frequent, the despair of the old
man increased, and it appeared, indeed, as if his grey hairs
were going down with sorrow to the grave. Yet he longed
to talk about Christianity to some one. Hie wished to know
what there could be. in the religion of " the carpenter's son,"
to influence his beloved daughter; he wished to hear the




STAFFA AND IONA.                189
arguments of a believer in Jesus Christ, to ponder them, to
gainsay them, and then triumphantly to expose to his
Salome the worthlessness of Christianity. Salome longed
for her father again to speak on the subject, so near their
hearts. Again and again, she sought to commence the
conversation herself, but he always silenced her. He wished
to try his weapons before he sought to confront her. He
would essay to conquer the stranger first, and then would
turn the steel against the unbelief of his child.
Leaving Adah in the saloon with her mother, the aged
Israelite accompanied Sir Claude on deck, and was conducted by him to the most sheltered part of the vessel.
There he wrapped his cloak carefully round the old man,
who seemed pleased that he should sit beside him, and soon
recommenced the conversation that had been broken off in
the saloon.
They spent a long time in earnest discussion. The
Rabbi was most anxious, for his daughter's sake, to discover
the weak points in the Christian's argument, and Sir Claude,
knowing the preciousness of the Saviour whom he had found,
felt equally anxious that the son of Israel might be convinced that the Messiah had already come.
In some questions connected with Jewish history, and
even with the writings of the prophets, Sir Claude was at
fault. He was not a learned theologian, he was not deeply
read in Scripture. But when the Rabbi spoke of sacrifices,
Sir Claude felt as a giant upon his own ground;- the blood
of bulls and goats, he laboured to prove, could not take




190                   ONWAwRD.
away sin; they must typify something far greater, the
blood of the Incarnate Son of God, who suffered as a lamb
without blemish and without spot. As they were discoursing, the breakfast-bell rang, and the passengers all hastened
down to their early morning repast. Sir Claude and Rabbi
Moses were too intently interested for either to hear the
sound or to observe the movement, and they were not sought
for,-the Alleyne party supposing that Sir Claude had been
detained down-stairs. As they entered the saloon, Ethelda
immediately perceived Salome and her little Adah. The
colour quickly mounted into the widow's cheek, and through
her tearful eye, there beamed a look of pleasure which
could not be mistaken. As Ethelda passed, for the seats on
either side of Salome were engaged, she pressed her hand
and whispered, " Is all well? "
"All is well," answered the widow's trembling voice, as
she turned her head away to hide the tear, that would
escape.
Salome watched anxiously for her father, but neither
he nor the young gentleman who had accompanied him
appeared. She sent Adah to inquire of Miss Alleyne if she
had seen " grandpapa," and was rendered still more anxious
by her answer in the negative. And yet, what could have
become of him? It seemed impossible that unobserved
harm  could have happened. The Alleynes likewise could
not understand Sir Claude's prolonged absence, and Gertrude and little Harry volunteered a.deck expedition in
search of hium




STAFFeA AND IONA.               191
Very soon the little boy observed him with his venerable
friend. "There he is!" said Harry, "and Rabbi Moses
too! " and leaving go of Gertrude's hand, he suddenly stood
beside them. The Rabbi looked as if a spirit had appeared. Little Harry had been frequently in his thoughts,
and still more continually in his dreams. Sometimes he
fancied that Salome's apostasy was a curse for his love of
the Christian child; but now that he saw the beautiful boy
before him, with all his native grace and winning childishness, he found that he did not love him less, and he thought
of his first sweet words, "I love Jerusalem, because God
loves it."
"Whence have you come, my son? " and he laid his
hands upon the child's auburn locks.
"Y We are all down-stairs, getting our breakfast;" and
then, as if the old man was to be as much surprised as he
had beer, he continued, "and-Adah is there too."
"Do you remember Adah?"
" Yes, I never forget Adah —can I help you? " and the
little one put out his tiny hand, supposing that it had power
to support the tottering feet of age.
" I will help, Harry," said Sir Claude. " Run on before,
little man."
The child was himself helped down-stairs by Gertrude,
and Sir Claude, turning to the Rabbi, said, "That little
one was the first to teach me the value of the Saviour's
blood; but these things are hidden from the wise and prudent, and revealed unto babes."




192                   ONWARD.
"Pardon me; your faith is only fit for babes."
"So said our Divine Master,' Except ye become as
little children, ye shall in nowise enter the kingdom of
heaven.'"
Sir Claude now brought the Rabbi carefully down-stairs,
and placing him in the only vacant chair, sat down on little
Harry's seat, taking the child upon his knee. Ethelda saw
in a moment what had been the occupation of Sir Claude,
and she was well pleased to think that he was seeking to
place the aged Israelitish-wanderer on the Rock of Ages,to bring him, ere his pilgrimage was closed, to the true
Mount Zion, the city of the living God.
Little Harry had heard his aunt talk much about Rabbi
Moses not believing in Jesus, and each night in his infant
supplication he had prayed, " And do make Rabbi Moses
love his own Jesus Christ."
" Why do you say,' his own? "' inquired his aunt one
night.
" Because you know Jesus Christ was his own; He was
a Jew, too."
That morning, at breakfast, Harry was evidently thinking of something different to the bread, and milk, and
other things which were before him. Excepting the Rabbi,
who ate very slowly, and Sir Claude and the child, all of
the party had left the breakfast-table.
The Rabbi was somewhat troubled on again seeing the
Alleynes, but the meeting was now unavoidable. It seemed
fated that their paths should often cross each other, and




STAFFA AND IONA.                193
the little vexation fell lightly on his oppressed spirit. His
mind was absorbed with his conversation with Sir Claude,
and he was rejoicing in the hope of now knowing how and
where to combat Salome.
Little Harry came timidly round, and said very gently
to the old Rabbi, " May I ask you a question? "
" Yes, my son," and he stroked his soft, bright cheeks.
"Do you now love your own Jesus Christ? "
"No, child, no; and never will! " said the Rabbi,
almost angrily.
" You mustn't say that," replied the little one, inclined
to cry; "-Jesus loves you so very much."
"' No, child, not He. I hate Him! "
" Oh, don't! don't! but Jesus loves those who hate
Him; " and the child hid for a minute his little face on
the Rabbi's knee.
" Poor Christian child!" said the Rabbi, "I did not
mean to wound thee. Go in peace, my son;" and the
child wiped his eyes, and with Sir Claude's help the Rabbi
was soon once more on deck.
The old Israelite and his friend took again their
sheltered places; and whilst Salome and Ethelda joyfully
talked together of what God had done for their souls, and
the little children watched the sea-fowl, and gambolled on
the deck —these disputed of many things concerning Jesus
of Nazareth. Though old Moses continued steadfast in his
unbelief, he felt yet more unfitted than before, to argue with
his daughter concerning the faith which she had embraced;
9




194                     ONWARD.
and whenever he muttered to himself, " I hate the name of
Jesus of Nazareth! " the infant's words seemed whispered
again, " Jesus loves those who hate him."
Iona's quiet resting-place and Staffa's cathedral cave
were both visited. The sky continued almost cloudless, and
reflected its bright blue in the clear waters beneath. The
shores of Mull looked very desolate; but as the steamer
rounded its northern coast, the magnificent confusion of the
mountains of Morven, and the hills of Ardnamurchan, burst
upon their gaze, and showed the grandeur of their bleak
and lofty outline. It was a voyage during which the
thoughtful mind might, in Nature's volume, read many
lessons.
" Rowly, what are you doing? " said Ethelda, who had
been standing for some time unperceived beside her brother.
" Oh, Ethie! is that you?" said Rowland, starting.
"I was thinking of Hubert's idea about the happy sea-birds
— jotting down a sort of' Ode to the Sea-gull.' I wish,
though, I could write some poetry contrasting Staffa and
Iona."
" Let me see what you have written, Rowly;" and Rowland, rather reluctantly, gave her his pocket-book, where she
deciphered the following lines:"The tempest is o'er, there reigns now a lull;
Return to the main, thou happy sea-gull:
In its azure deep thy white bosom lave,Bright bird of the ocean, float o'er the wave!




STAFFA AND IONA.                      195
Bright beams the sun in the sapphire sky,
Sparkle the billows like starlight on high,
No heat of its fierce, ris'n ray, need'st thou brave,Bright bird of the ocean, plunge'neath the wave!
The cloud may be low'ring, thou need'st not fear,
O happy sea-gull! thy refuge is near;
No storm can approach in thy rocky cave,Bright bird of the ocean, fJy o'er the wave!
O happy sea-gull! thy shrill carol sound,
Mid the roar of the ocean echoing round,
Raise thy wild song in Staffa's grand cave,
Join the bass roll of the loud, pealing wave."
" I should like to keep this, Rowly boy," said his sister.
", But now tell me, how were you contrasting Staffa and
Iona?"
" I thought of Iona's Cathedral, man's work, in ruins,
and then of Staffa's Cathedral, God's work, altogether untouched, firm as in the ancient days."
" I like that contrast.  And what further musings, my
brother? "
"I was thinking of Iona, once a bright star in a dark
night, but now that day has dawned, lost in its brightness:
or, in a more homely way, we might liken it to the torch
that is used to lighten many candles, and having done its
work becomes extinct. Then, Ethie, I thought, whether I
should be content to be useful in my day and generation,
and then to fall asleep."




196                    ONWARD.
"But that contentment is not required, Rowly. Falling asleep, even in Jesus, is not the end of our existenceis not the object of the Christian's hope. You compare
Iona justly to the star lost in the dawn of morning, but that
star still shines, though its light is no longer needed upon
earth. I always like to think of the Sunday rather than of
the Sabbath, of the waking up in Christ's likeness rather
than of the falling asleep."
" You are right, Ethie; there is something sad in death.
It is dark unless we have the bright hope of the glorious
resurrection."
Salome joined the brother and sister, and they continued
the conversation. Her thoughts were often on this subject,
for she felt that death had already laid its touch on her.
The hectic fever of the day, and the cold perspirations of the
night, were rapidly consuming her little strength, but she
now knew in whom she ]elieved, and she rejoiced. She delighted to trust in Him, who declared Himself " the Resurrection and the Life," and to repeat the assurance, " Because He lives I shall live also."  As they talked, the vesseL
was again approaching the peaceful Bay of Oban, and the
sun was once more bathing itself gloriously in the Western
Ocean. The land round the bay was already in the shade,
and its deep violet tinge contrasted with the rosy light that
yet beamed on the heights of Ben Cruachan.
"The highest hills have most of the sun's bright rays,"
said Ethelda.
"And the nearer to God the more of Jesu's presence,"




STAFFA AND IONA:.               197
replied Salome, who, though weak in herself, was rapidly
mounting from height to height, discovering new beauties in
the Saviour, and feeling daily that the things of earth were
passing away. " The morning soon shall break, and the sun
that never sets shall rise."
Soon the Christian and the Israelite families parted,
with little prospect of meeting again on earth. Yet there
were some amongst them who trusted that they might all
be citizens of the New Jerusalem, and, crowned by the
King of glory on His holy hill of Zion, might humbly cast
their crowns at the Saviour's feet, and hail him, "Lord
of all."




198                      ONWrARD.
CHAPTER XX.
CLOUDS  AND  SUNSHINE.
"I want, as a traveller, to haste
Straight onward, nor pause on my wayNor forethought nor anxious contrivance to waste
On the tent only pitch'd for a day."
A FEW weeks passed away, and the tourists were severally
ensconced in winter quarters. Mrs. Maitland had rejoined
her husband in her southern home; Rowland had commenced his college career'; Gertrude was again in London;
old Mr. Alleyne was enjoying the luxury of his well-furnished library; Ethelda delighting in the instruction of little Harry, or engaged in visiting the sand-huts and neighbouring cottages; whilst Sir Claude planned with Edward
the colporteur many schemes for benefiting the ignorant
peasantry around. He, who had once wondered that those
who believed the Bible did not earnestly disseminate its
doctrines, having been himself persuaded of the truth as it
is in Jesus,
"Longed to tell to all around,
What a blest Saviour he had found."




CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE.              199
The young baronet was not ashamed of the Gospel of
Christ. He had embraced it with the full persuasion of its
truth, feeling his need and seeing its sufficiency. His was
no half-and-half Christianity. He was not a loiterer in the
valley or on the side of the hill. With hearty zeal, he commenced the ascent of the mountain, and though sometimes
cast down, and often perplexed, he still went forward.
" Right onward " was his motto. He met with difficulties
that others, more prudent, avoided, but he was strong-in
faith, and overleapt many an obstruction that would have
sadly baffled his companions. Rowland likewise ascended
the mount, but it was with a different step. There was not
the same impetus at the commencement; he had not cleared
the yawning abyss of infidelity. Onward he went; slowly,
cautiously, determinately.  Difficulties were realities with
him. He climbed them laboriously, for he could not overleap them. Yet Rowland progressed, and the step that was
slow was also sure, and that which. at first went heavily
gradually became more easy, and ere Rowland reached the
summit of the mountain, the labour of the ascent was over,
and he went on his way rejoicing.
Sir Claude longed for a companion in his pilgrimage.
As night after night he sat solitary in his magnificent
library, and passed the door of the unused drawing-room,
the wish continually arose, that one might be given him to
share his sorrows and his joys, to be a fellow-traveller on the
road. He loved Ethelda, and felt that she would be to him
all that he could desire, and more than he did deserve.




200                   ONWARD.
And Ethelda loved Sir Claude. Even before he became a
decided Christian, the open manliness of his character had
almost too much engaged her affection. She felt that her
anxiety for his conversion was greater than for that of any
other human being. She pleaded with her God that he
might be saved with an intense earnestness, the source of
which she did not then know. She was pleased to meet
him, and watched with exceeding joy the way in which her
prayers were answered, above what she could ask or think.
Yet Ethelda consented not, when Sir Claude solicited her
to become the wife of his bosom; she rather sought to hide
the love she bore him. She refused her hand, and would
not have him know that he already possessed her heart.
Ethelda was thoroughly unselfish; and in this, the greatest trial of woman's life, she thought first of her father, her
brothers, her sisters, and the little Harry, and felt strongly
that till Gertrude was able to fill her place at Alleyne, it
was her duty to remain where Providence had placed her.
Three years, in all probability, must elapse, ere she could
conscientiously leave the home of her childhood, and she
carefully abstained from saying one word which might prevent Sir Claude seeking another who could love him, and
whom he could love. She did not know how deep was his
affection, how bright a hope that word would have kindled,
and how three years of waiting would have seemed as
nothing for the love which he bore her. He returned home
grieved and disappointed, and, as on that winter's evening
he sat alone, holding companionship with the fitful flames of




CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE.              201
the bright fire, he thought for long, over all the hopeful
visions of the preceding night, withered, blighted, altogether
demolished. At length he suddenly started, "I, a man, a
Christian; this will never do! Are not the very hairs of
my head all numbered? Did not I commit my way to God,
praying that He would direct my steps?  He wants to
humble me, to prove me, to keep me from creature idolatry.
I would not have another will. Thou lovest me and carest
for me. Why should I care so for Ethie's love?  Henceforth my walk is lonely, but Thou art with me; my pilgrimage is companionless, but may it ever be pressing onwards,
reaching upwards."
Ethelda did not suffer less. To duty she had sacrificed
the warm affections of youth, the bright hopes of earth's
future.'It was a costly sacrifice, which required a resolute
struggle; it was a grief in which she could obtain no human
sympathy.  It was not mentioned to fellow-men, but it
likewise was laid before her God, and Ethelda received comfort, though for a time she went on her way heavily. A
frank avowal of her own affection would have prevented the
deep sorrow that each one suffered, but no doubt this was
withholden, that they might cease from man, and know only
His love which passeth all things. A cloud seemed to hang
over their pathway; the sunbeam on their way was hidden;
but the light on the summit of the mountain was yet more
visible, and their efforts to attain thither were more constant.
Ethelda now found, that endeavouring to increase the happiness of her father, caring for the poor, and attending to
9*




202                   ONWARD.
little Harry, relieved an oppressed mind, and her own grief
would be, at least in a measure, forgotten, as she listened
to the tales of another's woes, or endeavoured to share the
childish joys of her little nephew.
It was on one of these days, when her own heart was
oppressed, that she and Harry walked across the fields to
old Colin's cottage.  The aged man was in the lane,
gathering a few sticks. He seemed wearied with the effort,
and glad to return to his fireside, whilst little Harry was
as pleased to be left without, getting a fresh supply for
the good, old man, and depositing them in the little wheelbarrow which, filled with apples, he had brought to the
cottage.
Ethelda told Colin how much Master Rowland liked
college, and how he had written inquiring after him and
Jeanie.;" It is very good of the young gentleman. I trust God's
blessing may follow him wherever he goes. He is a canny
fellow that. But have you heard anything yet of him, that's
far away-the sailor one, I mean? "
"Yes, thank you, Colin.  He is in China now.  He
writes us long and most amusing letters, and I trust God
may keep him from all harm."
" Ye manna doubt that, Ina'am. Did ye ever put anything in the Lord's keeping, and He neglected the charge?
I've been thinking lately that we oft fancy God is such a
one as ourselves, and that he may forget."
"Very true, Colin; we ought to honour God by strong




CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE.               203
faith, but instead of that'we anxiously pray concerning the
future, holding our burden tight all the time."
"Jist so, ma'am; we won't let it go.  We haven't
courage to throw it out of our own hands, and cast it on
the Lord; but still, praised be His name,'He hath borne
our griefs and carried our sorrows."'
" Colin, do you remember when you and Jeanie promised to pray for a drunkard's family? "
"Yes, ma'am, weel. We have never forgotten it from
that day to this."
"And God is more ready to hear than we are to
pray. "
" True, ma'am; what has He done?"
"Changed, I trust, the heart of the father, and the
once wretched man is now  a new  creature  in  Christ
Jesus."
" Bless His holy name! Oh, ma'am, what a miracle it
is, when the sinner's heart is changed! The infidel cannot
gainsay that, for it's afore his eyes."
" And the means He employed were altogether powerless in themselves.  His little girl had been sent to the
infant-school, and one night he'happened to come home
sober, and the child, of whom he is very fond, climbed upon
his knee.  She commenced singing,-for she has a sweet
voice,-'Here we suffer grief and pain,'
and went on to the line,' Parents, teachers, we shall meet.'




204                   ONWARD.
"'Stop, child, that arn't true,'-he said, suddenly.
"' Why, daddy, don't you hope to be there?' the little
one inquired. The father told me that question went to his
heart, he could neither say yes nor no. He hardly slept for
several nights, the question always haunting him,'Don't
you hope to be there?'
"At last Sunday came, and he told his wife that he
meant to go to church. He went. The text was,'I am
the Way, the Truth, and the Life.' Light began to dawn.
He went to the Vicarage next day, and had a long conversation with Mr. Graham. He has since signed the total-abstinence pledge, for the habit was, he said, so inveterate with
him, that he had no other way to break it off, and for some
weeks past he has apparently experienced,'Old things
passed away, all things become new."'
"It is jist the Lord's doing, and it is marvellous. Is it
not, ma'am? Jeanie, we must praise to-night as well as
pray."
At this moment Harry came in with his basket laden
with sticks, and emptied it, according to Colin's direction,
before the scant fire. His little heart was full of joy. Not
only had there been the pleasure of stick-gathering, but old
Colin said that he had " helped him fine," and Harry imagined he had done a work as important as if he had slipped
a golden sovereign into his hands.
"Auntie, may I come back again, and gather sticks
another day?" he whispered; and, receiving permission,
the dear child, with all the eagerness of boyhood, trundled




CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE.              205
his barrow homewards, filling it even then with sticks, to
bring to old Colin the following morning.
The sand-huts were likewise an increasing object of interest to Ethelda. She visited them as regularly as practicable at noon every Monday. First, she received from the
women their contributions to the clothing-club, that she had
established. Then, a few of the men returned, not for their
dinner so much as to hear the young lady speak; and the
little gathering in the open air was continued. A simple
portion of Gospel-history would be read, and Ethelda would
endeavour to bring home the message of redeeming love,would speak as a sinner unto fellow-sinners, as one who
really saw her brethren perish, and besought them to flee
from the wrath to come; and then a few verses of a simple
hymn would be sung by these untutored children of Erin,
and then each knee was bent, and, under heaven's canopy,
though perhaps the chill wind was blowing, or the damp
mist coming in from the sea, united earnest prayer ascended,
from those who, a few months before, hardly knew the name
of Jehovah; Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Ethelda endeavoured to ward off cold by additional supplies of clothing;
nor were these rough sons of toil regardless of their beloved
young lady's comfort. Sometimes they had the fire lighted
in the open air. Sometimes Peter stretched a cord from
post to post, and there hung all the coats and shawls that
could be mustered, albeit some were ragged, and some were
threadbare. After the meeting, Ethelda went from hut to
hut encouraging the industry of the mothers and girls, Cut



206                    ONWARD.
ting out a garment for one, admiring the improving cleanliness of the abode of another, or the neater aspect of the
children of a third. There was often a sick one to visit, and
the basket she always carried with her, contained from time
to time packages of sago, arrowroot, or tea, flannel waistcoats, babies' frocks, pieces of soap, or the little can of strong
beef-tea, to be distributed either as rewards for some effort
made, or according to the necessities of the parties.
On one sunless, frosty morning in December, Ethelda
almost hesitated to go; she feared the standing in the cold,
and yet knew that there was not one hut that could hold
above seven or eight people. Health was a talent, which
she felt was very precious, and for which she was accountable. Yet she had not suffered hitherto; she could wrap
herself up with extra clothes, but she could not disappoint
her poor people. They probably had their pence ready, their
huts arranged with special care, the hands and faces of their
children clean, their dinners prepared at home, and their fire
burning to welcome her among them. She knew not but
that, with the increasing inclemency of the weather, Peter
might have made some special effort of defence.
Ethelda resolved on going. A young friend was at that
time staying at Alleyne, and they walked briskly the three
miles, that the road extended towards their mission-field.
Peter met Miss Alleyne with even a pleasanter face than
usual.
"Oh, lady, ye're welcome! we were so afeart ye wasn't
coming."




CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE.              207
"Am I later than usual, Peter?"
"No, lady, it wasn't that; but we wanted you so to-day,
and it was so uncommon cold, we feart you mightn't be no
coming. But now, ladies, will ye step this way?"
"This is not our usual way to the huts."
"I think ye'll think it is the best the day," replied
Peter, with a broad smile, and eyes that seemed as if they
could hardly contain the joy that was there.
They passed round a sand-hillock, and on the side that
was sheltered from the sea, a large shed had been erected.
The sand-bank formed its back; the ends were staves driven
into the ground, and filled up with furze-bushes; an opening
in the front served the double purpose of door and window;
whilst the roof was thatched with the long bents that grew
on the links, excepting a hole at the north side for the smoke
to find exit. Here a cheerful fire was burning, and at the
entrance stood the women and children, eager to welcome
their kind friend. Ethelda was almost overcome with this
unexpected proof of her poor people's love for the simple
service, which she had established.  She silently thanked
her God and took courage, and then entering the shed, she
warmly expressed her admiration of the rude edifice, so well
fitted to answer the end designed.
As the men came in from their morning's work, she
thanked them for the kind thought, which had led to this
erection —so entirely done of their own accord, and kept
secret with the expectation that she would be the more
gratified.




