CHAPTER XIII.

LENTEN SERVICES—BAD NEWS.

ON Ash Wednesday morning the new church was well-filled, and in the evening it was quite crowded,—a number of persons coming over from Raeburn, so that it became necessary to provide extra seats.

Mr. Laurence began his course of Lent Lectures by explaining the origin of Lent, and its uses as a season of especial humiliation and prayer. He trusted, he said, that the services would be sustained and fully attended, and that his own labors would be accompanied by the efforts and prayers of his people, and he hoped and believed that in such a case they might expect the most blessed results, not only to themselves, but also to those who were unhappily still out of the Ark of Safety, and without a good hope of salvation through Christ. He intended to give lectures on Wednesday evening and on Friday afternoon, and on Thursday afternoon he would be happy to meet any who were desirous of personal religious instruction, and especially any persons desirous of receiving Baptism. The Holy Communion would be administered at Easter, and there would be an opportunity for adult Baptism at the same time.

As the family were going home in the evening, Ruby-Anne, who was walking with Edah, apparently absorbed in thought, suddenly said—

"Miss Edah, I didn't know before that Episcopalians believed in change of heart!"

"What do you mean by a change of heart, Ruby-Anne?" asked Edah.

"Why—what Mr. Laurence said to-night—conversion. I thought they did not believe in any such thing; only that a person must be baptized and confirmed, and all that, and that it made no difference what they were, or how they felt. Now Mr. Laurence seems to preach as if that was the main thing, and no one could be saved without it. I don't know—I never was in the habit of thinking much about such things before I came to live with you—I've thought a sight more since then, and I'd give the world to feel as he says we ought to. I would like to be a Christian, if I only knew how."

"The way is very plain, Ruby," said Edah; "if you wish to be a Christian, you must ask God, for Jesus Christ's sake, to forgive you your sins, and to make you love Him; to give you a new heart, as you say. Christ says, 'Ye must be born again;' but He also says, 'He that believeth on the Son, hath everlasting life, and shall never come into condemnation.' He gives the command, and He also gives the power to fulfill it."

Ruby-Anne sighed.

"I know it's so," she said, "and yet I can't feel so. I can't make it seem as if it really was true, that He died for me. I've wanted to get religion this great while, but somehow I don't seem any nearer to it than I did at first."

"Have you prayed to God to give you a heart to love and fear Him?" asked Edah.

"Why no; I thought I must get religion first, before I prayed; I didn't know as I could hardly."

"And how did you think you were going to get it without asking for it? Jesus says,—

"'Him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out.' 'If ye shall ask any thing in My name, I will do it.'

"But He says nothing about giving His Holy Spirit to them that are afar off, and do not seek to draw near. '"Ask," and ye shall receive; "seek," and ye shall find; "knock," and it shall be opened unto you.' There is not a word of promise to those that do not ask, and seek, and knock, you see."

"But there was St. Paul—I was reading about his conversion only last night, and it was when he was going down to Damascus, breathing out threatenings and slaughter, that the Lord met him."

"Very true, and thus He meets many a one in the midst of their sins; but after the Lord met him, what were the first words he said?

"'Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?'

"His next act was one of unquestioning and immediate obedience; and when Ananias was commissioned to go to him, that he might receive his sight, and be filled with the Holy Ghost, it was said of him,—

"'Behold he prayeth!'

"You say that you wish to be a Christian, and that you have been thinking about it this great while. God has thus met you in the way, and now you must do as St. Paul did—pray that He will open your eyes, forgive you your sins, justify you by Jesus Christ, and sanctify you by His Holy Spirit; and depend upon it, if you do this, you will receive an answer. I wish you would go to the church Thursday afternoon, and talk to Mr. Laurence."

"I kind of hate to," said Ruby-Anne, hanging her head. "I'd rather talk to you than to him, and I'm afraid folks will think strange. If my cousin should see me going there, and tell Uncle Jacob, he'd make no end of fun of me next time I go home."

"And yet you want to be a Christian, you say! I am afraid you will never be one, if you are ashamed to have it known that you are seeking the right way. No, no, that will never do, Ruby; you cannot expect Christ to bless you while you are ashamed of Him."

"I suppose that's so. I don't know, either, why I should mind their laughing. If it isn't that, it will be something else."

