Stepping Heavenward
M >>
Mrs. E. Prentiss >> Stepping Heavenward
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 | 12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20
Chapter 16
XVI.
OCTOBER.
WE are all at home together once more. The parting with mother was
very painful. Every year that she lives now increases her loneliness,
and makes me long to give her the shelter of my home. But in the
midst of these anxieties, how much I have to make me happy! Little
Ernest is the life and soul of the house; the sound of his feet
pattering about, and all his prattle, are the sweetest music to my
ear; and his heart is brimful of love and joy, so that he shines on
us all like a sunbeam. Baby is improving every day, and is one of
those tender, clinging little things that appeal to everybody's love
and sympathy. I never saw a more angelic face than hers. Father sits
by the hour looking at her. To-day he said:
"Daughter Katherine, this lovely little one is not meant for this
sinful world."
"This world needs to be adorned with lovely little ones," I said.
"And baby was never so well as she is now."
"Do not set your heart too fondly upon her," he returned. "I feel
that she is far too dear to me."
"But, father, we could give her to God if He should ask for her
Surely, we love Him better than we love her."
But as I spoke a sharp pang shot through and through my soul, and I
held my little fair daughter closely in my arms, as if I could always
keep her there It may be my conceit, but it really does seem as if
poor father was getting a little fond of me. Ever since my own
sickness I have felt great sympathy for him, and he feels, no doubt,
that I give him something that neither Ernest nor Martha can do,
since they were never sick one day in their lives. I do wish he could
look more at Christ and at what He has done and is doing for us. The
way of salvation is to me a wide path, absolutely radiant with the
glory of Him who shines upon it; I see my shortcomings; I see my
sins, but I feel myself bathed, as it were, in the effulgent glow
that proceeds directly from the throne of God and the Lamb. It seems
as if I ought to have some misgivings about my salvation, but I can
hardly say that I have one. How strange, how mysterious that is! And
here is father, so much older, so much better than I am, creeping
along in the dark! I spoke to Ernest about it. He says I owe it to my
training, in a great measure, and that my mother is fifty years in
advance of her age. But it can't be all that. It was only after years
of struggle and prayer that God gave me this joy.
NOVEMBER 24.-Ernest asked me yesterday if I knew that Amelia and her
husband had come here to live, and that she was very ill.
"I wish you would go to see her, dear," he added. "She is a stranger
here, and in great need of a friend." I felt extremely disturbed. I
have lost my old affection for her, and the idea of meeting her
husband was unpleasant.
"Is she very sick?" I asked.
"Yes. She is completely broken down. I promised her that you should
go to see her."
"Are you attending her?"
"Yes; her husband came for me himself."
"I don't want to go," I said. "It will be very disagreeable."
"Yes, dear, I know it. But she needs a friend, as I said before."
I put on my things very reluctantly, and went. I found Amelia in a
richly-furnished house, but looking untidy and ill-cared-for. She was
lying on a couch in her bedroom; three delicate-looking children were
playing about, and their nurse sat sewing at the window.
A terrible fit of coughing made it impossible for her to speak for
some moments. At last she recovered herself sufficiently to welcome
me, by throwing her arms around me and bursting into tears.
"Oh, Katy!" she cried, "should you have known me if we had met in
the street? Don't you find me sadly altered ?"
"You are changed," I said, "but so am I."
"Yes, you do not look strong. But then you never did. And you are as
pretty as ever, while I-- oh, Kate! do you remember what round, white
arms I used to have? Look at them now!"
And she drew up her sleeve, poor child. Just then I heard a step in
the passage,. and her husband sauntered into the room, smoking.
"Do go away, Charles,". she said impatiently. "You know how your
cigar sets me coughing."
He held out his hand to me with the easy, nonchalant air of one who
is accustomed to success and popularity.
I looked at him with an aversion I could not conceal. The few years
since we met has changed him so completely that I almost shuddered at
the sight of his already bloated face, and at the air that told of a
life worse than wasted.
"Do go away, Charles," Amelia repeated.
He threw himself into a chair without paying the least attention to
her, and still addressing himself to me again, said:
"Upon my word, you are prettier than ever,
and--
"I will come to see you at another time, Amelia," I said, putting on
all the dignity I could condense in my small frame, and rising to
take leave.
"Don't go, Katy!" he cried, starting up, "don't go. I want to have a
good talk about old times."