208                      ONWARD.
"It isn't for the likes of you, my lady, to be thinking of
thanking the likes of us; I'm  sure it's us, my lady, who can
never be over-grateful to you under God, for many of us had
not heard one word of the care of the Lord Jesus till ye
came and told us. Sure, you must not say anything about
thanks. It is us, that thanks you, and that from the core of
our hearts."
" Then, M'Gee, let us all rise and thank the Lord.  We
will begin with singing this time;" and line by line she repeated three verses of the well-known hymn,-'Jesus, where'er Thy people meet,
There they behold Thy mercy-seat;
Where'er they seek Thee Thou art found,
And every place is hallow'd ground.
For Thou, within no walls confined,
Inhabitest the humble mind;
Such ever seek Thee, where they come,
And going, take Thee to their home.
Kind Shepherd of Thy faithful few,
Thy former mercies here renew;
Here to our waiting souls proclaim
The sweetness of Thy saving name."
Ethelda then spoke of her constant theme,-that theme,
which has power, when applied by the Holy Spirit, to make
simple the spirit of the learned, and to enlighten the mind of
the simple one; it was,-" Victory through the blood of the
Lamb "-present victory amid present battles; final triumph




CLOUDS AND SUNSHINE.              209
after the last great conflict. Jesus, the same yesterday, today, and for ever; —Jesus, the Author and the Finisher of
Faith;-Jesus, placing the helmet on the soldier's head, and
the crown upon the victor's brow,-was the subject of
Ethelda's gentle speaking. To-enlist under His banner, to
fight beneath His cross, to receive glory from His hand,
were the objects of her earnest persuasion. The more she
loved the people, the more fervently did the prayer arise
that all, men, women, and children, might partake of the
great salvation.
Ethelda heard of illness in one of the huts. It was the
big girl of sixteen, who from the first had seemed wholly
unmoved. She had had a sudden attack of inflammation;
and the doctor, who had been over, had given no hopes of
her recovery. Ethelda stood for some time by her bedside,
and endeavoured to rouse her, even then, when life was so
quickly ebbing, to look to Christ, and to be saved.
"I am not afeard," she said, in a displeased tone.
" Not afraid to meet a God about whom you have never
cared? "
" I have cared. I have worn this sacred bit thing all
my life; and the praist told me I could not be lost, if I only
kept it; " and she showed a charm that hung round her
neck.
"And do you believe that thing can save you? 
"The praist told me so. I'm quite content. I'd rather
you left me."
" Will you let me kneel beside you,and pray?"




210                   ONWARD.
" If you like, you can."
Ethelda knelt and prayed that poor Bridget Dunn might
even now be saved —might still go unto Jesus, and giving
up her trust in that which could not save her, might lay hold
of Him as her only hope. When Ethelda rose, Bridget did
not speak. A stupor seemed to have come over her, and
there was little probability that she would regain consciousness.
Ethelda left the hut, oppressed in spirit. "Who, who
is sufficient for these things? " she inquired. She felt her
own total helplessness in delivering a soul from death; but
she took her poor people yet more perseveringly unto Jesus,
telling him of all their wants, and saying, "I cannot let
Thee go, unless Thou bless them."
The groom was on the sands with the horses, and Ethelda
and her friend rode home, rejoicing that they had not been
prevented coming, encouraged by the great things that God
had done. Yet Ethelda could not wholly regain her spirits.
Poor Bridget's case was an awful testimony to the truth of
God's word, " He, that being often reproved, hardeneth his
neck, shall suddenly be destroyed, and that without remedy."




FAITH'S CONFLICT.                     211
CHAPTER XXI.
F AIT H' S  CONFLICT.
Yes, billow after billow-see, they come
Faster and rougher as you little boat
Nears evermore the haven. Oftentimes
It seems to sink and fall adown the wave,
As if borne backward by the struggling tide;
Yet, mounting billow after billow, wave
On wave o'erriding, tempest-tossed and shattered,
Still, still, it nears the haven evermore."
ABOUT Christmas time, Ethelda received a letter in strange
handwriting, and with the Edinburgh postmark. The direction was traced in very faint ink, and was evidently written
by a trembling hand. The signature was that of Salome,Salome, who had been continually in her thoughts, of whom
she had never ceased to make mention in her prayers, concerning whom she had often wondered, whether enrolled in
the Church of Christ militant, or admitted to the ranks of
that Church triumphant.
The letter told of past and present sorrows, of bitter
waters tasted, of deep rivers passed; and yet it told of joy
in the Lord Jesus, of light in the midst of darkness.  Salome
had never left Scotland. For some time she and her father




212                   ONWARD.
had remained at Rothesay, benefiting by its mild and healthful
air. And yet the poor old man enjoyed it not. His heart
was bowed down, because of the apostasy, as he conceived, of
his children from the God of their fathers. He sometimes
conversed with Salome, but he felt and confessed the futility
of his arguments. At length, in an evil hour, he wrote to
his brother in London, and opened to him the grief of his
lacerated heart. The brother and another learned Jew came
down to Scotland, to turn Salome from her Christian faith, if
possible, by strong and learned arguments; or, if these were
ineffectual, by bribery, or by threatenings. The former
were altogether futile. Evening after evening they talked,
until the widow's physical strength was exhausted, but they
could not shake her faith in the crucified Jesus of Nazareth;
they could not pluck out of His hand the sheep which had
entered His fold. And then they urged the father to cast
her off altogether, not to suffer a child who had departed
from the faith of her forefathers to remain beneath his roof.
" No," said the old man, " I cannot help her faith. She is
not long for this world. I will persuade her to make no
profession of her belief, but rather to conceal her Christianity.
Then she may continue to abide with me, and ere she is
gathered to her fathers, we may yet welcome her return to
the faith in which she was begotten."
"Then, only on condition of her faith being concealed,
shall she remain in your house."
" Be it so," replied the Rabbi.
" And the child must be taken from her."




FAITHI'S CONFLICT.             213
"Not whilst her mother lives; yet a little while, and
poor Adah will not know a mother's love."
The Rabbi soon told Salome the terms on which it was
resolved that she should continue with him. "I would have
dealt more harshly, my child, but thou art my only remaining one; and I pray God that thou mayest yet see the error
of thy ways, and turn from thy backsliding."
"  Father! my own precious father! " said Salome, weeping convulsively, " it cannot be; I must confess the Saviour
I have found; —I cannot deny Him."
" Your health, my child, may be an excuse for your not
going to worship, if you will it. Only let it not be known
that you are a Nazarene."
" Oh, father, do not tempt me! My Saviour has said,'He that is ashamed of me and of my words, of him shall
the Son of Man be ashamed, when He cometh in the glory
of His Father with the holy angels.' I must confess Jesus."
" Then, Salome, dost thou leave thy old father in his
age? Dost thou bring down his grey hairs with sorrow to
the grave? "
" Oh, father-my dear, good father! so kind, so loving,
how I love thee! " and she laid her aching head upon his
shoulder and sobbed there: the struggle endured but a little
while; at last she added, " I cannot conceal my Christianity."
" Is that thy final word, Salome? 3'
"Yes, father; I cannot say otherwise."
"Then go, my child, an outcast from thy father's house;
and when thy head shall rest upon its dying pillow, then




214                    ONWARD.
think of the grief, of the broken heart of thy father,-think
of his streaming eyes, of his trembling frame."
Salome was unconscious of all that passed immediately
after this. She saw not her father again. The following
morning her uncle sternly inquired whether she held the
same resolve, and being answered in the affirmative, he mentioned the bare pittance that should be quarterly forwarded
to her, and forbade her approach to her father's home.
Salome endeavoured to speak, but utterance seemed denied her. There was one question she trembled to ask, for
she felt sure that the answer would only realise her worst
apprehensions.
Her cheeks were bleached, and her lips quivered, as with
difficulty she articulated, " My child? "'She is gone with her grandfather.  She must be
brought up in the religion of her ancestors."
Salome raised her hand to her head. She fell back on
the couch and for long remained insensible.  When she recovered, a waiting-girl stood beside her. Her uncle had
left the apartment, and only waited to hear of her senses returning, before he started for the south.
The widow never rose from her couch that day; she was
altogether prostrated; her mind for a time seemed bewildered; but as evening approached, she heard the voice of
Jesus in the storm, " It is I, be not afraid;" and though
the billows swelled and the tempest was high, she trusted
Him, and felt assured that He would guide her into the
longed-for haven.




FAITH'S CONFLICT.              215
Poor old Moses was yet more to be pitied. He had
rejected Him, who alone could comfort; he had turned his
face from the only spot of the dark horizon where the Star
of hope shone. As he travelled with his orphan grandchild,
and parried her oft-repeated questions, "1 Where is my dear
mamma? why is she not with us? why did not I wish her
good-by this morning? " his heart misgave him, as to his
conduct towards his poor, dying daughter.  " It is true, I
have left enough to ensure for her every earthly comfort; I
have told my brother to make arrangements weekly, that I
may be informed concerning her health, and I trust to see
her again before she dies. Would to God that I had told
her this myself! Would that I had seen her once more
this morning to tell her, I should ever pray that she may
yet be restored to Israel's fold! Why was I so hurried
off?  My poor, unhappy child?  Thy poor, unhappy father!
Oh! that I had been cut off in the flower of my age, ere I
buried in the dust the desire of mine eyes, ere I heard my
children each call blessed, the accursed Nazarene! Behold
me! behold me! a blasted plant in Thy vineyard-a ruined
pillar in Thy temple."
There was no ray of hope in Moses' despondency; no
thought of comfort in his misery. He knew not the worst,
for he had been deceived by his brother, who, dreading the
influence of Salome's strong faith in the broken-hearted
Rabbi, was resolved that he should never see again the child
of his affections.
Great agitation had much accelerated the symptoms of




216                   ONWARD.
Salome's disease, but in her landlady there was provided for
her a tender nurse. A few days of perfect quiet in a measure restored her, but the hectic on her cheek was much
deeper, and her strength, when she coughed, appeared much
feebler. Her soul had, in the meantime, become as a weaned
child; yea, as a child that is weaned from its mother. She
had passed through terrible conflict, but it had left her dead
to earthly things, or rather to earthly cares. She did not
love less her father or her child, but she was now enabled to
trust them  wholly to the Lord.  She experienced His
power, and knew that He was able to save those, whom she
committed to Him. She tasted in tenfold measure His
love, and felt assured that He was willing to deliver
the aged parent and little child, whom she brought unto
Him.
She wrote, whenever strength permitted, to her parent,
but the anxiously-watched post brought no reply.
Her means were almost expended, and soon she would be
left in a strange land, afflicted, portionless, friendless. Yet
she knew her God as Jehovah Jireh, and doubted not that
He would supply all her wants.
Her greatest care was to be permitted to confess her
faith; and, by the. sign of baptism, to be admitted into the
visible Church of Christ. But she was a stranger in the
large city, too weak to wander to a place of worship, and
too timid to write to any minister, of whom she knew nothing but the name, And then it was that she determined to




FAITH'S CONFLICT.              217
write to Ethelda, and seek counsel from her who had first
directed her weary footsteps to Him, who giveth rest. She
only knew the name of her friend, and the county where
she resided, but she supplicated the God who hearcth
prayer, so to order it, that the letter might Safely reach its
destination.
And so it did. Ethelda, with great solicitude, deciphered the few lines that were written, and discovered that
Salome was forsaken by her friends, but supported by her
God. Immediately the wish arose that her poor, suffering
friend, might be brought to Alleyne, and she raised her
heart to heaven that her father might be inclined to grant
her request.
She took the letter to Mr. Alleyne's library and read it
to him. The old man had had a long-rooted prejudice
against the Jews; and during their Highland tour hethad
sometimes complained of his daughter's " enthusiasm about
that Jewish family."
She, therefore, feared to proffer her request; and having
read the letter, silently waited for her father's comment.
"Is it true, I wonder?  Those Jews are such hypocrites."
"'Oh! father dear, not all Jews. We know Salome.
She could have no motive, but the love of Christ constraining her. Remember, she is dying."
" You may have her here, child, if she can come."
"Oh, thank you, my own dear father! and without my
10




218                    ONWARD.
asking you! "  And then Ethelda remembered that she had
asked her God, and inwardly she thanked Him.
"Do you think she will want any money?" inquired
Mr. Alleyne.
"She does not say one word about that, father; but I
fear she cannot travel alone. She says she is much weaker
than she used to be, and has not left the house since her
father's departure."
"Well, she must see to that. I am not going to let you
go, Ethic, in search of her."
" No, father dear! I am not asking," said Ethelda
quietly.  "We will think of some way to bring her here."
Old Mr. Alleyne spoke rather crossly. He had resolved
that he would not ask the Jewish family to his house, and
yet, unsolicited, he had proposed it; for his kind and Christian feelings were roused by Salome's letter. Yet, he was
annoyed to think that circumstances had so arisen, wand that
his previous determination had given way.  Soon, however, these feelings were overcome, and no one took a deeper
interest in the widowed, friendless Salome, than old Mr.
Alleyne.
When Salome first received Ethelda's letter of invitation, her impulse was to decline it, fearing to trespass on
a stranger's hospitality. But when she read it again, and
marked the Christian spirit by which it was dictated, she
remembered the Saviour's words, "Inasmuch as ye do it
to one of the least of these, ye do it unto me," and she determined to conquer her feelings of false delicacy, and for




FAITH'S CONFLICT.              219
the present, at least, gratefully to accept the hospitality
offered, and to regard it as a covert provided by her God
to screen her from the tempest. A person whom the lodg.
ing-woman knew intended going to England the following
week, and under her charge it was fixed that Salome was tc
travel. The day was cold and bleak, and the wooden
benches of the second-class carriage were a poor preservaAtive from its rigour. A five-pound note had been anonymously sent to Salome, but she knew by the post-mark it
was from Alleyne, and her delicate sense of honour forbade
her now to travel at a greater expense than necessary,
though she had always been accustomed to every comfort,
which fortune could procure.
With cold, hunger, and weariness, she was wholly exhausted when she reached Alleyne, and had to be carried
from the carriage to her pleasant apartment. A cheerful
fire was blazing there, and a couch was placed beside it. At
the further end was a low window, overlooking the flowergarden and the plantations beyond. The pretty chintzhangings of the bedstead, the arm-chair, the footstools, the
writing-table, all seemed exactly what an invalid required,
and to have been chosen, that she might spend whatever
time she preferred in her own apartment. It was nearly a
week before she was able to leave it, and often during that
time Ethelda took her work, or a book, and sat beside the
sufferer.  She felt that it was a privilege to do so. Salome
had passed through strong fire, but it had purified the gold




220                   ONWARD.
until the refiner's image was reflected. She was as the vine
that had indeed been purged by a sharp pruning-knife, but
now it brought forth much fruit. She was as grain, fully
ripened for the heavenly garner, or as the flower fitly expanded, to be plucked by Him who feedeth among the lilies.
There were two subjects on which Salome yet manifested
much anxiety,-the one was to be enrolled by profession in
the ranks of the Church militant, to bear on earth the name
of Christian; and the other, again to hear from, or to see,
her beloved but sorrowing parent, and to clasp once more
her gentle Adah. Yet, these blessings were submissively
sought. She had learnt to say, " Not my will, but Thine be
done."
Mr. Graham was much interested concerning the Jewish
widow. Feeling that she had been taught by Christ, that
the Holy Ghost bore witness with her spirit and by her
spirit, that she had been born of God, he hesitated not in
the proposal that she should be baptized, and was willing to
administer it privately at Alleyne.
" I have never been," said Salome, "within the walls of
a Christian church. I know that place can confer no real
benefit: but, were it practicable, I should like, in a spot
consecrated to the worship of my triune God, to profess my
faith in Father, Son, and Holy Ghost."
" But would there not be risk of cold? " inquired Mr.
Graham, looking at her worn-out frame, which it seemed as
if a breath of wind could blight.




FAITH'S CON1FLICT.             22 ]
"My time is short, I know, and an increase of cold
might hasten my departure. Still I would use every means
to avert it, and He, who numbereth the hairs of my head,
can guard me. I can do but little for Christ-I can labour
but one short hour. I have publicly worshipped amongst
those who hated His holy name.  I feel that I ought,
if possible, publicly to confess it.  Do you not think
so? "
" Decidedly. I rejoice in the view you have taken; and
may our blessed Saviour enable you to witness a good confession, and by it to glorify His name."
It was on a Sunday in January, one of those bright,
lovely days that sometimes surprise us in mid-winter, that
beside the font in Alleyne church stood the young Jewish
widow. She rejoiced to make confession-of her faith in the
crucified Son of God. She rejoiced with humble confidence.
Her step was much firmer, and her eyes were much brighter,
than they had been since the day of her arrival. Those who
saw her for the first time did not think that she was so near
the tomb; yet she entered not those sacred courts again,
till, borne thither by the feet of others, the pastor who now
signed her with the sign of the cross, in token that she should
continue Christ's faithful soldier and servant unto her life's
end, should declare in the words of his risen Lord, " I am
the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, though
he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and
believeth in me shall never die."




222                   ONWARD.
As they waited for the carriage on the day of Salome's
baptism, Ethelda led her round by her mother's tomb.
They read the brief inscription below the figure of the
slain lamb,-" I laid my sins on Jesus."  " Worthy, worthy
is the Lamb," said Salome, the tears filling her eyes, " for
He hath borne my sins and carried my sorrows. In heaven
I shall sing that song more clearly. You cannot tell my
joy. A professed follower of Jesus now, humbly trusting
that, washed in His blood, I shall hereafter follow the Lamb
whithersoever He goeth. When I am gone, think of me
only, as conquering by the Lamb of God who bled on Calvary's cross."
" Yes, I shall think of the frail, tender Salome, more
than conqueror through Him who loved her."
" Has not God chosen the weakest in faith an inheritor
of the kingdom to glorify Himself in me? Oh that He
would permit my poor father to know the blessedness I now
experience! My friend, wilt thou promise me, never to
cease to pray for my beloved parent and poor child? "
"I will try, Salome, remembering the promise,' If two
of you shall agree on earth as touching anything that they
shall ask; it shall be done for them of my Father which is in
heaven.' "
" One of the glorious promises of Jehovah my Saviour.
We must not doubt it. I feel that the love, which has
stooped to pluck Salome as a brand from the burning, will
yet save my father, and preserve my precious child."




FAITH'S CONFLICT.              223
Thus, strong in faith, Salome trusted. God delights in
the faith which honours Him by simple credence of His
Word. He never sends the humble, believing soul empty
away; like a prince, He giveth it royal favours, far exceeding what it could ask or think.




224                    ONWABD.
CHAPTER XXII.
FAIT T HS VICTORY.
"The shadows of evening are fleeing,
Morn breaks from the city of light,
This moment day starts into being,
Eternity bursts on my sight."
SALOME went on her way rejoicing. All her future cares she
trusted to her covenant God, and for the present mercies,
her grateful soul seemed as if it could not sufficiently bless
the Lord, or thank the beloved friends whom He had provided as instruments of blessing.
Oftentimes her eyes would appear red with weeping,weeping for very joy, to think of the Saviour whom she had
found, and of all His countless mercies. It is true that she
held a cross, a heavy cross, but, as the pilgrim taught of
God, she so used it that it became the staff to assist her
mountain ascent, ever leading her nearer to her God, her
heaven, her home.
One morning Sir Claude arrived unexpectedly. He had
been seldom at Alleyne of late, and had not seen Salome
since their meeting in the Highlands. He rejoiced in her




FArITHS VICTORY.                225
joy, and spoke to her as a brother in Christ Jesus. He inquired after the old Rabbi.
" He is well," answered Salome; " at least, a letter forwarded to me from my uncle assures me of his health; but
I cannot understand hearing nothing from himself direct. I
know how he loved me, and how often he has assured me
that he would never altogether cast me away."
" I go to town to-morrow. Can I do anything to assist?
Can I call to see your father? "
" Would you? " and a brilliant light beamed in her deep
black eyes. "It would indeed be joy to me to know of his
welfare from one whom I can trust. Tell him that Salome
never ceases to pray for him and for Adah; and tell him
that I indeed find Christ's ways are those of peace. Tell
him that the outward man decays, but the inner man is renewed; and tell him that Salome longs to see his face once
more before she dies."
She then, with a trembling hand, wrote his direction, and
prayed that God might speed him in his search for her aged
parent.
There was nothing strange concerning the house where
Rabbi Moses at this time dwelt.  He had left his own home,
for he felt childless and forsaken, and lived with his brother,
a rich merchant, whose house was a handsome mansion at
the "West-end" of the great metropolis.  Sir Claude, inquiring for the Rabbi Moses, was ushered into a small apart.
ment behind the dining-room. There sat his aged friend,
with his fine bald head, aquiline nose, and long snowy beard.
10*




226                   ONWVARD.
He raised his eyes, but the quick flash of them was gone.
He was, indeed, like one who had seen affliction.
" Rabbi Moses," said Sir Claude, " do you remember a
stranger you met last summer in the Highlands? "
"Highlands! yes, Highlands!" said the old man, with
an expression of stupidity.
"As you went to Staffa and Iona: your daughter,
Salome, was with you, and a little grandchild."
"I know;" and then he fixed his eyes on him for a
long while.
"'I remember thee well.  Dost thou know aught of
Salome? " said the old man, with a trembling"voice.
"I saw her but three days ago. She longed to hear of
her aged parent."
" Is she well?  And wherefore has she never written to
her sorrowing father? "
" She is not well. She has often written; and she longs
to see you before she dies."
"I must go!  I must go!  She has often written!
My child, I must see thee before thou dost die. Is she in
Edinburgh? "
"No, she is at Alleyne, with the friends you met in
Scotland. She rejoices in the countless mercies of her God,
and could she only see you and her child, would be ready to
depart in peace."
"My Salome! my poor Salome! thy father must see
thee; and thy child shall go, too. What have they done
with thy letters? "




FAITH'S VICTORY.                227
The Rabbi at this moment looked another man.  The
stupor of grief seemed to have passed away. His former
keenness had in measure returned, and his spirit of determination roused, it appeared indomitable as ever.  His
countenance frequently changed, as for a few moments he
stood lost in thought, beside Sir Claude.
"I must go.  I was determined that Salome should
never be cast from her father's house, if she wished to
return. Though air apostate, I have not ceased to love her;
and though she has brought down my grey hairs with sorrow
to the grave's dark verge, I was resolved no act of mine
should wound her spirit. Who has deceived me concerning
her?  I have been cruelly deceived. To-morrow  I go.
Will you give me her direction?"
"' I am in town for only a few days. I should be glad
to accompany you."
" I cannot wait, lest my child should die ere I behold
her. You say she is very ill."
" But not in immediate danger. Her disease is one in
which life is often prolonged for weeks and months."
"I must go! I must go! There will be no one to assist
me here. Couldst thou? The Israelite does bend to ask a
favour of a Christian; " and he bowed with proud dignity.
" Couldst thou come for me and the child, and help an aged
man, so as to set him forth on his journey? "
Sir Claude heartily promised compliance with this
request, and returned home to write to Salome, and thus to
gladden her heart with the thought of her father's visit.




