The other children next pa.s.s in review and the whole closes with the remark:
Time, and Time only, will make clear Why the poor geese came cackling here.
_To a young Friend, New York, Nov., 1871._
My heart is as young and fresh as any girl"s, and I am _almost_ as p.r.o.ne to make idols out of those I love, as I ever was; and this is inconsistent with the devotion owed to G.o.d. I do not mean that I really love anybody better than I do Him, but that human friendships tempt me.
This easily-besetting sin of mine has cost me more anguish than tongue can tell, and I deeply feel the need of more love to Christ because of my earthly tendencies. I know I would sacrifice every friend to Christ, but I am not always disentangled. How strange this is, how pa.s.sing strange!... In a religious way I find myself much better off here than at Dorset. But there is yet something apparently "far off, unattained and dim" that I once thought I had caught by the wing, and enjoyed for a season, but which has flown away. I am afraid I am one who has got to be a religious enthusiast, or else dissatisfied and restless. When I give way to an impulse to the first, I care for nothing worldly, and am at peace. But I am unfitted for daily life, for secular talk and reading.
Is it so with you? Does it run in our blood? I do long and pray for more light; and I _will_ pray for more love, cost what it may. Sometimes I long to get to heaven, where I shall not have to be curbing my heart with bit and bridle, and can be as loving as I want to be--as I _am_.
_To a young Friend abroad--New York, Dec. 8, 1871._
There never will come a time in my life when I shall not need all my Christian friends can do for me in the way of prayer. I am glad you are making such special effort to oppose the icebergs of foreign life; G.o.d will meet and bless you in it. Let us, if need be, forsake all others to cleave only unto Him. I don"t know of any real misery except coldness between myself and Him.
I feel warm and tender sympathy with you in all your struggles, temptations, joys, hopes and fears. As you grow older you will _settle_ more; your troubles, your ups and downs, belong chiefly to your youth.
Yes, you are right in saying that Mr. P---- could go through mental conflicts in silence; he does not pine for sympathy as you and I do.
You and I are like David, though I forget, at the moment, what he said happened to him when he "kept silence." (On the whole, I don"t think he said anything!)
I think the proper att.i.tude to take when restless and lonesome and homesick for want of G.o.d"s sensible presence, is just what we take when we are missing earthly friends for whom we yearn, and whose letters, though better than nothing, do not half feed our hungry hearts, or fill our longing arms. And that att.i.tude is patient waiting. We are such many-sided creatures that I do not doubt you are getting pleasure and profit out of this European trip, although it is alloyed by so much mental suffering. But such is life. It has in it nothing perfect, nothing ideal. And this conviction, deepened every now and then by some new experience, tosses me anew, again and again, back on to that Rock of Ages that ever stands sure and steadfast, and on whom our feet may rest.
It is well to have the waves and billows of temptation beat upon us; if only to magnify this Rock and teach us what a refuge He is.
I went, last night, with Mr. Prentiss and most of the children, to hear the freedmen and women in a concert at Steinway Hall. It was _packed_ with a brilliant, delighted audience, and it was most interesting to see these young people, simple, dignified, earnest, full of love to Christ, and preparing, by education, to work for Him. They sang "Keep me from sinking down" most sweetly and touchingly. I see you have the blues as I used to do, at your age, and hope you will outgrow them as I have done.
I _suffer_ without being _depressed_ in the sense in which I used to be; it is hard to make the distinction, but I am sure there is one. I do not know how far this change has come to me as a happy wife and mother, or how far it is religious.
_Aunt Jane"s Hero_ was published in 1871. It is hardly inferior to Stepping Heavenward in its pictures of life and character, or in the wisdom of its teaching. The object of the book is to depict a home whose happiness flows from the living Rock, Christ Jesus. It protests also against the extravagance and other evils of the times, which tend to check the growth of such homes, and aims to show that there are still treasures of love and peace on earth, that may be bought without money and without price.
III.
"Holiness and Usefulness go hand-in-hand." No two Souls dealt with exactly alike. Visits to a stricken Home. Another Side of her Life.
