When the solar splendours fail, Matt. xxiv. 29. Eph. i. 14. 27, Rom. viii. 19, 23. 7,8. Isa. xxiv. 13-15. Luke xvii. 27, 30. 2 Pet. ii. 9. 29. Isa. xxiv. 23. Miscellaneous. From the London Christian Guardian. NARRATIVE OF A PIOUS VILLAGER. There is a peculiar sweetness in that epithet given by an Apostle to the pious poor, "the brother of low degree," and the exhortation that follows is strikingly appropriate to express the effect which the gospel produces on the minds of that class of Christians, let him "rejoice in that he is exalted." For it is surprising to observe, that as soon as di vine grace enters the soul of one of the very lowest grade of society, it not only produces that great change of heart and conduct which is the ordinary characteristic of its work, but it also softens down the asperities and enlarges the faculties of the rudest and most neglected mind. It exalts him at once to a superior stand in society, and endows him with a degree of intelligence and cultivation, of which he seemed before to be utterly incapable.* It was my lot, about two years ago, to pass a few months in a small hamlet in Yorkshire, beautifully situated on the banks of a fine river, bedded with deep woods, and surrounded in the distance by the variegated slope of richly cultivated fields. Many a happy hour did I spend, wandering among these rich spread varieties of divine beneficence and love, now and then calling in at the scattered cottages of the poor, or visiting the bed-side of some sick villager; and in that lonely hamlet there were not wanting those who, in their humble walk of life, adorned and rejoiced in the blessings of that gospel, so emphatically called the gospel of the poor. Secluded from, and unknown to the Christian world, they seemed, as it were, to belong to that "seven thousand in Israel," whom the desponding prophet knew not of, but whose unstained and faithful walk had long been marked by the approving eye of their Father in heaven. And though, as Keeble beautifully expresses it, Love's a flower that will not die, For lack of leafy screen, And Christian hope can cheer the eye That ne'er saw vernal green. Yet the retired life of a pious villager is doubtless peculiarly favourable to foster that simplicity of character which is such a rare but engaging fruit of the Holy Spirit. In one of my walks I sometimes noticed a little lonely cottage, half hid in a range of fir-trees which skirted the grounds of a gentleman of fortune. I had been deterred from calling there by reports which I had heard concerning its inmates. The man, indeed, hired on the estate, bore an excellent character, but his wife, who was evidently much disliked in the village, was said to be all but deranged; and as he was very seldom at home, being employed in the fields most of the day, I suffered for some time this slightly-grounded prejudice to deter me from paying a visit to the cottage. How careful ought we to be against the inroads which an unjust and hastily conceived bias will often make on brotherly love and Christian charity! At length, however, one fine noon in March, accompanied by a friend, I went. The husband, a fine looking young man, had just returned from his work, and was sitting down to his simple meal; his little girl was on his knee, another child lay in a cradle beside him, and his wife sitting opposite, with a Bible on her knee, was reading a chapter of St. John aloud, while her husband ate his dinner; every thing in the apartment bore the appearance of cleanliness and comfort, and a more engaging interesting scene I have seldom witnessed. They rose and welcomed us kindly, and on conversing with them, we found that it was their custom, as he went so early to his work as to hinder the possibility of their joining together in morning worship, to have family prayers every noon and evening; It is evident that this expression of the Apostle, "he is exalted," originally refers to those noble effects of the Gospel whereby the humblest believer is exalted to "fellowship with the saints in light," to be an "heir with God, and joint heir with Christ." I only adopt it here, as applicable in a lower sense to this peculiar effect of divine gracc. and as he was only allowed to be absent one hour from the field even at that time, she used to read the chapter to him while he dined, and then they both knelt together, and offered up their simple heartfelt sacrifice at the throne of grace. Surely God was the God of the family. The remainder of the narrative will show that he proved so. From that time forward there was no walk to me so interesting as that to T.'s cottage. Many a precious chapter have we enjoyed, and many a sweet conversation have we held together. One day especially I found him getting his dinner alone, as his wife was at market. "Oh,' said he, "I was just thinking how dull this hour passed without my chapter!" (for he could not