228                   ONWARD.
That night was one of angry altercation between the
Rabbi and his brother; the one indignant at the discovery
of letters concealed, the other affecting zeal for his religion,
and abusing the venerable man as an apostate from the faith
of his forefathers.
"I hearkened to thee," said the Rabbi, "and cast off
Naomi; but the curse of God has followed me, and my child,
driven away, has never returned to the religion of her forefathers. I will hearken to thee no longer,-Salome shall
return with me, and to her dying day I will not cease to
beseech her to turn from her backslidings, and may the God
of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob yet receive her graciously, and
love her freely."
"Beware of the fair speeches of Christians; they will
draw thee even to apostatize from thy faith; and though
thou, Rabbi Moses, hast lived long, and thy nation have
thought well of thee, yet know thou, that if the righteous
turn away from his righteousness and commit iniquity, and
doeth according to the abominations that the wicked man
doeth, in the sin which he hath sinned, in it shall he die."
The thought of apostasy was altogether hateful to the
Rabbi; the idea of being warned of it-at his age and experience-was more than he could bear. He became pale
with rage, and violently reproached the brother, who thus
added insult to his former injuries.
In the mean time, the great-aunts of Adah were planning
how they could prevent the child being again brought under
the influence of her apostate mother, and they thought that




FAITH'S VICTORoy.              229
they had succeeded. At dead of night, she was to be conveyed by her aunt Sarah to lodgings in a far distant part of
London, and the aged Rabbi, baffled in his design, and impatient to see his daughter, would probably, from necessity,
relinquish the thought of searching for the little one, in
order that she might accompany him.
Persuasions being altogether fruitless, the sisters rather
suddenly adopted another tone-expressed much concern for
the fatigue that was before the aged man, and implored him
to retire early to rest.
His suspicions were roused,-" I must see Adah first.
Are her things prepared? "
"Yes; Miriam has been directed to pack them   P
Your presence in the sleeping room may disturb her. It is
of importance she should rest, before so long a journey."
" Thou art very considerate; but I shall not disturb the
child."
He hastened to the room. Adah was there, fast asleep
in innocent repose.. Her dark hair had escaped from her
little nightcap, and hung in curls about her neck, and her
dark eye-lashes and- eye-brows contrasted with the crimson
glow with which her cheeks seemed painted. The Rabbi
bent down to kiss the little one.
"Miriam," he exclaimed in an agitated voice, " the
child does not usually sleep in her day attire; how comes
this? " and he threw off the clothes, which discovered the
little Adah prepared for the pre-arranged night-journey.
"Thou takest time by the forelock, methinks.  That




230                    ONWARD.
being so, she shall sleep in my bed to-night, and I will
watch the child; and so I shall neither have to rise nor to
dress."
" Brother, thou wilt not disturb the slumbers of that
sweet innocent? Measures have only been taken to accelerate thy departure in the morning, as thou wert so determined."
" Thy cruel brother must disturb its sweet slumbers,"
replied the Rabbi, in a tone of bitter irony; "and would
that thy rest were innocent as hers! "
Miriam obeyed with gladness. She was herself in part a
Christian. Strong curiosity had led her to read the Testament, simply because it was a forbidden book, and her imagination and moral perceptions were pleased with the story it
contained. She did not feel Christianity, but she favoured
it. She cared personally for none of these things, but she
sympathised with Adah in her love for her mother, and she
had often pleased the little girl, by telling her the same
stories about Jesus, which she had heard from her mamma.
" Now, Miriam, let her clothes be brought in here,"
desired her grandfather.
" Yes, sir, as soon as possible. I have packed up Miss
Sarah's things with hers. Shall they go together now?"
" Was Miss Sarah going with her? " said the Rabbi, repressing his feelings with a strong effort.
"Yes, sir, at a very early hour of the morning."
"She is not going now.  Bring the things as soon as




FAITTHS VICTORY.               231
possible, for I shall lock the door, and at seven o'clock tomorrow bring up the child's breakfast."
It was enough.for the Rabbi to know, that the plans laid
for carrying off Adah were disconcerted. His frame was
altogether shaken, and he felt that he could battle no longer
with those of his own household. He spent the night in
anxious, feverish solicitude, starting at every sound, and
imagining that the most distant footstep was some one
coming by stealth to take the child away. At length morning dawned, and the unconscious Adah awoke. She could
not understand being in her grandfather's room, and enjoyed
thinking of the surprise she had had. And then, when told
that she was going to see her mamma, her own mamma, the
little one threw herself into every attitude of delight; and at
last, bounding on her grandfather's knee, she exclaimed, " I
am so happy! so very happy, grandpapa dear! I don't know
what to do for joy." The child's delight was some recompense to him for the anxious watching of the past night. It
brought tears into his eyes, which, in a slight degree, relieved the over-wrought anxiety of the brain. He again
became more nervous and restless as the time drew near for
Sir Claude's appearance, and refused the repeated invitations
that were given to him to come down and breakfast with the
family. All the food he tasted was a little of Adah's coffee,
which the loving child coaxed her grandfather to take. Sir
Claude, who arrived exactly at the time specified, was shocked
to see how haggard and care-worn old Moses appeared. He
perceived from his countenance that he had had a desperate




232                   ONWARD.
struggle, either with his own feelings or with the opinions of
others. Sir Claude was convinced that the latter was the
case, when he observed the look of triumph that flashed in
the old man's eye, as he drove from the door of his brother's
house. At the station he tottered and nearly fainted; but
Sir Claude procured wine at the refreshment-rooni, and the
spirit of the Rabbi seemed to revive.'" Thank you much,"
he said, shaking hands with his Christian friend; "it is
enough: I shall go and see her before I die."
"I wish I could have accompanied you," replied the
baronet, " but this guard will look after all you want; and
you have not to leave the carriage until you reach Fairford
station, where I do not doubt some friends will meet you.
May your God and my God bless and keep you."
Little Adah ceased not to prattle during the long journey of that day. It was all about her mamma, " My own
dear mamma. Will she say,' I am so surprised to see Adah
grown?' Don't you think, my grandfather, she will take
me on her knee, and say,'May Jesus love thee, my darling?' I would like to hear mamma tell pretty stories
again. Do you think she will let me open and shut her
watch?' Why are you so grave, grandpapa?  Don't you
like to go and see my own mamma? "
The Rabbi groaned, but did not reply; and he was
greatly relieved when two other passengers came in, and,
noticing the winning little child, took her on their knee and
pointed out from the window the varied objects they passed.
At length the long journey was over, and old Moses and lit



FAITH'S VICTORY.               233
tie Adah entered the hall of Alleyne. Harry was there to
welcome his little friend, and Ethelda supported the trembling Rabbi to an easy chair in the drawing-room. Poor
old man! he was indeed very ill, and, for a couple of hours,
totally unable to see his beloved daughter, the object of all
his solicitude. He at length raised himself from the couch.
"' Now I can see Salome; " and leaning on Miss Alleyne, he
went to his daughter's room.
Father and child seemed alike near to eternity. They
wept as they saw one another again; and fell upon each
other's neck and kissed each other. A peace which passed
all understanding beamned in the countenance of the one; a
deep, settled, despairing sorrow rested in the eye of the
other.
Ethelda prevailed on Salome again to lie down on the
couch, and wheeled beside it the arm-chair and footstool for,
the aged Rabbi; and then she left them, that they might
talk together of the way wherein they had- been led. They
talked long; but before they parted, Salome said, "My
dearest father, you ask if I am still a Christian. You know
that I am dying. Consumption has made rapid inroads.
The doctor knows not whether I may live many days or
many hours. Standing on the threshold of time and of eternity, advancing into the immediate presence of the Holy
Jehovah; I have full trust and confidence in Jesus my
Saviour. He is able, He is willing, to sustain me. My
father, if you only knew Him, you, too, would doubt no
more."




234                   ONWARD.
" My child, how I have prayed that I might hear thee
express thy faith in the One, Eternal, Unchangeable Jehovah! How I have prayed that, ere you died, we might
again have fellowship in our holy religion."
"'Amen, my beloved father! may your prayer be answered above what you can ask or think."
The old man kissed his child with a sad, deep-drawn
sigh, and retired to his own apartment. His frame was
altogether exhausted, and he slept that night as a little
child.
Day by day, according as strength would allow, did
Salome talk with her father, and answer from the Old
Testament Scriptures all the arguments he advanced to
disprove the Messiahship of Jesus of Nazareth. The -old
man's hopes grew gradually fainter. He became convinced
that all endeavours to bring back his daughter to the path
whence she had wandered were in vain. He had set out,
thinking he would achieve a triumph for his faith.. He must
return, confessing that his child had died an apostate. He
sensibly felt the kindness of the Christian family, who pressed
him to remain, and continually did he pray for them, that
though their hearts were darkened, and their faith was
wrong, yet that they might receive an everlasting inheritance in the kingdom of God-a reward for the pity they
showed unto the children of Abraham.
Rabbi Moses had been about ten days at Alleyne. He
was seated beside Salome. The rest of the family were at




FAITH'S VICTORY.               235
church. His daughter had seemed more oppressed than
usual during the morning, but now she appeared revived.
"My father, dearest father! " she said, " I have two requests to make. They are the dying wishes of thy Salome.
Wilt thou, my beloved parent, let my Adah's future home be
at Allcync?  My dear friend has promised that, with your
permission, she shall be brought up with the little Harry.
Wilt thou say yes, my father? "
-"What is thy other request, Salome?  Oh! do not
break thy father's heart."
" Wilt thou, dearest father, read day by day a chapter of
this precious book? " and she handed him a large printed
copy of the New Testament. " Wilt thou read it with this
heartfelt prayer,-' Almighty God, show me the way, the
tr.uth, and the life?'"
" I know the way; why should I pray to know it?"
"Wilt thou read it for Salome's sake, my father? "
And the hand which she held, was wet with many tears.
" I will, my daughter; but I cannot promise thee concerning Adah."
" Then God's will be done! The Good Shepherd careth
for my little lamb."
The Rabbi took the Testament with him, as he retired to
his room that night. He had often read it to discover passages for cavilling, or for ridiculing; now it was to please a
dying daughter, round whom his tenderest affections were
entwined, and concerning whom he sorrowed day. and night.
He held the volume, which had seduced two of his children




236                   ONWARD.
from the faith of their fathers,-the book to which he owed
all his present grief. He trembled with almost superstitious
feelings as he opened it. Salome had placed a marker at
John, xiv., and her father commenced reading those beautiful verses.
"Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me." The.Rabbi sighed a long, deep sigh, for
the old man's heart was indeed troubled.
"In my Father's house are many mansions; if it were
not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for
you.
" And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come
again, and receive you unto myself, that where I am, there
ye may be also.
"And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know."
His heart was troubled. The simple beauty, the love,
the comfort of the words, seemed balm to his wounded
spirit. And yet they were the words of the despised
Nazarene. The conflict of feeling-the breaking down of
prejudices-the taking of the stronghold by surprise-were
too much for the aged man. He laid his head upon the
book, and wept for a long, long time. The last words," The way ye know," rung in his ears, and again and again
he repeated, " No, no, I know nothing about it. I know
not the way. How can I know the way? But it is strange?
There is comfort in this book. He read further,"Thomas saith unto Him, Lord, we know not whither
thou goest, and how can we know the way?




FrrAITH'S VICTOR.              237
"Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth and the
life; no man cometh unto the Father, but by me."
"Wonderful! wonderful words!  The words that my
child would have taught me. Is it possible that Christianity
is, after all, true; that Salome has found the way, the truth,
and the life, and that I am in error? No, no, it cannot be!
But there is no harm in praying the prayer;" and he
clasped his hands, and said with extreme earnestness,-" O
thou great Jehovah, show unto one, who is a worm and no
main, the way, the truth, and the life."
He read repeatedly the first six verses, and thought
much upon them, during the still hours of the night. The
next day he did not leave his own chamber. It.was deyoted
to prayer, and fasting, and reading of the Scriptures.
In the evening, he perused again the fourteenth of John.
As he read, " Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto
you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you;" he
mused,-" This peace hath been not pronounced only, but
experienced.  That, and that only, can sustain my Salome.
It is the word of God and not of man."  And the Jewish
Rabbi bowed his head, and worshipped Jesus of Nazareth.
It seemed strange that one who had so hated Christianity, should be so speedily convinced. But God worketh
as He will.  He delights to honour His word, and to
answer prayer.  Earnest, effectual prayer, had for long
ascended on the Rabbi's behalf. Salome's couch was often
wet with tears, as, with strong crying and great faith, she
supplicated for her father's conversion.  The family at




238                   ONWARD.
Alleyne prayed, and Sir Claude earnestly sought that a
blessing might at length descend upon the aged man; and
even little Harry's petition was not in vain, when he oftentimes asked that Adah's grandpapa might love the "dear
name of Jesus." Rabbi Moses knew well all the arguments
in favour of Christianity; and his intellect, at times clear
and unclouded, was able to gather these together, and to
gain the consent of his understanding, to the conviction of
his heart, that Jesus was the Messiah that should come-into
the world.
He had never admitted a doubt of Judaism, until, taking
the Testament from his dying Salome, he thought of her
peace which passed all understanding. That doubt soon
became a certainty; and ere many days had elapsed, he also
tasted the peace which Jesus bequeathed.
After the day of seclusion was passed, and the painful
struggle had terminated in complete conviction, the Rabbi
stood once more beside his Salome. The sands of time
were rapidly running out with her, and he saw his child
greatly changed. He took her hand.
"Salome, I have read thy Testament. I have read it
nearly all, and I have learnt that Jesus of Nazareth is the
Way, the Truth, and the Life."
The tears started into her eyes, the hectic colour
deepened in her transparent complexion. For a little while
she could not speak, and only laid her head upon his neck
and kissed him.  "My dearest, dearest father," she at
length articulated, "praise the Lord! "  But she could say




FAITH'S VICTORY.               239
no more. A violent paroxysm of coughing overcame her,
and left, her almost powerless. When somewhat recovered,
she took her father's hand, and lay gazing at him with a
smile of perfect peace, of highest joy,-it almost seemed
like a smile of heaven,-there was not the shadow of a
cloud to darken it.
Peaceful, and holy,' and joyful, were the three days that
followed that. Salome's. sun was truly setting, but. the
cloud that had overshadowed it had passed away, and each
moment, its beams appeared more golden, more resplendent.
It was on the evening of the first Friday in March, that
Salome was able to sit for a short while in an easy chair
near the fire. Her little girl stood beside her, whilst she
and her father talked of the arrangements made for Adah
to remain, according to the kind plan of Miss Alleyne.
" I have no thought now for the future. In God has
been my confidence, and He hath not failed. It is Friday
night, is it not, father? "
" Yes, my daughter."
"And God blessed the seventh day and hallowed it.
And Jesus' holy body and soul rested the seventh day,
according to the commandment; and there remaineth for
us a Sabbath-keeping.  Methinks, dear father, that whilst
the first day is now the holy day, the day of joy and
thanksgiving, the day of resurrection, still the Sabbath has
not lost its blessedness-nay, it is rather increased; for not
only does it commemorate creation's work completed, but
redemption's likewise; it is alike the Creator's and:the




240                   ONWARD.
Redeemer's day of rest. Do you not think so, Ethie?"
she said, turning to her friend.
"Yes, dearest, I quite agree with you. We may liken
it to a star that shone with double glory, just before it was
lost in the brighter dawn of day."
"Oh! yes, and it is a blessed thought, that our seventh
day of rest shall be followed by the resurrection light of
the.first day of the unrevealed-glories of a new week."
She stopped suddenly.  "Ethie, I feel very faint. Perhaps
my Sabbath dawns — "
Ethelda hastened to support her friend, who had turned
pale as marble. She laid her on the couch and endeavoured
to restore her. For a quarter of an hour she breathed. In
a broken whisper she was heard to say, " I trust in Jesus,"
and then she laid down her pilgrim-staff, the ascent being
gained, the warfare accomplished.
When the believer dies, the six days' work which the
Spirit hath wrought is beheld very good. Then, sanctification perfected, he enters on that Sabbath-keeping which yet
remaineth for the people of God.




tEUNION.                       241
CHAPTER XXIII.
REUNION.
"Brother, thou art gone before us,
And thy ransom'd soul is flown,
Where tears are wiped from ev'ry eye,
And sorrow is unknown;
From the burden of the flesh,
And from care and fear released,
Where the wicked cease from troubling,
And the weary are at rest." —MLM.&N.
NATURE looked glad on the day on which Salome was
buried. It was a bright and spring-like day,-the sky was
blue, and the air was warm, and the woods round Alleyne
resounded with the notes of countless songsters-life and
joy seemed written on everything, but in that narrow coffin
there was death. The eyes there were closed; the hands
there were still; the mother's fondness, the daughter's
devotion-all-all had passed away! The aged father stood
beside that coffin, and gazed long upon those marble features.
It was the last look, and then he turned away, and the
undertaker fastened down the coffin-lid, and soon all were
ready to convey those sacred-remains to their long, long
home. The father's head was bowed, but his was no longer
11




242                    NWAR.
a hopeless sorrow. He had learnt of Him, who is the
Resurrection and the Life, and he trusted Him with his
beloved one. "Yet a little while," he said, "and I shall
go to thee. Yet a little while, and where Jesus is, there
shall we also be. Salome, my Salome! thy mission has
been fulfilled, and now in the heavenly glory thou appearest
before thy God." The old man and the little Adah followed
to the grave as chief mourners.  The little one cried
bitterly, and yet she seemed to feel that she must comfort
her mourning grandfather, and she kissed again and again
the hand she so tightly held. Rabbi MIoses felt that the
place where his child was laid was very dear to him. He
was too much enfeebled, too much unnerved, to return to
London, and he had made arrangements to remain, during
the few days that were left unto him, at the vicarage, under
the roof of the excellent Mr. Graham. Ethelda had begged
that Adah might stay at Alleyne, and when the aged man
heard that she really desired a companion for little Harry,
he gladly assented. "I love the boy almost as my own
son," he said: "and I like to believe that my Salome's
child is brought up with him. How does God's mercy
exceed all that I could ask or think!"
The old man lingered for some time beside Salome's
new-made grave, and Rowland stood by him, to support his
tottering' frame. c "Where she is buried, there would I be
buried; and when we are laid side by side, let a small stone
tomb be placed over us, ane these words engraven there:'Jesus said, I am the Way, sand the Truth, and the Life.'"




,REUNION.                  243
iHe returned to spend his last night at Alleyne. The next
morning he was to go to the vicarage, and to be, on that day,
baptized. All was quiet at the mansion when he returned;
it semed as if a daughter of the family, a loved member of
the household, was gone.
Adah had gently found her way into her grandfather's
room, and little Harry had followed.
"My Adah will never forget her mother? " said the old
man, as the children stood beside his knee.
"No, dear grandfather, never."
"I wish people never died," said Harry, half inclined to
cry; "or, at least, that we could all die together: that
would be nice."
"Would you not be afraid to die?"
"Oh, no I You kno* how bright heaven is. But I
don't like other people dying; —I was so frightened when
Aunt Ethie was nearly killed, only I knew then that God
would make her well-and He did."
"And why didn't God make my mamma well?" said
Adah.
" I don't know," answered Harry. "God can't be cruel,
you know, can He, grandfather? "'
" No, my son: God wished Adah's mother to be in
heaven, and she is happy now with Jesus."
"Grandpapa," inquired the little boy, " don't you think
that you will very soon be going to heaven too, and see
Adah's mamma? "
"I trust so, my son. What makes you think so?"




244                   ONWARD.
"Because you are so old, dear grandpapa. I always
think, when people's hair turns white, it is' like a crown of
glory, and that they are soon going to get the one that
Jesus gives."
"And what will they do with that, my child?"
"Throw it down before Jesus; because, you know, they
don't really deserve to have it. Will it always be left there,
grandpapa, or will Jesus put it on their heads again and
say,' You may wear it, because I want you? "'
"I think Jesus will crown them with it again, my
son."
The maid now came for the children. They were tenderly
kissed by the aged man, and as he saw them leave, hand-inhand, he blessed his God, that the child of his Salome had
found a home in so fair'a heritage.
Ethelda saw him late that night, and she also talked
with him of her that was gone.
" I know that I soon shall follow," said the Rabbi; "but
since I have seen the Lord's Christ, with Simeon I can say,'Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for mine eyes
have seen thy salvation.'"
In the morning the servant called him as usual. He
did not move. He went towards the bed-all, all was
still. The eye was fixed, looking upwards; the hands were
clasped upon the heart. The expression was that of perfect
peace; the -clay tenement alone remained, the emancipated
spirit had fled-had joined his sainted child and rested in
glory.




REUNION.                    245
Aunt Ethelda took the little Adah and Harry to see the
-lifeless remains. Adah hid her face in Mi~s Alleyne's dress
and sobbed, whilst little Harry gazed thoughtfully for some
time.
"' I thought Rabbi lMoses would soon die, auntie. How
very happy he must be now! "
" Why, Harry? "
"He sees his dear Salome again, and my grandmamma,
and baby Bertha, who is buried in the church-yard: —and
the little boy's voice became more solemn, and his eye grew
brighter —" and he sees Jesus."
" My darling children," said Ethelda, and she pressed
each little one to her side, " may we indeed all see Jesus
— see Him  as He is, and be made like Him —glorious,
blessed, holy! "
The newly-closed grave was again opened, and the aged
Rabbi- was laid beside his widowed daughter, "earth to
earth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes."
Kindred dust was mingled there, and kindred spirits
rejoiced before the throne. The children of Abraham had
become partakers of a better covenant and of better promises. They possessed not the earthly Canaan, but they had
entered the heavenly; aliens from their own people, they
had become fellow-heirs with Christ and of the household
of God.




248                       ONWARoD.
CHAPTER XXIV.
SUMMER DAYS.
"Ever upward may we move,
Wafted on the wings of love:
Looking when our Lord shall come,
Longing, gasping after home I
There may we with thee remain,
Partners of thine endless reign;
There thy face unclouded see,
Find our heaven of heavens in thee."-M-ADAN.
MONTHS passed away, but the aged loses and the loving
Salome were not forgotten in the family of Alleyne. The
white stone tomb was erected, and the words that the
Rabbi had chosen were engraved, and each mountain-clamberer that still remained felt that of those, who had once
been fellow-pilgrims with them, some had reached the summit; had gained the prize, and had left behind for their encouragement the words, "Jesus said, I am  the Way, the
Truth, and the Life."
Some fruitless efforts were made by Adah's relatives to
bring the child again among them, but finding that this
coild not be achieved, the little one was left according to




SUIM. RDAYS.               247
the grandfather's written desire, to be brought up by Miss
Alleyne. She and Harry grew together as fair trees in a
well-watered heritage. The one was naturally gentle, loving, and persevering; the other was impatient, impulsive,
and imaginative. They were both tender-hearted children,
and both loved to hear stories of the Good Shepherd who
careth for His little lambs; but Harry had most to combat with, and so he felt the more strongly his need of
the Shepherd's help. He was oftener tempted, and so he
cried the more for deliverance from the tempter's power.
Loving and beloved, their life was a very happy one; and
though the little Adah, with the inconstancy of childhood,
soon ceased to miss the kind hand which from babyhood had
tended her, Ethelda often spoke of her mother and grandfather; and the little children used to love to talk of them
as being now in heaven. Sometimes they walked to Alleyne
churchyard with their black attendant, and strewed white
flowers over the graves of the departed. Sometimes they
would remain there a little while, and then Adah would
teach Boosa the letters off the grave-stone, and little Harry
would try to be alone, and kneel beside the Rabbi's tomb, or
near that of his grandmamma, and pray.
"Why does Master Harry do that? " Boosa one day
inquired.
" Oh, Boosa dear! it is so sweet to pray beside the
tomb. I like to do it; it makes me think of heaven; and
heaven is so bright."




