Annals of the Poor Read online

  PART IV.

  I was so much affected with my last visit to little Jane, andparticularly with her tender anxiety respecting the Lord's Supper, thatit formed the chief subject of my thoughts for the remainder of the day.I rode in the afternoon to a favourite spot, where I sometimes indulgedin solitary meditation; where I wished to reflect on the interesting caseof my little disciple.

  It was a place well suited for such a purpose.

  In the widely sweeping curve of a beautiful bay, there is a kind of chasmor opening in one of the lofty cliffs which bound it. This produces avery romantic and striking effect. The steep descending sides of thisopening in the cliff are covered with trees, bushes, wild flowers, fern,wormwood, and many other herbs, here and there contrasted with boldmasses of rock or brown earth.

  In the higher part of one of those declivities two or three picturesquecottages are fixed, and seem half suspended in the air.

  From the upper extremity of this great fissure, or opening in the cliff,a small stream of water enters by a cascade, flows through the bottom,winding in a varied course of about a quarter of a mile in length; andthen runs into the sea across a smooth expanse of firm, hard sand, at thelower extremity of the chasm. At this point, the sides of the woodybanks are very lofty, and, to a spectator from the bottom, exhibit amixture of the grand and beautiful not often exceeded.

  Near the mouth of this opening was a little hollow recess, or cave in thecliff, from whence, on one hand, I could see the above-described romanticscene; on the other, a long train of perpendicular cliffs, terminating ina bold and wild-shaped promontory, which closed the bay at one end, whilea conspicuous white cliff stood directly opposite, about four milesdistant, at the further point of the bay.

  The shore, between the different cliffs and the edge of the waves, was insome parts covered with stones and shingle; in some, with firm sand; andin others, with irregular heaps of little rocks fringed with sea-weed,and ornamented with small yellow shells.

  The cliffs themselves were diversified with strata of various-colouredearth, black, yellow, brown, and orange. The effects of iron ore,producing very manifest changes of hue, were everywhere seen in tricklingdrops and streamlets down the sides.

  The huts in which the fishermen kept their baskets, nets, boats, andother implements, occupied a few retired spots on the shore.

  The open sea, in full magnificence, occupied the centre of the prospect;bounded, indeed, in one small part, by a very distant shore, on therising ascent from which the rays of the sun rendered visible a cathedralchurch, with its towering spire, at near thirty miles' distance.Everywhere else the sea beyond was limited only by the sky.

  A frigate was standing into the bay, not very far from my recess; othervessels of every size, sailing in many directions, varied the scene, andfurnished matter for a thousand sources of contemplation.

  At my feet the little rivulet, gently rippling over pebbles, soon mingledwith the sand, and was lost in the waters of the mighty ocean. Themurmuring of the waves, as the tide ebbed or flowed, on the sand; theirdashing against some more distant rocks, which were covered fantasticallywith sea-weed and shells; sea-birds floating in the air aloft, oroccasionally screaming from their holes in the cliffs; the hum of humanvoices in the ships and boats, borne along the water: all these soundsserved to promote, rather than interrupt, meditation. They weresoothingly blended together, and entered the ear in a kind of naturalharmony.

  In the quiet enjoyment of a scene like this, the lover of nature'sbeauties will easily find scope for spiritual illustration.

  Here I sat and mused over the interesting character and circumstances oflittle Jane. Here I prayed that God would effectually teach me thosetruths which I ought to teach her.

  When I thought of her youth, I blushed to think how superior she was towhat I well remember myself to have been at the same age; nay, how far mysuperior at that very time. I earnestly desired to catch something ofthe spirit which appeared so lovely in her; for, simple, teachable, meek,humble yet earnest in her demeanour, she bore living marks of heavenlyteaching.

  "The Lord," thought I, "has called this little child, and set her in themidst of us, as a parable, a pattern, an emblem. And he saith, 'Verily,except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enterinto the kingdom of heaven.' Oh that I may be humble as this littlechild!"

  I was thus led into a deep self-examination, and was severely exercisedwith fear and apprehension, whether I was myself a real partaker of thosedivine influences which I could so evidently discover in her. Sinappeared to me just then to be more than ever "exceeding sinful." Inwardand inbred corruptions made me tremble. The danger of self-deception inso great a matter alarmed me. I was a teacher of others; but was Iindeed spiritually taught myself?

