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"Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven."
THE Sabbath dawned upon the village of E—, the day which the Lord has appointed for His own, that day which, when kept holy to religion and rest, leaves an especial blessing behind it. About two hours before the time for attending morning service, Viner took his little Bible in his hand, and walked with his daughter to the sea-beach, where, seated on a shelving shingle, with the wide ocean heaving and sparkling before them, they enjoyed together a quiet time for reading and speaking of the things of God.
On their return, to their utmost surprise, they found the shop open, the shutters down, and Walter placing some vegetables on the board.
"O father!" exclaimed Nelly, "Has Walter forgotten what day it is?"
"What are you doing?" said Viner, as he entered. "My shop always is closed upon Sundays; I thought that I had mentioned this to you before."
"Yes," replied the boy, "you did so, but look there!" And he pointed to the tempting display in Goldie's window. "Is he to have all the custom and the cash, he who is ten times richer than you are!"
"What he has—what he does is no excuse for me; it is not for him that I must answer before God. Put up those shutters again, Walter."
Walter obeyed sullenly, with a look which told that he was not at all convinced of the wisdom of the order. Viner then drew him into the shop, and said, "Is not one of the Ten Commandments, given from the mouth of the Lord God Himself amid the flames and thunder of Mount Sinai, 'Remember that thou keep holy the Sabbath day; in it thou shalt do no manner of work'?"
Walter nodded assent.
"Is there not a blessing for those who obey this command? Look here," said Viner, opening his Bible, and pointing to these words from the fifty-eighth chapter of Isaiah: "If thou turn away thy foot from the Sabbath, from doing thy pleasure on My holy day; and call the Sabbath a delight, the holy of the Lord, honourable; and shalt honour Him, not doing thine own ways, nor finding thine own pleasure, nor speaking thine own words: then shalt thou delight thyself in the Lord; and I will cause thee to ride upon the high places of the earth, and feed thee with the heritage of Jacob thy father: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it."
"That may have been so once, but I don't believe that it is so now," said Walter.
"God knows no variableness, neither shadow of turning, He is 'the same yesterday, to-day, and forever!'"
"I only know," muttered Walter, "that the way in which you go on is the way to starve."
"Do you believe that our Heavenly Father ever suffers any one to starve for obeying His commandment?"
"I can't tell," replied Walter, still rather surlily.
"Do you believe that He, to whom all the treasures of earth and heaven belong, who created the world and every living thing upon it, is able to provide for our wants?"
"I believe that the Almighty is able."
"But you doubt that He is willing?"
Walter was silent.
"I must speak to you again from His Word, that Word which can never be broken." Viner turned to the thirty-third Psalm and read—"'Behold, the eye of the Lord is upon them that fear Him, upon them that hope in His mercy; to deliver their soul from death, and to keep them alive in famine.' Again, in the thirty-seventh Psalm it is written—'Trust in the Lord and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed. A little that the righteous man hath is better than the riches of many wicked. I have been young, and now am old, yet have I not seen the righteous forsaken, nor his seed begging bread.'"
"Oh! Remember the word of the Lord Jesus Christ—'Take no thought, saying, What shall we eat, or what shall we drink, or wherewithal shall we be clothed? for your Heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things; but seek ye first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you.' Walter, God will more than make up to us for all that we may lose for His sake!"
"You'll never convince him! You'll never convince him!" cried Goldie, who, passing the shop, had overheard the last words, and now stood leaning his stout person upon Viner's little gate. "You can't persuade him but that I am growing rich, and that you are growing poor; that I am getting on, you going back in the world. All your preaching won't shut his eyes to that. Why, here am I able to send my son to a first-rate school, able (I grant that it's a hard pull on my purse, but yet somehow I can manage it) to place him with an engineer, where, with talents like his, he is pretty sure at last to make his fortune! I shall see him one of these days riding in his own carriage, for I have let no idle fancies, no silly superstition, prevent me from doing the best for my family, and that is the way to grow rich."
"'The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich, and He addeth no sorrow thereto,'" murmured Nelly.
Viner turned and smiled on his daughter.
"I wonder that you don't think of your child," said Goldie, "if you don't care about starving yourself."
"I do think of her," said the father earnestly, "and in obeying and trusting my God, I feel that I am doing the best thing for her both in this world and the next."
"We shall see," said Goldie as he walked away.
"Yes, we shall see," repeated Viner quietly.
"Do you really think," asked Walter, as soon as the fruiterer was beyond hearing, "that God would be angry with you just for selling upon Sunday when He knows that you are so poor?"