248                   ONWARD.
"Master Harry, I think the tomb is very dark."
"Yes, down there it is; but you know that is only the
body's house. And then, when Jesus come again, it will
be no longer dark. The graves shall all open, and we shall
see the bright, beautiful Saviour, and go up and up "-and
the little boy raised his little hand as high as he could" that way, Boosa, and meet Jesus in the air. I hope Jesus
won't be very long in coming."
" But then, Master Harry, you must die first."
" No, no, Boosa, I needn't. It would be such a precious
thing to be made like Jesus, you know, without ever dying;
and the Bible says, that the live people shall be caught up
in the clouds, and there meet Jesus, and all His people who
have been dead."
The child was silent for a little while, and then said,
" I'm just thinking of something; but I must ask Aunt
Ethie about it, when I go home."
Harry did not think of it again till night came; and as
he sat in his aunt's lap, after offering up his prayers, he
said —" Auntie, dear, I wanted very much to ask you a
question —If Jesus came now, would papa and mamma, who
are in India, see Him as soon as we who are in England?"
"Yes, darling; for all shall see Him ini a moment, in
the twinkling of an eye."
"Oh! that will be nice. Then, perhaps, papa and
mamma may first meet their little Harry in the clouds with
Jesus?"




SUMMER DAYS.                   249
"And I shall see my mamma, too, and grandpapa," said
the gentle Adah-"-' Shall not I? "
" Yes,- my treasures; all who love the Lord below shall
then meet and never part again."
Little Adah's sweet voice caught the last words, and she
sweetly sang"' We then shall meet at Jesu's feet,
And never part again."
As Ethelda kissed the sleeping children that night, she
felt that they were God's messengers to rouse her own soul
to high and holy things, and she thanked her God that so
precious a charge was committed to her trust. She felt,
moreover, cheered, for God's blessing resting on her work
seemed a token that the path, which she had- chosen, was
that of duty.
Rowland was at home for his long vacation.  Never had
Ethelda so enjoyed the society of her brother. He was no
longer the schoolboy-no longer the child that needed instruction. By rapid strides he had advanced, until he now
outstripped herself in scriptural knowledge. He delighted
critically, as well as devotionally, to study God's word, and
would often knock at the door of Ethie's little' snuggery,"
as she called a small apartment near the drawing-room, and
there, with his Greek Testament, and two or three books of
reference, would consult with her concerning the meaning of
different, difficult portions of holy writ. Rowland was preparing heart and soul for the ministry.  He felt the im11*




250                   -O1WBWAD.
portance of the high and holy calling which he was to enter,
and would often say, " If, whatever we do, we should do it
well, how doubly necessary it is, when there is before one
the all-important work of winning souls for Christ, when
one's business concerns not earth, but heaven 1 "  And at
other times he would say, "If God spare me to be a clergyman, I trust to be an Oft-and-out one. I want to be ultrahigh, Ethie, in the best sense of the word,-ever to ascend
with the' Excelsior' banner, till, the ascent gained, I lay it
low at the feet of Jesus."
"God grant it, my. own precious brother!" Ethelda
would reply; and then she would imagine her brother the
ordained minister, and picture him in the Alleyne pulpit,
and fancy to herself the effect of his ministry. Suddenly
she would check these thoughts, for she knew that they were
vain, and would turn these visions of the future into prayers,
or try to engageher nIind with present realities. -Concerning her own earthly future, there was always some measure
of sadness. She had not known that she had given her
ardent affections so much to Sir Claude, as now when his
visits became fewer and fewer, and a chilliness crept over
his manner, which sunk her spirits and made her likewise
continually more reserved.
Sir Claude, on his part, had felt intensely her refusal.
At first he had hoped he might yet win her hand when the
path of duty permitted, but he imagined that she grew more
and more cold towards him; and then he remembered that
she had not responded in the least to his expressions of af



SMMR DAYS.                   251
fection. "I used to think her interested concerning me,
but so I should now be, with regard to any one, who, lost
in the mazes of infidelity, was inquiring concerning the God
of Scripture. Ethelda is too good for me. I have never
won her love, and now I cannot attempt it"' Then the
young Christian would feel that this trial was permitted by
his heavenly Father, and rightly ordered, lest, with his cup
of earthly bliss too full, he should not thirst for the fountain
of living waters; lest, with the bower on the hill-side too
pleasant, he should, like the pilgrim in Bunyan's story,
slumber- and lose his roll. He endeavoured to forget his
visions of earthly happiness, and whatsoever his hand found
to do, he did it with all his might.  Often would he ride to
the scattered neighbouring hamlets and gather together the
few country people, and expound the word of the living God
to many, who were too far from a church to think of ever
entering.its precincts. Amongst those who lived on his own
estate he endeavoured to do good. He arranged that the
wages should be regularly paid on a Friday evening, and
that all his labourers should enjoy the Saturday half-holiday.
Then, on Sunday evening, they were all collected in the
large hall of the Priory, and he read with them the Scriptures.  The housekeeper was to supply the wants of the sick
and the necessitous; but in this it was he needed so much
the counsel and influence of a wife. He had not the least
idea what poor people wanted, either for food or for clothing.
He spared no expense in making comfortable the cottages
of his tenantry, and,was ready to give shillings and half



252                   ONWARD,
crowns to all who asked. But this was what the most
worthy, and sometimes the most necessitous, would not do,
and frequently Sir Claude was pained by hearing of a case
of real distress, in his immediate neighbourhood, being unrelieved. His people, however, loved him much. They liked
his frank, straightforward manner. They knew that they
could trust him, for they knew that he ever consulted their
interests before his own. They thought he had become
"wonderful religious "-" so different to his father; but,
indeed, it was better that way than the other.; "-and " indeed it must be real, for he hadn't to make his bread by it."
Thus spoke many, who cared themselves for none of these
thingq; but there were others, who were pricked in their
hearts, and inquired, " Why am I not concerned also?"
"Does the servant need religion less than the master?"
Edward Arnold was differently received now to what he was
-when he first appeared, the vender of Bibles and religious
books. He was a welcome visitor, and always sold some of
his wares. He was considered amongst them a learned
man, and poor Nell had usually a question to ask about some
difficulty in the Bible; whilst Joseph, the groom, an intelligent fellow, used generally to seek information on some
knotty point in geography or astronomy. Edward was ever
ready to answer, but his mind was bent in one direction,he never forgot the object of his mission. Like the magnetic
needle, place him as one would, he always turned to one
point; and the pole with him, was the message given unto
the apostle, " Be ye reconciled to God."




SUMMER DAYS.                  253
" Here, now," said Joseph to him, one day: "did you
ever see the moons of Jupiter through a telescope?"
"No," said Edward, " I never was fortunate enough."
" But I have; and I want to know how that helped to
tell the quickness with which the light moves? "
"Well, you know," said Edward, " that both we and
Jupiter go round the sun in a kind of ring, or orbit; now,
if we are both at the same side of the sun together, we are
not so far away as when we are here and Jupiter is there;
and the astronomers found that they saw the time when
Jupiter's moons were eclipsed sooner when he was near to us
than when he was far away, and so they reckoned the time,
and they knew the distance between one side of the orbit
and the other, and then they divided the miles across by the
minutes. I forget the numbers, but I think it is nearly two
hundred thousand miles a second that light moves."
"Now, that's a man, Edward; tell me that over again,
and I think I'll understand."
And Edward explained it all, with greater car6 than
before.
"Ah I that's wonderful! two hundred thousand miles a
moment! That beats the railways hollow.  One can't understand it quite."
" Very true, Joe. It makes one feel how little man can
boast of, and how great He must be who said,' Let there be
light, and there was light!'"
"And sent it. flying off at that rate! Have you any
book which tells about the stars? "




254                   oNWAIM.
"'Yes, here is one-' Our Solar System'-two little volumes for one-and-eightpence."
"That's cheap enough, any way.  I'll have them.
When one reads about these things, one feels lifted out'of
one's self."
"Yes, without knowing somewhat about them, one can't
quite understand the full meaning of' The heavens declare
the glory of God, and the firmament showeth His handywork."'
" True," replied Joe; "but d'ye know the idea often
comes across me, What made God care so for -the people on
this little bit earth? Can it be true that He did? "
"Yes, if the Bible is true. You know it is written,'Lord, what is man that thou art mindful of him; or the
son of man, that thou visitest him? Thou madest him a
little lower than the angels, to crown him with glory and
honour.' That refers, I take it, both to the Saviour and the
saved."
" Well, that's just my idea.  It's very strange that
Bible. There seems in it the thought of every living man."'
" Because He who made the heart, made it. The stars
above, and the heart within, and the book beside us, all tell,'There is one God, and his name One;' and they all say,'God is love,' and' God is great:' but then the Book does
what the others can't do, it explains it all."
" It would be well, I believe, if I thought more about
it; but thank you, my man. I must off to the horses, now.
Good-day to ye."




SUMMER DAYS.                   255
And thus Edward pursued his work; sometimes in the
hall of the rich; sometimes in the cottages of the poor;
sometimes in the fishing-villages on the coast; sometimes in
the rural hamlets amid the moors.  A light seemed to beam
wherever he went, and his lamp lit many others.  He often
urged the young man to duty, or comforted the desolate
heart.  It was seldom that he had to hire a bed, or to purchase a meal. Oftener far he was obliged to decline the
pressing hospitality of the simple people. And then he left
the good behind him: he was but the sower of the seed,
leaving it to spring up, he knew not how. His master knew.
He watched it that had said, "My word shall not return
unto me void, but shall accomplish that which I please, and
shall prosper in the thing whereunto I have sent it."
One evening during that summer, Edward, somewhat
oppressed with the heat of the day, rested on a stile, doubtful whether to "try the farmhouse "' that lay across three
fields, or to hasten onwards to the village, where he should
rest. At last he determined on the former, and soon he
knocked at the farmer's door. He heard an angry voice in-'side, and feared the reception that he might receive.
It was opened by a middle-aged woman, whose appearance was certainly not prepossessing. Her dress was very
orderly, and her house appeared the essence of cleanliness;
but her features were very sharp, and her countenance extremely lowering.
"Well, sir, what's your errand here?"
"I'm a peddler, madam, selling books."




256                    ONWARD.
" Books, indeed! Why couldn't you find your way to
the back door? "
" I'm sorry I've come wrong; but I'll go round."
" Well, ye manna come through here, the passage is clean
washed; " and weary Edward took up again his heavy pack,
and found his way, somewhat circuitously, through the farmyard to the back-door.  Here, scouring the step, was a gentle-looking girl, whose eyes were somewhat red with weeping.
"Now, come in, and let's see what ye have. Ye can put
down your books upon this table here." And Edward entered a kitchen, which certainly was brighter than the countenance of the mistress. The tops of the tables looked as
if neither grease nor dirt ever stained them, and the pewter
dishes that were arranged above the dresser were brilliant as
a mirror.
" Now, what manners of books have you? "
" Bibles, ma'am."'
"Umph! Bibles I is that all? we have plenty of them
in the house already."
"I've prayer-books; also hymn-books, and several stories, and other things."
" I want a good-printed prayer-book.  The one I have
to take to church is over-small size. I know not what's
come over my eyes. I don't see so well now. It can't be
age, you know, so I won't try spectacles."
" Perhaps this may suit," said Edward, tendering a goodsized prayer-book.




SUMMTER DAYS.                 257
"Yes,that might do. I like gilt-edges, though. What's
the price? "
" Half-a-crown."
"A  crown!  That's too much.  I'll give four shillings."
" I said half-a-crown, ma'am."
"Ah, half-a-crown is more like it! Let's see it. It's
not so well bound as I thought. I'll give you two shillings."
"I never alter the price. Each book is marked in plain
figures,-the lowest mark, or rather the only mark."
"Well, then, I will just give it. Now Mary, lass, is
there anything you would like? "
Mary looked up timidly, and having wiped her hands
she came forward. She was a remarkably interesting-looking girl, fair and bright-eyed, with delicate features. She
looked as if her spirits were oppressed, and yet she smiled
pleasantly as she approached. "I did wish for a hymn-book
so very much, mother."
" Oh, yes, she does nothing, I dare say, but say prayers
and sing hymns. Well, have you any hymn-books?"
" Many," replied Edward, "from one penny upwards.
Here is a very neatly bound one for sixpence; and this one
is tenpence. Is there any one you would particularly like?"
he inquired, addressing the fair girl.
" I should like one with' Rock of Ages' in it, and another hymn,' Jesus, refuge of my soul.' 




258                   ONWARD.
" They are both in this one," said Edward, looking down
the index.
" Then, mother, may I have it? I have a sixpence up
the stair."
" Well, you may have it as a present. I dare say you
will find a sixpence wrapped in paper and put in a box, at
the furthest corner, on the right of the second top drawer in
my bed-room, —the corner, you know, nighest the fireplace."
" Thank you, dear mother; " and with a look- of gratitude the poor girl left the room.
" She is a fine-enough creature that," said the mother,
with a look of conscipus pride; "but it has cost me something to learn her tidiness; and I don't believe, after all, it's
in her nature. Not that she is very bad neither, but she is
terrible fond of reading, and I believe has all her father's
books most off by heart."
" She seems fond of hymns-the two she mentioned are
very beautiful ones."
"Oh, she is quite foolish about such. She is mighty
particular about the Sundays; " but here Mary returned,
and the mother stopped.
The money was soon paid, and Edward was going forward, when the mother, pleased with Edward's countenance,
and still more with her purchase, which she really thought
the cheapest thing she had ever seen, begged the young man
to remain and take a cup of tea with her and Mary. Ed.
ward was very much  pleased to stay.  He was more




SUMMER DAYS.                 259
fatigued than usual that afternoon, having had but a
slight dinner, and his journey having been long and hot.
There was something about Mary, also, that attracted his
interest. Perhaps it was, t]at the sour looks of the mother
showed off to advantage thetpleasant ones of the daughter;
but he certainly did feel a great wish to talk more with her
about the hymns and books of which she was so "terrible
fond."
Mary was told to make the tea, whilst the mother
toasted and buttered a tea-cake, which she called " a wig,"
and then she got down the bacon, and broiled some slices of
it before the fire.
Whilst thus engaged, Mary timidly asked Edward if he
was going to the village?
" Yes, I mean to sleep there to-night, please God."
"I wish you would call at the third house on your right.
It is whitewashed, and some India cress grows near the door.
Two old women live there. I think they might buy a largeprint tract or two."
" Thank you for telling me," said Edward. " I'll gladly
do it. Are there many about here that like this kind of
thing? "
" I don't know many. But one of those women is very
ill, and does dearly like a bit of reading."
" Who reads to her? "
" Old Nanny, her companion, when the light is good, and
the print tolerably large."
" Does. she like religious books?"




260                   ONWARD.
" Oh, yes," said Mary. "She is too far down-hill for
any other kind to lighten her."," You know, then, the value of the Lamp of Life? "
Mary coloured.
"Yes, sir, I hope, something; but I fear I'm too dullsighted to see it all."
"But you're following on to know the Lord? Don't be
cast down.  Look straight ahead-the eye fixed on the
Saviour, who has loved you; and you shall some day see
Him as He is."
MIrs. Patterson, for that was the name of Mary's mother,
now came in.  Her temper continued tolerably placid
during tea-time, and she seemed to like Edward's pleasant
conversation.
"You'll call in again, when you are this way, young
man; and if you could bring with you the story of Robinson
Crusoe, I want it for my youngest boy, Nat."
" I'll try and remember it,' said Edward. "Good evening, ma'am, and thank you kindly."
"Good evening.  Mary, you can let him  out by the
front door, and through the garden gate, and show him the
way to the village, across the field."
Mary was pleased to go: and Edward spoke to her a few
more words of Christian counsel.
"Good night! don't be down-hearted. It's all up-hill
work; but there's One that watches to see we don't faint.
Good night! I'll look in again, as your mother bade me."
" Oh, do! " replied the girl, artlessly; " I'm sure I like




SUMMERl DAYS.                 261
it. Now that's the way," pointing to the path across the
field, " and it's the third house to the right. Good even.
ing, sir! 
" Good evening! and I'I sure I like it," said Edward
to himself. "I never saw such a nice girl as that;" and
then the prayer arose from  his heart, that He who had
guided him from boyhood hitherto, might lead him right,
when the time should come to-choose a fellow-pilgrim to
share his toils and his joys in his way towards Zion.
"I know little of her yet," he thought; but what he
heard from the old woman made him like her more; and
after three hours spent in evening work in the village, telling
to all around of the Bible and its story, and selling copies
of the sacred volume and of good books in many a cottage
home, he laid himself down in peace to rest; but as he
dreamt he was continually in the presence of the gentle
Mary, and of her cross-looking mother.
Many weeks did not pass before the farm-house was
visited again, and Edward was welcome.  The "masterman" was at home-kind-hearted and intelligent, but altogether without an interest in Christ, or care for his soul.
Edward was asked to remain and sleep in Jim's bed, who had
gone to N — for a few days. Before they went to rest, he
proposed to read a chapter of the Bible; and he read of the
nobleman who desired that his son should be healed. And
then he spoke of the far greater anxiety that men should
have for the salvation of the soul. As he concluded, he
said, —




232                    ONWARD.
"And now, shall we not pray?"
The farmer and his wife arose, and the sons and daughter followed; and for the first time social prayer w'as offered
in that little parlour, and the inhabitants of the farm-house
began to call upon God.
Mary's heart especially rejoiced, because she had in
secret often prayed, that to her parents the grace of God
might be revealed; that in her family circle many might be
found, who would choose the better part, and discover that
religion's ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths
are peace.




THE FADIiNG FLOWER.                 -263
CHAPTER XXV,
THE  FADING  FLOWER.
"Perhaps it is an infant's lyre
Which waits for Him to raise;
Perhaps the songs of heaven require
An infant's voice of praise:
If it will bring more praise to Thee,
Then take him, Lord, in infancy."
IT was one dull and gloomy morning in November. Rowland had returned to college a few weeks before; and some
relations, who had been spending part of the autumn at A1leyne, had left for the south. Ethelda was in her little
snuggery, giving their morning lessons to the beloved children, who had found with her a home. To Harry they
seemed more difficult than usual, and Ethelda thought that
she had never seen the little fellow so fretful. At last, however, books were put away, and Harry, climbing on his
auntie's knee, said," Now auntie, dear, the precious Bible story, and let me
lay my head upon your shoulder."
"Why, darling? are you not well? "
" I have got rather a headache, auntie. Do tell us about




264                   ONWARD.
the little boy that had a headache and died, and that Elisha
made well again."
Ethelda complied, and little Harry fidgeted no more.
He listened to all the story, and when Ethelda told him
how the Shunammite said, "It is well," even when her
darling child was dead, Harry looked earnestly at his aunt
and said, " Could you say that, auntie, do you think, if
Harry or Adah were to die?"
" I should ask God to help me, my precious boy."
" I think, auntie, if I were to die, I should just like to
come back and tell you what heaven was like; I often wish
Adah's mamma would come back and tell us."'
"But'Jesus has told us in the Bible about heaven, as
much as it is good for us to know."
"But why did He not tell us more, I wonder? Do you
think He wants to surprise us when -we die?"
" Yes, Harry, I think it will be a glad surprise. And
in the Bible it is said, that though we don't kuow what we
shall be, we know that we shall be like Jesus. I suppose,
like what Jesus was at the transfiguration."
"Oh, then, auntie, we shall have bright clothes on,
shining like the sun I or perhaps Harry will be more like
a little star."
"And Adah like another little star," said the gentle
Jewish child.
"Yes, darlings; there is a verse that says, if we try and
make many people love God, we shall be like the stars that
shine for ever and ever."




