Delusion; or, The Witch of New England
Page 10
CHAPTER X.
Pride, Howe'er disguised in its own majesty, Is littleness; and he who feels contempt For any living thing, hath faculties Which he has never used.
O, be wiser, then! Instructed that true knowledge leads to love: True dignity abides with him alone, Who, in the silent hour of inward thought, Can still suspect, and still revere himself, In lowliness of heart.
WORDSWORTH.
It has been the fashion, of late, to depreciate the clergymen among ourPuritan fathers. It is true they erred, but their errors belonged to thetime and the circumstance that placed in their hands unusual power.There were among them men that would have done honor to any age; perfectgentlemen, who would have adorned a drawing-room, as well as consecrateda church.
The traits that constitute _gentlesse_ do not belong to any age or anyschool: they are not formed by the conventions of society, nor the formsthat are adopted to facilitate and give grace to the intercourse ofequals. The precept that says, "In honor preferring one another," ifacted on in perfect sincerity of heart, and carried out in all theintercourse of society, would form perfect gentlemen and ladies. We haveheard Jesus called the most finished gentleman that ever lived.Undisguised benevolence, humility, and sincerity, would form suchgentlemen, and the intercourse of society, founded on such principles,would be true, noble, graceful, and most attractive.
Such a gentleman was Edith's father; and while he was an honored andcherished guest at the tables of the fathers and princes of the colony,he seldom left his humble parish. His influence there was unbounded, andhis peculiarities, if he had them, belonged to the age. In an age ofpersecutors, he was so averse to persecution, that he did not escape thecharge of heresy and insincerity.
The clergy of that time loved to preach from the Old Testament, and toillustrate the lives of the patriarchs. An unlimited and implicit faith,that made each believe he was the especial care and favorite of God, wasthe foundation of the religion of the Old Testament. Our fathers hadmuch of the same persuasion. To an audience of fishermen, and scatteredcultivators of the sterile fields of New England, such a faith came hometo their hearts; the one committing their frail boats to the treacherousocean, the other depending on the early and the latter rains, and genialskies, for their support.
June had come, the genial month of June, and Mr. Grafton was not revivedby its soft air. He declined daily, and Edith, his tender nurse, couldnot conceal from herself that there was little hope of his everreviving.
Dinah had watched with him almost every night, but, worn out withfatigue, Edith had persuaded her to take some moments for repose. Aftera night of much restlessness, towards morning, her father fell into atranquil slumber. Edith was alone in the darkened room, and as she satin the deep silence by his bedside, an old-fashioned clock, that stoodin the corner, seemed, to her excited nerves, to strike its monotonoustick directly on her temples. A small taper was burning in the chimney,and the long shadows it cast served only to darken the room. From timeto time, as Edith leaned over her father, she touched his forehead withher hand: in the solitude and stillness, it seemed a medium ofcommunication with the mind of her father, and held the place oflanguage.
At length he opened his eyes, and seeing her bending over him, he drewher towards him, and kissed her tenderly. In a whisper, he said, "Ifeel, my child, that I am dying."
"Do not weep," said he, observing how much Edith was shocked; "you cantrust in God. You can be near me in death, as you have been in life. Nowis the time, my Edith, to feel the value of all those principles we havelearned together through life. I feel that God is near us, and that whenI am gone, he will be near to you."
Edith threw herself into his arms. Her father laid his hand on her head,and prayed audibly. She arose more calm, and asked him if she should notcall the faithful slaves.
"No, my child," he said; "let the poor children"--he always named themthus--"let the poor children sleep. God is here. I hold your hands inmine. What more do we want? Let the quiet night pass. The morning willbe glorious! it will open for me in another world."
It was a beautiful sight, that young and timid woman sustaining her agedfather, and he trusting so entirely in God, and feeling no anxiety, nogrief, but that of leaving her alone.
As she sat thus holding his hand in hers, his breath became lessfrequent; he fixed his eyes on hers with a tender smile. His breathingstopped--his spirit was gone!
Edith did not shriek, or faint. It was the first time she had been inthe chamber of death, and a holy calmness, a persuasion that herfather's spirit was still there, came over her. She closed his eyes, andsat long with his hand strained in hers.
The first note of the early birds made her start. She arose, and openedthe window. The morning had dawned, and every leaf, every blade ofgrass, was glittering in the early dew. Her father's horse, that hadborne him so many years, was feeding in the enclosure. At the sound ofthe window, he came forward: then a sense of her loss came over Edith,and she burst into tears.