Katy, indeed! How dared he? I came away burning with anger and
mortification. Is it possible that I ever loved such a man? That to
gratify that love I defied and grieved my dear mother through a whole
year! Oh, from what hopeless misery God saved me, when He snatched me
out of the depth of my folly!
DECEMBER 1.-Ernest says I can go to see Amelia with safety now, as
her. husband has sprained his ankle, and keeps to his own room. So I
am going. But, I am sure,. I shall say something imprudent or unwise,
and wish I could think it right to stay away. I hope God will go with
me and teach me what words to speak.
DEC. 2.-I found Amelia more unwell than on my first visit, and she
received me again with tears.
"How good you are to come so soon," she began. "I did not blame you
for running off the other day; Charley's impertinence was shameful.
He said, after you left, that he perceived you had not yet lost your
quickness to take offence, but I know he felt that you showed a just
displeasure, and nothing more."
"No, I was really angry," I replied. "I find the road to perfection
lies up-hill, and I slip back so often that sometimes I despair of
ever reaching the top."
"What does the doctor say about me?" she asked. "Does he think me
very sick?"
"I dare say he will tell you exactly what he thinks," I returned, "if
you ask him. This is his rule with all his patients."
"If I could get rid of this cough I should soon be myself again," she
said. "Some days I feel quite bright and well. But if it were not for
my poor little children, I should not care much how the thing ended.
With the life Charley leads me, I haven't much to look forward to."
"'You forget that the children's nurse is in the room," I whispered.
"Oh, I don't mind Charlotte. Charlotte knows he neglects me, don't
you, Charlotte ?"
Charlotte was discreet enough to pretend not to hear this question,
and Amelia went on:
"It began very soon after we were married. He would go round with
other girls exactly as he did before; then when I spoke about it he
would just laugh in his easy, good-natured way, but pay no attention
to my wishes. Then when I grew more in earnest he would say, that as
long as he let me alone I ought to let him alone. I thought that when
our first baby came that would sober him a little, but be wanted a
boy and it turned out to be a girl. And my being unhappy and crying
so much, made the poor thing fretful; it kept him awake at night, so
he took another room. After that I saw him less than ever, though now
and then he would have a little love-fit, when he would promise to be
at home more and treat me with more consideration. We had two more
little girls-twins; and then a boy. Charley seemed quite fond of him,
and did certainly seem improved, though he was still out a great deal
with a set of idle young men, smoking, drinking wine, and, I don't
know what else. His uncle gave him too much money, and he had nothing
to do but to spend it."
"You must not tell me any more now," I said. "'Wait till you are
stronger."
The nurse rose and gave her something which seemed to refresh her. I
went to look at the little girls, who were all pretty, pale-faced
creatures, very quiet and mature in their ways.
"I am rested now," said Amelia, "and it does me good to talk to you,
because I can see that you are sorry for me."
"I am, indeed!" I cried.
"When our little boy was three months old I took this terrible cold
and began to cough. Charley at first remonstrated with me for
coughing so much; he said it was a habit I had got, and that I ought
to cure myself of it. Then the baby began to pine and pine, and the
more it wasted the more I wasted. And at last it died."
Here the poor child burst out again, and I wiped away her tears as
fast as they fell, thankful that she could cry.
"After that," she went on, after awhile, "Charley seemed to lose his
last particle of affection for me; he kept away more than ever, and
once when I besought him not to neglect me and my children so, he
said he was well paid for not keeping up his engagement with you,
that you had some strength of character, and-"
"Amelia," I interrupted, "do not repeat such things. They only pain
and mortify me."
"Well," she sighed, wearily, "this is what he has at last brought me
to. I am sick and broken-hearted, and care very little what becomes
of me."
There was a long silence. I wanted to ask her if, when earthly refuge
failed her, she could not find shelter in the love of Christ. But I
have what is, I fear, a morbid terror of seeking the confidence of
others. I knelt down at last, and kissed the poor faded face.
"Yes, I knew you would feel for me," she said. "The only pleasant
thought I had when Charley insisted on coming here to live was, that
I should see you."
"Does your uncle live here, too?" I asked.
"Yes, he came first, and it was that that put it into Charley's head
to come. He is very kind to me."
"Yes," I said, "and God is kind, too, isn't He ?"
"Kind to let me get sick and disgust Charley? Now, Katy, how can you
talk so?" I replied by repeating two lines from a hymn of which I am
very fond:
O Saviour, whose mercy severe in its kindness,
Hath chastened my wanderings, and guided my way."'
