The Annals of the Poor Part 21

PART V.

Jane was hastening fast to her dissolution. She still, however, preserved sufficient strength to converse with much satisfaction to herself and those who visited her. Such as could truly estimate the value of her spiritual state of mind were but few; yet the most careless could not help being struck with her affectionate seriousness, her knowledge of the Scriptures, and her happy application of them to her own case.

"The holy spark divine,"

which regenerating grace had implanted in her life, had kindled a flame which warmed and animated the beholder. To _some_, I am persuaded, her example and conversation were made a blessing. Memory reflects with grat.i.tude, whilst I write, on the profit and consolation which I individually derived from her society. Nor I alone. The last day will, if I err not, disclose further fruits, resulting from the love of G.o.d to this little child, and, through her, to others that saw her. And may not hope indulge the prospect, that this simple memorial of her history shall be as one arrow drawn from the quiver of the Almighty to reach the hearts of the young and the thoughtless? Direct its course, O my G.o.d! May the eye that reads, and the ear that hears, the record of little Jane, through the power of the Spirit of the Most High, each become the witness for the truth as it is in Jesus!

I remembered the tender solicitude of this dear child for her mother. I well knew what an awful contrast the dispositions and conduct of her parents exhibited, when compared with her own.

I resolved to avail myself of the first opportunity I could seize to speak to the mother in the child's presence. The woman had latterly avoided me, conscious of deserving, and fearful of receiving reproof. The road by which I usually approached the house lay, for some little distance, sufficiently in sight of its windows to enable the woman to retire out of the way before I arrived. There was, however, another path, through fields at the back of the village, which, owing to the situation of the ground, allowed of an approach unperceived, till a visitor reached the very cottage itself.

One morning, soon after the sacramental interview related in my last paper, I chose _this_ road for my visit. It was preferable to me on every account. The distance was not quite half a mile from my house. The path was retired. I hereby avoided the noise and interruption which even a village street will sometimes present, to disturb the calmness of interesting meditation.

As I pa.s.sed through the churchyard, and cast my eye on the memorable epitaph, "Soon," I thought within me, "will my poor little Jane mingle her mouldering remains with this dust, and sleep with her fathers! Soon will the youthful tongue, which now lisps hosannas to the Son of David, and delights my heart with evidences of early piety and grace, be silent in the earth! Soon shall I be called to commit her 'body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.' But oh, what a glorious change! Her spirit shall have then returned to G.o.d who gave it. Her soul will be joining the halleluiahs of paradise, while we sing her requiem at the grave. And her very dust shall here wait, in sure and certain hope of a joyful resurrection from the dead."

I went through the fields without meeting a single individual. I enjoyed the retirement of my solitary walk. Various surrounding objects contributed to excite useful meditation connected with the great subjects of time and eternity. Here and there a drooping flower reminded me of the fleeting nature of mortal life. Sometimes a shady spot taught me to look to Him who is a "shadow in the day-time from the heat, and for a place of refuge, and for a covert from storm and from rain." If a worm crept across my path, I saw an emblem of myself as I am _now_; and the winged insects, fluttering in the sunbeams, led me comparatively to reflect on what I hoped to be _hereafter_.

The capacious mansion of a rich neighbour appeared on the right hand as I walked; on my left were the cottages of the poor. The church spire pointing to heaven a little beyond, seemed to say to both the rich and the poor, "Set your affection on things above, not on things on the earth." All these objects afforded me useful meditation; and all obtained an increased value as such, because they lay in my road to the house of little Jane.

I was now arrived at the stile nearly adjoining her dwelling. The upper window was open, and I soon distinguished the sound of voices--I was glad to hear that of the mother. I entered the house door unperceived by those above stairs, and sat down below, not wishing as yet to interrupt a conversation which quickly caught my ear.

"Mother! mother! I have not long to live. My time will be very short.

But I must, indeed I must, say something for your sake, before I die. O mother! you have a soul--you have a soul; and what will become of it when you die? O my mother! I am so uneasy about your soul--"

"Oh, dear! I shall lose my child--she will die--and what shall I do when you are gone, my Jenny?" She sobbed aloud.

