Imágenes de páginas

At the age of seventy-four Mr. Smith began to feel the stairs-entered the bed-room-drew aside the curtains of approaches of sickness, and sent for Mr. Jones, the medical the bed, but his miserable patient was not there. With man who had succeeded him in his business. Mr. Jones the last energy of life, he had crept out of his bed, declarwas one who believed the Scriptures, though he knew ing to his alarmed nurse, he could not live there, he was not the power of spiritual things, but the Bible was re suffering the torments of the damned! but he dragged his verenced by him as the Word of God. Many an argu- dying limbs to the place where Mr. Jones found him, a ment, during the slow progress of his disease, did Mr. | corner of the room, huddled up in blankets, and shaking Smith hold with his younger attendant. Many a time in horror, while his stammering lips reiterated the awful did he insist upon the mournful fact, that there was no cry, “I am damned, I am damned.” At length the voice perfect character among those described as the people of failed, the glazed eye turned up; one convulsive struggle God; forgetting in his blind eagerness against truth that passed, and the spirit appeared before that God who so the honest admission of man's infirmity and sin in the awfully avenged himself even in this world. Scriptures is an argument in their favour, and not against The minister also came, but the infidel was dead! them. But the disease slowly pursued its course, and

BEACON. Mr. Smith asked his adviser whether there was any hope of his recovery. Mr. Jones felt it is duty to inform the

The above account was communicated to the writer by

the person who is called Mr. Jones, and is an accurate aged infidel that there was no hope. Oh, dreadful tidings to the unbeliever of every name,

account of the deathbed of his wretched patient. and of every class-whether an infidel, or worldly un

The Gospel Echo. believer, he must soon die, and then the enquiry is forced upon the mind, what comes after death? Then the

Supposed to be suggested by observing an Echo.* fimsy veil of the scoffer is rent away, then the unbeliever's True faith, producing love to God and man, conscience admits the reality of that great truth, after

Say, echo, is not this the gospel plan? death is the judgment. For God does not leave himself

Echo-the gospel plan! without a witness in the soul. Scoffing is a disease which

Must I my faith in Jesus constant shew, belongs to the days of health. Real disease restores the

By doing good to all, both friend and foe? infidel to his senses. And so it was in the awful case

Echo-both friend and foe! which is here to be recorded.

When men conspire to hate and treat me ill, Mr. Smith, upon this faithful answer of his medical at Must I return them good, and love them still ? tendant, began to tremble. The opportunity was seized,

Echo-love them still. and the question asked, Shall a clergyman be sent for ? If they my failings causelessly reveal, The offer was then indignantly refused. Day after day

Must I their faults as carefully conceal ? Mr. Jones pressed him with the Word of God, as far as

Ecbo-as carefully conceal. he knew it himself. What a blessing for a medical man

But if my name and character they tear, to be able to act as the spiritual adviser. What a blessing,

And cruel malice too, too plain appear; when he who attends for the cure of the bodily maladies,

And wben I sorrow and affliction know,

They smile, and add unto my cup of woe. can direct the soul to the Great Physician. May my own

Say, echo, say, in such peculiar case, death-bed be thus attended.

Must I continue still to love and bless ? At length, when Mr. Smith drew near his end, the im

Echo,-still love and bless. portunities of Mr. Jones prevailed. “You may send for

Why, echo! how is this ? thou’rt sure a dove; à clergyman, if you think he can do any good,” he said, for

Thy voice will leave me nothing else but love. terror of soul had now taken the place of hardened in

Echo-nothing else but love. fidelity. Mr. Jones rushed down stairs, threw himself

Amen, with all my heart, then be it so, upon his horse, and galloped to the Vicar of the parish,

And now to practice I'll directly go. it was thirty years ago. He was at dinner. Ah, did he

Echo-directly go. know the feeling of our Saviour, “My meat is to do the

This path be mine, and let who will reject; will of Him that sent me, and to finish his work." The

My gracious God me surely will protect. answer was, I will come to-morrow. Mournfully did Mr.