  A spirit of anxious inquiry ran through every thought: I looked at themanifold works of creation around me; I perceived the greatest marks ofregularity and order; but _within_ I felt confusion and disorder.

  "The waves of the sea," thought I, "ebb and flow in exact obedience tothe law of their Creator. Thus far they come, and no further--theyretire again to their accustomed bounds; and so maintain a regulatedsuccession of effects.

  "But, alas! the waves of passion and affection in the human breastmanifest more of the wild confusion of a storm, than the orderlyregularity of a tide. Grace only can subdue them.

  "What peaceful harmony subsists throughout all this lovely landscape!These majestic cliffs, some clothed with trees and shrubs; others bareand unadorned with herbage, yet variegated with many-coloured earths;these are not only sublime and delightful to behold, but they areanswering the end of their creation, and serve as a barrier to stop theprogress of the waves.

  "But how little peace and harmony can I comparatively see in my ownheart! The landscape _within_ is marred by dreary, barren wilds, andwants that engaging character which the various parts of this prospectbefore me so happily preserve. Sin, sin is the bane of mortality, andheaps confusion upon confusion, wherever it prevails.

  "Yet, saith the voice of Promise, 'Sin shall not have dominion over you.'Oh, then, 'may I yield myself unto God, as one that am alive from thedead, and my members as instruments of righteousness unto God!' And thusmay I become an able and willing minister of the New Testament!

  "I wish I were like this little stream of water. It takes its first risescarcely a mile off; yet it has done good even in that short course. Ithas passed by several cottages in its way, and afforded life and healthto the inhabitants; it has watered their little gardens as it flows, andenriched the meadows near its banks. It has satisfied the thirst of theflocks that are feeding aloft on the hills, and perhaps refreshed theshepherd's boy who sits watching his master's sheep hard by. It thenquietly finishes its current in this secluded dell, and, agreeably to thedesign of its Creator, quickly vanishes in the ocean.

  "May _my_ course be like unto thine, thou little rivulet! Though shortbe my span of life, yet may I be useful to my fellow-sinners as I travelonwards! Let me be a dispenser of spiritual support and health to many!Like this stream, may I prove 'the poor man's friend' by the way, andwater the souls that thirst for the river of life, wherever I meet them!And if it please thee, O my God, let me in my latter end be like thisbrook. It calmly, though not quite silently, flows through this scene ofpeace and loveliness, just before it enters the sea. Let me thus gentlyclose my days likewise; and may I not unusefully tell to others of thegoodness and mercy of our Saviour, till I arrive at the vast ocean ofeternity!

  "Thither," thought I, "little Jane is fast hastening. Short, but notuseless, has been _her_ course. I feel the great importance of it in myown soul at this moment. I view a work of mercy _there_, to which I dohope I am not quite a stranger in the experience of my own heart. Thethought enlivens my spirit, and leads me to see that, great as is thepower of sin the power of Jesus is greater; and, through grace, I _may_meet my dear young disciple, my child in the gospel, my sister in thefaith, in a brighter, a bet
ter world hereafter."

  There was something in the whole of this meditation which calmed andprepared my mind for my promised visit the next day. I looked forward toit with affectionate anxiety.

  It was now time to return homewards. The sun was setting. Thelengthened shadows of the cliffs, and of the hills towering again farabove them, cast a brown but not unpleasing tint over the waters of thebay. Further on the beams of the sun still maintained their splendour.Some of the sails of the distant ships, enlivened by its rays, appearedlike white spots in the blue horizon, and seemed to attract my notice, asif to claim at least the passing prayer, "God speed the mariners on theirvoyage."

  I quitted my retreat in the cliff with some reluctance; but with a stateof mind, as I hoped, solemnized by reflection, and animated to freshexertion.

  I walked up by a steep pathway, that winded through the trees and shrubson the sides of one of the precipices. At every step the extent ofprospect enlarged, and acquired a new and varying character, by beingseen through the trees on each side. Climbing up a kind of rude,inartificial set of stone stairs in the bank, I passed by the singularlysituated cottages which I had viewed from beneath; received and returnedthe evening salutation of the inhabitants, sitting at their doors, andjust come home from labour; till I arrived at the top of the precipice,where I had left my horse tied to a gate.