Visit to a Hospital. Christian Friendship. Letters to a bereaved Mother.
Submission not inconsistent with Suffering. Thoughts at the Funeral of a little "Wee Davie." a.s.surance of Faith. Funeral of Prof. Hopkins. His Character.
She entered the new year with weary steps, but with a heart full of tenderness and sympathy. A circle of young friends, living in different parts of the country, looked eagerly to her at this time for counsel, and she was deeply interested in their spiritual progress. She wrote to one of them, January 6, 1872:
Your letter has filled my heart with joy. What a Friend and Saviour we have, and how He comes to meet us on the sea, if we attempt to walk there in faith! I trust your path now will be the ever brightening one that shall shine more and more unto the perfect day. Holiness and usefulness go hand in hand, and you will have new work to do for the Lord; praying work especially. _Pray for me_, for one thing; I need a great deal of grace and strength just now. And pray for all the souls that are struggling toward the light. O that everybody lived only for Christ!
A few weeks later, writing to the same friend, she thus refers to the "fiery trials" through which she was pa.s.sing:
This season of temptation came right on the heels, if I may use such an expression, of great spiritual illumination. Of all the years of my life, 1869-70 was the brightest, and it seems as if Satan could not endure the sight of so much love and joy, and so took me in hand. I have not liked to say much about this to young people, lest it should discourage them; but I hope you will not allow it to affect you in that way, for you must remember that no two souls are dealt with exactly alike, and that the fact that many are looking up to me may have made it necessary for our dear Lord to let Satan hara.s.s and trouble me as he has done. No, let us not be discouraged, either you or I, but rejoice that we are called of our G.o.d and Saviour to give Him all we have and all we are.... If we spent more time in thanking G.o.d for what He _has_ done for us, He would do more.
Malignant scarlet fever and other diseases, had invaded and isolated the household mentioned in the following letter. Their grat.i.tude to Mrs.
Prentiss was most touching; it was as if she had been to them an angel from heaven. The story of her visits and loving sympathy became a part of their family history.
_To Mrs. Humphrey, New York, Jan. 26, 1872._
I came home half frozen from my early walk this morning, to get warm not only at the fire, but at your letter, which I found awaiting me. I am glad if you got anything out of your visit here. I rather think you and I shall "rattle on" together after we get to heaven.... You say, "How skilfully G.o.d does fashion our crosses for us!" Yes, He does. And for my part, I don"t want to rest and be happy without crosses--for I can"t _do_ without them. People who set themselves up to be pastors and teachers must "learn in suffering" what they teach in sermon and book.
I felt a good deal reproved for making so much of mine, however, by my further visits to the house of mourning of which we spoke to you. The little boy died early on the next day, and before his funeral his poor mother, neglected by everybody else, found it some comfort to get into my arms and cry there. It made no difference that twenty years had pa.s.sed since I had had a sorrow akin to hers; we mothers may cease to grieve, outwardly, but we never forget what has gone out of our sight, or ever grow unsympathetic because time has soothed and quieted us. But I need not say this to _you_. This was on Sat.u.r.day; all day Monday I was there watching a most lovely little girl, about six years old, writhing in agony; she died early next morning. The next eldest has been in a critical state, but will probably recover a certain degree of health, but as a helpless cripple. Well, I felt that death alone was _inexorable_--other enemies we may hope and pray and fight against--and that while my children lived, I need not despair. The tax on my sympathies in the case of those half-distracted parents has been terrible, and yet I wouldn"t accept a cold heart if I had the offer of it.
To give you another side of my life, let me tell you of a pleasant dinner party one night last week, when we met Gov. and Mrs. C----, of Ma.s.sachusetts, and I fell in love with her then and there.... Well, this is a queer world, full of queer things and queer people. Will the next one be more commonplace? I know not. Good-bye.
Word has come from that afflicted household that the grandfather has died suddenly of heart disease. His wife died a few weeks ago. Mr.
Prentiss saw him on Sat.u.r.day in vigorous health.