Echo--surely will protect. Jones turn his horse's head, slowly did he retrace his steps, Henceforth on him I'll cast my ev'ry care, to the house where the no longer infidel lay. Indeed he

And friends and foes embrace them all in prayer. was no longer an infidel, for as he lay upon his death

Echo-embrace them all in prayer. bed, it shook under him, while he trembled for fear of the

The above lines were sent to us as found in the Church at judgment to come. Not one hope cheered him-not one Kirkburn, Kircudbright. We suspected they were by George ray of spiritual sunshine enlightened the deep gloom that Herbert, but do not find them in his Poems. had settled upon his soul. He raised his voice in cries of alarm, but not in prayer; he longed for peace, but could

THE MERCHANT's CLERK. not pray for it; he longed for mercy, but could not ask for it.

CHAPTER III. Slowly that night came on, but its hours of darkness

| I remained at school till I was about sixteen years brought no rest. The agitation of the soul drove sleep from the eyelids. The terrors of that night were never

of age, I believe I should have stopped a year revealed. The morning dawned, but with the dawning

longer, bad not a circumstance occurred which day, the pulse began to fail; but the voice did not fail : changed the plan that my mother and my aunt had bis lips were full of expressions of terror. As the day agreed upon. No, not agreed upon, for they had advanced the medical attendant arrived -ascended the determined only to tell me their wishes, and to let


me decide as to what profession I should follow. | parlour door opened suddenly, and a loud hearty They rather wished that I should be educated for voice called on me to come down directly. I the Church, for although I had no prospect of a turned round and saw a tall portly stranger standing living, they thought that with a curacy, and the at the foot of the stairs-“Come down, John, what small yet comfortable fortune which my aunt in are you going up stairs for, we are all here. I wish tended to leave between my sister and myself, I to see you, boy-Well how do you do, John,” said should be a bappier man, than in any more lucrative he very kindly, shaking me by the band. “ Why business or profession. I would rather have been cousin,” he added, turning to my mother, as we a soldier or a farmer, but I did not like to disap entered the room, “he is as like his father as he point them by saying so; indeed I did not think can stare. God bless you child !" and he stroked much on the subject. I knew there was time enough down my head, as if I had been a child, I coloured before me, and as they shewed not the least inclina for I felt I was sixteen. “His father was just tion to oppose me, I cared little about the matter. such another at his age, a little taller perhaps, eh,

One Saturday afternoon, when I returned home Catherine!" turning to my aunt, “ you remember from school, I found a very bandsome carriage in poor William just such a youth ; don't you ?” My the stable yard. It was drawn out from the coach aunt did not answer, but walked to the window and house and the coachman was washing the wheels. coughed, my mother bent her head down over her “Whose carriage is this?" I asked. “ My master's, work, but her eyes filled with tears. sir," replied the man respectfully, “ Thomas Mr. Arnold looked at them both in silence, and Arnold's, Esq." “ Who can Thomas Arnold, Esq. then sitting down, he began to talk to me, and to be ? I thought to myself, for just then I quite ask many questions, turning bis attention entirely forgot I had ever heard my father's rich cousin so to me. “What do you mean to make of cousin named. I was much occupied by tbe elegantly built John, madam ?” he said at length to my mother, carriage, and after I had surveyed it on all sides, “you must be thinking of something, for he will I walked to the stable, the door of wbich was open. soon be a man." " We have determined on nothing “Why, coachman," I cried as I entered, “you yet,” replied my mother, “but my sister and I seem to bave some fine cattle bere!" The coach. rather thought of the church.” “ Nonsense, nonman hastened towards me, well pleased at my ad sense, cousin," he cried, inierrupting her rather miration, but saying, as he passed me, “ By your roughly, “the church! what to be a poor church leave, young gentleman, I'd warn you not to go tvo mouse all his life! That will never do. You must near the tallest of tbem, that borse in the right. make your fortune, boy, and not be a poor curate. hand stall, for he has a vile trick of kicking out at Come tell me yourself wbat you wish to be ?” I a stranger, though in harness he is as quiet as a lamb." replied, that I did not care-that I did not know. He bad scarcely spoken, when the horse verified bis “ Now that's but a fool's answer, boy," he replied, words, and lashed out so violently, that he almost 6 I like a direct answer, for I am sure you both care broke his halter. I heard a scream bebind me, and know what you wish to be. You have settled and beheld our house-maid standing on the threshold, it, I dare say, in your own mind, so speak out." dressed out in her best gown and cap. “Dear me, I had not liked his manner of putting down my master John," she cried, óc how can you go so near mother's opinion, and, therefore, I had not told those vicious beasts? I'm sure my mistress would him my mind. I still hesitated, but my mother said be finely frightened if she could see you. Oh, to me, “ If you have any particular wish, John, coachman, I wonder at you!" You need’nt to tell it to Mr. Arnold. I confessed that if I were be no matter alarmed, Mary, not in the least," he to have my choice, I should prefer to be a soldier. replied, “ for I'll take care your young gentleman “ God forbid," I heard my aunt say to herself. don't meet with no barm, and I'm sorry you are so My mother went on working, but made no remark. tiresome, Mary, though I'm glad to see you at the Mr. Arnold repeated my words, and added to them stables. If you will walk to the left hand, sir, you the dry little monosyllable, “Hem !" " Why as to may see Boxer there, without any danger whatsom that," be continued after a pause in which he ever, or stop, sir, I'll lead him out, and you'll see pincbed bis chin with his finger and thumb several him better."

