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first, it is true, I had sobbed violently—for they told me she would die; but when, day after day, I returned from school, and found her the same, I began to believe she would always be spared to me..
One day when I had lost my place in the class, and done my work wrong side outward, I came home discouraged and fretful. I went into my mother's chamber. She was paler than usual, but she met me with the same affectionate smile that always welcomed my return. Alas! when I look back through the lapse of thirteen years, I think my heart must have been stone, not to have been melted by it. She requested me to go down stairs and bring her a glass of water; I pettishly asked, why she did not call a domestic to do it. With a look of mild reproach, which I shall never forget if I live to be a hundred years old, she said, "And will not my daughter bring a glass of water for her poor, sick mother?"
I went and brought her the water, but I did not do it kindly. Instead of smiling and kissing her as I was wont to do, I sat the glass down very quick and left the room. After playing a short time I went to bed without bidding my mother " good night;" but, when alone in my room in darkness and silence, I remembered how pale she looked, and how her voice trembled, when she said, "Will not my daughter bring a glass of water for her poor, sick mother?" I could not sleep; and I stole into her chamber, to ask forgiveness. She had just sunk into an uneasy slumber, and they told me I must not waken her. I did not tell any one what troubled me, but stole bock to my bed, resolved to rise early in the morning, and tell her how sorry I was for my conduct.
The sun was shining brightly as I awoke, and hurrying on my clothes, I hastened to my mother's room. She was dead; she never spoke to me more; never smiled upon me again, and when I touched the hand that used to rest upon my head in blessing, it was so cold it made me start. I bowed down by her side and sobbed in bitterness of my heart. I thought then, I wished I could die, and be buried with her; and old as I now am, I would give worlds were they mine to give, could my mother but have lived to tell roc, she forgave my childish ingratitude. But I cannot call her back; and when I stand by her grave, and whenever I think of her manifold kindness, (ho memory of that reproachful look she gave me, will "burn like a serpent, and sting like an adder."
LLEWELLYN CUPIDO MICHELS.
A HOTTENTOT OF SOUTH AFRICA.
"God is no respecter of persons; but in every nation, be that
feareth him, and worketh righteousness, is accepted with him."
Acts x. 34, 35.
(Concluded from page 297.)
On first day (Sunday) morning, the 30th, being told that his medical attendant considered his recovery "very donbtfol," he after a pause, observed, "I should like to have lived a little longer; I should like to have gone to Africa;" but added, " the Lord's will must be right." He remarked that, on looking back to his past life, there were many things which gave him great rogret, and ho said, with much eagerness, "I wish that I had lived nearer to the Lord."
On the fifth of ninth Month, (September) he was asked if he had any message to send to James Backhouse, who was absent from home, engaged in religious service. He replied, "Give my dear love to him, and tell him, I believe this illness has been greatly blessed to me; it has made me feel very thankful for all my blessings, and drawn me nearer to the Lord Jesus. Tell him, I hope his work prospers, and that when it is finished, if we are permitted to meet, it maybe with joy in the Lord."
Early in the morning of the eighth, it was remarked to him, what a comfort it was to think that this light affliction was but for a moment in comparison. He replied, " Yes, and in comparison with what?" It was continued, "In comparison with the never-ending joys of eternity." Cupido replied, "Yes, yes," with a sweet smile. After breakfast, being asked if he felt comfortable, he hesitated; but on the words "quiet and peaceful" being added, he immediately assented. It was remarked, what a blessing it was, at such a time to have a compossionate Saviour to flee to
"It is indeed," he replied with emphasis. About noon he appeared much weaker; and on this being noticed to him, and the remark made, that his present state of trial was not likely to last long, he said that he believed it was not, and requested to have a letter read to him which had been received from Jane Williams, the widow of his first Christian care-taker, in which she expressed her desire that, whether he lived or died, the Lord might bo his portion for ever, &c. With this he was much pleased; he sent a message of love to her, and spoke of her kind care in keeping him near to her, when he was a little boy, regarding this as a link in the chain of Divine Providence, which had been so wonderfully extended to him, up to the present time ; ho spoke with joyful anticipation of meeting her husband in •heaven, and continued, " O Lord! take care of his children, watch over them as he used to do over us." He again referred to the hope he had entertained of returning to labour in the Lord's vineyard, in his native land; how his heart had yearned to be made instrumental in the conversion of his benighted countrymen, and more especially of his own immediate connections. "My mother, my dear mother, my brothers and sisters," he exclaimed, " O Lord! take thine own work into thine own hands; and, by thy Holy Spirit, visit their hearts, and turn them unto righteousness."
