Occasionally he meets with a few fellow-travellers whose spirit is congenial with his own, and with whom he can take "sweet counsel together." They comfort and strengthen each other by the way. Each can relate something of the mercies of his G.o.d, and how kindly they have been dealt with, as they travelled onwards. The dreariness of the path is thus beguiled, and now and then, for a while, happy experiences of the divine consolation cheer their souls; "the wilderness and the solitary place are glad for them; the desert rejoices and blossoms as the rose."

But even at the very time when the Christian is taught to feel the peace of G.o.d which pa.s.seth all understanding, to trust that he is personally interested in the blessings of salvation, and to believe that G.o.d will promote his own glory by glorifying the penitent sinner; yet sorrows will mingle with his comforts, and he will rejoice, not without trembling, when he reflects on the state of other men. The anxieties connected with earthly relations are all alive in his soul, and, through the operation of the Spirit of G.o.d, become sanctified principles and motives for action. As the husband and father of a family; as the neighbour of the poor, the ignorant, the wicked, and the wretched; above all, as the spiritual overseer of the flock, if such be his holy calling, the heart which has been taught to feel for its own case will abundantly feel for others.

But when he attempts to devise means in order to stem the torrent of iniquity, to instruct the ignorant, and to convert the sinner from the error of his way, he cannot help crying out, "Who is sufficient for these things?" Unbelief pa.s.ses over the question, and trembles. But faith quickly revives the inquirer with the cheerful a.s.surance that "our sufficiency is of G.o.d," and saith, "Commit thy way unto the Lord, and he shall bring it to pa.s.s."

When he is thus affectionately engaged for the good of mankind, he will become seriously impressed with the necessity of early attentions to the young in particular. Many around him are grown gray-headed in sin, and give but little prospect of amendment. Many of the parents and heads of families are so eagerly busied in the profits, pleasures, and occupations of the world, that they heed not the warning voice of their instructor.

Many of their elder children are launching out into life, headstrong, unruly, "earthly, sensual, devilish;" they likewise treat the wisdom of G.o.d as if it were foolishness. But, under these discouragements, we may often turn with hope to the very young, to the little ones of the flock, and endeavour to teach them to sing hosannas to the Son of David, before their minds are wholly absorbed in the world and its allurements. We may trust that a blessing shall attend such labours, if undertaken in faith and simplicity, and that some at least of our youthful disciples, like Josiah, while they are yet young, may begin to seek after the G.o.d of their fathers.

Such an employment, especially when blessed by any actual instances of real good produced, enlivens the mind with hope, and fills it with grat.i.tude. We are thence led to trust that the next generation may become more fruitful unto G.o.d than the present, and the Church of Christ be replenished with many such as have been called into the vineyard "early in the morning." And should our endeavours for a length of time apparently fail of success, yet we ought not to despair. Early impressions and convictions of conscience have sometimes lain dormant for years, and at last revived into gracious existence and maturity. It was not said in vain, "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not depart from it."

What a gratifying occupation it is to an affectionate mind, even in a way of nature, to walk through the fields, and lead a little child by the hand, enjoying its infantine prattle, and striving to improve the time by some kind word of instruction! I wish that every Christian pilgrim in the way of grace, as he walks through the Lord's pastures, would try to lead at least one little child by the hand; and perhaps, whilst he is endeavouring to guide and preserve his young and feeble companion, the Lord will recompense him double for all his cares by comforting his own heart in the attempt. The experiment is worth the trial. It is supported by this recollection,--"The Lord will come with strong hand, and his arm shall rule for him; behold, his reward is with him, and his work before him. He shall feed his flock like a shepherd; he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and _shall gently lead those that are with young_."

I shall plead no further apology for introducing to the notice of my readers a few particulars relative to a young female cottager, whose memory is particularly endeared to me from the circ.u.mstance of her being, so far as I can trace or discover, my first-born spiritual child in the ministry of the gospel. She was certainly the first, of whose conversion to G.o.d, under my own pastoral instruction, I can speak with precision and a.s.surance.

Every parent of a family knows that there is a very interesting emotion of heart connected with the birth of his first-born child. Energies and affections, to which the mind has. .h.i.therto been almost a stranger, begin to unfold themselves and expand into active existence when he first is hailed as a father. But may not the spiritual father be allowed the possession and indulgence of a similar sensation in his connection with the children whom the Lord gives him, as begotten through the ministry of the word of life! If the first-born child in nature be received as a new and acceptable blessing, how much more so the first-born child in grace!

I claim this privilege, and crave permission, in writing what follows, to erect a monumental record, sacred to the memory of a dear little child, who, I trust, will at the last day prove my crown of rejoicing.

Jane S--- was the daughter of poor parents, in the village where it pleased G.o.d first to cast my lot in the ministry. My acquaintance with her commenced when she was twelve years of age by her weekly attendance at my house amongst a number of children whom I invited and regularly instructed every Sat.u.r.day afternoon.