times, and looked very thoughtful, “why as to ..ob, that I'm sure you must not, coachman," tbat, perhaps I might manage to get him a cadetsaid Mary simpering, "you are very civil spoken ship to India—but that is all a chance." I'm sure, but dear me, master John, why you | I looked round at my mother, and my aunt, so must'nt stand dawdling here, Missis and Mr. Arnold did Mr. Arnold, we saw but a blank expression on are waiting for you in doors, and I did not think each countenance which shewed very plainly that you would go first to the stables. I just come to they felt no very great admiration of any plan for call you ; for I thought it was you that slammed | sending me out of the country. My aunt's words the yard door so as you came in. Dear me, master soon explained this. "Mr. Arnold,” she said with Jobn, you can't go into the parlour that figure, you a decided voice and manner, " to tell you the truth, had better just creep upstairs, and slip on your best neither my sister nor I would willingly part with clothes in a moment."

that rough-headed boy of ours, nor do I see any I was in the act of just creeping up stairs very great necessity for sending him to India. I hope quietly, noi to let my steps be heard, when the he wont think of going, and that you will not wish

him to go, though I am sure you are very kind to porter, whose lodge was just within the gates, take an interest in him."

had orders to show me to the house, and I “ Not at all kind, Catherine,' replied he rather looked round with amazement at the windows of sharply, " I shall not interfere with your wishes or the counting-house on the opposite side of the those of your sister."

court, they were then blazing with lights, it being My mother made some little remark, I forget her post-night. A footman, in a plain livery, opened words, to soften my aunt's blunt speech, and the the door into a large well-lighted ball, paved with conversation turned to other subjects. The next black and white marble, and then led me up a mag. morning Mr. Arnold received a large packet of nificent staircase of very dark mahogany into a letters from London, a few of which required im spacious drawing room. “My mistress or some of mediate replies. After breakfast be called me up the young ladies will soon be down, sir," he said, to his chamber, and bade me sit down and take a as he stirred up the fire, and left me alone. I copy of a letter he had been writing. “I am sorry turned round to survey the apartment, and, for the to trouble you, John," he said, “but my answers moment, thought that another person was in the to these letters must be sent off by return of post, room. The dim light bad deceived me, I had only you might as well sit down and help me. First, seen my own figure reflected at full length in an however, mend my pen, cousin John," he added, as immense pier glass. I walked on tiptoe about the I was beginning to write for him. “ Your son room: every now and then, when I thought I heard writes a fine clear hand, madam,” he said when he some one approaching, sitting down on a chair next saw my mother, “ and he makes a very good near the door. I once peeped into a book that lay pen. I'll tell you what I have been thinking of open on the table, but it was too dark for me to madam. What would you and your sister-in-law say lead the title. I just touched one of the strings of to my making a merchant of John? I mean, of a glittering barp wbich stood in a dark corner of course, a merchant's clerk? We must all begin as the room, but that one string sounded so loudly clerks; for trust me, to be a good merchant a man that I again stole back quickly to my seat. I was must serve his apprenticeship. I am what they call walking to one of the windows, but in doing so, I a rich man, but I began life as a clerk in old tumbled over a low footstool, and fell at my full Freeman's counting-house. How would you like length on the floor. I now determined to sit still, the thing, John ?" he said, pulling me towards but no one came, and insensibly I fell fast asleep. bim. "Suppose you were to take your seat in my I was awakened by a scream, which as I opened counting-house. I have no objection to bave you my eyes and rubbed them with both my bands, tumed for a fow weeks on trial, and if we suit one another, into a laugh. At first I could scarcely see the you can stay."