"When a parent gives a command, is he content that it should be disobeyed? When a friend makes a promise, is he content that it should not be believed? When a king passes a law, is he content that it should be broken?"
"Ah! But this law may be easy for the rich, but it is so very, very hard for the poor!"
"Is it hard," replied Viner gently, "that we should give up something for Him who has given us all? Let us remember the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, who, though He was rich, yet for our sakes, He became poor! He was rich, indeed, for the Son of God sat on the throne of heaven; He became poor indeed, for the Son of Man had not where to lay His head! 'He was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin; and inasmuch as He suffered being tempted, He is able to succour them that are tempted.' He knows—He feels for our trials!"
"The faith of His early followers was far more severely tried than ours. They had to endure not only want, but tortures, mockings, cruel deaths, for the sake of the Master whom they loved. And do you think that any martyr at the stake then, or any saint on his death-bed now, thought or thinks that he has done or given up too much for the Saviour who gave His life for him?"
"Oh no!" exclaimed Nelly, "Never! Only think of the glory and the crown! It is better to walk barefoot on a thorny way, and know that we will come to a kingdom at the end of our journey, and be happy for ever and ever, than to roll along in a golden carriage, and to feel that every minute brings us nearer and nearer to misery that never will end! We never can be really happy but when we do God's will like the angels!"
"How do the angels do God's will?" said Viner.
The child paused a moment to think, then replied, "Faithfully, readily, joyfully."
"But the angels have not to suffer God's will as well as to do it," observed Walter.
"No," replied Viner, "in this, man alone has the honour of following the steps of his Lord! We only are able, in this our short life, to imitate Him who in agony prayed, 'Not my will but Thine be done!'"
Walter had nothing to answer; he remained silent, though scarcely convinced. The convict's son could not feel the full force of the Scripture:
"What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world andlose his own soul? Or what shall a man give in exchange for his soul?"
Nor knew he yet how much is comprised in the prayer:
"THY WILL BE DONE ON EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN!"
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"Give us this day our daily bread."
I WILL now pass over a space of ten years, with all its joys and sorrows, its hopes and fears, and take my reader once more to E—.
The village has grown into a town: tall rows of houses stretch along the coast, on one side a square is commenced, and though "the season" is now nearly over, enough of life and bustle remain to denote a flourishing watering-place. There is, however, little change to be seen in the small humble dwelling of Viner, and almost as little alteration in the appearance of its master, who, save a few more gray hairs, a few more furrows on his cheek, looks much the same as when he appeared before us last. We shall, however, scarcely recognise Nelly in the tall, delicate girl, who has almost grown into the young woman; or the convict's son in the powerful youth, who still serves in the shop of his benefactor.
How has time passed with them during these long years? They seem to have made little progress in the road to fortune—has the promise of the Lord been to them in vain? No; though life has been a struggle with poverty and care, it has been a struggle cheered by love and hope; the bread earned by virtuous industry has been so sweet, the sleep after labour so calm; unkind words, peevish complaints have in that dwelling been unheard, the peace of God rests like sunshine upon it!
I cannot, however, say that Walter's spirit never fretted against poverty, that he never longed to place those whom he loved above all danger of want. He had learned much of religion beneath Viner's roof; he had seen its power to comfort the soul under trials, but he was yet young and impetuous in all his feelings, his faith was weak, his will unsubdued; in life's school he had yet much to learn.
And never had his faith been more tried than now, for Nelly, without any apparent complaint, seemed gradually losing all strength and colour, and looked like a flower fading away. She had for some years taken in needlework, to eke out her father's scanty living; she had worked early and late with cheerful industry, and perhaps overtasked her powers. With deep anxiety, Viner and his adopted son watched her pale cheek and drooping form, and the gentle smile which seemed to belong rather to heaven than to earth.
Viner consulted a doctor for his daughter, who shook his head, said that she had been overworked and under-fed, and prescribed as necessary for her recovery nourishing food and rest. Oh! How Walter longed for riches then—how Viner felt the cross of poverty lies heaviest when those whom we love are in want!
The father laid his trial before his Lord; he earnestly prayed, with a child-like faith, for a sufficiency of daily bread! He rose from his knees submissive and calm; he had placed his sick child at the feet of his Saviour, and while he determined that no lawful means should be left untried to increase her comforts, he rested his hopes upon Him who once said, "According to thy faith be it unto thee."
