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Here he prayed to the God which seeth in secret, and He "rewarded" Robert Dunley "openly."
This state of things lasted for a few years, so that it became the talk of the district. It was evident that Robert had been ripening for glory for some time; his faith, patience, hope, and trust were so sweetly developed, while his daily communion with God was of a high order. He reminded me forcibly of the following verse, for it mattered not though his wife abused him day by day, and week after week, his countenance reflected that peace of God which passeth all understanding. This verse, I believe, reflected the state of his mind:
"He waits in secret on his God,
At last Robert was taken ill with rheumatic fever, caused, I have no doubt, by his wife's inattention to her husband's comforts, but, as she averred, by his constant kneeling in the damp barn. At any rate, if this latter assertion were correct, Susan Dunley's conduct was still the cause, seeing that she hunted her husband downstairs and out of the house with a demoniac cruelty if ever she caught the poor fellow attempting to pray in his bedroom. He was as literally a martyr for his religion as if he had gone to the stake. "Through much tribulation," and that from the hands of her who should have been his nearest and dearest friend, he entered the Kingdom.
He did not suffer long. Only two or three short weeks of increasing pain, and of equally increasing prayer and praise, and then poor Robert Dunley, rather, rich Robert Dunley, passed away to claim his mansion in the skies. He clung to his wife still, as far as she would let him, and wrestled for her, praying that God would work upon her by His Spirit, and so make her "a new creature in Christ Jesus." And as he passed away he died, shouting, "Thanks be unto God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."
Susan Dunley was affected by her husband's death for a while, and seemed to promise amendment. She had not now a friend in the world, for her son had enlisted as a soldier to get away from her, while some relatives had taken the daughter, so as to bring her up away from the contaminating influence of a drunken mother. But she fell lower and lower. Drink, and the company which drink gathers, seemed to be" all her desire; so, as may be imagined, she descended very speedily, now that her husband was gone, into the mire of disgrace and degradation. She finally ended her days in the union workhouse, a miserable object, without hope and without grace. As she lived, so she died, a despiser of God.
The children both did well. Upon both of them the blessings sought by a believing father's prayers rested most abundantly in after life.
E. R. P.
(&m gailg (fess.
THere's not a heart that beats en earth
Of sorrow on thee laid,
It is thy cross! Oh, meekly bear
It on thy chastened heart
Quell faithless thoughts that start .
One holier'than thou
With thorns upon His brow.
",f bill Qibt gnu nst."
SAY art thou worn with toil and strife,
Yes, I will give thee rest, although
I say not they shall cease.
And I will give thee peace.
It may be that thy joys are fled,
Thy hopes all numbered with the dead,
Still will I give thee rest!
To soothe thy saddened breast.
Then, drooping spirit, rise, be strong;
Soon will thy heart oppressed
In heaven I'll give thee rest.
Long one of the beautiful glens of beautiful Scotland
might be seen walking every Sabbath morning in
the direction of the nearest kirk a singular pair of
worshippers. A middle-aged female of tall and
stately bearing, with a grave, sweet countenance, closely
followed by a magnificent dog, who for years had been in the habit of walking to the house of God in company with his mistress, following her into her pew and lying at her feet there during the whole of the service. Two of her daughters were lying in the quiet graveyard of the kirk to which she went; others were married, and all her sons and daughters were now away from the old home and fheir mother; but still she need not have been reduced to the sole companionship of Bruce, for her husband was living and in good health, and each Sabbath, as his wife, in her loneliness, traversed the road to the kirk, might be seen in his own little den at home busily engaged with his weekly accounts, or walking through his fields with a keen look-out over the state of his crops and flocks.
It had not always been so. For years after his marriage John Duncan was never willingly absent from his place in the family pew on the Sabbath, and it was a goodly sight to see the group of tall handsome sons and daughters surrounding their fine-looking parents, and all engaging reverently in the service of God's house. But when death entered the home and took away, one after another, its fairest daughters, Lily and Marian, the effect was widely different on the two parents. Esther Duncan took her sore heart to Jesus, that its vacant places might be filled with His consolations; and so trial wrought in her character its appointed ministry of blessing. John Duncan, on the contrary, would not "hear the rod;" he turned impatiently from the teaching of sorrow, questioning God's right to take away "what He had first given," and closing his heart against the true riches, he opened it to the love of earthly gain, and very soon it was hardened by the trampling feet of worldly cares.
It was like the bitterness of death to Esther to see the best part of her husband's nature thus defaced; and only God knew how she wrestled in prayer for him. But the answer tarried, and under the burden of her sorrow the "earthly house" grew more and more infirm, even though the immortal tenant was renewed day by day, God being