young lady that stood before me, for my sight was My mother did not like to refuse this offer. My all dazzled by the light she held in her hand. “I aunt thought it too advantageous to be refused. suppose I know who you are now,” she said, Nothing, however, was determined on that evening; “ though you quite startled me when I came into but before breakfast the next day Mr. Arnold had the room. I'm sure mamma does not know you are examined me in arithmetic, and looked at my ac here, at least they never told me." I now could count books, and puzzled me with I know not how distinguish her. I saw a young and smiling girl, many questions. He was pleased to find that I about fourteen, with eyes and complexion and hair could speak and write French very tolerably. as bright as the dazzling light she carried. “How

I arrived in London about three o'clock one could you go to sleep behind the door ?" she said, afternoon in the month of November, 17- The “ you are quite tired after your journey, are you stage-coach set me down at the Horse-shoe, in the not? but I'll go and tell mamma that you are here," Borough, and after some little delay I called a and she left me. In a few minutes Mrs. Arnold hackney coach, directing the coachman to drive to appeared, and with her my new acquaintance peepMr. Arnold's house. He had kindly offered to re ing over her shoulder, and laughing, “Why you ceive me, being my relation, into his own house for are still sitting behind the door," she cried, “ you the first few days.

must be very cold there.” 6 Pray come to the fire," I had never been in London before, and the said Mrs. Arnold, holding out her hand to me, and gloom of a November afternoon in the Borough as soon as I heard the sound of her voice I felt that gave me no very favourable idea of the vast it was the voice of a friend. She enquired in the city. Tbe only thing that pleased me was the kindest manner after my mother and my aunt, and view of the Thames, which I caught in passing over asked me so many questions, to which I could London bridge. Much confused with the noise | easily reply, that I soon found myself conversing as and bustle of the crowded streets, through which I freely as when at home. Another daughter entered bad with difficulty passed along, (the coach meeting before dinner was announced. She seemed rather with long and frequent stoppages), I arrived at quiet and reserved, and her manner was perfectly last at Mr. Arnold's house in Lane; which | different from that of her sister, but she was, I soon is a small and narrow street leading down to the found, quite as good tempered. On going down to river Thames. Mr. Arnold's premises formed of dinner, we found Mr. Arnold in the dining room. themselves a small court, and the entrance to this “ Ha, cousin John, you are come!” he exclaimed, court was by wide gates, and a wicket door. The ' and shook me beartily by the hand.

The first evening of my arrival in London caught but a glimpse of the counting house. Mr. Arnold rose up as the cloth was removed, and saying it was post-night, passed by a small door at the farther end of the dining room into the counting. house. He came back before he had closed the door and called me to follow him. I entered the brilliantly ligbted office, and was surprised at the number of clerks, and much abashed, as many of them turned round and stared at me. Mr. Arnold, bowever, soon sent me back to the ladies. He did not come up stairs till after tea, but when he joined the party, bis presence seemed to bring with it new life and spirit to bis wife and daugbters. Mrs. Amold laid down her book, the harp was brought out of its dark corner, and the piano-forte opened. The rest of the evening past most pleasantly, and as theg bade me good night, with smiles and kind Foices, and warm shakes of the hand, I felt that I was very happy.