But to Walter it was more difficult thus to pray and wait, to let patience have its perfect work. Nor was it want of faith in God's promises alone that gave bitterness to the spirit of the young man. One passion that struggled in his breast robbed him entirely of that inward peace which lightened the burden of Viner. It was with feelings of mingled resentment and envy that Walter regarded Ned Goldie, the fruiterer's son. From him, he had received, when he first came to the village, that insult which still rankled in his mind, an insult followed by many others; for Ned was reputed a wit in E—, and the cheapest way of making people merry is by laughing at and ridiculing others. There was no end of Ned's jests upon the convict's son, which amused for a moment, and were then forgotten by all but him at whose expense they were made.
And Ned was in a position to raise some envy amongst those of his own class in life. Singularly favoured by nature—handsome, intelligent, full of health and spirits—Ned was a favourite with all. Often would he drop in to spend a half-hour at Viner's quiet home. Nelly could not but own that he was a very pleasant companion; his playful words (in her presence they were never ill-natured) often brought a smile to her pale face. Viner liked and felt interested in the merry-hearted lad; to Walter alone his society was as wormwood and gall.
Then it was known that Ned was to succeed to his father's prosperous business, as his elder brothers were already provided for. Aleck had risen in the world even beyond his father's hopes. Possessed of uncommon talents, he now shared his master's business; a bridge that he had planned had made his name well-known, and he had just formed a marriage, which had raised him at once to fortune, with the only daughter of a retired coal merchant. The words of Goldie, spoken ten years before, had been verified, he had lived to see his son have a carriage of his own!
Mat had been apprenticed to some business in London. It was noticed in the town that his parents spoke less frequently of him, that inquiries after his prospects were answered shortly by his father, and made his pale, sickly mother look sad. People could not forget his unchecked habit of gambling, his profane language, his love of bad company: it was even rumoured that he had got into some scrape in London, but nothing certain was known upon the subject. This, and Mrs. Goldie's feeble state of health, seemed, however, the only drawbacks upon the prosperity of the fruiterer; his increasing stoutness and the ruddiness of his face told of comfort, good living, and an easy life.
It was at this period, when to win money for Nelly was almost the first desire of Walter's heart, haunted his dreams by night, was his first thought on waking, that a thin old gentleman, in a snuff-coloured coat, that looked a good deal the worse for wear, flourishing in his hand a little carved stick, passed along the street of E—. He stopped opposite Goldie's shop, and looked in, as if studying the prices on the fruit, then turned round and glanced at Viner's humble window, hesitated, twisted his stick round and round, and then chose the poorest and cheapest-looking shop.
He was the first visitor who had come that day, and unpromising a customer as he looked, his entrance was a welcome sight to Walter, who was serving alone in the shop. The youth's patience, however, was not a little tried, as, after a half-hour spent in questioning and bargaining, and trying to beat down the price of what already scarcely yielded any profit, the old gentleman departed with a bag of nuts, leaving one fourpenny piece on the counter.
"He must be either terribly poor or terribly stingy," thought Walter. "His face looked as sharp as the monkey's head carved upon his stick; that's a man, I'll answer for it, who will never let himself be cheated out of a farthing!"
Walter busied himself in rearranging the fruit, which he had displaced to show to his troublesome customer. His mind was full of painful reflections, and it was not for a little time that he perceived that the old gentleman had left his pocket-book behind. It was an old worn-looking article, that might be of the same date as the snuff-coloured coat; Walter went to the gate to look out for its owner, but the gentleman was nowhere to be seen.
"Perhaps his name and address may be written inside," thought Walter; "I had better open it and look."
He unclosed the book, and in the pocket found, indeed, a note directed to Mr. Sharp, Marine Row; but there was something else that Walter found in that pocket, something on which he fixed his gaze with a strange emotion, till his hand trembled and his heart beat fast! It was a bank-note for £50 wrapped round some money! The pocket-book almost fell from the grasp of the youth, a thought of Nelly and her poverty flashed across his mind; here were riches before him, dare he touch them!
When the convict's son first came beneath Viner's roof, he would not have hesitated to grasp the fortune placed within his reach, the strong temptation would at once have mastered conscience! Walter would have rushed on the fatal career of the thief! But the Spirit of God had touched his heart; weak, imperfect as his religion might be, at least it was sincere and true. Walter dared not be guilty of the fatal error of presuming on God's mercy by committing wilful sin; he dared not hazard his immortal soul for gold! Hastily, he thrust the book into his bosom, colouring with shame, all alone as he was, at having harboured for one moment the thought of theft. He unclosed the little door which led to the parlour, asked Nelly to supply his place at the counter, then, without venturing one look at her thin, pale face, lest the sight of it should shake his resolution, he took down his hat from a peg in the wall, and hastened towards the lodging of the owner of the note.