TEE FADING FLOWER.               265' Then I must grow up to be a man first, auntie. I
wonder if I shall be a missionary man? But I have got
such a headache. What shall I do? "  And he rested the
little head, that had been raised, in his aunt's bosom. "My
throat too, auntie, is so sore; " and Ethelda anxiously observed the crimson flushing of the cheeks and felt the hot,
burning hands, for fever had already begun its ravages on
that delicate little frame. The doctor pronounced it scarlet
fever in a serious form, and the little boy was soon too illi to
know or to notice anything.
Beside his bed, night and day, might be seen his black
attendant, Boosa. Poor, faithful Boosa! He had left his
home, and kindred, and country for the sake of the child,
and now he feared the child was going to leave him. "Oh,
MlIaster Harry, if I could but die with thee! if I could but
go with thee to see thy dear Jesus! But poor Boosa not
fit. Boosa's sins too great to let him in at the golden gate.
God would say, What does Boosa do here?"  The little
Harry was unable now to tell again, " Go to the blood of
Jesus, that thy sins may be washed away; " and though
Miss Alleyne did try to comfort and rightly to direct the
poor, dark Boosa, he seemed as if he could receive no
other idea than that Harry was going where Boosa could not
follow.
At last the poor black man thought of praying to Harry's God, and going to a corner of the room, he laid his
head upon the ground, and in an earnest whisper, with the
tears running down his cheeks, he supplicated: " Thou great
12




266                   ONWARD.
God, to whom Master Harry prays-poor Boosa lies in the
dust before Thee-wilt Thou make my young master well?
May Boosa again hear his voice like the music, and see
his eyes bright as the stars?  Hear poor Boosa's cry, and
he will ever lay low at the footstool of Master Harry's
great God."
"Amen, Amen!" said Ethelda inwardly; but as she
marked the difficulty of Harry's breathing, as she observed
the constant wandering of his unconscious eye, and heard
the low muttering of his incoherent words, her heart misgave her, and she felt that Jesus was come down to His
garden to gather her beautiful and tender lily. Often, often
did she put to herself the inquiry of the beloved child but
a few mornings before,-" Could you say,'It is well,' if
Harry or Adah were to die?' It came now with a reality
altogether different to what it did at the time when the child
looked at her. with the smile of health. She could only
look up to heaven and say, " Father, teach me to be willing,
that not my will but Thine be done."
Old Mr. Alleyne was sadly cast down. Harry was his
only grandchild, and the old man loved him as a son of his
old age. And yet, to him the trial had not the intensity,
that it had to his aunt.  His greatest trial was past, when
she who was pre-eminently the desire of his eyes was removed; and though he felt how sad the house would be if
the merry little Harry were gone, yet he said, " Soon I shall
go to him, though he shall not return to me."
The tender-hearted Adah seemed as if she were des



THE FADING FLOWER.               267
tined to be a child of sorrow, and acquainted, even from infancy, with grief, and sickness,' and death. She was, of
course, wholly separated from Harry, and her usual bright
smile was only seen when she had gathered a nosegay of
the few flowers that remained, and begged the nurse to give
them to Aunt Ethelda for the darling Harry. Often she
would cry, because she was not allowed to go into his room.
"I think, nursie dear, I could put his pillows right, and help
Auntie Ethie to bathe his dear, little, hot feet with Eau de
Cologne."  And then, when reminded that she could pray
for him, she would go to her own little bedside and pour out
the infant's simple petition to her Father in heaven.
Five days had passed since Harry's sudden seizure. It
was nearly midnight, and Ethelda sat alone by the bedside.
Boosa, who watched with her, had gone down-stairs for a
fresh supply of port-wine jelly. The dear child had been
for some time asleep-a restless, moaning sleep, the eyelids
not altogether shut, and the delicate features so drawn that
Ethelda started whenever the sound of breathing varied,
fearful lest the spirit should then escape its tenement of clay.
Gently he opened his full blue eyes, and they rested on
his beloved aunt.  "Darling auntie," the little dne whispered, " pray!"
"What for, my treasure? that you may live? ")
"No, auntie, that I may love Jesus!"
The child could not say more, and Ethelda knelt down
by the bedside, and earnestly besought.the Lord, that, living or dying, her Harry might love Jesus. She then gave




268                   ONWARD.
the port-wine jelly, which, she imagined, he swallowed with
rather less difficulty, and the beloved one turned over on his
other side and fell asleep.
After two hours he awoke again. There were no symptoms of delirium, but extreme prostration of strength. He
took more jelly and looked refreshed.
" Darling auntie, I am so happy!"
"Why, my precious one?"
"Jesus loves little Harry, and takes such care of him.
I have been dreaming about the beautiful, bright angels."
"Do you wish to be with them, Harry?"
"Yes, auntie; and with Jesus.  Tell me a pretty
hymn."
And as Ethelda repeated one of his favourite ones, the
child once more fell asleep.
Hoping and fearing alternately, his aunt watched him
till the dawn of morning. She dared hardly believe that
recovery was possible; but when the servant drew up the
blind and partially admitted the early light of morning, she
perceived, that the rigidity of expression she so dreaded
had passed from the features of the beloved one, and that
he lay sleeping with the gentleness of the infant babe.
Longingly she watched for the doctor's morning visit, and
when he pronounced that the disease had taken a favourable
turn, for the first time Ethelda broke down. It was joy,
that, weakened with watching, she could not bear.  She
hastened to her own room, and praised her God, with many
tears; for His abundant loving-kindness.  She prayed for




THE FADING FLOWER.               269
Harry, and petitioned that the tender plant, if spared,
might grow up a tree of righteousness of the Lord's planting-that it might, by prolonged life, bring forth far more
ripened fruit; she prayed, as the infant had requested, that
he might love Jesus-that he might ever be the lamb of the
pasture, until he should become the lamb of the fold.
Some days passed before fear of danger was removed.
Symptoms of dropsy had supervened, but these, through
mercy, disappeared; and though the little frame seemed
more delicate than ever, all cause for immediate alarm had
passed away.
Little Harry, in his warm flannel dressing-gown, was
one evening lying on his aunt's lap. He had been looking
at pictures, but soon wearied, had nestled himself within
her loved arms. " This dear, cosy place! Oh, auntie! I
am always so comfortable when you hold me like a baby."
And then he was silent for a little while. At last he
said, "I wonder, auntie, why I was allowed to be so ill,
and yet not to die? I thought that people, when they were
very ill, always died."
" Not always, Harry. Do you remember how ill auntie
was once? "
" Yes, but then that was an accident. Do you know,
auntie, why I have been so ill? "
"I don't know all the' why,' Harry, but perhaps it was
to make you understand that pretty verse you learnt before
you were ill:'Yea, though I walk through the valley of




270                   ONWARD.
the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with
me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me."
"Was being so ill, like being in the valley of the shadow
of death?"
" Yes, darling, it was."
"Oh, then, auntie, Jesus was really with me. He made
me happy. Do you think God made me ill for anything
else? "
"To teach Auntie Ethie, and papa and mamma too,
that their darling boy is just lent them, and God, to whom
he belongs, can send for him whenever He likes; and
Harry, I think God has taught Boosa that He is the great
God, for Boosa now says- he will never pray to an idol
again."
"Does he, auntie? " and the tears filled the little boy's
eyes. " Then I am very, very glad that God made me ill! "
Harry's illness was a dark day to the mountain-clamberers, but it caused one to take up his pilgrim-staff and
commence the ascent; it led another to be yet more disentangled from earthly things, and to press forward to the
land where purified affection shall fear no rendiugs; and it
hastened the little sufferer's feet to a point of view whence
he saw heaven more plainly, and learnt to love God more
perfectly. Harry's religious feelings were deepened, and
more perseveringly the infant pilgrim sought henceforward
to follow Jesus.




THE UNEXPECTLED ARRIVAL.                271
CHAPTER XXVI.
THE UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL.
Risk, my soul, and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace;
Rise from transitory things
To heaven, thy native place.
Sun, and moon, and stars decay,
Time shall soon this earth remove;
Rise, my soul, and haste away
To seats prepared above."-MADAN.
A  BRIGHT June sun had been shining all day, and was
turning westward in its course, when Ethelda rode up to
the station to meet her beloved brother Rowland, as he
returned from college. She rode on Jeanette, and the
servant led Dapple Grey, and Harry and Adah were, as
usual, her little companions-mounted on ther gentle black
ponies, Tiny and Gipsy. They knew the corner where the
horses would stand undisturbed by the noisy train, and had
waited but a short time when the whistle was heard; and
then the train approached-and then it stopped-and then
it was off, off, further north. There seemed to be some
delay.  Ethelda feared her brother had not arrived.  "But
I think he must have come, auntie, or Ferguson would be




272                   ONWAvR.
back," said the little Harry; because Ferguson, who had
come up with a cart for the luggage, was on the platform to
meet the traveller.
"I hope he has come," said Adah, looking rather
mournfully at the pretty flags she and Harry had fastened
into their saddles.
"Oh! yes, there is Ferguson with a box: but it isn't
Rowly's box."
"It is Hubert's! " exclaimed Ethelda; and in another
minute, Hubert came bounding towards her, and with tears
of joy she stooped from her horse and kissed the bronzed
cheek of her sailor-brother. The tears were in Hubert's
eyes also, and for a little while something choked him, and
he could not speak.  At last he said, "Well, Ethie, my
girl, and how are you?  You did not expect to see the old
sailor-boy this morning; did you? And how is our father? "
" Quite well, dearest. But how have you come? And
how are you, my darling fellow?:"
"' Oh! I'm well and hearty as can be. And here you
are on old Jeanette still. And how are you, George?
And what are these two young ones?"
George touched his hat, and looked well pleased; but
the children seemed a little afraid and surprised, as if they
could not quite understand Aunt Ethelda kissing any one
but grandpapa and Uncle Rowly. " This is our Harry and
that the little Jewish Adah."
"And where is Gerty? "
"She is in London, and we expect her home to-morrow."




TItE UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL.           2 73
"I wish I had known that, I might have brought her
down with me. But, you are forgotten to-day," he said,
turning to Rowly; "'just, I suppose, like the moon when a
comet makes its -appearance."
Rowland did not feel forgotten. Cornpared to the time
of Hubert's separation, he felt as if he had seen his sister
but yesterday. To the children, however, the sight of him
gave fresh spirits.
Hubert and Rowland soon mounted Dapple Grey and
Rollo, the groom's horse; but they did not canter. There
was too much to talk about, and Hubert was already making
friends with the two little strangers.  When they had
alighted, he was soon beneath the old elm-tree, with the
children upon his knees.
"What do you call your flag, Harry?"
"It is the Union Jack; but I call it Uncle Hubert's
flag. Adah's is Uncle Rowly's flag, and there is' Excelsior'
on it."
".Then you must have known that I was coming home.
Did you, little one? " turning to the black-eyed Adah.
" No; but you know what one has, the other must have,
so Aunt Ethelda made us both flags."
"And what does' Excelsior' mean, Harry?" inquired
Hubert, in a less careless tone than before.
"It means'higherl higher!'  You know we are all
trying to get higher."
"Now, explain yourself, young man. Do you mean you
are trying to get taller? "




274                   ONWARD.
"No, no.  There is no use trying to be tall.  It
is higher —higher in betterness; getting up, up to heaven."
" And do you think, little Master Harry, you will be so
good as to reach up to heaven? "
" No, nor any of us. But Jesus, who is quite good, can
carry us up in His arms."' Oh! then we have no trouble at all?"
" Yes, but we have; for we must fight with Satan, and
you know he is always at us. Only Jesus helps us."
" Well, I see you are very well taught —quite a little
theologiah."
Hubert kissed the child with a low momentary sigh, and
the little fellow looked at him very earnestly, inquiring,
" What do you mean by thieflogigean?'
"You must ask your Auntie Ethie.  See, there she
comes."
The little fellow ran to her; but she, quite unable to
understand his question, bade him go to the arbour, where
supper was prepared for him and Adah.
She then sat beside Hub'ert, waiting for Mr. Alleyne's
return, and talking over the many events of the last two
years and a half. Though Hubert listened attentively, when
Ethelda made any remark that referred to spiritual things,
he never re'ponded, but seemed glad to turn the subject of
conversation. His manner towards her was most affectionate, and it was very evident that absence from home had
not made the sailor's heart grow cold or insensible to its
endearments.  Mr. Alleyne's carriage. was heard, and




THE UNEXPECTED   ARRIVAL.            275
Ethelda ran forward to prepare her father for the glad surprise, but found that she was forestalled by the children,
who, jumping and skipping in all directions, were flourishing
their flags and singing wildly their song of welcome to their
uncles.
Ethelda could not help, as she saw their healthful countenances, thinking with thankfulness of her darling Harry's
recovery from fever; but as she marked' his delicate frame,
she' did not forget that the immortal spirit was caged in a
frail prison-house.
The next day Gertrude arrived; the same matter-of-fact,
simple, unaffected girl that she had always been.  Hubert
delighted to pet her as he had done before, and they again
began cottage-building in the air.
" You see, Gerty, when I am an old man, and you an old
woman, we will live in one of the snuggest little cottages
that can be built."
"Yes; but then we don't know that we shall be old."
" True, little Matter-of-Fact; but then, if it should be
so, it would be a thoroughly English cottage —no French
garden, nor American shrubbery, but the dear old English
plants-furze, and lilacs, and laburnums, and roses, and
honeysuckles, and mignonette; and you will keep it, you
know, Gerty, in apple-pie order, and it will be a regular
snuggery for the bachelor and old maid."
" But if I should not be one, Hubert, what then?."
"Oh, fie, Gerty! you planning desertion already!'I
did not expect that from you. What then? Then I would




276f                  ONwAt.
cease to- be a bachelor, too, or else go again to brave the
battle or the breeze. I would never live alone."
"'Why, I think it would be rather comfortable."
"No, thank you.; to be always shut up to one's own
thoughts, that would never do. And to have no one to talk
to! Oh  I hope I am not living to be a miserable, lonely
old man."
"But all lonely old men are not miserable. There is
old Colin in the cottage. Poor, blind Jeanie died last
winter. His face always reminds me of a sunbeam."
"Indeed! I' should like to know how. It is not far
from here; we will go and see him."
And soon Gertrude and Hubert opened the outer gate
and saw old Colin, who was seated on a little wooden stool,
beneath a sort of arch of honeysuckle, leaning forward on
his strong walking-stick.
"Good afternoon, Colin," said Gertrude.  "I have
brought my sailor-brother to see you."
"And I'm right glad. I hope you're well, sir."
"Very well, thank you," said Hubert, gently shaking
the old man's hand. "Now, don't disturb yourself, I'll get
a seat; " and whilst Gertru'de brought a little chair out of
the cottage, the young lieutenant found the root of a tree,
which answered his purpose.
" And how have you been, Colin, since I saw you? "
" Very well, thank the goodness and grace of the Lord.
Ye ken, sir, that I've lost my Jeanie? "




THE UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL.            277
"So I was very sorry to hear; and do -you live all alone
now?"
"I have a grand-daughter married over yonder, and she
comes every morning and sets me right. And, then, I'm
never alone. I've the same presence that Joseph had."
"Then you are happy, Colin?"
"Well may I be that, sir. I have nothing to do a' the
day long, but think of my Lord. These puir e'es may look
down, for the back is sair bent; but the other e'es look up,
and my Lord is bringing me up. Ah, sir, the ship is near
its haven now, and I've got the Pilot sure on board."
"Ah, Colin, I wish I were like you."
"Like me, sir I-a puir sinner saved by grace. Ye can
soon be that, for my Lord never sent awa' one soul that
came to Him."
".But you were a wild one at my age, weren't you? "
" It's weel to remind one of the quarry whence he was
hewn; but I tremble, sir, when I think how near I was
being lost. God's arm pulled me out of a pit that was nigh
as black as hell. Oh, sir, what would poor Colin give if he
could now spend youth's days for God! "  The old man's
voice trembled much, and he raised the back of his withered
hand to wipe his tear-dimmed eye.
" Don't be so distressed, Colin," said Gertrude. " You'll
have, I trust, a long time to serve God in heayen."
"True, ma'am, —eternal days: but this is the prooftime, and my best days were spent in fighting not for, but
against my God. It is eternity that makes time a thing so




278                   ONWARD.
wonderfu'. A seed would be nothing, were it not that the
tree is in it. However, I may well thank God that He has
spared me longer than most men. But, Mr. Hubert, if an
old man may speak, he says, —Begin betimes to serve the
Lord. The mount is steep. Climb it when ye're young."'
"Thank you, Colin. I'll try and not forget what you
have said. But don't think that I've begun climbing yet."
" Oh, then, now sir, now / " answered the aged man, as
he tightly held the dear gentleman's hand; and as Hubert
and Gertrude left the garden, old. Colinhmused, —" Ah, he is
not far from the kingdom of heaven! " and he prayed,
" Take him in, Lord; take him in."
The voice often rang in Hubert's ears,-" Oh, then, now,
sir, now! " and often the wish rose in his heart that he, too,
were like Ethie and Rowland. The religious impressions
which he had felt' during the early part of his voyage had
been deadened, and now he struggled more than before
against the truth. He was very ambitious of worldly distinction; and his frank, manly air, his courage, and his
ability had enabled him to progress more rapidly than he
could have expected. He was a mountain-clamberer; but
the summit whither he sought to ascend was human greatness, not Divine glory. He was much struck with the difference in Rowland.
1" I can hardly believe that is Rowly," he said one day to
Ethelda. " I used to think him rather a selfish, sulky fellow, and now he is so different. One thing, he is regularly




THE UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL.            ~79
a young man now, and a clever fellow, too.. He is rather
too quiet, but I do like him. He is sterling good."
The tears came into Ethelda's eyes as she heard this
praise of her favourite Rowland.
"He is," she replied; " and you will like him the better
the more you know him. Don't you think he will make an
excellent clergyman some day?"
" Oh, yes. He is the very man for it. I wish all our
parsons were like him. I shouldn't care to be a little more
like him myself, but I suppose it is not in my nature."
" No, not to be quiet and plodding like him. But you
said he is quite different to what he was; why should it not
be so with you?"
" Oh, Ethie, dear, I can't: so there is an end of it; " and
he left the room.
Ethelda's heart ascended in prayer: —" Lord, thou
canst; —for the glory of Thy name, change our Hubert's
heart."
"I must be off again in a week," said Hubert one morning at breakfast. "I wanted to see your sandhuts, Rowland, and I wanted to ride over to Laverock Priory to see
Sir Claude. Won't you both go with me to Laverock
to-day? " he said, addressing his brother and sister.
" I dare say Rowly will, but I don't think I can."
"Why, now?  What is there to keep you?  You are
not afraid of the bachelor, are you? "
"You are an impertinent creature, Hubert!" said




280                   ONWARD.
Ethelda, colouring. "I don't wish the children to miss
their lessons in the morning."
" Oh I then we can go in the afternoon."
"I have to walk down to the village, then, and see the
vicarage gardener. I have promised some plants for their
new walk."
So Ethelda excused herself, but her heart was heavy as
her brothers rode off. There had arisen a certain degree of
coldness between herself and Sir Claude. He imagined that
she avoided his society, and he was too sensitive to presume
for a moment, when he thought that his presence was irksome. Yet, whilst he could not help loving her, she Ifelt
more and more that her earthly happiness had been bound
up in his, and there was frequently a sadness over her spirits
that Rowland often perceived, but could not understand.
Sir Claude was at home, and received the young Alleynes in his handsome library.  His ingenuous character
suited Hubert well; and though they soon discovered that
their separate objects of interest were very different, yet
they seemed friends at once by a congeniality of disposition.
Sir Claude mentioned, as they were leaving, a large room
that he had had built, in which his tenantry might meet on
a Sunday evening.
"I once thought," he said, "of turning the drawingroom, that used to be, into such a one, but I could not quite
make up my mind.."
" Of course not," said Hubert.  "You don't mean to
-live in this place all your life without being married? "




THE UNEXPEC.TSED ARRIVAL.           281
" One can't marry every one," replied Sir Claude, rather
seriously.
" But if there is not any one that will suit, you must be
difficult to please.";" Do you care'for the notes of the chaffinch after listening to the lays of the nightingale? "
"Then you have heard a nightingale once?  Don't despair. Surely this charming place will yet decoy her. Take
my advice,-Keep your drawing-room, and live in hope."
" Can it be that he knows Ethelda cares for me?"
thought Sir Claude.  " He speaks so confidently that I
think he must;" and the baronet's eye brightened, and he
again imagined that he saw Ethelda gracing his drawingroom  and benefiting his poor people.  They visited the
reading-room, neatly and thoughtfully arranged: comfortable seats for the old near the reader's chair; low seats for
the little children; and chairs for the invalids where there
was no draught.
" Won't you come over and read here some Sunday evening?" asked Sir Claude of Rowland.  "I want some one
to stir up my poor people."
" I fear lest I am not the man for that; but I will with
pleasure come over and do the best I can. Perfect weakness is the back-ground that shows out perfect strength, and
so I'll venture."
" That's right! Will you come next Sunday? "
" No. After Hubert goes away —Sunday week. Will
that do? "




282                   ONWARD.
"Yes, quite well. I hope you will do us good."
"He is a nice fellow, that," said Hubert, as he and Row.
land rode along. ", It's a great pity, though, he isn't married. I'm sure I would be, if I were he."
"I think he is better as he is, than with a bad wife."
"Surely that is not the alternative. I was inclined to
tell him, there was more than one nightingale in the wood.
It must be so miserable living alone."
" I don't think so," said Rowland, smiling.
" Oh! you're a good fellow, and I'm a bad one," replied
Hubert.
" No, indeed. It is just the contrary. You are better
cut out than I am to make others happy."
" Not now. How is it, Rowly, you are such a different
fellow from what you were? "
" I wish I was far more different; but it is God's doing.
Do you remember Ethie singing' Excelsior' one night, and
our talking about the different mountains we might ascend?
I remember so well her saying,' Higher up earth's mountain leads to the slippery glacier, Higher up God's mountain leads to the Father's right hand.' God helped me to
choose His own mount, and though I have often stumbled,
He has held me up, and the longer I try the happier I am."
"And I," said Hubert, "have tried earth's mountain,
and the longer I try the more unhappy I am. But I can't
help it; it is my nature; " and he loosened his rein and galloped onwards.




A WVEDDING-DAY.                        2883
CHAPTER XXVII.
A   WEDDING-DAY.
" Hark! how the birds do sing,
And woods do ring.
All creatures have their joy; and man hath his.
Yet if we rightly measure,
Man's joy and pleasure
Rather hereafter, than in present is.
Not that he may not hero
Taste of the cheer;
But, as birds drink, and straight lift up their heads,
So must he sip, and think
Of better drink
He may attain to, after he is dead,"
HERBERT.
As the nights were growing long, and the winds cold,
and the trees brown, there dawned a day that seemed
brighter than those that either preceded or followed it: a
day when hearts were glad, and good wishes were breathed
by many in the villages of Rotherburn and of Alleyne.
It was the bridal-day of Edward Arnold and of Mary
Patterson. The wedding had been at the parish church of
Rotherburn, and with scrupulous care the wedding-breakfast
had been prepared  at Allenwick  farmhouse.  It was not




284                    ONWARD.
more than three miles from Laverock Priory, and Sir Claude
had taken special interest in all the arrangements. His gardener had supplied dahlias, and geraniums, and verbenas, to
deck the rooms; and he was allowed to rob the greenhouse
of its few white roses, that the bride might hold her owp
appropriate bouquet. His gamekeeper had also sent pheasants and partridges, and Mr. Patterson was well pleased to
carve the baronet's game.
Edward and Mary had plighted their troth, and were
wed;, they had received the heartfelt congratulations of
many friends, and the cheers of the villagers as they passed
along, and now Mr. Patterson's old spring-cart was standing
at the door to convey them to their future home. Jim and
Willie, two of Mary's brothers, were trying to lift the bride's
well-filled "kist" into the cart, when they saw advancing
along the narrow lane that led to the farm-house, a little,
strong, dark pony, drawing another cart. It had a seat and
a rail across it, was painted green outside and white within,
and was driven by Jim, the groom at Laverock Priory.
As soon as it stopped, Jim jumped off, and entering the
kitcheni shook hands heartily with Edward  and MIary.
" Here are my own best wishes first, Arnold," said the
honest man; " and, Mrs. Arnold, many and rich years of
good fortune and real happiness for you and yours. But I
must give you my master's message.  He's sent you a present, I cannot well bring into the room, but perhaps as ye're
just ready to start, ye'll come outside and see it."
The wedding-party soon stood in the front of the house.




A WEDDING-DAY.                 285
Jim quietly walked up, and stood by the pony's head.
"Where is it?  What is it?" each one whispered. The
cart appeared empty, and nothing else was to be seen, save
Tray the dog, Grey the cat, and many hens and chickens, all
of which were natives of the place.
"Well, man, where is it?" Mr. Patterson soon inquired, aloud.
" Walk round here, Arnold, and ye'll see," answered
Jim, with a broad look of pleasure.
Edward and Mary walked round, and soon they read,
neatly painted on.the new spring-cart, " Edward Arnold,
Book-hawker."
" Now, then, do ye understand?  The cart and the
pony, and the harness and the whip, are the master's presents, and he bade me say, he hoped you would drive up to
the Priory with it, as ye passed on your way home. You
need not mind to drive it, for it's gentle as a lamb.1"  Edward had no words to reply, but Jim, enjoying the surprise
of the assembled party, turned now to the brothers, and
said: -
" Look now, I'll help you with that kist there: ye will
not want this cart the day." And with a little contrivance,
he placed the " kist "' and some smaller packages in the new
vehicle.," Now, good-day. Don't come over-quick, or I shan't
get afore you to the Priory; " and off was Jim with a heart
well-nigh as pleased as though he had been the owner of the
bride, of the pony, and of the cart.