"Mother, think about your soul. Have you not neglected that?"

"Yes, I have been a wicked creature, and hated all that was good. What can I do?"

"Mother, you must pray to G.o.d to pardon you for Christ's sake. You must pray."

"Jenny, my child, I cannot pray: I never did pray in all my life. I am too wicked to pray."

"Mother, I have been wanting to speak to you a long time; but I was afraid to do it. You did not like me to say anything about religion, and I did not know how to begin. But indeed, mother, I must speak now, or it may be too late. I wish Mr. --- was here, for he could talk to you better than I can. But perhaps you will think of what I say, poor as it is, when I am dead. I am but a young child, and not fit to speak about such things to anybody. But, mother, you belong to me, and I cannot bear to think of your perishing for ever. My Lord and Saviour has shown me my own sin and corruptions: he loved me, and gave himself for me: he died, and he rose again: I want to praise him for it for ever and ever. I hope I shall see him in heaven; but I want to see you there too, mother. Do, pray do, leave off swearing, and other bad ways: go to church, and hear our minister speak about Jesus Christ, and what he has done for wicked sinners. He wishes well to souls. He taught me the way, and he will teach you, mother. Why did you always go out of the house when he was coming? Do not be angry with me, mother; I only speak for your good. I was once as careless as you are about the things of G.o.d. But I have seen my error. I was in the broad road leading to destruction, like many other children in the parish; and the Lord saw me, and had mercy upon me."

"Yes, my child, you were always a good girl, and minded your book."

"No, mother, no; not always. I cared nothing about goodness, nor my Bible, till the minister came and sent for us, as you know, on Sat.u.r.day afternoons. Don't you remember, mother, that at first you did not like me to go, and said you would have no such _G.o.dly_, _pious_ doings about _your_ house; and that I had better play about the streets and fields, than be laughed at and be made game of for pretending to be so good? Ah, mother, you did not know what I went for, and what G.o.d designed for me and my poor sinful soul! But, thank G.o.d, I did go, and there learned the way of salvation. Mother, I wish you had learned too."

As I listened to this affecting conversation, it appeared to me, from the tone and manner of the mother's voice, that she was more under the influence of temporary grief, on account of her child's extreme illness, than sincere sorrow from any real sense of her sins. I however hoped the best, and rejoiced to hear such weighty and important exhortation dropping from her daughter's lips. I felt that present circ.u.mstances rendered it far more valuable than my own could have been.

I have often, since that time, seen the wicked and careless much affected, while sitting by the dying bed of a near relative: I have witnessed their temporary acknowledgments of sin, and heard their professions of amendment. But, after a short season, all has pa.s.sed away like the morning dew. The friend has been buried out of sight. The world and its cares, the flesh and its sins, have returned with new temptations, and the eloquence of iniquity has prevailed over the voice of truth. "The dog has returned to his vomit, and the sow to her wallowing in the mire."

On the other hand, how frequently have the deathbeds of true believers been blessed to the eye-witness of the triumphs of grace over sin, death, and h.e.l.l! Often has the careless bystander received the first saving impression of divine truth, whilst the dying Christian has experienced and testified the supports of love and mercy in the trying hour. At such seasons, faith wields a bright and burning torch, which occasionally softens the hardest and warms the coldest heart. The expressions of that heavenly consolation and devout solicitude, which the Holy Spirit vouchsafes to some, thus become the happy means of grace and blessing for the conversion and edification of others.

"He that hath an ear, let him hear what the Spirit saith unto the churches!"

At this moment the house-door opened, and a younger child, a brother of Jane's, came in. The mother asked from above who it was: the boy replied; and, without further inquiry, she remained in the chamber. I beckoned to the lad to sit down quietly; and thus it still remained unknown that I was below.

"Mother," continued Jane, "that is my brother, and will soon be your only remaining child. Do, pray, encourage him to follow good ways. Send him to Mr. ---, and he will be kind to him, as he has been to me. He is a wild boy, but I hope he will be brought to think about his soul in time.

Those naughty, wicked boys teach him to swear and fight, and run after all manner of evil. Lord, help him to flee from the wrath to come!"

