It may seem strange, perhaps incredible, that Mrs. Elton, possessing the virtues we have attributed to her, and being a religious woman, should be accessary to such deception, and (for we will call "things by their right names") dishonesty. But the wonder will cease if we look around upon the circle of our acquaintance, and observe how few there are among those whom we believe to be Christians, who govern their daily conduct by Christian principles, and regulate their temporal duties by the strict Christian rule. Truly, narrow is the way of perfect integrity, and few there are that walk therein.
There are too many who forget that our religion is not like that of the ancients, something set apart from the ordinary concerns of life; the consecrated, not the "daily bread;" a service for the temple and the grove, having its separate class of duties and pleasures; but is "the leaven that leaveneth the whole lump," a spirit to be infused into the common affairs of life. We fear Mrs. Elton was not quite guiltless of this fault. She believed all the Bible teaches. She had long been a member of the church in the town where she lived. She daily read the scriptures, and daily offered sincere prayers. Certainly, the waters of the fountain from whence she drank had a salutary influence, though they failed to heal all her diseases. She was kind, gentle, and uncomplaining, and sustained, with admirable patience, the growing infirmities and irritating faults of her husband. To her child, she performed her duties wisely, and with an anxious zeal; the result, in part, of uncommon maternal tenderness, and, in part, of a painful consciousness of the faults of her own character; and, perhaps, of a secret feeling she had left much undone that she ought to do.
Mr. Elton, after his pecuniary embarrassments were beyond the hope of extrication, maintained by stratagem the appearance of prosperity for some months, when a violent fever ended his struggle with the tide of fortune that had set against him, and consigned him to that place where there is 'no more work nor device.' His wife was left quite destitute with her child, then an interesting little girl, a little more than twelve years old. A more energetic mind than Mrs. Elton's might have been discouraged at the troubles which were now set before her in all their extent, and with tenfold aggravation; and she, irresolute, spiritless, and despondent, sunk under them. She had from nature, a slender constitution; her health declined, and, after lingering for some months, she died with resignation, but not without a heart-rending pang at the thought of leaving her child, poor, helpless, and friendless.
Little Jane had nursed her mother with fidelity and tenderness, and performed services for her, that her years seemed hardly adequate to, with an efficiency and exactness that surprised all who were prepared to find her a delicately bred and indulged child. She seemed to have inherited nothing from her father but his active mind; from her mother she had derived a pure and gentle spirit, but this would have been quite insufficient to produce the result of such a character as hers, without the aid of her mother's vigilant, and, for the most part, judicious training. In the formation of her child's character, she had been essentially aided by a faithful domestic, who had lived with her for many years, and nursed Jane in her infancy.
We know it is common to rail at our domestics. Their independence is certainly often inconvenient to their employers; but, as it is the result of the prosperous condition of all classes in our happy country, it is not right nor wise to complain of it. We believe there are many instances of intelligent and affectionate service, that are rarely equalled, where ignorance and servility mark the lower classes. Mary Hull was endowed with a mind of uncommon strength, and an affectionate heart. These were her jewels. She had been brought up by a pious mother, and early and zealously embraced the faith of the Methodists. She had the virtues of her station in an eminent degree: practical good sense, industrious, efficient habits, and handy ways. She never presumed formally to offer her advice to Mrs. Elton; her instincts seemed to define the line of propriety to her; but she had a way of suggesting hints, of which Mrs. Elton learnt the value by experience. This good woman had been called to a distant place to attend her dying mother, just before the death of Mrs. Elton; and thus Jane was deprived of an able assistant, and most tender friend, and left to pass through the dismal scene of death, without any other than occasional assistance from her compassionate neighbours.
On the day of Mrs. Elton's interment, a concourse of people assembled to listen to the funeral sermon, and to follow to the grave one who had been the object of the envy of some, and of the respect and love of many. Three sisters of Mr. Elton were assembled with their families. Mrs. Elton had come from a distant part of the country, and had no relatives in ———.
Jane's relations wore the decent gravity that became the occasion; but they were of a hard race, and neither the wreck their brother had made, nor the deep grief of the solitary little creature, awakened their pity. They even seemed to shun manifesting towards her the kindness of common sympathy, lest it should be construed into an intention of taking charge of the orphan.
Jane, lost in the depths of her sufferings, seemed insensible to all external things. Her countenance was of a death-like paleness, and her features immoveable; and when, during the sermon, an address was made to her personally by the clergyman, she was utterly unable to rise, one of her aunts, shocked at the omission of what she considered an essential decorum, took her by the arm, and almost lifted her from her seat. She stood like a statue, her senses seeming to take no cognizance of any thing. Not a tear escaped, nor a sigh burst from her breaking heart. The sorrow of childhood is usually noisy; and this mute and motionless grief, in a creature so young, and one that had been so happy, touched every heart.
When the services were over, the clergyman supported the trembling frame of the poor child to the place of interment. The coffin was slowly let down into the house appointed for all. Every one who has followed a dear friend to the grave, remembers with shuddering the hollow sound of the first clods that are thrown on the coffin. As they fell heavily, poor Jane shrieked, "oh, mother!" and springing forward, bent over the grave, which, to her, seemed to contain all the world. The sexton, used as he was to pursue his trade amidst the wailings of mourners, saw something peculiar in the misery of the lone child. He dropped the spade, and hastily brushing away the tears that blinded him with the sleeve of his coat, "Why does not some one," he said, "take away the child? This is no place for such a heart-broken thing." There was a general bustle in the crowd, and two young ladies, more considerate, or perhaps more tender-hearted, than the rest, kindly passed their arms around her, and led her to her home.
The clergyman of ——— was one of those, who are more zealous for sound doctrine, than benevolent practice; he had chosen on that occasion for his text, “The wages of sin is death,” and had preached a long sermon in the vain endeavour of elucidating the doctrine of original sin. Clergymen who lose such opportunities of instructing their people in the operations of providence, and the claims of humanity, ought not to wonder if they grow languid, and selfish, and careless of their most obvious duties. Had this gentleman improved this occasion of illustrating the duty of sympathy, by dwelling on the tenderness of our blessed Lord when he wept with the bereaved sisters at the grave of Lazarus: had he distilled the essence of those texts, and diffused their gracious influence into his sermon—“Bear ye one another's burthens;” “Weep with those who weep;” “Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of these, ye have done it unto me;”—had his preaching usually been in conformity to the teaching of our Saviour, could the scene have followed, which it is our business to relate?
We fear there are many who think there is merit in believing certain doctrines; who, mistaking the true import of that text, “by grace are ye saved,” quiet themselves with having once in their lives passed through what they deemed conviction and conversion, and from thence believe