Holland_Arthur_Bonnicastle.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
and they have made us one and made us better. is no
fountain which the angel of healing troubles with his restless
and life-giving wings so constantly as the fountain of tears, and
only those too lame and bruised to bathe miss the blessed
influence.
picture moves along, and now sweeps into view
on the hill my old home the home of my friend
and sister. go in and out as the years hurry by, and little
feet have learned to run and greet me at the door, and young
lips have been taught to call me " uncle." is a door from
which no beggar is ever turned away unfed, a door to which
the feeble, the despairing, the sorrowing, the perplexed have
come for years, and been admitted to the counsels, encourage-
ments, and self-denying helpfulness of the strongest and noblest
man know. ancient mistress of the establishment is
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quite forgotten by the new generation, and the house which,
for so many years, was shut to the great world by the selfish
recluse who owned it, is now the warmest social center of the
town. windows blaze with light through many along even-
ing, while old age and youth mingle in pleasant converse ; and
forth from its ample resources go food and clothing for the
poor, and help for the needy, and money for those who bear
the to the border. names are multi-
plied in the house. there comes a little , then an
, then a , and last a ; and ,
so like her mother in person and temper, grows up to be a
helpful woman. visit my old room, now the chamber of
little , but no regrets oppress me. am
glad of the change, and glad that the older has no sel-
fish part or lot in the house.
now another shadow droops. why should it
come ? good knows, and loves us alL
her room, wasting day by day with consumption, my sister
sits and sees the world glide away from her, with all its indus-
tries and loves, and social and home delights. strong man
at her side, loaded with cares which she so long has lightened,
comes to her from his wearying labor, and spends with her
every precious flying hour that he can call his own. almost
tires her with tender ministry. lifts her to her bed ; he lifts
her to her chair ; he reads to her; he talks calmly with her of the
great change that approachefs ; he sustams her sinking courage ;
he calls around her every help ; he tries in every way to stay
the hand of the fell destroyer, but it is all in vain. long-
dreaded day comes at last, and nay, all
is in mourning. pure woman, a devoted wife, a tender
mother, a friend, sleeps ; and a pastor, whose life is
deepened and broadened and enriched by a grief so great and
lasting that no future companionship of woman can even be
thought o^ goes to his wor kjaith ^new devotion and the unc-
tion of a new pow^^^^^heiStis^.g^^^l^^aiFe to guide the
'^;/;.r^r,r?'':
398 .
house, and the memory and influence of a saint to all
its walls, and chasten all its associations.
picture sweeps along, and presents to my imagination
a resistless river, calm in its beginnings, but torn and turbulent
as it proceeds, till it plunges in a cataract and passes from my
sight its passage are little barks, each bearing a mem-
ber of my family my brothers and sisters separated from me
and from each other by miles of distance, but every one moving
toward the abyss that swallows them one by one. disease
that takes my sister takes them all. arriving at
her age passes away. reaching the lip of the cataract,
lets go the oars, tosses up helpless hands, makes the fatal
plunge, and the sob surge and of the waters, wind-borne to my
shrinking ears, is all that is left to me. all, for even now
a rainbow spans the chasm, to promise me that floods shall
never overwhelm them again, and to prove to me that tears
may be informed with the same heavenly light tliat shines in living
flowers, and paints the clouds of sunrise.
noise of the cataract dies away in the distance, the
river dissolves, and sit inside a new and beautiful church.
old one has been torn down to make way for a larger and
better one. is communion-day, and behind the table on
which is spread the feast of commemoration sits my
boyhood's companion, my college friend, my brother and pastor,
. years have strewn silver over his tem-
ples and graven furrows upon his face, but earnestness, strength,
and benignity are the breath and burden of his presence.
event is about to take place of great interest to him, to the
church, and to a large circle of business men. . ,
for the first time, publicly takes his stand among the
family. is old now, and the cane which he used to carry for
company, and as a habit, has become a necessity. takes
his place in the aisle, and by his side my own dear wife, who from
her childhood has stood loyally by him and refused to unite
with a church until he could do so. creed has been re-
vised. refinements and elaborate definitions and non-es*
. 399
sential dogmas have been swept away, and the simple old (-
tle's , in which millions of disciples and saints have lived
and died in the retiring centuries, is all that is read to him, and
all to which he is called upon to respond.