In reference to his own state, he said, "I once thought I served the Lord, but when I came to England, I grew proud; since this illness commenced, I have been permitted to see my sins in a very different light from what I ever saw them in before: and through Jesus Christ, I have been enabled to repent, and pray earnestly for forgiveness; and I believe that the blood of Jesus has cleansed me from all sin;" and with a countenance beaming with joy and gratitude, he exclaimed, "O Lord! blessed and praised be thy .holy name!"
He enquired for a Bible, and wished some passages to bo read to him, on being asked in what part, he said, "In Revelations." Several verses in the last chapter were read, and he remarked with great solemnity. "There is one, 'surely I come quickly;'" he then alluded to the 4th verse of the 21st chapter,—"And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain." At this time, his soul seemed filled with the love of his Saviour, and he emphatically exclaimed, "Why do not all sinners come to Christ?" Seeing those around him weep, he said, "I wish you to be comforted; don't cry at that which is the will of God: the Lord bless and reward you for all your kindness to me." He then took an affectionate leave of them, and gavo directions respecting the distribution of his books, &c., particulnry requesting that his clothes might bo sent to his poor relations in Africa.
For some time, he continued to praise and magnify his God, and touchingly said, "I am thirsty here, but I shall soon drink of the river of life; I am going to that place where there will be no want." During the night he became considerably convulsed, but at intervals was quite sensible, and said that he had not much pain. Towards morning ho was more quiet, and on the remark being made to him, that there was still occasion for continued patience, but that the struggle would soon be over, and an entrance granted him into eternal blessedness, where there would be no more pain or sorrow; he joyfully responded. Articulation had become difficult, and after this he spoke but little. About one o'clock in the afternoon, he requested to be raised up in bed, but almost immediately desired to be laid down again; for a few minutes his breathing, which had been very laborious, became more gentle; and shortly after, he passed quietlv away, wo cannot doubt, to join the ransomed of all nations," kindreds, people, and tongues, who have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.
He died on the 9th of the 9th month (September), 1846, aged about seventeen years: and was interred in the burial ground belonging to the Society of Friends, in York, on the 13th of the same month.
THE MARTINIS NEST.
In the summer of 1847, I had an opportunity of witnessing a most curious and interesting eight.—A pair of martins had their nest beneath the roof of an old form-house, pleasantly situated on the banks of the river Lea; five eggs had been deposited in it, and in due time they had a little family of unfledged birds. It was a pretty sight to see the fond parents clinging to the nest, while they fed the young ones, who put their heads out of it to receive their food. But, sad to tell, their happiness was but of short duration-: for, on a luckless day, the window beneath the nest was to he cleaned; a ladder was brought for that purpose, in placing which, the incautious swain clumsily struck the nest, it fell to the ground, and the poor little birds were all killed but one.
Tho good farmer's wife was very much grieved at this misfortune; but she soon set her wits to work to mend the matter in the best manner possible; so, getting a tiny basket, she made a comfortable bed of wool, and placing in it the young bird that survived, ordered it to ho tied in the place where the nest was at first constructed.—Meanwhile, the distracted parents flew round and round the head of the man upon the ladder, as if they meant to peck him. I suppose they could not understand what he was doing; they soon, however, entered their new habitation, and evidently appeared comforted. But the basket being suspended by the handle, shook with every breeze. So, not approving of n. swing-nest, they stuck it to the wall with clay, and then set about building a roof to it, leaving a small entrance on one side.
Well, the little bird grew, and became fledged; and -when autumn arrived, they all forsook the old farm-house, and took their flight to a distant clime. Whether they spent their next spring in the myrtle and olive groves of Italy, or among the palms of Africa, I know not; but in the following year they returned, and, in the self-same basket, reared another family. Tho nest is still in being, but it has somewhat suffered during the storms of the past winter, and I believe it is going to be taken down.—Early Days.