"And is it possible that one who for the last ten years has lived, as it were, under the wing of piety, could have felt—almost acted as a thief!" thought Walter, as he walked on with rapid strides, more pained at having meditated a crime, than he once would have been to have committed it. "And I have blushed for my unhappy father, have been ashamed at bearing his name, have presumed to think that in his place my conduct would have been better, have almost dared to condemn him in my secret soul! Had he had the advantages with which I have been blessed, who can say that I might not have looked up to him now as my guide and example through life! Oh! May God forgive me, forgive my pride and hardness of heart, my foolish reliance on my own feeble strength, my cold forgetfulness of my unhappy parent! And have mercy upon him, O gracious Lord! Watch over him, save him, lead him back to Thyself, and grant that I may meet him, if not here below, yet in the kingdom of our Father in heaven!"
The lodging of the old gentleman was at no great distance; it looked small, uncomfortable, and mean. A slip-shop, untidy girl answered Walter's ring, and was desired by him to tell her master that some one wished to speak with him upon business. While she shuffled up the steep staircase, Walter's eye rested, at first unconsciously, upon the little curved stick which Mr. Sharp had carried, and which was now placed upon nails in the hall.
"I think that I might cut out something like that," he said to himself, "I shall have plenty of time in the long winter evenings; I wonder if an assortment of things carved in wood would be likely to sell well in the season." The idea pleased him; there seemed to be an opening for hope; he might yet, by the work of his hands, be enabled to gain some comforts for Nelly!
From the top of the narrow staircase, the servant-girl called to him to step up. Walter obeyed; and in a small, ill-lighted room, where dust lay thick on the table, and darkened the panes, and the window-curtain looked as though it had never been white, Walter found the sharp-featured old man. His look was restless and uneasy, an expression of mingled hope, fear, and suspicion was in his eye, as he recognised the face of Walter Binning. That expression changed to one of childish delight as the youth drew from his breast the well-known pocket-book; the old man snatched it with feverish impatience from his hand, opened it with fingers that trembled from eagerness, and not till he had examined and re-examined its contents, looked at the note on this side and that, and counted the money again and again, did he appear to have a thought to give to him whose honesty had restored it.
"It's all right—quite right," he muttered at last, "two sovereigns, a half-crown—four and six. You have behaved very well, young man, very well; will you accept—" the miser hesitated, fumbled with money, seemed to find difficulty in making up his mind, and then, as if quite with an effort, held out a sixpence to Walter!
The convict's son stepped back, a half-smile on his face, and, bowing to the miserable old man, left the room with this reflection, "It is better to want money than the heart to spend it."
And had Walter known more of Mr. Sharp, he would have been but strengthened in this opinion.
The miser had begun life without a shilling, but possessed with one strong desire to grow rich. He hoarded his small earnings till they became great, not from an honest wish to be independent in old age, but from that love of money for its own sake which the Bible tells us is the root of all evil. And now he had his desire—he was rich, he had money, he possessed, but he did not enjoy it! Life was to him like the feast given by a queen of ancient time, where not only the dishes, but all their contents, were of gold, and the wondering guests rose unsatisfied and hungry from their magnificent repast!
Mr. Sharp almost grudged himself his necessary food; he could never ask a blessing on his daily bread; his very soul seemed buried in his heaps of treasure. And now he was drawing near to his grave, and that treasure must be left behind! No one loved him, no one would mourn for his loss; he knew but too well that his money would be far more prized than ever he himself had been. God had dealt with him as with the Israelites of old—He gave them their desire, but sent leanness withal into their soul; and the man who possessed wealth without a blessing was poor and miserable indeed!
So Walter gave back the pocket-book and its rich contents, and gained nothing at all by his honesty?
Do you call it nothing to tread earth with a free, fearless step, to dread looking no man in the face? Do you call it nothing to have a character unstained, to hear the voice of an approving conscience, and to be able to ask in prayer for those blessings which we have taken no guilty means to obtain?
The thoughts of Walter were full of new plans of industry, while he more slowly returned to his home. As he approached the little gate of Viner's shop, some one came out of it into the street, bidding a cheerful good-bye to those within. It was with a feeling of annoyance that Walter saw the only being on earth whom he really disliked—Ned Goldie, the fruiterer's son.
The youth nodded to him as they met, with a sort of free-and-easy, patronising air, which was intolerable to Walter Binning.
"I am glad to find Nelly so much better to-day," said Ned.
"She does not look better to my eyes," replied Walter gloomily. "She seems daily weaker, and it is my conviction—"
"Your conviction!" exclaimed Ned, with a loud burst of mirth. "Oh! I did not know that things had come to that pass! I was aware that Viner had kept you ten years on your trial, but never heard of your conviction till now!"