This was not the only conversation of the kind that Edah held during the week. Several of the scholars in her day-school came to her for instruction, for encouragement, for sympathy. Some thought that they were truly penitent and believing, and desired sympathy in their overflowing joy; and what joy of earth is like his who feels assured that his sins are forgiven—that his prayers are heard and answered in Heaven? Others there were who, convinced of their sins and their danger, could as yet find no way of escape, and no comfort anywhere—who needed to be drawn away from the vain attempt to save themselves by their own efforts, and to be led to that precious corner-stone, the sure foundation on which whosoever buildeth shall not be ashamed. Edah did her best to counsel, to warn, to teach, but she felt how weak and ignorant she was, and she shrank from the responsibility imposed upon her by her position, and by the confidence and affection of her young friends.

"I feel," said she, in relating some of these incidents to Mr. Laurence, "as if I were very much out of my place in this matter, but indeed I cannot help it. I try to persuade them to go at once to you, but many of them are diffident and unwilling to do so. I cannot refuse to give them all the aid in my power, though I often fear that I am overstepping my proper bounds, and taking upon myself duties which belong entirely to you."

"By no means, Miss Champlin. You are taking a course which I should be only too glad to see followed by every Christian member of my flock. I believe that one great reason why so few, comparatively, are brought to a knowledge of the truth is that Christians do not do their duty in this respect, but leave all to their pastor. From the nature of things, they have many opportunities which he has not. An inquiring sinner will often open his heart to a near friend, when he would be ashamed or unwilling to do so to a minister, and if that friend is faithful, he will encourage him to do so, and will strive to direct him to the true source of health and help. What is more natural than that those who have themselves tasted the good word of God, and have known the truth, should wish to impart unto others of the good things which they have themselves received? Such was the spirit of the Apostolic Church, when every Christian, whether man or woman, was in some sort a missionary. Could this state of things be brought about again, we should no longer see crowds retiring from the Communion Table, and only a handful remaining, but the altar rails would be filled till there should be no place."

"I always try to send them to you," remarked Edah, "but they are not always willing to go at first, especially the younger ones."

"Nothing is more natural than that they should feel more confidence in you than in a comparative stranger," said Mr. Laurence. "I shall hope after a time to gain their confidence. Meantime, let me beg of you never to omit an opportunity of doing good in that way. Several persons have applied to me who, I am convinced, never would have done so but for you: among the rest, Mr. Bell's boys and your brother. I suppose you know that they are all three desirous of being baptized?"

"Sam told me it was the case with himself, but I did not know certainly about the others. I am not much surprised at hearing of it, for they have seemed very thoughtful for a long time. I trust they will not be the only ones who will avail themselves of the opportunity."

"Edah," said Sam, one beautiful spring day towards the end of March, "I am going over to the Saw-Mills this afternoon to do some business for Mr. Stuart, and I wish you would ride with me. I want a chance to talk to you, and I will call for you at the school-house."

Edah, of course, made no objection, and at five o'clock the brother and sister were driving through the woods, on the shaded and romantic road which led over hill and dale to the great lumbering mills of Stuart & Company. The birds had begun to make their appearance, and the air was filled with robin and bluebird music, while now and then a blue-jay added his by no means melodious notes to the concert. The sky was deeply blue, and the great mountains of white cloud made it appear deeper still; while the air was filled with the indescribable fragrance which always pervades a wood in the spring, especially where there is a large proportion of evergreen trees.

Edah was tired of talking in school, and she was very willing to be quiet, and her brother's attention seemed wholly occupied with his horses. At last, however, he broke the silence by saying—

"Edah, do you know how old I am?"

"Sixteen, are you not?"

"Nearer seventeen," said Sam. "I shall be seventeen my next birthday, and that is next Monday."

"And I shall be nineteen. I thought there was more difference between us, but you have always been so small till lately. Now you are taller than I am."

"So I see; but that isn't the thing. I am old enough to think what I am going to do with myself."

"You are doing very well with yourself now, I think," said Edah. "Mr. Stuart says you are more and more useful every day, and that he never had a clerk that he liked so much. He told me he should not be afraid to leave you the whole charge of his business, if he were obliged to be away for any length of time."

"He is very kind," said Sam, coloring with pleasure. "There is not a man in the world I would rather live with than Alim Stuart. He has been like—what a father ought to be, ever since I went to him. But after all, Edah, it is not what I want to be doing. My heart isn't in it."

"It becomes tiresome now and then, I suppose," said Edah, "but any business is wearisome sometimes. I am sure it is the case with teaching. But when you are so well situated, it seems a pity to change, unless there is some good reason, though, indeed, I never thought you were as well suited to the business as to some other things—to studying a profession especially."

"What kind of a minister do you think I should make, Edah?" asked Sam, in a low voice, after a pause of some minutes, during which he had employed himself in switching off the tops of the dry weeds by the roadside.

Edah's heart bounded with joy. How often she had prayed—how fondly she had hoped, that her darling brother's heart might be turned in this direction!