They used to read, repeat catechisms, psalms, hymns, and portions of Scripture. I accustomed them also to pa.s.s a kind of free conversational examination, according to their age and ability, in those subjects by which I hoped to see them made wise unto salvation.

On the summer evenings I frequently used to a.s.semble this little group out of doors in my garden, sitting under the shade of some trees, which protected us from the heat of the sun; from hence a scene appeared, which rendered my occupation the more interesting. For adjoining the spot where we sat, and only separated from us by a fence, was the churchyard, surrounded with beautiful prospects in every direction.

There lay the mortal remains of thousands, who, from age to age, in their different generations, had been successively committed to the grave,--"earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." Here the once famed ancestors of the rich, and the less known forefathers of the poor lay mingling their dust together, and alike waiting the resurrection from the dead.

I had not far to look for subjects of warning and exhortation suitable to my little flock of lambs that I was feeding. I could point to the heaving sods that marked the different graves and separated them from each other, and tell my pupils that, young as they were, none of them were too young to die; and that probably more than half of the bodies which were buried there were those of little children. I hence took occasion to speak of the nature and value of a soul, and to ask them where they expected their souls to go when they departed hence and were no more seen on earth.

I told them who was "the resurrection and the life," and who alone could take away the sting of death. I used to remind them that the hour was "coming in the which all that are in the graves shall hear His voice, and shall come forth: they that have done good, unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil, unto the resurrection of d.a.m.nation."

I often availed myself of these opportunities to call to their recollection the more recent deaths of their own relatives that lay buried so near us. Some had lost a parent, others a brother or sister; some perhaps had lost all these, and were committed to the mercy of their neighbours as fatherless or motherless orphans. Such circ.u.mstances were occasionally useful to excite tender emotions, favourable to serious impressions.

Sometimes I sent the children to the various stones which stood at the head of the graves, and bid them learn the epitaphs inscribed upon them.

I took pleasure in seeing the little ones thus dispersed in the churchyard, each committing to memory a few verses written in commemoration of the departed. They would soon accomplish the desired object, and eagerly return to me ambitious to repeat their task.

Thus my churchyard became a book of instruction, and every grave-stone a leaf of edification for my young disciples.

The church itself stood in the midst of the ground. It was a s.p.a.cious antique structure. Within those very walls I first proclaimed the message of G.o.d to sinners. As these children surrounded me, I sometimes pointed to the church, spoke to them of the nature of public worship, the value of the Sabbath, the duty of regular attendance on its services, and urged their serious attention to the means of grace. I showed them the sad state of many countries, where neither churches nor Bibles were known, and the no less melancholy condition of mult.i.tudes at home, who sinfully neglect worship and slight the word of G.o.d. I thus tried to make them sensible of their own favours and privileges.

Neither was I at a loss for another cla.s.s of objects around me from which I could draw useful instruction; for many of the beauties of created nature appealed in view.

Eastward of us extended a large river or lake of sea-water, chiefly formed by the tide, and nearly enclosed by land. Beyond this was a fine bay and road for ships, filled with vessels of every size, from the small sloop or cutter to the first-rate man-of-war. On the right hand of the haven rose a hill of peculiarly beautiful form and considerable height.

Its verdure was very rich, and many hundred sheep graced upon its sides and summit. From the opposite sh.o.r.e of the same water a large sloping extent of bank was diversified with fields, woods, hedges, and cottages.

At its extremity stood, close to the edge of the sea itself, the remains of the tower of an ancient church, still preserved as a sea-mark. Far beyond the bay, a very distant sh.o.r.e was observable, and land beyond it; trees, towns, and other buildings appeared, more especially when gilded by the reflected rays of the sun.

To the south-westward of the garden was another down, covered also with flocks of sheep, and a portion of it fringed with trees. At the foot of this hill lay the village, a part of which gradually ascended to the rising ground on which the church stood.

From the intermixture of houses with gardens, orchards, and trees, it presented a very pleasing aspect. Several fields adjoined the garden on the east and north, where a number of cattle were pasturing. My own little shrubberies and flower-beds variegated the view, and recompensed my toil in rearing them, as well by their beauty as their fragrance.

Had the sweet psalmist of Israel sat in this spot, he would have glorified G.o.d the Creator by descanting on these his handiworks. I cannot write psalms like David, but I wish, in my own poor way, to praise the Lord for his goodness, and to show forth his wonderful works to the children of men. But had David been also surrounded with a troop of young scholars in such a situation, he would once more have said, "Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings hast thou ordained strength."

I love to retrace these scenes; they are past, but the recollection is sweet.

I love to retrace them, for they bring to my mind many former mercies, which ought not, for the Lord's sake, to be forgotten.