"Insolent boy!" cried Walter, clenching his hand, his blood mounting to his temples, his eye flashing fire! Ned might have had reason to repent his idle jest, had not Viner, who had overheard the words that passed, laid his hand firmly upon the arm of Walter, and drawn him away within the gate.
"Would you be the slave to your passions?" he said in a low voice, "And show the world that a Christian can neither bear nor forbear."
"I could forgive neglect," muttered Walter, "could forgive wrongs; but this contempt, this scorn, this ridicule! I wonder," he exclaimed, almost indignantly, "that you, who value only wisdom and virtue, can endure this trifling, silly, conceited—"
"Yet generous-hearted boy," said Viner, pointing to a fine hare that lay upon the counter. "He has kind thought for others with all his faults, he know that nourishment was ordered for my Nelly."
Walter started, and felt angry with himself that the sight of food so much needed should give him an emotion of pain rather than of pleasure. But to Viner, who, even in the smaller events of life, recognised the hand of an overruling Providence, the timely gift from the kindness of an earthly friend seemed an answer sent to his earnest prayer:
"GIVE US THIS DAY OUR DAILY BREAD!"
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"Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive themthat trespass against us."
"NELLY, what are you thinking of—you look sad?" inquired Walter on the following morning, which happened to be Sunday.
"I was thinking of you," she replied gravely.
"And was that a thought to give you pain?" said Walter, sitting down at her side, "Tell me, Nelly, what were you thinking of me?"
"I am afraid—perhaps you would be vexed or angry—"
"Vexed I may be, but angry with you, never! Have I done anything to displease you?"
"It is not so much what you do, Walter, as what I fear that you feel. It seems to me—I trust that I am wrong—but it seems to me that you almost hate Ned Goldie."
"It is natural that I should—he is always insulting me!"
"It is natural, Walter; but is it right? Father has so often told us that the adopted children of God must struggle against and overcome their evil nature, must try, with God's help, to gain a likeness to their Father—to be merciful as He is merciful, forgive as He forgives; if we do not try this, with faith and with prayer, we have no right to think ourselves God's children at all."
"Can you prove that from the Bible?" said Walter.
"I think that I can," replied Nelly, after a moment's thought. "It is written, 'If any man have not the Spirit of Christ, he is none of His. Whosoever doeth not righteousness is not of God, neither he that loveth not his brother.'"
"That last verse has brought another into my mind, Nelly, which has often given me a feeling of uneasiness. It is from the same chapter, I believe. 'Whoso hateth his brother is a murderer; and ye know that no murderer hath eternal life abiding in him.'"
"O Walter! You who know so well what is right, can you, in the face of such words, still nourish hatred!"
"Nelly, I have no more power to love that boy than I have to move the cliffs into the sea!" exclaimed Walter.
"Ask for power—ask in faith; remember the Lord's promise, 'By faith ye shall remove mountains,'—'All things are possible to him that believeth.' O Walter!" continued Nelly, speaking rapidly and earnestly, till the blood rose to her pallid cheek, "this is not a work to be set aside or delayed; remember that until you forgive you cannot be forgiven, that as long as you live in hate, you are living in danger, that your very prayer is turned against yourself when you say, 'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that trespass against us!'"
Walter leaned his brow upon his hand, and remained for some moments buried in thought; then raising his head he said, "I believe that I might like Ned Goldie better if you and your father liked him less; but to see you welcome and speak kindly to one who does not even pretend to be religious, who is thoughtless, worldly, vain—"
"O Walter! Only think how he has been brought up! How could you expect him to be otherwise!"
"He is certainly likely to learn little good at home."
"And would you have us drive him away when he comes in a spirit of kindliness to the house of a man like my father, whose words and example may, by little and little, draw him to better things."
"Perhaps you are right, Nelly," said Walter, with a sigh, "and I have not acted the part of a Christian in either feeling or speaking as I have done. When I recall what I myself was—what I am still—I take shame for my own harsh, uncharitable spirit. I will ask for help from above, to struggle against this besetting sin."
"And pray for him too!" said Nelly earnestly. "We never are sure that we have forgiven our enemies till we are able heartily to pray for them."
"I will," answered Walter with an effort.
"And you will forgive me for speaking so plainly to you, brother?" said the girl, holding out her thin, wasted hand.
His reply was a silent press.
It was now time to attend church, and accompanied by Viner, they proceeded on their way towards the house of God. On the road they met Ned, who was going down to the beach, his back turned towards the place of worship. He stopped to wish Viner and his daughter good morning, but took no notice whatever of the convict's son.
"Where are you going, Ned?" said Viner.