The next day I rose early, and I must own, I dressed with more than usual care, and stood at the glass some minutes brushing my hair up in the centre, and smoothly down on each side with a wet brush. I hurried over my prayers, for my thoughts were occupied with worldly subjects. I was too well satisfied with myself, as I cast a glance on the dress of my outward man, to think whether my spirit was clothed with christian graces for the day. Full of myself I walked down stairs. The bonsemaid was sweeping the drawing room as I entered, and, (not seeing me) her whisk broom sent up a cloud of dust into my face. I retreated suddenly and was standing in the passage, brushing off some of the dust with the cuff of my coat, when Mr. Arnold came down stairs in his dressing gown. "Well," he said, “I'm glad to see you are an early riser, cousin John. Come, you may as well go with me into the counting-house, and I will give you something to do." I sat down near my new friend for tbe first time in the now silent counting-house, he gave me an immensely long letter to cory, and he left me there wben he went to finish dressing. As soon as I was left alone and heard only the loud clicking of the clock, I could not resist looking round and surveying the place where so much of my future life would probably be spent. Then I fell into a mood of thoughtfulness, and, alas! Mr. Arnold came back, with a large unfolded newspaper in his hand, to call me up to breakfast, and found me with the pen in my hand, but the ink dry in it, and not another word written. “Why you have forgotten yourself," he said, as he looked over me, "you don't hear me now, and you look as if you were thinking of any thing but that letter before you ; but come up to breakfast; you will do better when used to these walls and desks. He led the way to a large and cheerful breakfast room hung round with pictures, chiefly landscapes, of rare beauty and value. The windows opened upon a garden court, in the centre of wbich a little fountain sent up its playful water. The morning was clear

and the sun shining brightly, and that room seemed to me one of the pleasantest I ever entered, though in so dull a quarter of the immense smoky city. I sat for a few moments alone in the breakfast room, for Mr. Arnold, finding none of the ladies there, rang the bell rather violently, and called with somewhat of a stentorian voice at the foot of the stairs to say that he was waiting breakfast. “Oh, I have been down father,” I beard Susan his eldest daughter saying in a playful yet expostulating voice, “ you will find the piano-forte open, and my music book upon it. I have, indeed, played a long concerto of Had yn's, and half of the overture to Sampson.” “ Nonsense, child,” replied her father, " what is the use of having been down, if you are not here when I come to breakfast? You know Susan how often I have said that I will have you ready to make breakfast the instant I enter the rooni.” “ Yes, dear papa, I know I'm wrong, but I only went up stairs just to ask Julia if she had seen the key of ” “ No excuses, Susan, you know I hate excuses, but come in child. Well come and kiss me first, for you have forgotten to kiss me this morning.” Susan entered the room with a smiling countenance, “ How do you do," she said, holding out one hand to me, as with the other she moved the teapot nearer to the urn. With her quick and delicate fingers she soon prepared breakfast, but I observed that on rising up to take her gloves and handkerchief from the piano forte where she had left them, she stood a moment before the instrument and turned over a page of the music book. I thought she did so to attract her father's attention to the instrument, and to remind him indirectly of what she had said, of the way in which she had employed her time. Mrs. Arnold now entered the room, her husband did not say a word to her but be took out his watch, announced that it was eight minutes after nine, and asked, in rather a solemn tone, why Julia was not down ? and when she was coming down ? " Susan, my love," said Mrs. Arnold, turning to her daughter, “ you had better go up to your sister, and tell her to come down immediately." "No, no," interrupted her father, “ pray don't hurry her-let her take her time-- we shall see how long the indolent young lady will be.”

'Ten minutes had elapsed before Miss Julia ap. peared. We heard her running down stairs, and she threw the door wide open as she entered and cried out, “ Now pray, father, don't scold me. I know I'm very wrong and very disobedient, and that I dress very slowly, and that I am an old offender,” and she kissed her father and her mother, and nodded to me, and said to her sister, “ You know I've seen you before, Susan !" Mr. Arnold looked very grave, but he received his kiss with an affectionate smile, and then again he looked grave, and said, as she sat down beside him, “ What on earth have you been about, Julia?” She looked at him, but did not speak. “What have you been about, Julia ? why don't you answer ?!? « Because,"'

she replied, " I know you do not like excuses, nor bas no time to speak to you, because he is going elsedo I wish to make them, though, perhaps, I could

where; and when he gets there he is too late for his find a few very good excuses for being so late to

business; or he must hurry away to another before he can day, but an excuse is so like a lie that I would

finish it. Punctuality gives weight to Character. “ Such

a man has made an appointment :---then I know he will rather be silent, and bear a scolding, than offer

keep it.” And this generates Punctuality in you; for like what I felt to be a very fair, correct sort of excuse. other Virtues it propagates itself. Servants and Children But really, father, I could not give a very satis. must be Punctual, where their Leader is so. Appointfactory account of my mornings before breakfast. ments, indeed, become Debts. I owe you Punctuality, I am called early enough, but I generally lie

if I have made an Appointment with you; and have no thinking about getting up, and hesitating and de

right to tbrow away your time, if I do my own. laying till I fall asleep again, and on waking with