"I think you would make an excellent one, Sam, so far as I can judge of you. I know of nothing that would give me more pleasure than to see you looking forward to the ministry."

"It is what I should prefer above all other things," said Sam, with animation. "I used to think I would rather be a lawyer than any thing else, and I built a great many castles in the air about it, thinking how I should enjoy working my way on, and making myself respected, till I came to be as celebrated as Mr. Webster or Judge Story; but it is all changed now. I would rather be a minister like Mr. Laurence, and preach the Gospel in some such little place as Raeburn or Brooksville, than be the greatest lawyer or statesman that ever lived. There is only one trouble about it," he continued, and the joy in his face faded away as he spoke—"I have turned it over and over in my mind, and I do not see how it is to be done."

"Why not?" asked Edah.

"The why not is easily told," replied Sam. "If I had no one to do for or care for but myself, it would be very easy—that is, in comparison to what it is now. I could teach school, and live cheaply, and work myself on almost anyhow. But even supposing that I succeeded in preparing myself to take orders, preaching is not commonly a money-making profession, you know very well; and there are mother and the girls—how are they to be supported? For I don't suppose anybody is so foolish as to expect any help from father."

"That is true," said Edah, echoing his sigh as he paused, "and yet I cannot bear to give up the idea. Oh! If I were only two years older—only my own mistress!"

"What then?" asked Sam. "What difference would that make?"

"Then I could live at home, and take care of mother and Polly with what means I have. Susan and I would make it enough, and you would have, as you say, nothing to do but to take care of yourself."

"Do you think I would let you do that?" said Sam, a little indignantly. "Why, it would just amount to my educating myself at your expense."

"And suppose it were, how could I spend my fortune to better purpose, than in sending laborers into Christ's vineyard? And who should I send, if not my own brother?"

"Well," resumed Sam, "you are not your own mistress, and in one sense you never will be—not as much perhaps as you are now. When Mr. Liston returns, he will of course want you to come and live with him, and I know he will be very unwilling to have you spend your money on us. He will think, and with some reason too, that I ought to support my sisters, instead of letting them support me."

"Nevertheless, if I were of age, I could do as I pleased."

"You could, undoubtedly; but ought you? Mr. Liston has brought you up, and done every thing he could for you; and now that you are grown-up, and able to appreciate his kindness, he will naturally expect a return, and he has a right to expect it."

"You are right, Sam, and I am wrong. But we won't despair yet. I am sure some way will be raised up for us. The Lord will provide, if it is His will that you should follow out this plan; and I cannot but believe that it is."

"I hope so, I am sure," replied Sam, "for I do not feel as if I could be happy in any other way. Of course I don't mean to be so self-willed as to be determinedly miserable, because I cannot have my own way; but the more I think about entering the ministry, the more desirous I am to do it; and so I have told Mr. Laurence."

"What did he say?"

"Just what you do. He bade me not be discouraged, since if the call was from God, He would certainly provide the means for its fulfilment. He advised me to employ all my spare time in study, and gain as much information as possible; and he has offered to teach me Greek himself."

"I will study it with you," said Edah. "It is always easier for two to go on together, than for one to work alone. I will lay aside my Spanish for the present, and if you have a mind to rise as early as I do, we can have a good hour before breakfast. It is surprising how much one can accomplish in an hour, by making the most of it. I often think that I do more in that little time, than I used to in all day at school."

"Time is like money in more ways than one," remarked Sam. "One does not appreciate the worth of it, as long as one has as much as one wants. And, by the by, is it not more than time for you to hear from Mr. Liston?"

"It is indeed, and I am very uneasy about him. If he went by the overland route, as he said he should do in the letter I had from London, I ought to have heard three or four times before this. I am very much afraid that something has happened to him, for he is so methodical in all his habits, that I am sure he has not forgotten it."

"Then about this matter of studying," resumed Sam, after a few moments' silence, "you are quite clear that I ought not to give up the idea?"

"Indeed I am, Sam! I am sure some path will be provided for you, if you are patient, and meanwhile you will not be losing any thing. You will be gaining information and experience that will be as useful to you as any thing you can learn out of books. I feel quite sure that you will see your way clear after a while."

Edah had indeed become very anxious and uneasy at not hearing from her guardian. She had expected to hear both from Malta and Alexandria, but sufficient time had now elapsed for a letter to have come from Calcutta, and yet she received no intelligence. Mr. Liston, as she said, was a man who never forgot an engagement, or neglected a duty. She was sure he would have written if he had been well, and it was very unlikely that all his letters should have been lost. For some time before the conversation recorded above, she had been in a state of feverish impatience for some intelligence, and she felt that almost any news would be a relief to her mind in its uncertainty.