"Down to the boat," replied the youth. "I shall take a sail while the sunshine lasts, I have not had one for the last three days."
"I wish that you would come with us to church," said Nelly, in her gentle persuasive tones.
"No, no! The morning service is so long—maybe I shall in the afternoon. Mind, I make no rash promises," laughed the boy; "I am no great churchgoer, you know!"
"I wish that I could persuade you, Ned," said Viner gravely but kindly, "that the only way to real happiness is to fear God and keep His commandments."
"Let me be happy in my own way for a while," cried Ned. "I dare say that I shall think like you one of these days, when I am a sober, gray-headed old man."
"Life is uncertain," interrupted Viner.
"Therefore I'll enjoy it while I can!"
"And death—"
"Oh! I've time enough to think about that!" cried the youth, waving his hand as he sprang down the shingle, so light and agile, so full of health, and strength and spirit, that it seemed as though many years were indeed before him.
Walter fulfilled his promised to Nelly; he prayed fervently and humbly for the Spirit of grace, that Spirit which God has promised to all who ask in faith—that Spirit whose fruits are long-suffering and love. A peace seemed to come into his heart as he prayed, a peace to which his soul had long been a stranger—he could think of his enemy without bitter feeling, and even ask for a blessing upon him.
While the congregation were yet in the church, the violent rattling of the windows told of the sudden coming on of a storm; and as soon as the door was opened at the close of the service, the blast of cold air which swept in was so strong, that but for the help of her father's arm, Nelly could scarcely have stood against it. The whole sky was covered with dark leaden clouds, sweeping on rapidly one after another; the wind had swelled into a gale, while the broad dashes of foam over the whole extent of waters, and the waves that rolled on and broke upon the beach, flinging high in the air their showers of white spray, showed the fury of the raging storm!
"I hope and trust that Ned Goldie is not on the sea!" exclaimed Nelly.
A crowd was collected on the shore, which was now increased by the greater part of the late congregation. Every eye was strained in one direction, where a little boat was seen, tossed like a nut-shell on the foaming waves, and many an exclamation of pity or of fear burst from the anxious lookers-on.
"I'd not for a hundred guineas be in that boat!" said one. "He'll never get her into shore."
"I thought she'd have capsized then!" exclaimed another. "Why on earth does he not take in the sail?"
"Isn't it Ned Goldie?" said Mrs. Winter, who, prayer-book in hand, stood one of the foremost in the crowd. "He'd better have been listening in his place in church than taking his Sunday pleasure, poor fellow!"
"Heaven have mercy upon him!" faltered Nelly, clasping her hands, and looking with terror upon the little boat, which seemed half swallowed up amidst the swelling billows.
"It is he! It is my boy! Oh! Can no one save him?" shrieked the voice of his wretched mother, as she stood with arms extended wildly towards him, the wind blowing back the hair from her pale horror-stricken face—watching the boat that held the idol of her heart.
Another awful gust. The boy was seen in the boat, vainly trying to furl the fluttering, struggling sail; then there was a cry heard even above the roaring storm.
"She's over! She's down! He's lost!" The mother lay senseless on the beach—her son was struggling in the midst of the waves! "God have pity on him! He cannot swim!" cried Mrs. Winter.
Nelly had closed her eyes in horror, a word from her father made her look round in new fear.
"Is it not madness to attempt it?" said Viner.
Walter had stripped off his coat and waistcoat, and was preparing to plunge into the surf.
"O Walter!" exclaimed Nelly, stretching out her hand; but she dared not utter the entreaty that rose to her lips—she dared not stop him in the course of duty.
"Pray for me!" whispered Walter. There was no time to say more—the next moment she saw him battling with the waves.
Motionless as a statue the young girl stood, able to utter no word, but pouring out her whole soul in fervent agonised prayer! Now a head and outspread arms were seen on the waters, then were lost again, as a huge swelling billow rolled on, as though to sweep away the swimmer, or bury him beneath its weight!
Nelly was like one in a terrible dream; she heard nothing of anything that passed around her but the rush of the wind and the roar of the waves; she saw nothing but the wild tossing waters, save when she caught a moment's glimpse of Walter. Happy was it for Ned's wretched mother that she was beyond reach of either hearing or seeing!
When Mrs. Goldie recovered from her swoon, she found herself in the nearest house, which happened to be that of the baker. Her wild passionate inquiries received no reply but looks of sorrow and pity; and unable to endure the terrible suspense, the poor woman sprang from the bed on which she had been laid, and in the strength of her despair, notwithstanding every effort to detain her, rushed back to the spot where the sight of an assembled crowd directed her impetuous steps.