_To Miss Rebecca F. Morse, New York, March 5,1872._
Can you tell me where the blotting-pads can be obtained? I have got into a hospital of _spines_; in other words, of people who can only write lying on their backs, one of them an auth.o.r.ess, and I think it would be a mercy to them if I could furnish them with the means of writing with more ease than they do now. I was sorry you could not come last Friday, and hope you will be able to join us Sat.u.r.day, when the club meets here.... How you would have enjoyed yesterday afternoon with me! I went to call on a lady from Vermont, who is here for spinal treatment, and found in her room another of the patients. Two such bright creatures I never met at once, and we got a-going at such a rate that though I had never seen either of them before, I stayed nearly three hours! I mean to have another dose of them before long, and give them another dose of E.
P. I have been reading a book called "The Presence of Christ" [9]--which I liked so well that I got a copy to lend. It is not a great book, but I think it will be a useful one. It says we are all idolaters, and reminds me of my besetting sins in that direction. I feel overwhelmed when I think how many young people are looking to me for light and help, knowing how much I need both myself.... Every now and then some Providential event occurs that wakes us up, and we find that we have been asleep and dreaming, and that what we have been doing that made us fancy ourselves awake, was mechanical.
I must be off now to my sewing society, which is a great farce, since I can earn thirty or forty times as much with my pen as I can with my needle, and if they would let me stay at home and write, I would give them the results of my morning"s work. But the minute I stop going everybody else stops.
_To Mrs. Condict, April 7, 1872._
How I should love to spend this evening with you! This has been our Communion Sunday, and I am sure the service would have been very soothing to your poor, sore heart. And yet why do I say _poor_ when I know it is _rich_? Oh, you might have the same sorrow without faith and patience with which to bear it, and think how dreadful that would be!
Your little lamb has been spending his first Sunday with the Good Shepherd and other lambs of the flock, and has been as happy as the day is long. Perhaps your two children and mine are claiming kinship together. If they met in a foreign land they would surely claim it for our sakes; why not in the land that is not foreign, and not far off? But still these are not the thoughts to bring you special comfort. "Thy will be done!" does the whole. And yet my heart aches for you. Some one, who had never had a real sorrow, told Mrs. N. that if she submitted to G.o.d"s will as she ought, she would cease to suffer. What a fallacy this is!
Mrs. N. was comforted by hearing that your little one was taken away by the consequences of the fever, as her Nettie was, for she had reproached herself with having neglected her to see to Johnny, who died first, and thought this neglect had allowed her to take cold. I feel very sorry when mothers torture themselves in this needless way, as if G.o.d could not avert ill consequences, if He chose.
I have shed more than one tear to-day. I heard last night that my dearly-loved brother, Prof. Hopkins, is on his dying-bed. I never thought of his dying, he comes of such a long-lived race. I expect to go to see him, and if I find I can be of any use or comfort, stay a week or two. His death will come very near to me, but he is a saintly man, and I am glad for him that he can go. How thankful we shall be when our turn comes! The ladies at our little meeting were deeply interested in what I had to tell them about your dear boy, and prayed for you with much feeling. May our dear Lord bless you abundantly with His sweet presence!
I know He will. And yet He has willed it that you should suffer.
"Himself hath done it!" Oh how glad He will be when the dispensation of suffering is over, and He can gather His beloved round Him, tearless, free from sorrow and care, and all forever at rest.
_May 5th._--Yesterday, the friend at East Dorset whose three children died within a few weeks of each other, sent me some verses, of which I copy one for you:
"The eye of faith beholds A golden stair, like that of old, whereon Fair spirits go and come; G.o.d"s angels coming down on errands sweet, Our angels going home."
I hope this golden stair, up which your dear boy climbed "with shout and song," is covered with G.o.d"s angels coming down to bless and comfort you. One of the most touching pa.s.sages in the Bible, to my mind, is that which describes angels as coming to minister to Jesus after His temptations in the wilderness. It gives one such an idea of His helplessness! Just as I was going out to church this morning, Mr.