286'                  ONWARD.
Mary had re-entered the hbuse, and someway she lingered, she knew not why. Her feelings were mingled; so
varied and so strong that. they quite overpowered her, and
she sought a quiet room to weep. Her future was bright,
as bright could be-not one speck upon its wide horizon.
Her husband, the man whom she loved, whom she honoured,
with whom in sentiment she was one. Perhaps it was its
very happiness that made her cry. The past had with her
been cloudy. From those of her own household she had
had no sympathy in her inmost feelings; and often had she
trembled, and often had the tear started into her eye,
through the unkindness and hard language of her mother.
Yet she had loved her home-she had felt the joy of making her father happy, of pleasing her brothers: and they
who for others reflect sunlight, must receive some of its
rays direct. And then she, moreover, knew, that though her
mother spoke so crossly, she was still her friend and her
counsellor; and she felt conscious how much she would
miss the interest, that mother took in all that concerned
her. The bride had disappeared-her mother sought and
found her leaning against the bed, where she hid her weeping eyes.
" Why! Mary, my honey, but you mustn't take on this
way! Your man is waiting for you, and it wouldn't do to
give him a weeping bride. You needn't rue your step already! it's done the now, and can't be mended."
"Oh, no, mother; I don't rue it, indeed I don't: but
someway every body is so kind to us. It shows how Edward's




A WEDDING-DAY.                 28 7
thought of. He's just far too good for me. But, mother,
there's something too about leavinghome, when it comes to
the push."
"But Mary, lass, it's for us, not you to think of that.
You get a husband, but we lose our child. However, we'll
come over and see you. Let's see, Monday is the churning.
I'll try and get over on Tuesday, and bring you some of
Daisy's butter."
" Oh, thank you, dear mother, thank you! Edward and
I wanted to give you and father a present before we set off;
but I felt so shamed like-that cart and pony quite upset
me. D'ye think they'd come up here? it's but a little
thing, mother."
Mother soon called Edward and father, and Edward
placed a -small square parcel in her hand. "Don't open it
till we're off. You've given me the real child; I couldn't
do less than that. But now, before we start, shan't we ask
an Almighty Father's blessing?"
" I thought you wouldn't go without some prayer, and I
dare say you're right," said the father.
So Edward knelt down and prayed for blessings on their
kind and honoured parents, and on themselves; and prayed
for an eternal meeting in that blest world, where they neither
marry nor are given in marriage.
" Now Mary, lass, ye'd better go," said the father; " bid
your mother good-by;" and he led her down stairs, and
each brother kissed the bride and said something cheerful,
but it was with an effort that they did so; and then the




288                   ONWARD.
father kissed her the last —" Good-by, my bonnie girl."
And as he shook hands with Edward- " She is worth something; mind you care well for her. May God bless you
both!"  And the bride and bridegroom  drove away mid
the cheers of the little group in the farm-yard.
Mary's face was bright as usual when they reached the
Priory; and pleased were they to thank Sir Claude, and to
receive his frank and heartfelt congratulations.  When they
reached the village of Alleyne in the dusk of the evening, a
surprise awaited them  that they had not expected. The
village-boys had made a bonfire on tho Castle-hill, and as
the little spring-cart approached, raised a hurrah so loud and
so hearty, that if Sheltie had not been as quiet as Jim
had described it, a serious accident might have resulted. It
was an expression of welcome, real, natural, unstudied-a
sound that told Mary how much Edward the colporteur, the
Sunday-school teacher, the poor man, and the poor-man's
friend, was valued in his native village. The church bells
rang merrily as they drove down the street, and now they
came to the neat cottage near the river-side, which was to
be Edward's future home.  The children had made that
day with evergreens, and mountain-ash, and snow-berries, a
little triumphal arch, and six coloured lamps were placed in
it, and on its summit a small transparency, arranged by Isa
and Mary Graham, in which " Love " might be traced. Inside the cottage a supper of welcome was prepared by the
bridegroom's friends, and near the head of the table sat




A WEDDING-DAY.                289
good Mr. Graham. The tears stood in Mary's eyes again,
but they were now tears of unmingled thankfulness.
When supper was over, a gentle knock was heard at the
door, and then there walked in the twelve boys of Edward's
class, headed by our old friend Peter M'Gee.
They all made a salute, somewhat in military style, and
Peter being spokesman came forward.
" We wished, sir, to tell you how right glad we all were
that ye've got so fair and good a bride, and we wish you
every happiness the Lord of heaven and earth can give;
and ye know, sir, we cannot wish for more; and we hope,
sir, ye'll just take this mark of our love." And, with a
beaming countenance, he handed him a large and beautiful
morocco-bound copy of God's holy word.
"' Oh, boys, this is too much, too much! " said Edward,
with heartfelt emotion.
" Oh, sir, say nothing about it," replied Peter. "Ye've
given us the light-the book is only the holder. Ye've
made us taste the kernel, the book is but the nutshell.
Don't say aught about the thanks. They're all on our side.
Ain't they, boys? "
The boys with one voice answered, " Yes, sure they are.
-yes, yes! "
"Then if I musn't say thanks to you, my dear fellows,"
said Edward, " I must thank Him, who has showered down
His mercies this day on me and mine. Such undeserved
mercies the whole day through! And, boys, I must ask
you to pray for your old teacher, Arnold, that he may in13




290                   ONWWAD.
deed be grateful; that lie and his dear bride here may always look right afore them to a brighter land than this can
ever be, to a more hallowed marriage-supper than the one
of this night; and that, looking forward we may go forward, and never tire till we are safe arrived at the heavenly
Father's home. Boys, you'll pray for us, and we will pray
for you, that this sacred volume may be a light unto our
path, for there is no other way to guide our feet aright."
Then Mr. Graham knelt down and prayed, and all in
the cottage knelt, and the best blessings were supplicated;
and Edward and Mary took courage, for they felt that
Heaven's sunshine beamed on the first step of their married
life, for they believed that the Hearer of prayer would assuredly bless their union, and make it unto them that fountain of joy, which should strengthen them to ascend with
gladder feet the mount of God, the heights of Zion.




THE MOUNTAIN-TOPS APPEARING.                  291
CHAPTER XXVIII.
THE  MOUNTAIN-TOPS  APPEARING.
" The golden palace of my God,
Towering above the clouds I see,
Beyond the cherubs' bright abode,
Higher than angels' thoughts can be.
Conduct me, Thou life-giver, there,
Conduct me to Thy glorious throne I
And clothe me with Thy robes of light,
And lead me through sin's darksome night,
My Saviour, and my God."-BowRING.
THE north wind had been blowing bitterly all the morning,
gathering instead of dispersing the clouds that, charged with
snow, seemed at length noiselessly to shake their hovering
wings, and let their downy flakes descend upon the frozen
earth.
The snow fell thick and cold, spotless and silent, covering the visible world with a sheet of uniform purity —an
emblematic foretaste of the time when it shall again be
decked in robes of righteousness, and peace shall flourish
throughout its borders.
On this inclement day might have been seen, rapidly
crossing the little piece of moorland that formed a portion
of the road between Alleyne and Laverock, Sir Claude




29-2                  ONWARD.
Wentworth upon his fiery steed. The horse appeared to
care for the weather more than the rider did. He seemed
almost insensible either to the snow-drift or the blast, and
there was on his countenance an expression of happy
satisfaction which it had not lately worn,-there was the
removal of the anxious doubt that had for so long somewhat
overclouded it.  Sir Claude had ventured again to tell
Ethelda of his unchanged love, and she had, with a tear
that she could not repress, acknowledged how she cared for
him, though she positively refused to allow him to enter
into any engagement with her then, since more than a year
must elapse before her way could be made clear to leave her
father's house. Still she loved him, and thus he could look
brightly forward through future years; and thus he saw
before him a sunny portion of the way, cheered by her
presence who was the dearest object of his earthly affections. He was very jealous lest this bright sunbeam should
dim the yet more perfect light in the distance,-lest this
beautiful vista should distract his eye from the yet more
transcendent glories of the land beyond the grave,-lest the
delights of the creature should cause him to forget the
perfections of the Creator. He watched against this temptation, and God kept him, so that he was not ensnared.
Since that bleak and dreary day, in Sir Claude's estimation the brightest of that long period, twelve months had
again passed away, and the year was commenced that would
probably see many changes in the family at Alleyne.  So
far as man could prognosticate, they would be changes




THE MOUNTAIN-TOPS APPEARING.         293
bright and happy, and Ethie and Rowland sat up till long
after midnight, looking back upon the past and speaking of
the possible future.
"I often think," said Rowland, "that these Newyears'
mornings are milestones on a hill. We may rest on them
for a little while, and look back on the way that God has
led us; and then we may look forward, and endeavour
through the mist to discern the outline of the leading points
in that unknown country, which we are about to enter."
"Yes," replied his sister; " it is quite clear behind, and
therefore, no doubt, it is more profitable to retrace the steps
we have been led. I dread looking forward into the future.
The mist is so thick, even when we imagine the outline is
discernible, that we are very apt to make mistakes. Should
we not try to be content with the assurance that it is our
heavenly Father who knows and orders our appointed lot?"
"True, Ethie; but hope will some way paint, with
perhaps fancy colours, the bright pictures of the future. I
own that I am looking forward very much to leaving
college, and entering the ministry of my God and Saviour,
and proclaiming from the pulpit the message of redeeming
love; and all, I hope, before the end of this year. And
then, Ethie, tell me candidly, are you not looking forward,
too, to bright days at Laverock Priory? "
"Ah, but Rowly, life is always uncertain! "
"And will brighter days still, in the kingdom of our
Father, be a disappointment, Ethie? Will serving in the
temple above be a meaner service, than in the courts of the




294                   ONWARD.
sanctuary below? The uncertainty of life should surely not
cost the Christian one tear.'He hopes a better rest to
find.'"
"True, Rowly. Faith in Jesus does, indeed, make a
wonderful transformation in all our feelings. I have often
thought of that on reading the beautiful verse, the addition
sum of the Christian's possessions,-' All things are yours;
life and death, things present, and things to come:' the
very figure that subtracts all happiness from him who
knows not God, is the figure that adds to the completeness
of His children's joy.  We forget our possessions; we do
not often enough count them over."
"Don't you think, Ethie, -Christians must disappoint
Jesus more than the ungodly? We do not hear of one
look of sorrow when Judas betrayed; but when Peter
denied, then, amid all His personal sorrow, the'Lord
turned and looked.' I feel we need to aim at higher
holiness —to press more earnestly forward-to pant after
closer communion with Jesus; not to grovel on earth, but
to have our citizenship, our hearts, our lives where Jesus is."
"Yes, Rowly," replied' Ethelda; "but how can we
attain?"
"Oh! I think it is, by looking very little down, very
little within; not measuring the ground we have trod, but
always looking up-always looking onward. I remember,
when at school, it was a bad way to learn lessons, by counting how many lines I had mastered."
Before the brother and sister parted on that early




TIHE MO-INTAIN-TOPS APPEARING.        295
morning, they knelt together, and each one prayed. They
prayed for much strength, for close communion with their
God. They told Him of their helplessness, and supplicated
that His power might hold them. They laid before Him
all their aspirations, and pleaded the promise, "Open thy
mouth wide, and I will fill it." Their petitions were large,
but they knelt before a King: their entreaties were urgent,
but they prayed as needy supplicants. If'they should live,
their earnest longing was to live for God; if they should
die, it was to rest in Jesus.
Strengthened for the new campaign, prepared for its
conflicts, and armed with. Heaven's own armour, Rowland
and Ethelda rose from prayer. It was not probable that
they should kneel together when another year would dawn,
but they trusted, when years would become eternities, and
faith's fleeting hours would all have passed, that they should
kneel before the throne of glory, and that the fellow-pilgrims
of the early portion of the way should become the coinheritors of that land which is far beyond the clouds and
mists of earth.
Among the bright anticipations of the family at Alleyne,
as the new year dawned, was the return from India of the
father and mother of the little Harry, and his infant sister,
a dear, tender child of three years old. Harry's eyes would
kindle with pleasure as, in imagination, he went over and
over again, the first sight of his beloved parents, and the
first kiss that he should imprint on the soft, pale cheek of
the little Beatrice. And yet, as he continued his childish




296                   ONWA1RD.
train of thought, a sadness would cloud his bright eye,
because he knew it was but the prelude of his separation
from his beloved Aunt Ethie, and his little friend of the
children of Israel.  At such times, when-all alone, the tears
would gather, and the boy's head would be pressed against
the table, and there remain in a long unbroken reverie.
But ere he raised it, the brightness he needed was restored.
That young heart had held communion with Him  who
changeth never, and he felt, that though he should no longer
feel the close sympathy of that heart, which had, almost
from his earliest recollection, shared every joy and every
sorrow, yet that Jesus would not leave him; and in the
expectation of parting from her who had been the staff of
his infant pilgrimage, the child looked onward with more
longing eyes, and raised upward his more earnest hand, that
the eternal God might guide and guard his young footsteps
in the heavenly race.  Harry left the creature for the
Creator, and ere that year had closed, he was conscious of
increased strength —of more successful struggles-of more
rapid progress.
Percy Alleyne had not seen his father nor his father's
home for twelve years.  As he approached England, his
heart warmed more and more towards the scenes and friends
of his childhood; and when he reached London, he felt an
impatience of spirit he could not repress, so that, leaving his
wife in the south, he hastened homewards. The bright
green buds of May were decking the lately leafless branches,
and as he walked along the lanes-for no one knew that he




THE.M$6UNTAIN-TOPS APPEARING.         297
was coming-his heart bounded with joy, to recognise again
the old favourite hawthorn, and the bright, but delicate
stellaria. As he passed Alleyne church, he took the road
that led through the grave-yard, and turned aside for a few.
moments, to stand beside the grave of his sainted mother.
The "Lamb as it had been slain," arrested his attention,
and as he lingered there, he heard near him the voices of
children. He turned suddenly round, and saw standing
beside a white t~mb-stone a boy and girl, who appeared
nearly the same size and age, but who did not look like
children of the same family. The golden hair and bright
blue eye of the boy contrasted with the dark glossy curls
and deep black eye of his little companion. The children
were looking at the tomb, and did'not observe his presence.
"Adah, dear," said the little boy, "when papa and
mamma come home, I should like to bring them here, and
show them this grave and my grandmamma's grave; and
you come, too, darling, and then we will tell them how your
mamma and grandfather loved our Jesus; and then we will
talk of heaven, where they all stand together. But what is
the matter, Adah? "
The tears had gathered in the little girl's eye, and
throwing herself on the grassy mound beside the tombstone,
she cried as she had hardly ever done before.
Harry laid down beside her, and putting his arm round
her neck, he said, gently, "D.on't cry, my own dear Adah:
You know it was God who wished them to be in heaven."
13*




298                   ONWARD.
" Yes; but my papa and mamma will never, never come
home to their little Adah,-and that makes me cry."
"But, Adah dear, you will go to be with them, and I am
sure that is far better. Oh! I wish that we were all in heaven,
and then we should all meet papas and mammas together;
and Auntie Ethic would be there too, and not be going away
to leave us."  And the boy raised his head upward, and he
gazed on the clear western sky, as if he would look through
its azure veil, and see the heaven where Jesus is.
The sun had just set, and a few golden clouds floated
lovelily in the horizon. The child's blue eye watered with
the light that still beamed there, when, again turning to
Adab, he said,"I:have often thought, Adah, that those clouds are so
like our dear friends who are dead."
"How, Harry? " asked the inquiring little child.
"They once were, you know, grey, rainy clouds —sometimes crying, like us; but now they are far away at the door
of heaven's other side, waiting to float over a new world, but
staying there with their golden robes, telling us how beautiful
Jesus has made them. And I think I am not wrong, for the
sun makes those clouds golden; and you know, in the Bible,
Jesus is called the Sun of Righteousness. But now, Adah,
let us look at grandmamma's grave, and then we must be
home, or auntie will think that we are lost."
The children passed round, and were startled to see a
stranger. He-looked at them earnestly; he was aware they
could not know him, and he felt the place was too sacred




THE MOUNTAIN-TOPS APPEARING.          299
suddenly to surprise such tender spirits. With a strong
effort of self-possession, hewalked away, but his heart yearned
over the child of strange thoughts and of deep feeling, his
own beloved Harry. He and they reached the old mansion
together; he had gone by a shorter way, they had cantered
homewards on their little ponies.,Dinner was over, and Ethelda was watching the return of
the. young ones, when she saw a stranger approach through
one of the private walks.. She watched him earnestly for a
few moments, and then, with an exclamation of joyful surprise, she threw herself in the arms of her brother Percy.
Harry, who had jumped off his pony, immediately comprehended the scene, and running forward exclaimed, " It is
papa!  I'm  sure it is papa! " and it was but a moment,
when the long-separated father clasped again the boy, who
was so precious to him. Kindred hearts beat one against
another in that long embrace, but the tears did not rise in
Percy's eye till, with his son standing beside him, he took
again his sister's hand and silently expressed the gratitude a
father's heart alone could feel. The little Adah was not
present. Gentle child! she had gone to her sleeping-room,
had read her evening psalm, and had sought especially the
verse, " When father and mother forsake me, then the Lord
taketh me up."  She had hastened to undress herself ere the
maid came in, and had buried in the pillow her weeping eyes.
Ethelda forgot not the orphan in her Harry's joy.  She
sought the little child, and laying her head upon the pillow
that was wet with tears, she spoke sweet and tender words




300                  ONWARD.
of comfort, till Adah, reassured, clasped her adopted auntie,
exclaiming, " Oh I it will be happy Adah, when I meet my
own mamma at the feet of Jesus Christ, and we never part
again. If Harry is so happy now, what will little Adah be
then?"
With the blissful hope of this reunion, the dear Jewish
child fell asleep, and she looked peaceful as before, though
the heavy tear-drops still moistened her long, dark eyelashes.
Earth's reunion was the privilege of the joyous Harry;
Heaven's reunion was the anticipation of the orphan Adah.




HASTsING. ON.                 301
CHAPTER XXIX.
HASTENING  ON.
"Awake, my soul, stretch ev'ry nerve,
And press with vigour on;
A heavenly race demands thy zeal,
And an Almighty crown."
ROWLAND'S college days were very nearly passed, and the
hard work of the examination was almost over, when, by the
side of the river, he and Stanley Gardiner, his special friend,
strolled out together. One was preparing for the ministry,
the other for the bar: but both were anxious to serve their
common Lord and Master; both were determined, by the
help of God, to be " Christ's faithful soldiers and servants
even unto death."
"I suppose, Alleyne," said young Gardiner, "that you
will soon put on uniform. I could almost envy you, but God
has not opened my way for the ministry of the Church-I
mean, the official ministry; for you know I quite hold that,
in its highest sense, we are all a royal priesthood, and that




302                   ONWARD.
we all have not only a real, but an appointed ministry in the
Church below."
"And I thoroughly agree with you.  Divers graces
and divers places in the Church militant. But as the Victoria Cross can be gained alike by the private and the general,
so the crown of glory, and the' Well done, good and faithful
servant I' are alike for the minister and the people."
" All true: but there are some crosses that can only be
gained by the commanding generals; and so there are some
crowns that seem reserved for them who can, like Paul, write
unto the churches,-' MIy brethren, dearly belovedand longed
for, my joy and crown.'"
" But ordination does not put that within our grasp," replied Rowland. " Is it not rather a life devoted to God, the
will intent on serving Him, and seizing each opportunity that
offers to snatch the brand from the burning? There is many
a humble mechanic that will wear a nobler badge of glory
than the ordained minister. I grant that my opportunities
will be greater; but opportunities are not actions, position is
not service."
" Yes; and opportunities are responsibilities, and position
causes expectation, Alleyne. I am sure that the laity should
pray earnestly for the ministry. Men like ourselves, but requiring special grace-cities on the hill-lights raised to
high places."
" You will not forget me, then, Gardiner? "
" No, my good fellow. When are you to be ordained?"
" On Sunday week, if God permit."