Alas! For the sight that awaited her. Viner was kneeling upon the shingle, supporting on his bosom the head of a youth, into whose colourless lips he was pouring some spirits, and Nelly, at his side, with trembling eagerness, was watching the signs of returning animation. Mrs. Goldie gave one wild, searching look, and passed on—the face was not that of her son. A little farther on lay a corpse, in which life had for some time been extinct. Stiff and cold he was stretched in death, the young, the beautiful, the strong—oh! How changed! In vain every method to restore him had been tried—the heart and the pulse had ceased to beat, the sparkling eye was glazed, the laughing lip silent; in the midst of his pleasures, his follies, his sins, Ned Goldie's spirit had been summoned to appear before his Maker!
We will dwell no longer upon a scene so sad—no words can paint the anguish of the desolate mother! We will rather reflect upon the comfort which it was to Walter, when following the poor youth's remains to the grave, to feel that Heaven had enabled him to triumph over his better feelings, and even to hazard his life for the sake of one whom he had once regarded with hate. His efforts to save Ned had been in vain, he had only succeeded in dragging the body to the shore; but he had done all that it was in his power to do; he had treated an enemy as he would have treated a brother; and he no longer felt self-condemned by his own words when he prayed:
"FORGIVE US OUR TRESPASSES AS WE FORGIVE THEMTHAT TRESPASS AGAINST US."
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"Lead us not into temptation."
E— was now becoming completely emptied of visitors. Every lodging put up its hopeless label—"To let"—in the reading-room no one thought it worth while to attend; the shore was left to the fishermen, and scarcely a bonnet was seen in the streets!
Walter worked busily and well at his new occupation. He had really a taste for carving, and every article that he made was an improvement upon the last. It was a great pleasure to him to hear Nelly admire his elegant sticks and beautiful boxes, and suggest little alterations and amendments.
But still there could be no sale for anything that he made until the season when visitors should return, and with the long dreary winter and bleak spring before him, Walter began seriously to consider whether he should not leave E—, and seek for employment elsewhere. In vain he tried to persuade himself that he was wanted in the shop; Viner's business was so small that he could well manage it himself. The scanty gains were hardly sufficient for the bare support of three; were Walter in another situation, he might increase the little store.
Very dear had his quiet home become to Villa's adopted son, he could hardly bear to leave it; and as he found by inquiry that there was little hope of obtaining employment near E—, he knew that to seek it, he must go to some distance, and be separated, perhaps for many years, from those whom he most loved upon earth.
The thought of this lay like a weight upon his heart, and often made him sigh heavily as he sat at his work. As yet he had not spoken on the subject either to Viner or Nelly, but he knew that the time was come when it would be necessary for him to do so.
Three days after the funeral of poor Ned, Mrs. Winter entered the little gate; Viner was alone in the shop at the time, but the sound of her voice drew Nelly and Walter from the parlour, where they had both been engaged in their work. "You have just come from our poor neighbour's," said Viner. "How is Mrs. Goldie this morning?"
"Oh! Poor soul, I have scarcely left her since that terrible day! She's breaking, she's breaking fast—she will never hold up her head again!"
"Oh! Hers has been indeed a heavy trial!" murmured Nelly.
"Most heavy," said her neighbour, "and she's quite sinking under it. I've known mothers in sorrow for their children before now, but never in sorrow like hers! There are many who receive deep wounds in the heart, but its sin that puts poison on the edge! This poor creature is always reproaching herself, always weeping over the wrong that she did to her child, though I am sure that she was but too fond a mother."
"'Oh! Had I known that his days were to be so few,' she cries; and then bursts into an agony of grief, and refuses to receive any comfort."
"Oh! Do you not speak to her of the Saviour?" cried Nelly.
"I have spoken, and our worthy clergyman has spoken; for, strange enough, Goldie sent for him. But it seems as if religion rather added to her pain; for when she hears of the mercy and goodness of God, she sobs out, 'Why did my poor boy never know Him!'"
"And Goldie," said Viner, "how does he bear up?"
"He looks much as usual, perhaps a little thinner; but he does not give way like his wife. I think that his heart is hardened by selfishness; and yet it has its warm corner too. He certainly has done a great deal for his children, has given them all that he could, except the best thing of all!"
"I am sure that he must feel this blow," said Nelly.
"He neither speaks about Ned, nor will hear others speak; he cannot bear his wife's grief, so keeps out of her way; he scarcely sees her from morning till night—she'll not trouble him long, poor thing!"
"I had trusted that affliction would have drawn him near to God," said Viner.