Prentiss told me of the death of a charming "baby-boy," one of our lambs, and I could scarcely help bursting into tears, though I had only seen him once. You can hardly understand how I feel, as a pastor"s wife, toward our people. Their sorrows come right home. I have a friend also hanging in agonizing suspense over a little one who has been injured by a fall; she is sweetly submissive, but you know what a mother"s heart is. I have yet another friend, who has had to give up her baby. She is a young mother, and far from her family, but says she has "perfect peace."
So from all sides I hear sorrowful sounds, but so much faith and obedience mingled with the sighs, that I can only wonder at what G.o.d can do.
_To Miss Morse, May 7, 1872._
How true and how strange it is that our deepest sorrows, spring from our sweetest affections; that as we love much, we suffer much. What instruments of torture our hearts are! The pa.s.sage you quote is all true but people are apt to be impatient in affliction, eager to drink the bitter cup at a draught rather than drop by drop, and fain to dig up the seed as soon as it is planted, to see if it has germinated. I am fond of quoting that pa.s.sage about "the peaceable fruit of righteousness" coming "afterward."
I have just come from the funeral of a little "Wee Davie"; all the crosses around his coffin were tiny ones, and he had a small floral harp in his hand. I thought as I looked upon his face, still beautiful, though worn, that even babies have to be introduced to the cross, for he had a week of fearful struggle before he was released.... I enclose an extract I made for you from a work on the baptism of the Holy Spirit.
This was all the paper I had at hand at the moment. The recipe for "curry" I have copied into my recipe-book, and the two lines at the top of the page I addressed to M. A queer mixture of the spiritual and the practical, but no stranger than life"s mixtures always are.
_To a young Friend, New York, May 20th, 1872._
As to a.s.surance of faith, I think we may all have that, and in my own darkest hours this faith has not been disturbed. I have just come home from a brief visit to Miss ----, with whom I had some interesting discussions. I use the word _discussions_ advisedly, for we love each other in constant disagreement. She believes in holiness by faith, while denying that she has herself attained it. I think her life, as far as I can see it, very true and beautiful. We spent a whole evening talking about temptation. Not long ago I met with a pa.s.sage, in French, to this effect--I quote from memory only: "G.o.d has some souls whom He can not afflict in any ordinary way, for they love Him so that they are ready for any outward sorrow or bereavement. He therefore scourges them with inward trials, vastly more painful than any outward tribulation could be; thus crucifying them to self." I can not but think that this explains Mrs. ----"s experience, and perhaps my own; at any rate I feel that we are all in the hands of an unerring Physician, who will bring us, through varying paths, home to Himself.
I had a call the other day from an intelligent Christian woman, whom I had not seen for eighteen years. She said that some time ago her attention was called to the subject of personal holiness, and as she is a great reader, she devoured everything she could get hold of, and finally became a dogmatic perfectionist. But experience modified these views, and she fell back on the Bible doctrine of an indwelling Christ, with the conviction that just in proportion to this indwelling will be the holiness of the soul. This is precisely my own belief. This is the doctrine I preached in Stepping Heavenward and I have so far seen nothing to change these views, while I desire and pray to be taught any other truth if I am wrong. I believe G.o.d does reveal Himself and His truth to those who are willing to know it.
_To Miss Morse, New York, May 31, 1872._
I got home yesterday from Williamstown, where I went, with my husband, to attend the funeral of my dearly beloved brother, Professor Hopkins.
He literally starved to death. He died as he had lived, beautifully, thinking of and sending messages to all his friends, and on his last day repeating pa.s.sages of Scripture and even, weak as he was, joining in hymns sung at his bedside. The day of the funeral was a pretty trying one for me, as there was not only his loss to mourn, but there were traces of my darling mother and sister, who both died in that house, all over it; some of my mother"s silver, a white quilt she made when a girl, my sister"s library, her collection of sh.e.l.ls and minerals, her paintings, her little conservatory, the portrait of her only child, dressed in his uniform (he was killed in one of the battles of the Wilderness). Then, owing to the rain, none of us ladies were allowed to go into the cemetery, and I had thought much of visiting my sister"s grave and seeing her boy lying on one side and her husband on the other.
But our disappointments are as carefully planned for us as our sorrows, so I have not a word to say.