The news came at last. Edah received a letter from Mr. Amory, inclosing one from the American consul at Alexandria, which contained the mournful news of her kind guardian's death at that place. The consul stated that Mr. Liston had called upon him immediately after his arrival in that port, and that he seemed very unwell, so much so that he invited and urged him not to return to his hotel, but to remain at the consular residence, which Mr. Liston at last consented to do, though he made light of his illness, attributing it entirely to fatigue. In the morning, however, he was so much worse as to be unable to rise, and he continued to grow worse for about three weeks, when he died. He had had the best of medical attendance, the consul said, and a clergyman of the Church of England, who had come to Alexandria at the same time, was almost constantly with him. He had retained full possession of his senses till the last moment, and had frequently talked of his friends at home, particularly of his dear child, as he called her. The day before his death, he had received the Sacrament, and he had especially desired that this fact might be communicated to Miss Champlin.

The writer of the letter stated that Mr. Liston had made many friends in Alexandria during the short time that he remained there, and that every respect had been paid to his memory that his friends could desire. Mr. Amory's letter was full of the kindest sympathy, and contained a pressing invitation to her to come to New York, and make her home with him.

The sorrow and desolation which Edah experienced on receiving this intelligence can only be appreciated by those who have suffered similar bereavements. She felt herself entirely alone in the world, without home and without friends, and it almost seemed to her as if God himself had dealt unkindly with her in taking away her beloved guardian. For a while she felt that she could never be happy again. But Edah's mind and heart were too healthy for such a mood to be lasting with her, and these feelings soon passed away. She was enabled to find relief—where alone it is to be successfully sought—in earnest, humble prayer, and to appreciate all the blessed comfort contained in the account of her friend's last moments. She felt deeply thankful that even so late in life his attention had been turned to preparation for eternity, and that she was enabled to cherish a good hope of meeting him again in that world where partings are no more.

Mr. Amory's first letter was immediately followed by another, urging Edah to come to New York, if only for a few days as there were some matters of business which rendered her presence necessary, and inclosing funds for the journey. She was sorry to leave Brooksville just at this time, but there was no alternative, and she felt, too, that the companionship and sympathy of Milly would be the greatest possible comfort to her.

On consulting the school committee, no objection was made to giving the school a vacation of two weeks; longer than this Edah did not intend to be absent, as she was very desirous of being in Brooksville at Easter not only because Sam was to be baptized, but because she had promised to stand sponsor for two of her pupils, who were to be admitted to the fellowship of Christ's flock on that day. Mrs. Hildreth willingly took charge of her Sunday School class, and kind Mr. Bell, always anxious to smooth every thing for her, assured her that the vacation would be a real advantage, as they were desirous of making some repairs in the school-house, which could be made at no time so conveniently as now.

Pauline was now the only subject of uneasiness with Edah. She had not so far overcome her former perverseness but that sparks of it would occasionally break out, especially towards Susan, who was not always very reasonable or judicious with the child, and she feared that the two weeks of her absence would almost undo all she had done. At one time, she thought of leaving Pauline with Miss Gilmore, but a little reflection had shown her that this would be a direct affront to Susan, as implying that she was not to be trusted with the care of the child. She had finally decided, though with rather an anxious heart, to let matters take their course, when she received another note from Milly, saying—

"Father says he has forgotten whether or not be asked you to bring Pauline with you, but he desires that you will do so by all means, as it will give him the greatest pleasure to see her."

Edah held a consultation with Susan and Sam, before she showed this note to Pauline; but as they both cordially approved of the plan, she informed the little girl at the dinner-table that if she wished it, she could go to New York with her.

Polly's eyes sparkled, and her cheeks flushed—it was a felicity beyond her highest hopes; but in a moment a change came over her bright countenance—"Susan will be so lonely," she said.

"I shall have Sam to keep me company, you know," said Susan.

"Yes; but then he is away all day, and suppose you should be sick. I think, 'upon the whole,' sister," she said, trying to speak firmly, though her eyes filled with tears at the thought of the sacrifice she was making, "I had better not go."

"You are a darling girl, Polly," said Susan, kissing her, with tears in her own eyes, "and I love you dearly, but I cannot have you stay at home for me, my dear. If I am lonely, I can have Selina come and stay with me; and then you know you have learned to write now, and you can write me such nice entertaining letters from New York about all the things you see there."

Thus, it was finally settled, and Pauline was at liberty to run over to Miss Gilmore's, and pour out all her hopes and expectations into the ear of Selina, her bosom friend, while her sisters were busily occupied in preparations for the journey.