Mrs. Winter shook her head. "People may talk about great changes," she said, "but depend upon it, when a man has gone on for sixty years thinking of nothing but getting on in the world, it's as easy to raise the dead as to make him turn to religion! We know that there have been miracles, but we do not dare to expect them; and it would have been a miracle indeed had that man's heart been raised from the world! I fancy that Goldie has more trouble in his family before him, at least if it is true what is said about Mat. After the way in which he has brought up his sons, he must expect to reap as he has sowed."
Viner never encouraged gossip, therefore asked his neighbour no question that might lead her to continue the subject. She turned suddenly towards Walter and said, "I'm forgetting the thing that I came for—I bring you a message from Goldie. I think that he feels grateful—at least as grateful as such a man can feel—for your attempt to save his poor boy. He wishes you to stop over and see him; I hope that he is going to do something good for you, Walter."
The shutters of Goldie's shop, which had been put up before the funeral, had been again taken down, and except that one bright young face was seen there no more, the place looked much as usual. Walter found Goldie in the back parlour—his poor wife had never left her bed. Of how much comfort and ease that parlour told, with its nice furniture, carpet, little mirror above the mantelpiece, and framed portraits of the three sons hung on the wall! Yet to Walter's eye there was something deeply sad in the place, where comfort might be, but happiness was not.
Goldie received the youth kindly. Whatever remembrances the sight of Walter must have brought to the mind of the bereaved father, he showed little emotion on meeting, his voice might be somewhat tremulous, that was all—there were no tears nor signs of deep sorrow.
"I owe you something, Binning," he said, holding out his hand, "and I am not the man to forget it. You must be making a poor thing of it at Viner's, I should say—perhaps you are beginning to look at for something better?"
He stopped, as if for an answer; Walter made no reply, but listened eagerly to what was to follow.
"Mine is a large business," said Goldie, a little proudly, "and besides that, I have a house and lodgings to let, as you know, at the other end of the town. I shall want assistance in the shop, especially now that Mrs. Goldie is ill, and—" he paused, for he would not allude to the son whom he had lost—"and I should be happy, Binning, to take you in, with a handsome salary now, and a prospect of future partnership if we find that we suit one another."
The heart of Walter leaped with delight! The prospect of comfort, independence, without separation from his friends, seemed so much more than he had ever dared to hope, that his first feeling was one of unmixed joy! The second, however, was of difficulty and doubt, and Goldie read it in the changing expression of his face.
"Well, what do you say to it?" cried the fruiterer rather impatiently. "Is not my offer a fair one?"
"Most kind, most generous, and I shall accept it with gratitude, if I may only be assured that in serving the shop I shall never be required to do anything against my conscience."
"Your conscience! Oh! That is some of Viner's cant—that won't do with me," cried Goldie. "If you live with me, you must do as I do, and have none of your nonsense about Sunday. You had better understand that clearly from the first, and put your conscience in your pocket, like a sensible man."
"Then I'm afraid—"
"Don't make a foolish decision in a hurry, that you will be sorry for all your life. There's a customer just come in, I see, I must go to the shop to attend to him. Remain here, and think over the offer that I have made; you'll never have such another chance of getting on well in the world."
Walter sat alone in Goldie's back parlour, buried in deep anxious thought, drawn in opposite directions by two strong powers—duty on one side, inclination on the other. There were so many reasons for accepting Goldie's kindness: he would be independent, he could help his friends, he would see them every day—perhaps he might even do some spiritual good in the house of this irreligious man. But to all this conscience had but one answer. If he who asks the Almighty to lead him not into temptation, wilfully, with his eyes open, throws himself into it, how dare he hope for the protection of Heaven?
Should he deliberately agree to disregard God's commandment, how could he ask or expect that a blessing should attend him? Nelly's favourite text seemed to ring in his ears—"The blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich, and He addeth no sorrow thereto."
When Goldie returned from his customer, he found Walter with his mind quite made up. Gratefully, but firmly, the youth declined his offer, and Viner's adopted son returned to his humble home, not, perhaps, without some feeling of regret, but with a comfortable consciousness in his mind that, however foolish man might think his decision, he had acted wisely in the sight of Heaven.
And let me pause one moment to entreat my reader, before he takes any important step in life, thus to make conscience his first counsellor and friend. Providence may place us in situations of temptation, and then we have every encouragement to struggle on bravely, putting our trust in the promised aid of Him who is able to make us more than conquerors. But let us beware how we place ourselves in such, confiding in our own power to resist evil.
"Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall;" let him avoid the place and the society that may draw him into sin; and never forget that the prayer put into the mouths of all by One who knew our weakness and our proneness to err, was:
"LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION."