Watch--Work--Wait Part 4

It was long before the violence of his grief pa.s.sed away, and when it did, feeling no inclination to sleep, he went to his trunk for his Bible, which latterly he had somewhat neglected. As he turned over the articles which lay within it, most of which he had brought from home, and which served most vividly to recall the happiness of his earlier years, his eyes rested upon the portfolio of his father's drawings, which lay on the bottom, and on which he had not lately looked. As he opened it a folded paper fell from between the leaves. He took it up and opened it--it was the little drawing which he had made in the church-yard; and as he gazed on it he recollected the stranger who had coloured it, and with remembrance of him came that also of his spiritual conversation. He read the words written on the back: "Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation;" "Watch that you may pray, and pray that you may be safe;" and the tide of tears once more burst forth.

"I was not watchful," he said; "I did not pray as I ought; but I will try never to forget my duty again."

His tears could not soon be restrained; but as he read such pa.s.sages from his Bible as his mother had taught him to understand, tranquillity gradually stole over his heart, and although he still wept, his tears were not so bitter as at first. Oh, blessed religion of Christ! that can bring a balm for every human grief; that tells the weary and heavy laden where to go for rest and solace; that tells the desolate of a home and inheritance in a land where there is no sorrow; and bids the sin-sick not despair, for there is mercy in Christ for all, and G.o.d hath no pleasure in the death of the sinner, but would rather that the wicked turn from the evil of his way and live: it tells of a love which does not willingly afflict, but when, in mysterious but unquestionable mercy, it lays the cross upon our shoulder, it also gives the support of its divine strength, "making the rough places plain to our feet, and the darkness to be light about our path." He who bore a cross, "the heaviest cross," can also lighten the burden of all our trials; and although he may not see good to remove them, he can remove their oppressive weight by the bestowment of the spirit of patience, which teaches implicit obedience to our heavenly Father's will. And now, as the refres.h.i.+ng dew falls silently and unseen upon the sun-scorched earth, and all nature revives to renovated life, so did the gentle but powerful influence of the gospel precepts shed peace and hope upon the heart of this desolate boy.

Trusting in the orphan's G.o.d, who has declared "he will never leave nor forsake those who call upon him," he grew calm as he recalled the abundant promises of G.o.d, and, comforted by the holy a.s.surance they afforded, his agitation subsided into calmness, and at last he sunk into a calm and quiet sleep.

The Sabbath morning rose bright and beautiful, and the sacred silence, evident even in the crowded city--for the usual sounds of labour and of sport are hushed--was soothing to the sin-wounded spirit of the poor orphan boy. His first thought on awaking was the remembrance of his sin; his first work, to ask forgiveness and seek strength for present duty and future trial; and in the stillness of heavenly communion he found the peace promised to all who trust in the Lord.

Pale and serious, but with a happiness to which he had long been a stranger, the influence of the Holy Spirit was operating upon his heart. He felt that he had been in danger of straying from the fold of the Good Shepherd, and that he had in mercy been saved by the trial which showed him that he dared not trust to his own strength. Nothing occurred to mar the quiet of the day. Mr. Walters was quiet, though somewhat moody; his wife did not scold as usual; and when, in the afternoon, Thomas Burton came in for our poor hero, there was no objection made to his going, but permission given for him to stay with the Burtons until bed-time.

Walters could not well refuse Thomas any favour. Not only was he obliged to respect this humble Christian for his consistent walk, but he owed him a large debt of grat.i.tude; for when he and his family all lay ill at one time of an epidemic fever, the Burtons, when no one else would go near the house, waited on them day and night. He was a little mortified that the good watchman had been witness of his violent behaviour on the day before,--he feared some expostulation on the part of his worthy neighbour; but Thomas wisely forbore to say anything at present in the boy's behalf, thinking he could serve him better by silent observation, and not interfering until a suitable time.

Very pleasantly did this Sabbath-day pa.s.s with William. How he enjoyed the service in the plain church where the Burtons wors.h.i.+pped! It reminded him of home days, and in the softened mood of his heart every word uttered by the preacher told. The beautiful words of the text, which the Saviour spoke to his disciples, "Let not your heart be troubled; ye believe in G.o.d, believe also in me;" and its following words, in which the Comforter is promised,--came like healing balm upon his wounded spirit, and he bowed his soul in humble grat.i.tude to the great Head of the Church, who, in suffering him once more to enjoy the privileges of the sanctuary, had also satisfied him with spiritual food.

The evening pa.s.sed pleasantly away, although the conversation, turning on the events of the preceding day, brought a blush to William's pale cheeks and tears to his eyes. The old watchman, although rude and uneducated, was yet a true Christian, and as such, admonished the desolate child with all the tenderness of a father. When our hero told him how he had been tempted to run away on the day the shoes fell into the gutter, and how harshly he had been treated, not only on that occasion, but always; and how hard it was for him to observe the rule of duty, which he well knew, when Jem Taylor, the only one who ever showed him any kindness, was always advising him to pursue a course to which the human heart is naturally inclined, but which his conscience told him was wrong.

"That is all very true," said Thomas; "but you must remember that all set out on a race for one stopping-place, to which there are two roads. You have read in your Bible about the wide and the strait gate.

'Enter in,' it says, 'at the strait gate; for wide is the gate and broad is the way that leadeth unto destruction, and many there be that go in thereat. Because strait is the gate and narrow is the way that leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.' Now, my boy, G.o.d has taken away your earthly joys, and made the way narrow to you; hedged your path with thorns, and caused you to weep bitter tears every day. We know, too, that no affliction for the present is joyous, but grievous: and as our light afflictions, which, in comparison with eternity, endure but for a moment, work out for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; so G.o.d has filled your way with trials, difficulties, and thorns, that, taught so early in life to deny self and fight against sin, you, as you progress, will find the narrow path grow easy and pleasant, and find at the end everlasting life. Now, the temptations of Jem Taylor are easily resisted, if you will read your Bible _prayerfully_. 'Thy word is a light unto my feet and a lamp unto my path.' 'Through thy commandments I get understanding,' says David; 'therefore I hate every evil way.' And if, when tempted, you strive mightily, and call for help on Him who hath promised to aid in the hour of trial, he will bear you through the whole conflict safely, and at last give you a crown of life."

William drank in the old man's words, and could have listened longer, but it was growing late. The good watchman must be at his post; and even while speaking he was putting on his overcoat, and, taking up his lantern, was soon prepared to traverse his nightly round.

Having promised he would return William safely, he proposed that they should leave together; but not before Mrs. Burton had wrapped up half a dozen nice rolls, which she gave him; and William, looking up in the old man's face, said, "You will not forsake me?"

"No, boy, no, that I won't," was his reply; "but try to do all that conscience tells you is your duty, and then you will have a better Friend, worth more than a whole host of mortal men."

CHAPTER VIII.

GLEAMS OF SUNs.h.i.+NE.

The night pa.s.sed by, and although William had not slept during its early hours, he rose as soon as it was light, and after offering an earnest prayer that Heaven would s.h.i.+eld him from temptation that day, he wrote a letter to his friend George. We will not detail what the epistle contained, but merely mention that, after stating many circ.u.mstances that had occurred, it ended by telling what a kind friend had been raised up for him in the old watchman. He did not conceal the fact of his being very unhappy; but while he told of his comfortless home, he also declared his resolution to try to be contented with his present lot and like his trade. Thomas Burton had told him that his heavenly Father had allotted to every one his proper place, and to murmur would be sinful. He concluded by saying that he would be diligent and faithful, trying in all things to please his master, until his term of apprentices.h.i.+p should have expired. "Then, dear George, I will go back to M----. I never shall want to stay in a big city; for although there are many fine things here, finer than I ever saw in our little village, there is more wickedness, and it is harder to be good where there is so much bad example."

At this moment his mistress called him to come and make the fire, and hastily directing and sealing his letter, he thrust it into his pocket and proceeded to do her bidding.

Notwithstanding considerable languor hung about his bodily frame, and his bones and muscles still ached from the effects of the boating, he felt a more peaceful frame of mind than he had known for weeks before.

The knowledge of having done wrong is always the first step toward amendment. He not only felt that he had been guilty of more sins than lying, but, viewing those minor faults in a different light than formerly, he determined to watch over his heart carefully, and avoid giving any cause of complaint in future. "Watch that you may pray, and pray that you may be safe," were words that floated in his mind all the morning as he sat hammering shoe soles; and he would not laugh at any joke of Jem Taylor's against his master, although for some time past he had enjoyed hearing him ridiculed.

Late in the afternoon Mrs. Walters came in, and, giving him a pair of leather boots, told him to take them to Mrs. Bradley, the wife of a market gardener who lived outside the city. It was fully three hours after his scanty dinner had been eaten, and supper would be over ere he returned. Growing boys are always hungry, and he was about to venture to ask Mrs. Walters for a lunch to serve in place of the evening meal, when he remembered the rolls given him by Mrs. Burton, and which were still in his trunk. He hid the little packet in his bosom, intending to eat its contents on his way home; and after having put his letter in the post-office, he set off to accomplish his errand.

One might have thought the walk, and the variety always met with in the streets of a large city, would have exhilarated him; but, whether owing to the condition of his bodily health, this was not now the case. He pa.s.sed the picture-shops without noticing the treasures in the windows; the silver-ware and fanciful ornaments of the jewellers'

establishments served only to remind him of the vanities of earth, and his own poverty; and as he looked upon the gaily-dressed crowd that was thronging Broadway, among which there was not one whose face was known to him, that painful sense of desolation which comes over one when he feels alone in a crowd, saddened him almost to tears. He recalled the happy days of his early childhood, and even those when, after his father's death, he had been compelled to labour to a.s.sist his mother. Ah, how light it all seemed in comparison with the hards.h.i.+p of his present lot! Notwithstanding the comfort he had enjoyed on the previous day, and his renewed determination to do his duty and trust in G.o.d, his heart grew sick at the prospect of the long years of wretchedness and bondage yet to be endured before his apprentices.h.i.+p should end; and he wished to die. "I am the most unhappy being on the face of the earth," he said, as he wiped away the tears with his ragged sleeve; "but still I will try to do right. Ah, if Nicholas Herman knew how unhappy I am, I am sure he would try to get me away!" He had by this time reached the city limits, and the gardener's cottage, with its high enclosing palisades and espaliers hanging with tempting fruit, was visible. The hedge which bordered on the roadside was green, and its verdure attractive to one accustomed to country life. Bounding over the ditch which separated it from the common path, he was about to continue his walk along its margin, when his step was arrested by a sound of distress. He looked round and saw a little boy, barefoot and thinly clad, sitting on the ground and weeping bitterly. A little basket, half filled with chips, told what his occupation had been, while his pale face and meagre form were such as to awaken pity in the heart of the most careless. William was not so absorbed in his own distress that he had no sympathy to bestow on another. He stooped over the boy, and, as he kindly took him by the hand, a tear, which his own circ.u.mstances had called forth, fell upon the boy's cheek, and caused him to look up in surprise.

"What are you crying for?" asked William; "are you afraid, or has any one hurt you?"

The little fellow only answered by questioning: "You are crying yourself;" said he; "are you as hungry as I am?"

"Are you really crying for hunger! that is dreadful!" rejoined William. "I know what it is not to have enough to eat, but still I never have been so starved as to cry about it."

"Neither grandmother nor I have had anything to eat since morning, and I am very hungry."

"But what are you doing here?" inquired our hero.

"Just gathering some sticks, to make a fire for grandmother, who is sick, and cannot spin now," answered the boy, still weeping.

"Have you no parents to take care of you?" again asked William. "What is your name, and where do you live?"

The boy answered that his name was Ned Graham, and named a street at no great distance from the place where they were, and which was well known to William. He said that his parents were both dead; that while his father, who was a carpenter, lived, they had been very comfortable; but that now, as his grandmother was very old, and himself too young to do anything to help to make a livelihood, they were often hungry. "Grandmother spun and knit until she became sick, and the neighbours still sent us in something; but they are poor themselves, grandmother says; and this morning, when old Annie Michael, who supports herself and children by was.h.i.+ng, sent us some of her breakfast, grandmother said she could not bear to take it."

William had no rejoinder to make, for self-reproach was busy at his heart. But a little while ago he had thought himself "the most unhappy being on the face of the earth," and now he could not help feeling that the condition of poor little Ned was far more wretched than his own. His food, indeed, was coa.r.s.e and scanty enough; but then he had his regular meals, while this poor child and his infirm grandmother were obliged to subsist on the charity of the poor, which could not be very regularly or liberally administered.

"I am surely very ungrateful to my heavenly Father," said he, half aloud. "Hereafter, when I am disposed to complain of my food, I will think of this poor boy. But stop; I had forgotten the rolls Mrs.

Burton gave me. I am not very hungry now;" and taking the packet from his bosom pocket, he gave it to the little starveling.

"I am not to have them all?" said Ned, as he broke one off, and began to eat it. "Do you not want some yourself?"

"No," replied William; "I will get some supper when I go home; so carry half of them to your grandmother, for you are both hungry, and have no supper to expect."

And now, although hungry himself, with what pleasure did he give his rolls to one whose want was far greater than his own! He felt, in this denying of self, how great was the luxury of doing good; for mercy--

"Droppeth as the gentle dew from heaven.

Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes."

Having finished his errand to the market-gardener's wife, and received a new order for some children's shoes, he took little Ned by the hand, and, having left him at his home, and looked in on the sick grandmother, he went back to his master's house, which now wore a more comfortable aspect than it had ever done before. So true is it that G.o.d accords to none unmitigated misery; and there are few, if any, who, like our hero, are tempted to believe themselves the most wretched beings in the world, who need anything but to look around among their fellow-men, to find that they are not the only or the greatest sufferers. Neither should any allow themselves to think that poverty and misfortune form the chief misery of man. None but the guilty are completely wretched; and trials are but necessary discipline to bring the soul from earth to heaven. "Before I was afflicted I went astray; but now I keep thy law," are the words of David; and how many can be found ready to acknowledge that "it is good for a man that he bear the yoke in his youth: for the. Lord will not cast off for ever; but though he cause grief, yet will he have compa.s.sion, according to the mult.i.tude of his mercies."

And so from this time, although the treatment he received at his cheerless home was no better, the change which had come over his spirit since his late humiliation, had urged him to fly to the throne of grace for protection against the weakness of his own heart, and also made the hards.h.i.+ps he endured seem less. He grew more mature by the severe discipline which, sanctified by the Spirit of grace, was purifying his soul; and he pursued the homely trade which at first he so disliked, and tried to conquer self by hurrying past the picture-shops, which were so great a source of attraction at first, and now regarded them as forbidden fruit. Not that they were less attractive, but his own heart told him, and so did his friend, Thomas Burton, that G.o.d appoints to every one such a sphere of action as is suited to his nature; and although to one has been committed but one talent, while another has five, and another ten, the principle on which each is improved is the same. The great work each one has to do is within his own breast, and he that would gain the crown promised at the end of life's course must run the race in the spirit and temper of the gospel, which are humility and meekness.

In consequence of this subdued spirit and a greater readiness to obey, his harsh guardians relaxed so far as to yield to the persuasions of the good watchman, and suffered him to go on Sunday afternoons to church and Sabbath school, as well as sometimes to spend the evening with himself.

And this, dear reader, proved like a fountain of sweet water in the wilderness; and, as an oasis in the desert, furnished rest and refres.h.i.+ng, which strengthened him to bear up against the hards.h.i.+ps and trials of the week. And as, in hearing the Scriptures expounded and learning their soul-comforting lessons, the word, as the Psalmist says, became "hidden in his heart," it proved more precious to him than the "gold of Ophir." It taught him to guard against the deceitfulness of his own heart; to discern temptation, however speciously veiled; pointed out the way to escape when sorely beset; and showed him where, when "weary and heavy laden," to seek for rest.

Duty was made plain; and, taught to understand his own errors, he also understood by what means to guard against them. He now walked according to the scriptural rule, and found his reward in the peace promised unto those "whose mind is stayed on G.o.d, and trust him."

CHAPTER IX.

SUNs.h.i.+NE AND SHADOW.

Mrs. Bradley, the wife of the market gardener, was a kind-hearted woman, and William having often been sent to her house with shoes, an acquaintances.h.i.+p grew up between them, which, our hero found, turned out most unexpectedly to his advantage.

As she stood or sat in her place at the corner, surrounded by her fresh vegetables, for which she had always plenty of customers, she often found herself in want of some one whom she could trust to carry a bunch of asparagus or a basket of spinach to some purchaser's house.

From what she had seen of William, she was a.s.sured he would do an errand faithfully; and although he could not come regularly, she often waited for his appearing rather than trust another. For these little services she always paid him liberally, and had he been less conscientious than he was, he might have turned this kindness to considerable advantage; but his conscience told him he must not neglect his master's business.

He mentioned this to the good woman, who, seeing its propriety, was careful only to give him such commissions as he could fulfil without wasting the time belonging to his employer; her good opinion being only increased by his scrupulous fear of doing wrong.

Very happy indeed he was to have some money of his own. Mr. Walters, being somewhat ashamed of his conduct as exhibited before Jem Taylor and the watchman, had never since asked him what he got from the customers; but Mrs. Walters often borrowed our hero's change, as she said,--but which loans were never repaid. William, however, true to his resolution of adhering to the truth, never denied having money when she asked him; but, we must confess, he gave it with a pang, for he wanted his scanty means for a more important purpose, namely, to feed the hungry. The rule of life to which he was now adhering forbade him to do evil that good might follow, and knowing that if he received the money it would not be long in his possession, he would only take a portion of these earnings, and begged Mrs. Bradley to give the rest to little Ned Graham, whom he would send to her house.