"I don't much care for hymns," she said. "When one is well, and
everything goes quite to one's mind, it is nice to go to church and
sing with the rest of them. But, sick as I am, it isn't so easy to be
religious."
"But isn't this the very time to look to Christ for comfort?"
"What's the use of looking anywhere for comfort?" she said,
peevishly. "Wait till you are sick and heart-broken yourself, and
you'll see that you won't feel much like doing anything but just
groan and cry your life out."
"I have been sick, and I know what sorrow means, I said. "And I am
glad that I do. For I have learned Christ in that school, and I know
that He can comfort when no one else can."
"You always were an odd creature," she replied. "I never pretended to
understand half you said."
I saw that she was tired, and came away. Oh, how I wished that I had
been able to make Christ look to her as He did to me all the way
home.
DEC. 24.-Father says he does not like Dr. Cabot's preaching. He
thinks that it is not doctrinal enough, and that he does not preach
enough to sinners. But I can see that it has influenced him already,
and that he is beginning to think of God, as manifested in Christ,
far more than he used to do. With me he has endless discussions on
his and my favorite subjects, and though I can never tell along what
path I walked to reach a certain conclusion, the earnestness of my
convictions does impress him strangely. I am sure there is a great
deal of conceit mixed up with all I say, and then when I compare my
life with my own standard of duty, I wonder I ever dare to open my
mouth and undertake to help others.
Baby is not at all well. To see a little frail, tender thing really
suffering, tears my soul to pieces. I think it would distress me less
to give her to God just as she is now, a vital part of my very heart,
than to see her live a mere invalid life. But I try to feel, as I
know I say, Thy will be done! Little Ernest is the very picture of
health and beauty. He has vitality enough for two children He and his
little sister will make very interesting contrasts as they grow
older. His ardor and vivacity will rouse her, and her gentleness will
soften him.
JAN. 1, 1841.-Every day brings its own duty and its own discipline.
How is it that I make such slow progress while this is the case? It
is a marvel to me why God allows characters like mine to defile His
church. I can only account for it with the thought that if I ever am
perfected, I shall be a great honor to His name, for surely worse
material for building up a temple of the Holy Ghost was never
gathered together before. The time may come when those who know me
now, crude, childish, incomplete, will look upon me with amazement,
saying, "What hath God wrought!" If I knew such a time would never
come, I should want to flee into the holes and caves of the earth.
I have everything to inspire me to devotion. My dear mother's
influence is always upon me. To her I owe the habit of flying to God
in every emergency, and of believing in prayer. Then I am in close
fellowship with a true man and a true Christian. Ernest has none of
my fluctuations; he is always calm and self-possessed. This is partly
his natural character; but he has studied the Bible more than any
other book, his convictions of duty are fixed because they are drawn
thence, and his constant contact with the sick and the suffering has
revealed life to him just as it is. How he has helped me on! God
bless him for it!
Then I have James. To be with him one half hour is an inspiration. He
lives in such blessed communion with Christ that he is in perpetual
sunshine, and his happiness fertilizes even this disordered household
; there is not a soul in it that does not catch somewhat of his
joyousness.
And there are my children! My darling, precious children! For their
sakes I am continually constrained to seek after an amended, a
sanctified life; what I want them to become I must become myself.
So I enter on a new year, not knowing what it will bring forth, but
surely with a thousand reasons for thanksgiving, for joy, and for
hope.
JAN. 16.-One more desperate effort to make harmony out of the
discords of my house, and one more failure. Ernest forgot that it was
our wedding-day, which mortified and pained me, especially as he had
made an engagement to dine out. I am always expecting something from
life that I never get. Is it so with everybody? I am very uneasy,
too, about James. He seems to be growing fond of Lucy's society. I am
perfectly sure that she could not make him happy. Is it possible that
he does not know what a brilliant young man he is, and that he can
have whom he pleases? It is easy, in theory, to let God plan our own
destiny, and that of our friends. But when it comes to a specific
case we fancy we can help His judgments with our poor reason. Well, I
must go to Him with this new anxiety, and trust my darling brother's
future to Him, if I can.
I shall try to win James' confidence. If it is not Lucy, who or what
is it that is making him so thoughtful and serious, yet so wondrously
happy?
JAN. 17.-I have been trying to find out whether this is a mere notion
of mine about Lucy. James laughs, and evades my questions. But he
owns that a very serious matter is occupying his thoughts, of which
he does not wish to speak at present. May God bless him in it,
whatever it is.