read.) "Many a time," continued he, "have I thanked God for giving me a wife that could read the Bible to me, and above all, that could help her poor ignorant husband on the way to heaven." I found, that till his marriage, he had been utterly careless on the subject of religion. His wife, though of an unhappily weak and fretful disposition, was a pious woman; as I said before, he could not read, and on the long winter evenings, she persuaded him, among other things, to allow her to read a chapter of the Bible to him every night. They began with the historical parts; the book was quite new to him; every evening he liked it better and better, at length all other books were laid aside, and night after night, after a hard day's work, would they sit up to a late hour, she delighted to read, and he all eager to listen to this wonderful Bible. The word now began to reach his heart; every vacant moment was seized for this one study. Now, too, Satan began to tremble, and stirred up his old companions in wickedness, that favourite deadly engine of the prince of darkness, to draw him or scare him back again. Many a night, his wife has told me, while they two have been sitting by the fireside happily engaged in this sweet employment, have these men come in, and by their noise, and curses, and jeers, have tried to frighten her from her purpose, or shame him out of his religion; at first, this was a sore trial; she kept reading on, but sometimes in tears, fearing that they might prevail over her husband, and often lifting up her heartfelt prayer to her Lord; and, doubtless, he heard these broken supplications. It was a still severer struggle for the weak, tender faith of poor T.: he would sit opposite, with his eye fixed on the book, not daring to look aside, or return an answer to their rude jeers. At length, finding that he was not to be so shaken, they left him. And thenceforth he grew day by day in the knowledge and love of the Saviour, and outstripped his instructress in holy meekness and heavenly disposition. The grace of God indeed shone forth in him; at church, in the field, at home, he was the same steady, humble, consistent Christian; his little girl was diligently brought up in the knowledge of that precious Saviour he had found, and it seemed his greatest delight to hear her repeat her hymns and verses to him; his dark eyes would brighten up, and sometimes he could hardly refrain from uttering aloud the full praises of his grateful heart. Gratitude indeed seemed a leading feature in his character. He suffered much from a swelling on his knee, (which terminated in his death,) and which grew more painful, from the constant exercise to which his occupation obliged him. Once, indeed, the pain so overpowered him, that he fell down senseless on the road. This he knew would not long allow him to pursue his labours, and he anxiously foreboded that it must terminate in his leaving the quiet cottage, the retirement of which he highly valued, where so many happy years had been spent. I asked him if he was not sometimes tempted to complain. “Oh,” he said, "I seldom feel a pain from this knee, but I thank God that the other is spared me. I often look at my sound knee and think, what should I have done if this too had been taken away? and that makes me thankful." Especially his affection for his wife as the first instrument of his conversion, was beautifully manifested; he seemed always to feel himself inferior to her, and to be scarcely sensible of her weaknesses. "We are all weak," he would say, "and must try to strengthen one another." The swelling on his knee had now grown so painful, that he was unable any longer to pursue his usual occupations in the fields. This was a great trial, as, besides the distress in which it involved his family, he loved his employment; "there," he would say, "he could see God all about him, and get his fellow-labourers to talk of Him too;" and so anxious was he humbly to lead them to that Saviour whom he loved, that he would often ask one or other of them into his cottage, to share his simple meal, that they might have the opportunity of joining in prayer with his little family, and hearing his daily chapter. His master now kindly allowed him to leave his work for awhile, and place himself under the care of some noted medical practitioners near the town of H—, by whom a severe operation was to be performed on his knee. The next time that I saw him, I was alarmed at the change that had taken place in his appearance. The effect of the severe treatment he had undergone, had been too much for his weak frame, his strength and his spirits had sunk under it, and he was now in the early stage of a rapid consumption. He had been absent nearly two months from his home, and his little stock of money, the hard-earned savings of many years, being quite spent, he had at last returned, "incurable." But during that long absence from