  Could _he_ have enjoyed it, he had a noble prospect around him in everydirection from this elevated point of view, where he had been stationedwhile I was on the shore below. But wherein he most probably failed Ithink his rider did not. The landscape, taken in connection with myrecent train of thought about myself and little Jane, inspired devotion.

  The sun was now set: the bright colours of the western clouds, faintlyreflected from the south-eastern hills, that were unseen from my retreatin the cliff, or only perceived by their evening shadows on the sea, nowadded to the beauty of the prospect on the south and west. Every elementcontributed to the interesting effect of the scenery. The _earth_ wasdiversified in shape and ornament. The _waters_ of the ocean presented anoble feature in the landscape. The _air_ was serene, or only ruffled bya refreshing breeze from the shore. And the sun's _fiery_ beams, thoughdeparting for the night, still preserved such a portion of light andwarmth as rendered all the rest delightful to an evening traveller. Fromthis point the abyss, occasioned by the great fissure in the cliff,appeared grand and interesting. Trees hung over it on each side,projecting not only their branches, but many of their roots in wild andfantastic forms. Masses of earth had recently fallen from the upper tothe lower parts of the precipice, carrying trees and plants down thesteep descent. The character of the soil and the unceasing influence ofthe stream at the bottom, seemed to threaten further slips of the landfrom the summit. From hence the gentle murmur of the cascade at the headof the chine stole upon the ear without much interruption to thequietness of the scene. A fine rocky cliff, half buried in trees, stooderect on the land side about a mile distant, and seemed to vie with thoseon the shore in challenging the passenger's attention. In the distancestood a noble ash-tree, which, on a considerable height, majesticallyreigned as the patriarch of the grove near which it grew. Every objectcombined to please the eye and direct the traveller's heart to admire andlove the Author and Creator of all that is beautiful to sense andedifying to the soul.

  The next morning I went to Jane's cottage. On entering the door, thewoman, who so frequently visited her, met me, and said:--

  "Perhaps, sir, you will not wake her just yet; for she has droppedasleep, and she seldom gets much rest, pool girl!"

  I went gently up stairs.

  The child was in a half-sitting posture, leaning her head upon her righthand, with her Bible open before her. She had evidently fallen asleepwhile reading. Her countenance was beautifully composed and tranquil. Afew tears had rolled down her cheek, and (probably unknown to her)dropped upon the pages of her book.

  I looked around me for a moment. The room was outwardly comfortless anduninviting: the walls out of repair; the sloping roof somewhat shattered;the floor broken and uneven; no furniture but two tottering bedsteads, athree-legged stool, and an old oak chest; the window broken in manyplaces, and mended with patches of paper. A little shelf against thewall, over the bedstead where Jane lay, served for her physic, her food,and her books.

  "Yet _here_," I said to myself, "lies an heir of glory, waiting for ahappy dismissal. Her earthly home is poor, indeed; but she has a housenot made with hands, eternal in the heavens. She has little to attachher to this world; but what a weight of glory in the world to come! Thismean, despised chamber is a palace in the eye of faith, for it containsone that is inheritor of a crown."

  I approached without waking her, and observed that she had been readingthe twenty-third chapter of St. Luke. The finger of her left hand layupon the book, pointing to the words, as if she had been using it toguide her eye whilst she read.

  I looked at the place, and was pleased at the apparently casualcircumstance of her finger pointing at these words:--

  "Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom."

  "Is this casual or designed?" thought I. "Either way it is remarkable."

  But in another moment I discovered that her finger was indeed an index tothe thoughts of her heart.

  She half awoke from her dozing state, but not sufficiently so to perceivethat any person was present, and said in a kind of whisper:--

  "Lord, remember me--remember me--remember--remember a poor child--Lord,remember me--"

  She then suddenly started and perceived me, as she became fully awake. Afaint blush overspread her cheeks for a moment, and then disappeared.

  "Dame K---, how long have I been asleep?--Sir, I am very sorry--"

  "And I am very glad to find you thus," I replied. "You may say withDavid, 'I laid me down and slept: I awaked, for the Lord sustained me.'What were you reading?"

  "The history of the crucifying of Jesus, sir."

  "How far had you read when you fell asleep?"

  "To the prayer of the thief that was crucified with him; and when I cameto that place I stopped, and thought what a mercy it would be if the LordJesus, should remember me likewise--and so I fell asleep; and I fanciedin my dream that I saw Christ upon the cross; and I thought I said,'Lord, remember me;' and I am sure he did not look angry upon me--andthen I awoke."