MAY 1.-My delicate little Una's first birthday. Thank God for sparing
her to us a year. If He should take her away I should still rejoice
that this life was mingled with ours, and has influenced them. Yes,
even an unconscious infant is an ever-felt influence in the
household; what an amazing thought!
I have given this precious little one away to her Saviour and to
mine; living or dying, she is His.
DEC. 13.-Writing journals does not seem to be my mission on earth of
late. My busy hands find so much else to do And sometimes when I have
been particularly exasperated and tried by the jarring elements that
form my home, I have not dared to indulge myself with recording
things that ought to be forgotten.
How I long to live in peace with all men, and how I resent
interference in the management of my children! If the time ever comes
that I live, a spinster of a certain age, in the family of an elder
brother, what a model of forbearance, charity, and sisterly
loving-kindness I shall be!
Chapter 17
XVII.
JANUARY 1, 1842
I MEAN to resume my journal, and be more faithful to it this year.
How many precious things, said by dear Mrs. Campbell and others, are
lost forever, because I did not record them at the time!
I have seen her to-day. At Ernest's suggestion I have let Susan Green
provide her with a comfortable chair which enables her to sit up
during a part of each day. I found her in it, full of gratitude, her
sweet, tranquil face shining, as it always is, with a light reflected
from heaven itself. She looks like one who has had her struggle with
life and conquered it. During last year I visited her often and
gradually learned much of her past history, though she does not love
to talk of herself. She has outlived her husband, a houseful of girls
and her ill-health is chiefly the result of years of watching by
their sick-beds, and grief at their loss.
For she does not pretend not to grieve, but always says, "It is
repining that dishonors God, not grief."
I said to her to-day:
"Doesn't it seem hard when you think of the many happy homes there
are in the world, that you should be singled out for such bereavement
and loneliness?"
She replied, with a smile:
"I am not singled out, dear. There are thousands of God's own dear
children, scattered over the world, suffering far more than I do. And
I do not think there are many persons in it who are happier than I
am. I was bound to my God and Saviour before I knew a sorrow, it is
true. But it was by a chain of many links; and every link that
dropped away, brought me to Him, till at last, having nothing left, I
was shut up to Him, and learned fully, what I had only learned
partially, how soul-satisfying He is."
"You think, then," I said, while my heart died within me, "that
husband and children are obstacles in our way, and hinder our getting
near to Christ."
"Oh, no!" she cried. "God never gives us hindrances. On the contrary,
He means, in making us wives and mothers, to put us into the very
conditions of holy living. But if we abuse His gifts by letting them
take His place in our hearts, it is an act of love on His part to
take them away, or to destroy our pleasure in them. It is
delightful," she added, after a pause, "to know that there are some
generous souls on earth, who love their dear ones with all their
hearts, yet give those hearts unreservedly to Christ. Mine was not
one of them."
I had some little service to render her which interrupted our
conversation. The offices I have had to have rendered me in my own
long days of sickness have taught me to be less fastidious about
waiting upon others. I am thankful that God has at last made me
willing to do anything in a sickroom that must be done. She thanked
me, as she always does, and then I said:
"I have a great many little trials, but they don't do me a bit of
good. Or, at least, I don't see that they do."
"No, we never see plants growing," she said.
"And do you really think then, that perhaps I am growing, though
unconsciously ?"
"I know you are, dear child. There can't be life without growth."
This comforted me. I came home, praying all the way, and striving to
commit myself entirely to Him in whose school I sit as learner. Oh,
that I were a better scholar But I do not half learn my lessons, I am
heedless and inattentive, and I forget what is taught. Perhaps this
is the reason that weighty truths float before my mind's eye at
times, but do not fix themselves there.
MARCH 20.-I have been much impressed by Dr. Cabot's sermons to-day.
while I am listening to his voice and hear him speak of the beauty
and desirableness of the Christian life, I feel as he feels, that I
am waiting to count all things but dross that I may win Christ. But
when I come home to my worldly cares, I get completely absorbed in
them, it is only by a painful wrench that I force my soul back to
God. Sometimes I almost envy Lucy her calm nature, which gives her so
little trouble. Why need I throw my whole soul into whatever I do?
Why can't I make so much as an apron for little Ernest without the
ardor and eagerness of a soldier marching to battle? I wonder if
people of my temperament ever get toned down, and learn to take life
coolly?
JUNE 10.-My dear little Una has had a long and very severe illness.
It seems wonderful that she could survive such sufferings. And it is
almost as wonderful that I could look upon them, week after week,
without losing my senses.