HASTENING ON.                 303
"And you begin work at once? "
"Yes; I should fear to delay. Life is very uncertain,
and I may have but a short time, ere I render the account
of my stewardship. I like the idea of being curate amongst
the people whom I already know, and the good old man,
whom I hope to help, needs assistance. He is not so strong
as he was. I hope to be the helping arm to him, and he will
be the guiding hand to me."
" Ah! the lines are fallen to you in a pleasant heritage.
But don't overwork yourself, Alleyne.  You will need a
rest. You are such a regularly plodding fellow."
" Not this summer; change of work will be itself refreshment. I expect to find the path so inviting, that I shall
run and not be weary."' I don't want to dishearten you, but remember, there
will be many a thorn and many a sharp stone, that are not
seen at the distance."
" I know; but there is a promise for every trial,-a balm
for every wound,-a stretched-out hand for every difficulty.'Nay, in all these things we- are more than conquerors
through Him that loved us.'"
"Well, I cannot dim your prospect, and I would not."
"I know there will be clouds, Gardiner; but the sun
will ever be behind even the darkest: and as I get higher up
the mount, the clouds below will increase, and the clouds
above will lessen, till at length I shall stand on its summit,
and a cloudless heaven shall be around me. Not that I




304                   ONWARD.
stall myself attain.'Ebenezer,' will be engraven on each
stone of the cairn that marks the mountain's top.'
" You talk like a traveller to whom distant things are
coming near."
"And they are. How often I have longed for college
days to be over, that I might be ordained! And one knows
not, Gardiner, how soon earth's school-days may all be past,
and we be called to the Father's eternal home."
"But perhaps, Alleyne, you have done as much good in
the college as you will ever do in the parish. I, for one,
can thank God that you were brought here."
The tear rose in Rowland's eye.  "Then, Gardiner,
wherever, whensoever, how long soever God chooses: only
let us pray for one another, that we may each do the will of
our Father."
Stanley Gardiner was one of the little knot of friends
whom Rowland had by quiet influence. rallied round him,
for his college days had not been unfruitful in: God's work.
He was of too retiring a disposition to take the lead among
those who were his equals, but there was a steady perseverance in his character,-there was an earnest simplicity in
his aim,-there was an unobtrusive modesty in his demeanour, which had made Rowland universally esteemed,
and by those who really knew him, sincerely beloved. He
had, by quiet, consistent conduct, commended the religion
he professed,-and when, on the last evening of his residence
at college, he gathered his friends around him, they each felt
that they were parting with a brother, whose advice, so




HASTNING  ON.                 305
judiciously and kindly given, was indeed valuable; whose
friendship, so constantlyand unselfishly shown, could not
easily be replaced. Rowland had turned into a right channel
many a stream just gushing forth from the fountain. Rowland had rallied round the banner of the Cross many a
soldier, henceforth devoted to the Captain of his salvation,
but who had once halted between two opinions. He was as
the breeze that passes onward, leaving its healthful influence
on trees, and herbs and flowers; he was as the billow that
reaches the shore, bearing on its bosom the richly-laden
vessel. The breeze has gone, the billow has disappeared,
but their work remaineth,-they have fulfilled their mission;
-like the angels of God, they have done His pleasure.
*k        *          *         *         *
The bells of the village church of Alleyne rang their
Lord's day chime —the chime that tells not of sabbath rest,
but of resurrection joy-that invites not to passive repose,
but to active devotion. More country carts than usual had
been drawn into the village that morning, and an increased
number of passengers might have been observed crossing the
meadows, descending -the Castle-hill, walking along the
footpath that followed the winding river, or crossing the
bridge with its olden tower. Young Mr. Rowland was on
that day to deliver his first message of reconciliation from
the pulpit of Alleyne. He was known, and he was loved.
It was he who visited poor Jamie Clark when he was dying,




306                    ONWARD.
-it was he who cared for the poor ragged children on the
links,-it was he who taught at the Sunday school, and
regarded the favourite Edward Arnold as his friend,it was he whom the servants at Alleyne honoured, for he
ever thought of their happiness and sought their welfare.
I-e was one who considered others better than himself, and
treated the poorest man, not with condescension, but with
respect. Perhaps this was wherefore all thought him better
than themselves, and were well prepared to receive the
admonition which should come from his lips.
In the pew where the Alleynes sat, a large family circle
was gathered; the venerable sire, who held fast on that day,
with trembling hand, his gold-headed stick; the brother from
India, who could scarcely yet realize that the little Rowly
whom he had left was that tall, earnest young man, who was
going to divide among an expectant congregation the Word
of everlasting life; his delicate, simple-minded wife, who
had.conceived for the unobtrusive, sensitive Rowland, more
affection than for any of her husband's other relatives; the
sailor brother, returned once more to the home of his childhood, athirst for living water; the young Gertrude, delighting in the novelty of hearing her own brother preach; the
little children, with feelings somewhat akin, only mixed in
Harry's mind with a certain sense of awe, and a longing
desire to stand in yonder pulpit also; and the sister, who
had watched the boy with a mother's love, who had earnestly
supplicated that grace might descend, who had for years
anticipated the present hour. That sister's heart did beat




HASTENING ON.                  307
with strong emotion: it was poured out once more with an
intensity of earnestness, that the Lord would be with her
brother, that He would own his youthful ministry, and
enable him in all things to adorn the doctrine of his God and
Saviour.
The young soldier Qf the cross came forward, and his text
was, "I am not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ; " and he
declared that glorious Gospel in the length and breadth of its
expansion,-in the height and depth of its sufficiency. He
spoke of good news to the aged, for it opened a vista of unending glory; to the man in the prime of life, because it offered strength that would never decay; to the young, for it
gave a hope that could not fail. He spoke not only of salvation, but also of the Saviour,-not only of the conquest, but
also of the Captain; and then he urged,-" Be brave for
Christ,-unfurl your colours,-declare your Captain's name,
-manifest whom you follow."  Once more Rowland spoke
solemnly, entreatingly, —it was that his people would pray
for him, that he might be faithful unto death, and then receive the crown of life.
During that evening, Ethelda and Rowland sat for some
time together. The window of her little apartment was
open, and admitted the sweet fragrance of the flowers which
the refreshing showers of that summer-day were calling forth.
Ethelda's book had been for some time closed, and she was
almost unconsciously following a long train of thought.
She had been retracing Rowland's life, and was then lingering on the scene in her mother's chamber, which she still




308                    ONWARD.
vividly remembered, when the dying parent prayed that God
might bless her motherless boy. She felt as if she had
tracked the stream to its source, for from that prayer, itself
the effect of heaven's showers, had flowed the grace now so
plentifully given to her beloved brother.  The power of
prayer was revealed to Ethelda in a way that she had never
felt before. It seemed almost too mighty a weapon for the
creature to wield; but then she remembered that He, who
was Himself Omnipotence, had said, " I will pray the Father
for you;" she knew: Prayer was not made on earth alone;
The Holy Spirit pleads,
And Jesus on the eternal throne
For sinners intercedes."
" What were you thinking of, Ethie? " said Rowland.
"I was thinking of our mother's prayer for you, Rowly,
when she was dying. That prayer has been answered, above
what we could either ask or think; and shall it not be answered for our Hubie, too? "
"Yes, assuredly.  Her prayer has risen up to God for a
memorial; and if He could save a stubborn selfish fellow
like myself, surely He will visit the open, generous heart of
Hubert."
"I do not think natural temperament at all predisposes
to grace. We often see that God magnifies His power in
changing the most unattractive."




HASTENING ON.                 309
"True; I said wrong: but if Hubert once cast in his lot
with us, would he not do it heartily? If he once began to
climb God's holy mountain, would he not strive to attain the
highest peak? Oh, Ethie, I cannot tell you how I long to
see that noble fellow enlisted to fight the Christian's battle.
I could not help thinking of him whern I was preaching this
morning."
" Dear Rowly, it is for us to pray, and it shall be done.
God's grace is truly sovereign, but He has pledged Himself
to answer prayer; little Harry's simple faith has taught me
that. Let us pray, believing, and we shall see our Hubert
the servant of the Lord's Christ."
"Either on earth or in heaven. How many glad surprises there shall be above —meeting those of whom, when
we died, we stood in doubt! I think that in heaven there
will be more whole family-gatherings than we expect. It
is true, that we seldom see an entire family walking together
along the narrow road; but God has different ways of bringing in His children, and don't you think, amongst spirits
made perfect, there may often be the glad exclamation,' This my son was dead, and is alive again; was lost, and is
found?' 
"I have not thought of that before, Rowly; but I agree
with you. I like to feel that it will be with Christians as it
was with Israel; they shall go to Canaan with their old and
with their young-with their sons and with their daughters
-that'there shall not be'a hoof left behind.' More believing prayer will surely bring more abundant blessing."




310                   ONWARD.
" Ethie, I should like to have a word with old Colin tonight. Will you go with me? "
" I have to meet the servants in the housekeeper's room
in half an hour, and it is nearly my last evening with them."
" Oh, then you can't go. Perhaps Hubert will."
Rowland met Hubert in the hall, and he seemed pleased
to accompany his brother. They walked, however, rather
silently. Each felt an almost unaccountable reserve. Hubert
was conscious, that he had not peace with God-that he had
never felt the Gospel of Christ, to be the glad tidings which
Rowland had described; and though he longed to talk freely
to his brother on the subject, yet he dreaded to appear as if
he had more interest than he really felt. Rowland had an
earnest wish to talk to Hubert concerning these things, but
he doubted his own wisdom of utterance; he feared lest any
word of his should prove a stumbling-block in his brother's
way; and he had yet to learn the full meaning of the promise
of inspiration, " Commit thy way unto the Lord, and He
shall bring it to pass."
Old Colin had lately become bed-ridden; his eye was
very dim, and his natural force was much abated. His intellect was, however, unimpaired, and the eye of faith still
gazed steadily on the Canaan whither he was bound. He
greatly enjoyed Rowland's visits, and had on that day been
continually present in spirit with the youthful pastor.
" Well, sir," he said, holding firm his hand, " and have
ye got on fine the day?  The Lord has helped ye, has not
He? "




HASTENING ON.                  311
" Yes, Colin; my weakness has, I trust, made manifest
His strength."
"Ye know why that is, master; I take it, it's because
He is God, and we are men."
"Then He does it for the glory of His own name."' Ay, even so. And is He not good, to choose to show
His glory in saving poor weak men? Might I be bold
enow to ask the text, sir?"
"'I am not ashamed of the Gospel of Christ."'
" Not ashamed! The sailor manna be shamed of the
compass. Shamed of the Gospel! Dears, dears no. And,
thank God, the Lord Jesus not shamed o' us neither. That's
the wonder, I take it, sir."
" Not ashamed to be called our God, for He hath prepared for us a city. He found us the poor outcast child,
but he hath washed us with water and clothed us with fine
linen, and put a beautiful crown on our head; and now He
looketh on us and saith,' Ye are perfect through my comeliness.' "
" I once read that, sir; where could it be?"
" It is in Ezekiel, Colin. Is it not so like what Paul
says,'Ye are complete in Him?' "
"Ay, sir, the glorious Gospel is all writ clear in both
the Old and New Testament: iT's the same sun, ye know,
that paints the sky at three o'clock those bright mornings,
and shines over our heads at noonday."
" And now that it is evening with you, Colin, the same
sun sheds its golden light."




312                   ONWARD.
"Ay, master," said the old man, his eye brightening;
"and then, when the new day dawns, there'll be no night
then."
He was silent for a little while, fixing his eye on Hubert,
of whom he had not at first taken special notice.
"And is that ye, Master Hubert?  I'm  right glad to
see ye. And ye'd hear yer brother this morning? Ye're
not ashamed neither of the cross of the Lord Jesus? "
"I'm not ashamed, Colin, but I am not fit to carry
it."
"And surely auld Colin is not fit: but God has said,'Bear it for me;' and we manna say,' Nay.' Ye're a good
sailor, Mr. Hubert, and I'll engage to say, if the admiral
bade you do something, ye would not stay to think, ye
weren't strong enough."
Hubert knew how he had always sought the post of danger-how he had lately hazarded his life that he might chase
the enemy —how'the admiral had marked him out:as the
man that never flinched; and old Colin's words made him
feel that his humility-was not genuine-that it was dislike
to the struggle, rather than conscious unfitness, that made
him unwilling to unfurl the banner of the Cross.
The brothers talked more unreservedly as they walked
homewards, and as they parted, Hubert said,-" Rowly, I
am a poor, good-for-nothing fellow. Ask God, sometimes, to
give me a glimmer of the light old Colin sees, and it may
help me yet to' go upward, onward, on the way heavenwards."




HASTENING ON.                 313
Rowland prayed, not sometimes, but oftentimes; he
knew that a struggle was working in Hubert's soul, and he
longed to see, that he was looking off the dizzy heights of
earthly greatness to the mountain of the Lord's house, exalted high above the hills
14




314                          ONWARD.
CHAPTER XXX.
TILE  SIRE' S  BIRTH ) AY.' Then kneeling down to heav'n's eternal King,
The saint, the father, and the grandsire prays:
IIope springs, exulting on triumphant wings,
That thus they all shall meet in future days,
There ever bask in uncreated rays.
No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear;
Together, hymning their Creator's praise,
In such society, yet still more dear,
While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere."
THERE was another of the Alleyne circle, whose opening
character Ethelda watched with great interest. It was that
of her only sister Gertrude. Religion was deepening in her
heart, slowly, gradually. It did not find a soil for rapid
growth, but yet it spread. It was casting out its fibres, and
taking hold of the entire disposition. Gertrude was not
aspiring,-quiet life was what she loved: in practical, present work, lay her interest. The characteristic of her religion
was holding fast, rather than pressing forward-simple faith,
rather than ardent aspirations. It was very difficult for her
to grasp a new subject, or to enter into a fresh scheme,-but
once embraced, it was yet more difficult to give it up. Her




THE SIRE'S BIRTHDAY.             315
heart opened slowly to understand the length, and breadth,
and height, and depth of the love of Christ; —it seemed as
if its limit of comprehension were narrow, but whatever it
received was so digested that it became, one with herself, a
part of her inner man.,
The day before the bridal had been one of unusual excitement and preparation at Alleyne, and Gertrude had gone
through the labour of directing much, with apparent little
effort of feeling. A stranger would have thought that she
was among the least concerned of the household. Shortly
before the hour for evening prayer, Ethelda missed Gertrude
from the family circle. It was a clear, bright, summer even
ing, heaven still reflecting the rays of sunlight which earth
had lost. Ethie longed to be free from the constraint of
drawing-room conversation, and was pleased to step unobserved upon the lawn, and wandering past the flower-beds,
to pass under the branches of elm and chestnut-trees to an
old arbour, not far from the high wall that surrounded the
kitchen-garden. No one liked that arbour but Gerty; she
had appropriated it when a child, had held her juvenile parties there, and now that she was older grown, used, during
the few months of the year.that it was not green with damp,
to place a basket of flowers on its little table, and to sit with
her book or work in its snuggest corner. That night was
cool an& pleasant, and the table was covered with broken
leaves and flowers, for Gertrude had been very busy arrang
ing various bridal bouquets.
When Ethelda passed the woodbine screen, she saw her




316                   ONWARD.
sister resting her weary head upon that table.  Gertrude
looked up as Ethelda approached; her eyes were red with
weeping. The sisters sat down together, and passed their
arms round each other's waist.
"Gerty, darling, you are not breaking down?"
"Oh, no, Ethie. I never meant you to have found me
out this way: but I someway feel Alleyne will not be like
itself when you are gone. You know, I never can be like
you."
"God has not made us to be like one another in disposition, Gerty; and yet one may be as useful, as devoted to
His service, as the other. Yonder oak, and ash, and elm,
are all different, but each has its separate use and separate
beauty."
" But I know, Ethie, people don't like me as they like
you. I am not half so agreeable, nor half so good."
"I don't at all agree with you, little Gerty," said Ethelda, smiling; " but supposing the first part of your imagination were real, it does not prove that the latter is so. Don't
you know, that our poor little oaks, so different from the
south-country ones, have, after all, a much finer grain of
wood? Slow growth is generally the surest. Depend upon
it, God has given us each that disposition which, if rightly
trained, will best accomplish an appointed mission. He has
a variety of work and a variety of tools. He kndws what
kind He needs; sometimes it is the earnest, active temperament; sometimes the gentle, passive disposition; and at




THE SIRE'S BIRTHDAY.             317
other times the steady, persevering continuance in welldoing."
"Then I must be contented as I am. I never should
have wished to be anything but quiet little Gerty, were it
not that I know how sadly I shall supply your place."
" Love everybody, Gerty; think the best of every one;
cultivate thoughtful love.  And remember that, though
natural disposition may remain until the end of life, it becomes sanctified in the Christian. The tree is the apple
still, though the crab has been transformed into the bestflavoured fruit."
" Well, Ethie, I will try. My new sister will, I hope,
help me a little. And then there will be both Percy and
Rowland; for Rowly will be often over, even though he is
determined to live in lodgings in his own district."
"And, Gerty, God will help you. No one ever tried,
laying hold of the Father's hand, but He was ready to hold
them up. We must pray for each other to-night."
Gertrude kissed her sister with warm affection, and soon
they were again mingled with the bright circle in the drawing-room.
The bride adorned for the bridal was ready to leave her
apartment, when, according to her wish, her beloved father
came once more to kiss his child, —still, in one sense, his
own possession.
She had spent the early hours of that morning in close
communion with her God, and ere she joined the group be



318                   O1"WARD.
low, she longed to receive her father's blessing and poaredout prayer.
The old man trembled as he kissed his daughter. She
looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her, and yet
she had a calm and almost sorrowful air; and when she saw
the tear roll down his aged cheek, her own eyes filled with
those of sympathy, and it was with a strong effort that she
repressed her emotion.
" God bless you, my precious daughter'! " said the aged
father. "May you make another's home happy as you have
made your parent's.  God bless my Ethelda, with all the
blessings of His love. I have not words to pray. Rowly,
kneel down with us, and ask the blessing of that Father
who shall never die."
The breathing of the prayer was very earnest.  It
afresh cemented hearts with a closeness that no earthly separations could sever. It led thought forward from the ceremonials of earth to the marriage-supper of the Lamb —to
the yet more abiding union in the kingdom of heaven.
Beside those sacred rails, where Ethie had so oft remembered her Lord in His death, with solemn vows and earnest
supplications unto the King of Heaven, Claude Wentworth
and Ethelda Alleyne became man and wife. The father's
voice faltered as he gave away his daughter; but yet he
was glad, for he knew it was to him whom she loved. Ethie
was calm and composed until they met in the vestry; then,
giving way to suppressed feeling, she laid her head on her
father's shoulder and wept. Those tears were very pre



THE SIRE'S BIRTHDAY.             319
cious: they solaced the old man's heart; God beheld them
full of prayers for the father she so loved, and He treasured them in His bottle, to pour again in blessings on
their heads.
A long, hearty hurrah burst from the crowd, as Ethelda,
leaning on her husband's arm, entered again the carriage.
The bells gave forth their merry chime; all the guns that
the villagers could procure were fired; and from every cottage were hung flags of varied hue; and across the street
were suspended wreaths of summer flowers. As they reached the top of the village, they saw on the links, over the
shed that prayer had sanctified, a long, high pole, from the
top of which a large banner was streaming. One of Ethie's
most precious remembrances of that morning had been a
nosegay of sweet, dwarf roses, left by little Ellen M'Gee,
and^ around it, printed by Peter, were the words —" The
Lord bless thee and keep thee."
A few weeks elapsed, and the birth-day of Mr. Alleyne
dawned. The old man had entered his eightieth year. He
expected to be surrounded by his children and grandchildren. Not one of them was missing.
Harry looked brighter that day than he had done ever
since the wedding. He had sadly missed the guiding hand
of his beloved aunt, but he had learnt to cling more closely
to his God. He was also discovering, that in his father he
had a friend, who could enter, like Aunt Ethie, into his peculiar joys and sorrows, who could understand the thoughts
of his imaginative mind, and the feelings of his sensitive




320                   ONWARD.
heart. His mother was one who could not enter into the
pursuits of a noisy, excitable boy of nine years old. She
admired him, but she only sympathised with him, when she
saw his -gentle, tender play with the little Beatrice. Adah
was still to remain at Harry's home, for she was very dear
to old Mr. Alleyne. There was a gentle winningness in
her way, a ready sympathy with his feelings, that knit his
heart to her very closely.
The school-children were on that day to have tea upon
the lawn, and Rowland had arranged that the tea should be
followed by a missionary meeting. It was a holy, happy
gathering. The old man presided; the golden setting sun
cast, ere the meeting was closed, its ray upon his fine bare
forehead, and seemed to light it, as an earnest of the yet
brighter crown of glory that awaited him when the helmet
of the battle should be laid aside, and he receive the conqueror's welcome. Beside him stood his three sons, and
son-in-law, and good Mr. Graham; and near him were his
daughters, and Adah, and the pretty, fair-haired Beatrice.
Harry had found a seat beside a spreading beech, and there
the little fellow stayed and listened. His large blue eyes
were fixed on each speaker, and his heart seemed to speak
through them, his earnest desire to buckle on his armour,
and to fight in his strongholds, the great enemy of the Lord
Jehovah.
It was after Uncle Rowland spoke that the gathering
tear asserted the mastery, and Harry crept round the tree's
giant trunk, and laid upon the ground and cried. Nor was




THE SIRE'S BIRTHDAY.             321
it the eye of Harry only that was full of tears. Rowland
had given utterance to the feelings of a heart overflowing
with the desire that all men should be saved, and come to a
knowledge of the truth.  He had spoken with an earnestness, which carried power with its language. His clear,
silvery voice, rang through the little assembly, and brought
before them with living reality the curse of earth and the
blessing of heaven. His appeal was strong for personal
consecration of every soul before him to the service of their
God and Saviour. " Little children," he urged, " the Lord
hath need of you. Speak the gentle, loving word to those
around you, and win them to the Saviour's service. You
are Christ's enlisted soldiers, to fight under His banner
against sin, the world, and the devil. Jesus loves his infant
bands; will not they give now an earnest that they are devoted to Him?  Young men and young women, the Lord
hath need of you-yes, this is the time of our opportunity.
Now we can render Him the choicest service. There is not
a day to be lost! The young man may be cut off in his
youth, and would it not be a glorious thing to be crowned in
the midst of the struggle with the conqueror's wreath,-to
find, in a moment, that the sword is wrested from our hands,
that we may grasp the banner of victory? And old friends,
dear old friends; life's longest days are but a moment compared to the length of eternity-but a moment of opportunity that can never be recalled —a point, whence the radii
of a circle that knows no circumference go forth-the kernel, where the tree lives that shall never wither. The hours
14*




322                   ONWARD.
that yet remain must be few for you. Let them be given to
Christ —let them be spent as in the judgment-day you would
wish they had been passed. Whilst life lasts, do what you
can to spread salvation. In heaven, the opportunity you
have now, shall have passed away."
Hubert listened to Rowland's appeal, and on his knees,
that night, he besought the Lord that he might henceforward follow Jesus,-that he might no longer lose opportunity, but press onward, not ashamed to carry the banner of
the Cross of Christ. Thus another brother was seeking
strength that he might look upward, and go onward,-that
he also might "press toward the mark for the prize of
his high calling of God in Christ Jesus."
Time is shortening-eternity is nearing! Reader, art
thou still dwelling in the vale, or treading only the mounts
of earth? Nay, art not thou rather ascending the hill of
Zion? Henceforward shall it not be thy greatest joy to
raise thy eye upward, and behold the Friend of sinners
watching thee,-to quicken thy steps onward, —ever approaching the new Jerusalem, the city of the living God?




THE SUMMIT. GAINED.                    323
CHAPTER XXXI.
THE  SUMMIT  GAINED.
"The world recedes-it disappears;
Heaven opens on my eyes; my ears
With sounds seraphic ring.
Lend, lend your wings-I mount! I Ifly I
0 Grave, where is thy victory?
0 Death, where is thy sting? " —POPE.
AT breakfast-time the following morning, Salmon, the butler, came into the room, and with rather a serious face, addfessing Rowland, said," Please, sir, Peter M'Gee is wishing to see you, and he
is in a great haste."
"I'll be with him  immediately; " and, breaking off an
interesting conversation with Sir. Claude, Rowland hurried
into his study.
Peter's message was soon delivered. Fever had broken
out at the huts, and his father and " sister Eileen' were laid
down- very ill.
"Oh, sir," said Peter, "that sister there is a regular
darlinth.  I know not what I should do if the Lord should
take her!"




324                   ONWARD.
"You would look more brightly up, my lad. Yeati by
year heaven is filling with those we love on earth. But I
trust she may yet recover, Peter.  Has she been long ill?"
" These few days, sir. The doctor says her strength is
well-nigh gone."
" Has thee doctor not spoken about port ivine?"
"Yes, your reverence, but I did not like to tell you
of that. I knew, if it were good, you would think of it
yersel."
"I will come down as quickly as I can, and bring a
bottle with me. For one minute, Peter, we will kneel in
prayer."
Short and earnest was that petition, but it was to Peter
more than any earthly cordial. It was sipping a draught of
heaven's life-giving stream, and in its strength he went forth
refreshed.
Rowland mounted Jeanette, and reached the huts befoie
Peter arrived.  The "huts " still retained their old name,
but they were now a row of neat wooden cottages, each
family possessing two rooms.
The strong man was indeed laid low. Patrick M'Gee
was unable to raise his head, and the little Elleen looked as
if life were ebbingfast. The wine seemed to refresh the
father, and he cast his eye gratefully on the youthful Rowland. " God's best blessings rest on yer reverence. Ye've
given me better than yonder wine-ye've pointed me out
the Lord Jesus, both wine and meat for the hungry soul."
"And He is all-sufficient now; is He not, Patrick?"