  All this seemed to be a sweet commentary on the text, and a most suitableforerunner of our intended sacramental service.

  "Well, my dear child, I am come, as you wished me, to administer thesacrament of the body and blood of our blessed Saviour to you; and Idaresay neighbour K--- will be glad to join us."

  "Talk to me a little about it first, sir, if you please."

  "You remember what you have learned in your Catechism about it. Let usconsider. A sacrament, you know, is 'an outward and visible sign of aninward and spiritual grace, given unto us, ordained by Christ himself, asa means whereby we receive the same, and a pledge to assure us thereof.'Now the Lord has ordained bread and wine in the holy supper, as theoutward mark, which we behold with our eyes. It is a sign, a token, aseal of his love, grace, and blessing, which he promises to, and bestowson, all who receive it, rightly believing on his name and work. He inthis manner preserves amongst us a 'continual remembrance of his death,and of the benefits which we receive thereby.'"

  "What do you believe respecting the death of Christ, Jenny?"

  "That because he died, sir, we live."

  "What life do we live thereby?"

  "The life of grace and mercy _now_, and the life of glory and happinesshereafter; is it not, sir?"

  "Yes, assuredly: this is the fruit of the death of Christ, and thus he'opened the kingdom of heaven to all believers.' As bread and winestrengthen and refresh your poor, weak, fainting body in this verysickness, so does the blessing of his body and blood strengthen andrefresh the souls of all that repose their faith, hope, and affections onhim who loved us and gave himse
lf for us."

  Tears ran down her cheeks as she said,--

  "Oh, what a Saviour! Oh, what a sinner! How kind! how good! And isthis for me?"

  "Fear not, dear child. He that has made you to love him thus, loves youtoo well to deny you. He will in no wise cast out any that come to him."

  "Sir," said the girl, "I can never think about Jesus and his love tosinners, without wondering how it can be. I deserve nothing but hisanger on account of my sins. Why then does he love me? My heart isevil. Why then does he love me? I continually forget all his goodness.Why then does he love me? I neither pray to him, nor thank him, nor doanything as I ought to do. Why then such love to me?"

  "How plain it is that all is mercy from first to last! and that sweetensthe blessing, my child. Are you not willing to give Christ all thehonour of your salvation, and to take all the blame of your sins on yourown self?"

  "Yes, indeed, sir, I am. My hymn says,--

  'Blest be the Lord, that sent his Son To take our flesh and blood; He for our lives gave up his own, To make our peace with God.

  'He honoured all his Father's laws, Which we have disobeyed; He bore our sins upon the cross, And our full ransom paid.'"

  "I am glad you remember your hymns so well, Jenny."

  "Sir, you don't know what pleasure they give me. I am very glad you gaveme that little book of Hymns for Children."

  A severe fit of coughing interrupted her speech for a while. The womanheld her head. It was distressing to observe her struggle for breath,and almost, as it were, for life.

  "Poor dear!" said the woman; "I wish I could help thee, and ease thypains; but they will not last for ever."

  "God helps me," said the girl, recovering her breath; "God helps me--hewill carry me through. Sir, you look frightened. I am not afraid--thisis nothing--I am better now. Thank you, dame, thank you. I am verytroublesome; but the Lord will bless you for this and all your kindnessto me: yes, sir, and yours too. Now talk to me again about thesacrament."

  "What is required, Jenny, of them who come to the Lord's Supper? Thereare five things named in the Catechism; do you remember what is thefirst?"

  She paused, and then said, with a solemn and intelligent look,--

  "To examine themselves whether they repent them truly of their formersins."

  "I hope and think that you know what this means, Jenny. The Lord hasgiven you the spirit of repentance."

  "No one knows, sir, what the thoughts of past sin have been to me. Yes,the Lord knows, and that is enough; and I hope he forgives me forChrist's sake. His blood cleanseth from all sin. Sir, I sometimes thinkof my sins till I tremble, and it makes me cry to think that I haveoffended such a God; and then he comforts me again with sweet thoughtsabout Christ."

  "It is well, my child--be it so. The next thing mentioned in thatarticle of your Catechism, what is it?"

  "Steadfastly purposing to lead a new life."

  "And what do you think of that?"