Mr. Arnold was in the act of putting the paper a start, I find Susan balf dressed. Then when I do into my hand when the door of the room opened, get up I always find that part of my dress needs a and a gentleman appeared, whom he received with string, or is torn, or that Hannah has forgotten much cordiality, “You are the very man I was some order that I gave her; indeed there is always talking of,” he said, “ for I was giving one of your some hindrance to being dressed in time, and at printed papers to my young cousin. I think, the time I always blame every one but the right Maxwell, that you have met his father at this house; person.”

poor fellow, he was as gallant an officer, and as “ Yourself you mean," said Mr. Arnold. “In bonest a man as ever broke a biscuit." "I knew deed I do, I must own that afterwards I feel that him well,” said the kind man, and held out bis hand almost every delay proceeds from my own inconi to me," and I wish to know his son, for the sake of siderate self. I do not know when I shall get free

the father. I shall be glad to see you at my house," from this terrible habit.”

he said, “and to introduce you to the excellent “ Nor do I,” said he, “ till you determine to do clergyman whose remarks about punctuality my so in good earnest. You'll make me angry with friend, Mr. Arnold, bas given you. Your father you every morning, Julia, I know you will, because

has met Mr. Cecil more than once ut my house, and you never take the right way to break this vile he has been with me more than once at St. John's habit. But do make haste. Why, child, you have Chapel, where he preaches. not even began to breakfast yet! You do nothing but talk.-Good bye. I can't wait to talk longer Margaret and Mary, or the Servants' Home and Registry with you. Come, cousin John, we will go to business."

Concluded from page 30. “ I hope you have been brought up in regular She proceeded immediately on her arrival at Chester babits,” he continued, as we walked towards the to Egerton Street. The lady to whom her letter of counting-bouse, “ for I tell you plainly that you recommendation was addressed chanced to be at “the will never do here, no, nor will you get on in life Home,” conversing with the worthy matron of the any where else without habits of regularity and | Institution. order,” “Wait a moment,” he said, as he pulled The lady recognized the well known hand-writing of open a drawer in his large writing table,“ here is her friend, and when she had perused the letter, she said, the little printed paper tbat you will do well to young woman, this testimonial of your character is satisstudy. Learn it by heart, look at it often to see factory, we willingly admit you as a member of our that you don't forget it, and above all put it in society. The matron laid open the Register-book, expractice. It was given me by John Maxwell, one plained the conditions of admission, and read the words of my religious friends, who got it printed, and I of the pledge, “Do you hereby engage, God helping you, think it came from the lips or the pen of a good to give up all unsuitable dressing, attendance at Races, man, a clergyman whose preaching he attends. I Wakes, or any such amusements, and, above all, to give knew nothing of the son, but my father knew his up Sunday visiting, or receiving visits, or going out on father, old Cecil, of Chiswell Street, and his grand. that day, except to a place of worship ?" You perceive, father before him. However, that is nothing to

said the matron, that if you should be even thrown into the question. If you want to rise in the world, be

a situation where visiting on the Sabbath Day, and such punctual and regular, take time by the forelock, as

like practices are tolerated, if you should be placed in a the old saying is. You'll know the value of this

family where other servants are kept, and they should all advice wben you have learnt to practice it. This

unhappily be in the habit of following these sinful courses, is a copy of the paper which Mr. Arnold gave me,

you perceive that even in these trying circumstances you

would not join your fellow servants. You must be mild I have kept it carefully.

and gentle, but you must be decided in your refusal : do The importance of Punctuality.

you pledge yourself that you will come out from among Method is the very Hinge of Business; and there is no them, and be separate ? Yes, said Mary, I will engage to Method without Punctuality. Punctuality is important,

conform to all these regulations—My good girl, said the because it subserves the Peace and good Temper of a Family: The want of it not only infringes on necessary

sweet voice of a Lady who was seated at a small writing Duty, but sometimes excludes this Duty. The Calmness

desk at the further end of the room, methinks I may adof Mind which it produces, is another Advantage of dress you in the words of our Church Catechism, and Punctuality: A disorderly Man is always in a hurry; he say, know this, that thou art not able to do these things of

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