I made a sign to the boy to listen to what his sister said concerning him. He seemed to hear with attention, and a tear dropped down his cheek.

"Ay, Jenny, it is to be hoped he will, and that we shall all likewise."

"Mother, then you must flee to Christ. Nothing you can do will save you without that. You must repent and turn from sin: without the grace of G.o.d you cannot do it; but seek, and you shall find it. Do, for your own sake, and for my sake, and my little brother's sake."

The woman wept and sobbed without replying. I now thought it time to appear, went to the bottom of the stairs, and said, "May a friend come up?"

"Mercy on me!" said the mother, "there is Mr. ---"

"Come in, sir," said Jane; "I am very glad you are come _now_. Mother, set a chair."

The woman looked confused. Jane smiled as I entered, and welcomed me as usual.

"I hope I shall be forgiven, both by mother and daughter, for having remained so long below stairs, during the conversation which has just taken place. I came in the hope of finding you together, as I have had a wish for some time past to speak to you, Sarah, on the same subjects about which, I am happy to say, your daughter is so anxious. You have long neglected these things, and I wished to warn you of the danger of your state; but Jenny has said all I could desire, and I now solemnly ask you, whether you are not much affected by your poor child's faithful conversation? You ought to have been _her_ teacher and instructor in the ways of righteousness, whereas she has now become _yours_. Happy, however, will it be for you if you are wise, and consider your latter end, and the things which belong to your peace, before they are hidden from your eyes! Look at your dying child, and think of your other and only remaining one, and say whether this sight does not call aloud upon you to hear and fear."

Jane's eyes were filled with tears whilst I spoke. The woman hung her head down, but betrayed some emotions of dislike at the plain dealing used towards her.

"My child, Jenny," said I, "how are you to-day?"

"Sir, I have been talking a good deal, and feel rather faint and weary, but my mind has been very easy and happy since I last saw you. I am quite willing to die, when the Lord sees fit. I have no wish to live except it be to see my friends in a better way before I depart. Sir, I used to be afraid to speak to them; but I feel to-day as if I could hold my peace no longer, and I must tell them what the Lord has done for my soul, and what I feel for theirs."

There was a firmness, I may say a dignity with which this was uttered that surprised me. The character of the child seemed to be lost in that of the Christian; her natural timidity yielded to a holy a.s.surance of manner resulting from her own inward consolations, mingled with spiritual desire for her mother's welfare. This produced a flush upon her otherwise pallid countenance, which in no small degree added to her interesting appearance. The Bible lay open before her as she sat up in the bed. With her right hand she enclosed her mother's.

"Mother, this book _you_ cannot read; you should therefore go constantly to church, that you may hear it explained. It is G.o.d's book, and tells us the way to heaven; I hope you will learn and mind it; with G.o.d's blessing it may save your soul. Do think of that, mother, pray do. I am soon going to die. Give this Bible to my brother; and will you be so kind, sir, as to instruct him? Mother, remember what I say, and this gentleman is witness: there is no salvation for sinners like you and me but in the blood of Christ; he is able to save to the uttermost; he will save all that come to him; he waits to be gracious: cast yourself upon his mercy. I wish--I wish--I--I--I--"

She was quite overcome, and sank away in a kind of fainting fit.

Her mother observed, that she would now probably remain insensible for some time before she recovered.

I improved this interval in a serious address to the woman, and then prepared to take my departure, perceiving that Jane was too much exhausted for further conversation at that time.

As I was leaving the room, the child said faintly, "Come again soon, sir; my time is very short."

I returned home by the same retired road which I had before chosen. I silently meditated on the eminent proofs of piety and faith which were just afforded me in the scene I had witnessed.

Surely, I thought, this is an extraordinary child! What cannot grace accomplish? Is it possible to doubt after this, _who_ is the alone Author and Finisher of salvation; or from _whom_ cometh every good and perfect gift? How rich and free is the mercy of Jehovah! Hath not he "chosen the weak things of this world to confound the things which are mighty?" Let no flesh glory in his presence: but "he that glorieth, let him glory in the Lord."

PART VI.