  "My life, sir, will be a short one; and I wish it had been a better one.But from my heart I desire that it may be a _new_ one for the time tocome. I want to forsake all my evil ways and thoughts, and evil words,and evil companions; and to do what God bids me, and what you tell me isright, sir, and what I read of in my Bible. But I am afraid I do not, myheart is so full of sin. However, sir, I pray to God to help me. Mydays will be few; but I wish they may be spent to the glory of God."

  "The blessing of the Lord be upon you, Jane; so that whether you live,you may live to the Lord; or whether you die, you may die unto the Lord;and that, living or dying, you may be the Lord's. What is the next thingmentioned?"

  "To have a lively faith in God's mercy through Christ, sir."

  "Do you believe that God is merciful to you in the pardon of your sins?"

  "I do, sir," said the child earnestly.

  "And if he pardons you, is it for your own sake, Jenny?"

  "No, sir, no; it is for Christ's sake--for my Saviour Jesus Christ'ssake, and that only. Christ is all."

  "Can you trust him?"

  "Sir, I must not mistrust him; nor would I, if I might."

  "Right, child; he is worthy of all your trust."

  "And then, sir, I am to have a thankful remembrance of his death. I cannever think of his dying, but I think also what a poor unworthy creatureI am; and yet he is so good to me. I wish I _could_ thank him--sir, Ihave been reading about his death--how could the people do as they did tohim?--but it was all for our salvation. And the thief on the cross--thatis beautiful. I hope he will remember me too, and that I shall alwaysremember him and his death most thankfully."

  "And lastly, Jenny, are you in charity with all men? Do you forgive allthat have offended you? Do you bear ill-will in your heart to anybody?"

  "Dear sir, no! how can I? If God is good to me, if he forgives me, howcan I help forgiving others? There is not a person in all the world, Ithink, sir, that I do not wish well to for Christ's sake, and that fromthe bottom of my heart."

  "How do you feel towards those bold, wanton, ill-tempered girls at thenext door, who jeer and mock you so about your religion?"

  "Sir, the worst thing I wish them is, that God may give them grace torepent; that he may change their hearts, and pardon all their wicked waysand words. May he forgive them, as I do with all my soul!"

  She ceased--I wished to ask no more. My heart was full. "Can this bethe religion of a child?" thought I. "O that we were all children likeher!"

  "Reach me that prayer-book, and the cup and plate. My dear friends, Iwill now, with God's blessing, partake with you in the holy communion ofour Lord's body and blood."

  The time was sweet and solemn. I went through the sacramental service.

  The countenance and manner of the child evinced powerful feelings. Tearsmingled with smiles--resignation brightened by hope--humility animated byfaith--a child-like modesty adorned with the understanding of a riperage--gratitude, peace, devotion, patience--all these were visible. Ithought I distinctly saw them all--and did _I_ alone see them? Is it toomuch to say that other created beings, whom I could not behold with mynatural eyes, were witnesses of the scene?

  If ministering angels do ascend and descend with glad tidings betweenearth and heaven, I think they did so then.

  When I had concluded the service, I said,--

  "Now, my dear Jane, you are indeed become a sister in the Church ofChrist. May his Spirit and blessing rest upon you, strengthen andrefresh you!"

  "My mercies are great, very great, sir; greater than I can express. Ithank you for this favour--I thought I was too young--it seemed too muchfor me to think of; but I am now sure the Lord is good to me, and I hopeI have done right."

  "Yes, Jenny; and I trust you are both outwardly and inwardly _sealed_ bythe Holy Ghost to the day of redemption."

  "Sir, I shall never forget this day."

  "Neither, I think, shall I."

  "Nor I," said the good old woman; "sure the Lord has been in the midst ofus three to-day, while we have been gathered together in his name."

  "Sir," said the child, "I wish you could speak to my mother when you comeagain. But she keeps out of your sight. I am so grieved about her soul,and I am afraid she cares nothing at all about it herself."

  "I hope I shall have an opportunity the next time I come. Farewell, mychild."

  "Good-bye, sir; and I thank you for all your kindness to me."

  "Surely," I thought within myself as I left the cottage, "this young budof grace will bloom beauteously in paradise! The Lord transplant herthither in his own good time. Yet, if it be his will, may she live alittle longer, that I may further profit by her conversation andexample!"

  Possibly, some who peruse these simple records of poor little Jane maywish the same. If it be so, we will visit her again before she departshence and is no more seen.