THE SUMMIT GAINED.                3 25'" Yes, that He is; He makes me willing to live or to die,
according to His most blessed will."
" If you live, you trust to live to Him; and if you die,
to live with Him. Is that your hope? "
" Ay, sure it is! a wondrous hope for a poor sinner like
me.  But, ye see, it's given me.  I never might have
bought it."
" And it is a hope that shall never grow dim. It will
only be lost when we are made like unto the Son of God,
seeing Him as He is."
" Ay," said Patrick, and his eye brightened with his old
cheerful look; "it may well be lost there: just as we lose
the appetite when we finish the full meal, or just as we furl
the sails when we have entered the port."
It was not wise to allow poor Pat to talk more. Rowland read a few verses of trust in the living God, from the
Psalms, and commended the father and the child to Him
who could lay low and raise up, who could wound and who
could heal.
Before he left he looked towards the little Ellen's bed.
Poor child I the delirium of fever was upon her. Her cheek
was flushed, and her bye was wild.
" Oh, I see, I see," she said, " to the other side of the
wide, wide sea! Oh, mother, it's such a land! the sands
are gold, bright gold! Peter, mavourneen, take me across I
Don't stop here! I want, I want to go. Oh, mother, it's
such a land I they tell me to come to them I There's the




326                   ONWARD.
Lord Jesus, the blessed Lord!  He has such a crown!
He is bidding me come, mother! mother dear! let me go! "
And then the poor little one put out her hands, as if
she expected to be borne across those dark waters; and
then she cried out yet again, "Mother! mother dear! let
me go."
It was but a few hours, and the emancipated spirit was
carried by angels to the land beyond the flood; and whilst
Peter wept for his darling Elleen, he felt assured that the
Saviour, whom he loved, would in His own good time, bear
him thither also. Peter had lost his little companion on
earth, but he beheld her beckoning him onwards to the
home which she had reached.
During the week Rowland daily visited the huts, for
fever had spread through several of the cottages.
" Rowly," said Hubert, on the following Monday morning, " You look regularly worn out, and I wish I could go
to those huts instead of you. And then you mean to begin
your life in lodgings to-night.  I'm  sure you'll knock
yourself up."
"Oh no, Hubert; flesh and blood are not very brittle."
" At any rate, Rowly, I wish you would give me something to do. I am only a bird of passage, it is true, but
perhaps I might drop one grain of seed."
A beautiful brightness lighted up the eye of Rowland,
which on that morning had looked very heavy. "Would
you, Hubert? " he exclaimed. "Birds of passage may be
most useful. Here a seed and there a seed. I have a bad




THE SUMMIT GAINED.              327
headache to-day, and I was not going to the huts, as I went
yesterday after service; but I wanted to ride over to
Newtown, where I heard of a young man very ill of consumption."
" Then let me go instead of you, like a good fellow, I
will talk to him as well as ever I can."
Rowland thankfully accepted Hubert's offer, and as the
young sailor cantered off, the brother's knees were bent in
prayer, thanking God for the effort Hubert was making, and
supplicating an abundant blessing in the Redeemer's name.
His headache increased, and he tried a stroll under the
trees; but on that day the light seemed too strong for him,
and his limbs were weary as he had never felt them before.
He was cold when every one else complained of heat, and
languid when all around seemed full of energy.
Hubert found Rowland lying upon a sofa in his studythe same room that had once been Ethie's snuggery.
" Well, my old boy, I fear you haven't improved with
your morning's rest."
"I don't think I have, Hubert; my head still aches
much.  But sit down here and tell me about the poor
lad."
" He is very ill, poor fellow! Just like a sailor lad I
once knew. I doubt his ever recovering, but I promised I
would go again and see him."
"And did he like to be talked to? "
"Well, you see, Rowly, I don't know if I have the right
way. I never tried that sort of thing before; but when poor




328                   ONWARD.
John Mason was so ill, I remembered that he liked best for
me to read one of the Gospel narratives; so I read to this
poor fellow the one that was John's favourite."'
"Which was that, Hubert?"
"The parable of the prodigal son. I believe the truth
is, it's my favourite, too. There's something there that has
always gone right through my heart. It is, that the father
never utters one word of reproach —never, by a look even,
upbraids the prodigal. It is so unlike the common way with
man, that it can only be a relation of Him,' whose ways are
not as our ways, nor His thoughts as our thoughts.' So I
sought it out and read it to young Thompson. Poor fellow!
I thought he did not look pleased when I opened the Bible,
but when I had finished he said,' What do you take that to
mean, sir?'  I told him the best way I could, how God
willeth not the death of a sinner, but says,'Come and live.'
The tears rose in the poor fellow's eyes, and he said,' Would
you ask God to make me live? I have never dared to speak
to Him, and I could not bear to hear of Him, for mother
has been always telling me, God hated the wicked, and until
I was quite different, it was of no use my going to Him.
I've been wicked enough, sir; but so was this son, and you
see the Father loved him, and kissed him, without asking,-'Are you quite a different man?' It was but with weak
words, Rowland, but we both knelt down, and I prayed that
Jesus would receive us both, and for His own name's sake
would welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve."
Rowland's eyes were full of tears.  He pressed his




THE SUMMIT GAINED.              329
brother's hand,-" Thank God, my dearest Hubert! you
have found Jesus, and He will not let you go. He has
answered prayer for the glory of His great name."
Hubert replied with a very broken voice,-" I know
that you and Ethie have been often praying for me. I
cannot thunlk you half enough. Go on, and you'll get yet
more blessings for a foolish fellow like me. But, Rowly,
what is the matter?  I am sure you are ill. Why do you
shake so?"
Rowland was very ill. The fever had attacked him,
and his couch shook with the nervous shivering, which is so
often the prelude of its advance.
Rowland had never been robust, and hard work at
college, succeeded by parish labours yet more fatiguing,
had not prepared him to meet the ruthless disease by which
he was now attacked. His body was at once prostrated,
but his mind was kept from wavering, and his soul rested in
perfect peace.
Early the following morning, Percy rode over to Laverock Priory, and brought back Rowland's beloved sister,
Ethelda. At the sound of her voice he opened his heavy
eyes, and a childlike look of pleasure lit up his features.
As the day wore away, the medical men grew more anxious,
for the fever ran extremely high.
The night-light was burning, and all were gone to rest,
excepting Ethelda and Hubert. The sufferer had had a
short, restless, starting sleep. Again he opened his eyes,
and gently said,-" Ethie, darling sister! 




330                   ONWARD.
She stooped down and kissed his burning brow.
" Ethie, thq mountain-tops are seen, bright and glorious,
right afore me; and Jesus is leading our Hubert on, and
He will never let him go."
1" But, Rowly," replied his sister, as her tears fell upon
his forehead, "we trust God is not now going to bid you
leave us,-that the united little band of brothers and sisters
shall not so soon be broken? "
" I think I see the glory. You would not wish to keep
me?  We shall all meet.'Every one shall appear before
God in Zion.'"
Rowland hardly spoke again that night, and during the
next day the symptoms were regarded as extremely unfavourable. A slight delirium occasionally manifested itself;
but even then, visions of unutterable joy appeared to pass
before him.
Two more days of great suffering and much delirium
were endured. It was evening; the summer sun was setting, and pouring its rich and mellow light through the
openings of the venetian blinds. Ethie had laid down to
rest, before she commenced another night's watching.
Hubert alone sat by the bed, fanning tenderly and unweariedly his beloved brother. Rowland opened his eyes
and rested them on Hubert.
"Is it you, Hubert? I can hardly see."
"Yes, Rowly. Do you like this? "
" Very much, my kind brother. Hubert, I am dying,
or rather mounting up-up to glory."




THE SUMMIT GAINED.              331
"And leaving poor Hubert in the valley? "
"No, no,' thank God; on the mountain-side, following
after-pressing on. Ever look up, Hubert.  Jesus will
help you; glory is before you. It's worth the climbing."
"Oh, Rowly, pray for me."
"Pray and praise whilst life shall last: God will never
leave you nor forsake you. He shall guide you with His
counsel, and then receive you into glory-glory-glorybright glory. Is that father?"
Old Mr. Alleyne had entered the room and stood beside
his son.
" Father, I shall soon welcome you into glory. Your
youngest boy will be the first-born into glory. Oh, father,
praise God for me."
The old man could. scarce reply; but he looked at
Rowly, and then raised his eye to heaven, and whispered,
"I thank thee, 0 Father, Lord of heaven and earth."
Rowland's voice was much changed. His hands and
feet were chilled with death's cold touch, and it was evident
that those around could not much longer retain on earth the
son and brother, whom they so loved.'"Where is Ethie? " inquired Rowland, having more
than once looked round the room.'" Is she here? "
" No, Rowly: you would like her to come?" and
Hubert, without waiting for a reply, gently left the room.
Ethelda was roused from her light sleep in a moment,
and soon stood beside her dying brother's bed. He did not
at first notice her.




332                   ONWARD.
" My precious Rowly! " the fond sister uttered.
"Ethie, my Ethie,'I wished to see you. I feel you
now, but I cannot see plain. Ethie, I am dying. My God
is my guide even unto death."
"And we would not detain you, darling," said the
weeping sister; "' but we had thought that you were long to
minister amongst us."
" Jesus calls me to serve above: I am waiting-waiting.
It's glory there. Pray, Ethie, for the everlasting arms."
Mr. Alleyne, and Hubert and Ethelda, knelt down and
prayed amidst fast-flowing tears: they prayed for glory for
their Rowland, and for grace for themselves.
For nearly an hour Rowland lay almost unconscious.
Once more he opened those eyes that were so lately
dimmed. A beautiful light beamed there-a radiance was
shed across his face. His lips moved, " Come, Lord Jesus,
come!'" and Jesus came, and bore the emancipated spirit to
rest upon His bosom.
The mountain-clamberer's ascent was over-the height
was gained, the goal was won. His footsteps no longer
rested on God's hill of earth, but had reached the heavenly
Zion, the city of the great King. Compassed with infirmities, and assailed by difficulties, he had climbed the mount
of his pilgrimage, and had found the guiding rod and the
helping staff comfort him.
Now he lingered no longer-nothing earthly bore him
back; the everlasting arms supported him —the wings of
love conveyed him-the whispers, "Higher, higher," en



THE SUMMIT GAINED.               333
couraged him  onward-and the mansion in the Father's
house received him. His work on earth was done, his place
in heaven was prepared.  The staff was laid aside, the palm
of victory was waved.  More than conqueror, through
Christ that loved him, he rests in conscious peace; and on
the morn of the resurrection shall awaken to clamber the
glorious heights of the land of promise-a progress which
shall know no fatigue, which shall ever reveal wider views
of the greatness and goodness of "the high and lofty One
that inhabiteth eternity."
THE END.








A LIST
OF
N EW WORKS
IN GENERAL LITE RIATU Bi E,
PUBLISHED BY
D. APPLETON & COMPANY,
846 & 848 Broadway.
* Complete Catalogues, containing full descriptio.ws, to We had on app ai                    y. ip
the Publishers.
Agriculture and Rural Affaifr.    Appl6tons Complete V S.' Guide,.         t
Boussingault's Rural Economy,.           1 25  American Practial Coo it Book,
The Poultry Book, illustrated.          500  A Treatise on Artificial Fish-Breeding,      7
Waring's Elements of Agriculture,              75  Chemistry of Common Life. 2 vols. 12mo.
Cooley's Book of Useful Knowledge. 1 t5
Arts, Xanufactures, and  Architec-   Cust's Invalid's Own Book,..                           E0
ture,4~              ~ De;kser's Interest Tables,.. 
ture.                         The English Cyclopaedia, per vol.:.  250
Appleton's Dictionary of Mechanics. 2 vols.. 12 00  Miles on the Horses Foot,..    25
"     Mechanics' Magazine. 3 vols. each, 3  0  The Nursery Basket. A Book for Young -lothers,  38
Allen's Philosophy of Mechanics,...   50  Pell's Guide for the Young,.  
Arnot's Gothic Architecture,. 4 00  Reid's New English D.ctionary,:1.               00
Bassnett's Theory of Storms,                 1 00  Stewart's Stable Ecoernmy                     1 00
Bourne on the Steam Engine,...   75  Spalding's Hist. of English  terature,.  1 00
Byrne on Logarithms,...            100  Soyer's Modern Cookery,...          1 00
C anman on the American Rifle,. 1 25  The SuccessfulMerchant,.... 1 00
Coiung's Preservation of Health,..       75  Thomson on Food of Animals..   50
Cullum on Military Bridges,. 2.. 00
Doin's  Cty Architecture,                      00    Commerce and Mercantile   ffairs.
Field's City Architecture,    ~.2 00
Griffith's Marine Architecture,...lo 00  Anderson's Mercantile Correspondence,..1 0
Gillespie's Treatise on Surveying,..         Delisser's Interest Tables,.4 00
Haupt's Theory of Bridge Construction,.. 00  Merchants' Reference Book                       4 00
Henck's Field-Book for R. Road Engineers,. 1 75  Oates' (Geo.) Interest Tables at 6 Per Cent.
Hoblyn's Dictionary of Scientific Terms,. 1 50     per Annum. 8o.                          2 00
Huff's Manual of Electro-Physiology,.    125                  Do. do. Abridged edition,    1 25
Jeffers' Practice of Naval Gunnery,.. 2 50    "             7 Per Cent. Interest Tables,    2 00
Knapen's Mechanics' Assistant,. 1 00             "    Abridged,                      1 25
Lafever's Modern Architecture,.           4  0  Smith's Mercantile Law,.                    4 00
Lyell's Manual of Geology..            1 75
Principles of Geology,.                 25
Geography and Atlases.
Reynold's Treatise on Handrailing,.. 200
Templeton's Mechanic's Cospanion,.. 1 00  Appleton's Modern Atlas. 34 Maps,..     50
Ure's Dict'ry of Arts, M xufactures,& * 2 vol'. 5 00    "    Complete Atlas. 61 Maps,. 9 00
Youmans' Class-Book of Ctemistry,..   75  Atlas of the Middle Ages. By Koeppen,. 4 50
Atlas of Chestry. cloth,.. 2 00  Black's General Atlas. 71 Maps,... 12 
"    Alcoh)l,.                50  Cornell's Primary Geography,...   50
"    Intermediate Geography,.
Biography.                            C    High School Geography,.
Arnold's Life and Correspondence,.. 2 00
Capt. Canot, or Twenty Years of a Slaver,    1 25
Cousin's De Longueville,..                  1 00
Croswell's Memoirs,..  Arnold'sstor of Rome,...      8.00
Evelyn's Life of Godolphin..   50  "   Later Commonwealth,... 2 50
Garland's Life of Randolphin,                  50.     Lectures on Modern History,.. 1 25
Gilfillan's Gallery of Portraits. id Series,. 1 00  De's Ancient and Modern History,.. 2 00
Hernan Cortez's Life,                          38  Koeppen's History of the Middle Ages. 2 vols. 2 50
Hull's Civil and Militarv Life,..       2 00             The same, folio, with Map,..40
Life and Adventures of Daniel Boon,             8  Kohlrasch's History of Germany,... 1 50
Life of Henry Hudson.             38  Mahon's (Lord) History of England, 2 voes.    4 00
Life of Capt. John Smith..                 Michelet's History of France, 2 vols...   50
MDore's life of George Castriot,...            History of the Roman Republic,. 1 00
Napoleon's Memoirs. By Duche, D'Abrante   4 00  Rowan's History of the French Revolution,.   63
Napoleon By Laurent L'Ardbche,.             3 00  Sprague's History of-the Florida War,. 2 50
Pikney tW.) Life. By his Nephew,             2 00   aylor's Manual of Ancient History,.. 1 25
Party Lesders: Lives of Jefferson,.          1 00  "    Manual of       History,.. 1 50
Southey's Life of Oliver Cromwell,             38     "    Manual of History. 1 vl. complete, 2 50
Wynun's Lives of Eminent Men,..           00  Thiers' French Reolution. 4 vole. Illustrated, 5 JO
Websters Life and Memorials. 2 vole.. 1 00
llustrated Works for Present
Books of General Utility.                  1B-rant's Poems. 16 Tl-ustrations. 8vo. cloth,.   50
AI etons' Southern and Western Guide,.1 00'                           cloth, gilt,. 4 50
Northern and Eastern Guide,. 25 I       "    "                      mor. antique, 6 Oh




2              D. Appleton & Company's List of New Works.
I Gems of British Art. 30 ngravings. 1 vol. 4to.  Louis' School-Days. By E. J. May,..          75
morocco,..                   18 00  Louise; or The Beauty of Integrity,           25
Gray's Elegy. Illunstrated. 8vo. 150  Maratt's Settlers in Canada,.        6s
Goldsmith's Deserted Village,.          1 60      "    Masterman Ready,.            68
The Homes of American Authors. With Illu-                   Scenes in Africa,..           63
trationa, cloth,...            400  Midsummer Fays. By Susan Pindar,.         6b
&"  "    cloth,gilt,  5 00
X a        "        "c    mor. antqe. 7 00           MISS MCINTOSH S WORKS.
The Holy Gospels. With 40 Designs by Overbeck. I vol. folio. Antique mor..  20 00  Aunt Kitty's Tales, 12mo.                 I. 
The Land of Bondage. By J. M. Wainwright,         Blind Alice; A Tale for Good Children,..   88
D. D. Morocco,.                         6 00  Elles Leslie; or, The Reward of Self-Control,   88
7he Queens of England. ByAgnes Strickland.        Florence Arnott; or, Is She Generous          38
With ~9 Portraits. Antique mor... 10 00  Grace and Clara; or, Be Just as well as GenThe Ornaments of Memory. With 18 Illustra-            erous,...                              38
tions. 4to. cloth, ilt,..... 6 00  Jessie Graham; or, Friends Dear, kbxt Truth
"   Morocco,.  1 00  Dearer.                                               88
lcyal Gems from  the Galleries of Europe.         Emily Herbert; or, The Happy Home,            87
40 Engravings,.                       25 00  Rose and Lillie Stanhope,.    -
The Republican Court; or, American Society                              -
in the Days of Washington. 21 Portraits.      Mamma's Story Book,..7
Antique mor...12 00  Pebbles from lte Sea-Shore,...           7
The Vernon Gallery. 67 Engrav'gs. 4to. Ant. 25 00  Puss in Boots. Illustrated. By Otto Specter,.   25
The Women of the Bible. With 18 Engravings. Mor. antique,.10 00                             IETER PARLEY S WORKS
Wilkle Gallery. Containing 60 Splendid Engravings. 4to. Antique mor.. 25 00  Faggotsforthe Fireside
A Winter Wreath of Summer Flowers.  ByPresent fr all easns,..                            100
S. t Goody Illustrated. Cloth, gilt,. 3 00  Wanderers bySea and Land..  1 
~.G)~oc~IC  v    loth~gilt,. 30 *   Winter Wreath of Surmser Flowers,..   00
| Juvenile Books.                      TALES FOR THE PEOPLE AND HTTfR
A Poetry Book for Children,....   75                      CHILDREN.
Aunt Fanny's Christmas Stories,               50
American Historical Tales,.    5  Alice Franklin. By Mary Howitt,...   8
Crofton Boys (The). By Harriet Martineas.   38
AMEREL'S STORY ~ BOOKS.    Dangers of Dining Out. By Mrs. Ellis,.        38
UNCLE AMERELIS STORY BOOKS.                  Domestic Tales. By Hannah More. 2 vol..   75
The Little Gift Book. 18mo. cloth,.        25  Early Friendshlp. By Mrs. Copley,..   38
The Child's Story Book. Illust. 18mo. cloth,   25  Farmer's Daughter (The). By Mrs. Cameron,  38
Summer Holidays. 18meo. cloth,...   95  First Impressions. By Mrs. Ellis,...   3
Winter Holidays. Illustrated. 18mo. cloth,    25  Hope On, Hope Ever I By Mary Howitt,.   85
George's Adventures in the Country. Illustra-     Little Coin, Mrch Care. By do....    18
ted. 18mo. cloth.                         25  Looking-Glass for the Mind. Many plates,. 
Christnas Stories. Illustrated. 18mo. cloth,    25  Love and Money. By Mary Howitt,.. 38
-,        Minister's Family. By Mrs. Fills,...   38
Book of Trades,.                             50  My Own Story. By Mary Howitt,...   38
Boys at Home. By the Author of Edgar Cll; on,   75  My Uncle, the Clocknmaker. By do...   38
Child's Cheerful Companion..             50  No Sense Like Common Sense. By do..   38
Child's Picture and Verse Book. 1,)0 Engs     50  Peasant and the Prince. By H. Martineau,.   28
Poplar Grove. By Mrs. Copley,...   38
COUSIN  ALICE'S  WOT.3r.                 Somerville Hall. By Mrs. Ellis,...   38
Sowing and Reaping. By Mary Howitt,. 38
All's Not Gold thr, Glitters,..   75  Story of a Genius...    8
Contentment Better than Wealt.               63  Strive and Thrive. By do...   38
Nothing Venture, Nothing Has,  63  The Two Apprentices. By do..                              38
No such Word as Fail,.                       63  Tired of Housekeeping. By T. S. Arthur.   88
Patient Waiting No Loss,,.                 63  Twin Sisters (The). By Mrs. Sandham,.    8
Which is the Wiser  By Mary Howitt,           88
Dashwood Priory. By the Author of Edga.           Who Shall be Greatest I By do... 38
Clifton,              5.                      Work and Wages. By do..          88
Edgar Clifton; or Right and Wrong.. 
Fireside Fairies. By Susan Pindar,.       638                 SEOND BERIES.
Good in Every Thing. By Mrs. Barw ell,.           0
Leisure Moments Improved,,                       C.habnes and Changes.   By Charles Burdelt,  8
Lafisure Moments Improved,,...   75  Goeihnker's Village. By LH. Zschokke,.   88...Life of Punchinello,... 75  Never Too Late. By Charles Burdett,..   88
LIBRARY   FOR MY YOUNG COUNTRYMEN.                    Wor,  Ancient and Modern....    By      88
Adventures of Capt. John Smith. By the Author of Unole Philip,....   88  Picture Pleasure Book, 1st Series,.     1 25
Adventures of Daniel Boone. By do..          38     "                  I "    2d Series,. 1 25
Dawnings of Genius. By Anne Pratt,.        38  Robinson Cruse. 300 Plates,..         1 50
Life and Adventures of Henry Hudson.  By          Susan Pindbas Story BoDk,... 76
the Author of Uncle Philip,...    8  Sunshine of Greytone,                        75. 
I Life and Adventures of Herna Cortez. By do.    8  Travels of Bob the  8qsaiirrel,. 81
[ Philip Rasdolph. A Tale of Virginia. By          Wonderful Story Book,.....5
l ary iertmde, y. Get;   88  Willy's First Present,..
oFrRelutio. 2  Week's Delight; or, Gan"P and Stories fr the
vOI.'..'.  T    Parlor,.....
Saothey's Life if Oliver C romwll,.        8  William Tell, the Hero o' Sa.tsze4d,. 
Young Student. By Madame Gzixo..   YE