I love to retrace them, for they rea.s.sure me that, in the course of that private ministerial occupation, G.o.d was pleased to give me so valuable a fruit of my labours.

Little Jane used constantly to appear on these weekly seasons of instruction. I made no very particular observations concerning her during the first twelve months or more after her commencement of attendance. She was not then remarkable for any peculiar attainment. On the whole, I used to think her rather more slow of apprehension than most of her companions. She usually repeated her tasks correctly, but was seldom able to make answers to questions for which she was not previously prepared with replies--a kind of extempore examination, in which some of the children excelled. Her countenance was not engaging; her eye discovered no remarkable liveliness. She read tolerably well, took pains, and improved in it.

Mildness and quietness marked her general demeanour. She was very constant in her attendance on public worship at the church, as well as on my Sat.u.r.day instruction at home. But, generally speaking, she was little noticed, except for her regular and orderly conduct. Had I then been asked of which of my young scholars I had formed the most favourable opinion, poor Jane might have been altogether omitted in the list.

How little do we oftentimes know what G.o.d is doing in other people's hearts! What poor calculators and judges we frequently prove till he opens our eyes! His thoughts are not our thoughts; neither our ways his ways.

Once, indeed, during the latter part of that year, I was struck with her ready attention to my wishes. I had, agreeably to the plan above mentioned, sent her into the churchyard to commit to memory an epitaph which I admired. On her return she told me that, in addition to what I desired, she had also learned another, which was inscribed on an adjoining stone, adding, that she thought it a very pretty one.

I thought so too, and perhaps my readers will be of the same opinion.

Little Jane, though dead, yet shall speak. While I transcribe the lines, I can powerfully imagine that I hear her voice repeating them. The idea is exceedingly gratifying to me.

EPITAPH ON MRS. A. B.

Forgive, blest shade, the tributary tear That mourns a thy exit from a world like this; Forgive the wish that would have kept thee here, And stayed thy progress to the seats of bliss.

No more confined to grovelling scenes of night, No more a tenant pent in mortal clay; Now should we rather hail thy glorious flight, And trace thy journey to the realms of day.

The above was her appointed task; and the other, which she voluntarily learned and spoke of with pleasure, is this:--

EPITAPH ON THE STONE ADJOINING.

It must be so--Our father Adam's fall, And disobedience, brought this lot on all.

All die in him--But, hopeless should we be, Blest Revelation! were it not for thee.

Hail, glorious Gospel! heavenly light, whereby We live with comfort, and with comfort die; And view, beyond this gloomy scene the tomb A life of endless happiness to come.

I afterwards discovered that the sentiment expressed in the latter epitaph had much affected her, but at the period of this little incident I knew nothing of her mind; I had comparatively overlooked her. I have often been sorry for it since. Conscience seemed to rebuke me when I afterwards discovered what the Lord had been doing for her soul, as if I had neglected her, yet it was not done designedly. She was unknown to us all, except that, as I since found out, her regularity and abstinence from the sins and follies of her young equals in age and station brought upon her many taunts and jeers from others, which she bore very meekly; but at that time I knew it not.

I was young myself in the ministry, and younger in Christian experience.

My parochial plans had not as yet a.s.sumed such a principle of practical order and inquiry as to make me acquainted with the character and conduct of each family and individual in my flock.

I was then quite a learner, and had much to learn.

And what am I now? A learner still; and if I have learned anything, it is this, that I have every day more and more yet to learn. Of this I am certain, that my young scholar soon became my teacher. I _first_ saw what true religion could accomplish in witnessing her experience of it.

The Lord once "called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of his disciples" as an emblem and an ill.u.s.tration of his doctrine. But the Lord did more in the case of little Jane. He not only called _her_ as a child to show, by a similitude, what conversion means, but he also called her by his grace to be a vessel of mercy, and a living witness of that almighty power and love by which her own heart was turned to G.o.d.

PART II.

There is no ill.u.s.tration of the nature and character of the Redeemer's kingdom on earth which is more grateful to contemplation, than that of the shepherd and his flock. Imagination has been accustomed, from our earliest childhood, to wander amongst the fabled retreats of the Arcadian shepherds. We have probably often delighted ourselves in our own native country, by witnessing the interesting occupation of the pastoral scene.

The shepherd, tending his flock on the side of some s.p.a.cious hill, or in the hollow of a sequestered valley; folding them at night, and guarding them against all danger; leading them from one pasture to another, or for refreshment to the cooling waters. These objects have met and gratified our eyes, as we travelled through the fields, and sought out creation's G.o.d, amidst creation's beauties. The poet and the painter have each lent their aid to cherish our delight in these imaginations. Many a descriptive verse has strengthened our attachment to the pastoral scene, and many a well-wrought picture has occasioned it to glow like a reality in our ideas.