at last into the fold where he has al-
ways belonged 1 patriarch, seated at the table of the
from which he has been shut away by children in experience,
wisdom, and piety 1 is my father now, the grandfather of
my children, and the little wife who has trusted him and believed
in him all her life has at last the supreme happiness of commun-
ing with him and her daughter in the holy festival.
do still watch the unrolling canvas ? scenes that
come and pass are not painful to me, because they are all associ-
ated with precious memories and precious hopes, but to those
who read they must be somber and saddening. tell of
the news that reached me one day from ?
tell of that which reached me six months afterward from the
same place? sleep well and their graves are shrines.
tell how , from nursing one with malignant dis-
ease, came home to die, and left undone a world of projected
work ? tell how . was at last lefr alone, and
came to pass the remnant of his life with me ? tell of
another shadow that descended upon , and how,
in its dark folds, the lovely mother of my friend disappeared ?
is the story of the world. are bom, we grow to man-
hood and womanhood, we marry, we work, we die. gene-
rations come and go, and they come without call and go with-
out significance if there be not a confident hope and expectation
of something to follow, so grand and sweet and beautiful that
we can look upon it all without misgiving or pain. draws
the poison from every grief, takes the sting from every loss, and
quenches the fire of every pain; and only faith can do it.
"'isdom, science, power, learning all these are as blind and
impotent before the great problem of life as ignorance and
weakness. feeblest girl, believing in and a hereafter,
is an archangel by the side of the strongest man who questions
400 .
her simple faith, and mounts on wings where he stumbles in
doubt and distress, or sinks in darkness.
those of two homes who are living, through six long and
ever-memorable evenings, have read my book, and now the]^
are all with me to-night as draw the chair to my library-table,
to write these closing paragraphs. center of the group
is . , an old, old man, though he is still strong
enough to hold my youngest upon his knee. sits near
him, talking with , while tlie young people are gathered
in a distant corner, conversing quietly among themselves about
the events have for the first time fully unveiled to them.
talk does not disturb me, for my thoughts linger over
what have written, and feel that the task which has been
such a delight to me is soon to pass from my hands. work
can come to me so sweet as this has been. have lived my
life again a life so full of interest. that it seems as if could
never tire of it, even though death should come nearer and
nearer to me, waiting for my consent to be pushed from the
verge of earthly existence.
hear the quiet voices around me. know where and what
am, but cannot resist the feeling that there' are more forms
in the room than are visible to my eyes. do not look up,
but to me my library is full. who are gone cannot have
lost their interest in those who remain, and those who are gone
outnumber us two to one. own, am sure, are close about
me, looking over my shoulder, and tracing with me these clos-
ing words. arms are intertwined, they exchange their
thoughts about me all unheard by my coarse senses, and am
thrilled by an influence which do not understand. sister
sits by the side of her husband unseen, and listens to the words
which he is speaking to my wife, and hears her own name pro-
nounced with grateful tenderness. . has a com-
panion older than the little one who sits upon his knee and
plays with his great gold chain, but sees her not. are
. 401
wistful, sympathetic faces among the children, and they cannot
know why they are so quiet, or what spell it is that holds them.
severe, restless little woman watches her grandson with
greedy eyes, or looks around upon those she once had within
her power, but regards us all in impotent silence. them,
but apart, companions in the new life as they were in the old,
are two who come to visit their boys again boys growing old
in labor and preparing to join them in another school, among
higher hills and purer atmospheres, or to be led by them to the
tented shores of the of the of . two
worlds* have come so near together that they mingle, and
tliere are shadows around me, and whispers above me, and
the rustle of robes that tell me that life is one, and the love of
kindred and friends etemaL
morrow, ah golden to morrow for the hope
of its coming, with all its duty and care, and work and ministry,
and all its appeals to manliness and manly endeavor !
, too, for the long dissipation of the dreams of selfish ease
and luxury ! has no significance to me, save as the thea-
ter in which my powers are developed and disciplined by use,
and made fruitful in securing my own independence and the
good of those around me, or as the scene in which am fitted
for the work and worship of the world beyond little
ones and the large ones of my own flock are crowding me
along. they will have my place. do not pity, almost
envy them. is so grand, so beautiful, so full of meaning,
so splendid in its opportunities for action, so hopeful in its high
results, that, despite all its sorrows, would willingly live it over
again.