his beloved family, his Lord had not forsaken him; for a while, himself being unable to read, and confined to a sick and lonely chamber, his situation was very trying; but He who sent his angel to Hagar in the wilderness, opened the heart of the druggist's boy, who brought his medicines, to visit him twice a day, and read to him the Bible and other religious books. For a while after his return, the sight of his cottage, his wife and his darling children, seemed to have revived him, but soon the deceitful malady returned with redoubled force; when it was now evident that he must soon be confined to his chamber, he asked to be carried down stairs, and taken into his garden. There he seemed to take his last look of every thing around him. "Now," said he, "carry me back again;" and after that he never left his sick room. Once during his illness, his wife said to him, "D-, I wish I heard you pray oftener, you seldom pray aloud." "My body is too weak," he said, "but my heart prays." "Then how do you feel for eternity?" "A poor sinner, but thank God, on the right foundation." (Alluding to Matt. vii. 25, a passage which was often on his mind, as referred to Jesus Christ, the rock of ages.) "Do you ever think," she asked, "what will become of your poor wife and children when you are gone!" “Ah,” he said, “I have had many a bitter thought there, but not now; I can leave you, God will take care of you." Many a sweet and precious testimony to the faithfulness of Him who passeth through the waters with his servants, dropped from the mouth of this humble Christian. At last the hour of death arrived, his friends perceived the change on his countenance, and knew that it was the hand of the last messenger; he asked for a cup of water, and drank a little," thank you all," he said, and leaned back on his pillow; he now raised his eyes, and with a holy smile began, "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his holy name: bless the Lord, O my soul;"—and here his voice failed, he closed his eyes, and in a few moments he breathed his last. How blest the righteous when he dies! How gently heaves th' expiring breast! Yes, and that "holy quiet" so sweetly described in the following verse, seemed to rest for weeks after on the bereaved cottage. The hours I spent with him, during my stay in that little village, have been among the happiest of my life, and my last prayer ascends, that my last end may be like his, and that I may at last be allowed to meet again that blessed spirit in the kingdom of a heavenly father, "where is neither bond nor free, but Christ is all and in all.” D. For the Christian Advocate. THE HEART IS NOT UNDER THE CONTROL OF THE WILL-THE WILL CANNOT CHANGE THE HEART. Mr. Editor,-With your permission, I wish to offer to you and your readers a short narrative, and to apply it to an important point in theology. Many years since, (for I am now an old man,) a young lady submitted to me, as her confidential friend, the following statement, and asked my opinion and advice in regard to the matter of her duty. “I am earnestly solicited, said she, to give my hand in marriage to a man to whom I find that I cannot give my heart. He is a most worthy man; I really think him one of the best men living. He is a man of liberal education, a gentleman in his manners, a physician by profession, has travelled abroad, is a man of principle and religion-the friend of my family; my parents earnestly wish me to marry him. He is also my personal benefactor-I have been sick, and am indebted to him for assiduous attentions, and successful medical skill and advice. He is most deserving of my love-I do wish I did love him; I have tried hard to love him; I would give any thing I lawfully might, if I could love him. He has been my suitor a long time, and has pressed me with his solicitations, till I have given him some reason to expect I shall yield to his wishes. But the truth is, I do not love him; although I think him all that I have told you, and know him to be most deserving, yet the moment I think of him in the character of a husband, my whole heart and soul rise up against it.-What shall I do?-what ought I to do?" The foregoing, Mr. Editor, is no fiction. It is the statement of a case in real life. The whole of the young lady's language on the occasion, I do not profess to give exactly; but the narrative is, in every material circumstance, a true narrative. I have only to add that the parties were never united in marriage. The lady told the gentleman, by my advice, the substance of what she told me. He had the magnanimity to release her from her qualified engagement, and to continue to be her friend. They were both afterwards happily connected in marriage, with those to whom they could give their hearts as well as their hands. Both have been dead for several years past; and each has left children, who are now living. Both died, after having been |