At first Ernest paid little attention to my repeated entreaties that
he would prescribe for her, and some precious time was thus lost. But
the moment he was fully aroused to see her danger, there was
something beautiful in his devotion. He often walked the room with
her by the hour together, and it was touching to see her lying like a
pale; crushed lily in his strong arms. One morning she seemed almost
gone, and we knelt around her with bursting hearts, to commend her
parting soul to Him in whose arms we were about to place her. But it
seemed as if all He asked of us was to come to that point, for then
He gave her back to us, and she is still ours, only seven-fold
dearer. I was so thankful to see dear Ernest's faith triumphing over
his heart, and making him so ready to give up even this little lamb
without a word. Yes, we will give our children to Him if he asks for
them. He shall never have to snatch them from us by force.
OCT. 4.-We have had a quiet summer in the country, that is, I have
with my darling little ones. This is the fourth birthday of our son
and heir, and he has been full of health and vivacity, enjoying
everything with all his heart. How he lights up our sombre household
! Father has been fasting to-day, and is so worn out and so nervous
in consequence, that he could not bear the sound of the children's
voices. I wish, if he must fast, he would do it moderately, and do it
all the time. Now he goes without food until he is ready to sink, and
now he eats quantities of improper food. If Martha could only see how
mischievous all this is for him. After the children had been hustled
out of the way, and I~ had got them both off to bed, he said in his
most doleful manner, "I hope, my daughter, that you are faithful to
your son. He has now reached the age of four years, and is a
remarkably intelligent child. I hope you teach him that he is a
sinner, and that he is in a state of condemnation."
"Now, father, don't," I said. "You are all tired out, and do not know
what you are saying. I would not have little Ernest hear you for the
world."
Poor father! He fairly groaned.
"You are responsible for that child's soul;" he said; "you have more
influence over him than all the world beside."
"I know it," I said, "and sometimes I feel ready to sink when I think
of the great work God has intrusted to me. But my poor child will
learn that he is a sinner only too soon, and before that dreadful day
arrives I want to fortify his soul with the only antidote against the
misery that knowledge will give him. I want him to see his Redeemer
in all His love, and all His beauty, and to love Him with all his
heart and soul, and mind and strength. Dear father, pray for him, and
pray for me, too."
"I do, I will," he said, solemnly. And then followed the inevitable
long fit of silent musing, when I often wonder what is passing in
that suffering soul. For a sufferer he certainly is who sees a great
and good and terrible God who cannot look upon iniquity, and does not
see His risen Son, who has paid the debt we owe, and lives to
intercede for us before the throne of the Father.
JAN. I, 1842.-James came to me yesterday with a letter he had been
writing to mother.
"I want you to read this before it goes," he said, "for you ought to
know my plans as soon as mother does."
I did not get time to read it till after tea. Then I came up here to
my room, and sat down curious to know what. was coming.
Well, I thought I loved him as much as one human being could love
another, already, but now my heart embraced him with a fervor and
delight that made me so happy that I could not speak a word when I
knelt down to tell my Saviour all about it.
He said that he had been led, within a few months,. to make a new
consecration of himself to Christ and to Christ's cause on earth, and
that this had resulted in his choosing the life of a missionary,
instead of settling down, as he had intended to do, as a city
physician. Such expressions of personal love to Christ, and delight
in the thought of serving Him, I never read. I could only marvel at
what God had wrought in his soul. For me to live to Christ seems
natural enough, for I have been driven to Him not only by sorrow but
by sin. Every outbreak of my hasty temper sends me weeping and
penitent to the foot of the cross, and I love much because I have
been forgiven much. But James, as far as I know, has never had a
sorrow, except my father's death, and that had no apparent religious
effect And his natural character is perfectly beautiful. He is as
warm-hearted and loving and simple and guileless as a child, and has
nothing of my intemperance, hastiness and quick temper. I have often
thought that she would be a rare woman who could win and wear such a
heart as his. Life has done little but smile upon him; he is handsome
and talented and attractive; everybody is fascinated by him,
everybody caresses him; and yet he has turned his back on the world
that has dealt so kindly with him, and given himself, as Edwards
says, "clean away to Christ!" Oh, how thankful I am! And yet to let
him go! My only brother-mother's Son! But I know what she will say;
she will him God-speed!
Pages:
1 |
2 |
3 |
4 |
5 |
6 |
7 |
8 |
9 |
10 |
11 | 12 |
13 |
14 |
15 |
16 |
17 |
18 |
19 |
20