IN looking back over the past how busy memory ever is as it brings out the various events in review before the mind, and every little circumstance that lives once more before the vision of the mind, is often thought of in connection with what might have been, as well as what did actually take place.
It is easy for fancy to fill up the picture, putting in the light and the dark shades, but alas! in recalling thus the memories of a life-time how they become shadowed and mellowed down by time, for time and death dig graves for those whom we love best, and oh! what sorrow may be ours from a single grave.
In writing thus, I am thinking of the death of my father, but I must first give a few particulars of my early days.
I am the youngest son of a crape manufacturer of the quaint old capital of East Anglia. My father was a Protestant, and for forty years a local preacher in connection with the Wesleyan body; my mother, on the contrary, was a Catholic, though by no means a bigoted one. My early training was in many respects more mental than physical; for instance, while other boys of my own age were engaged in healthful recreations, such as boys usually delight in, my favorite resort was to be seated with a book in my father's study, which I was permitted to enter at all times.
My father took special care to encourage me in reading, and also helped me in my studies. As to his character, he was exceedingly generous, and of all occupations he delighted most in traveling. My mother was a large-hearted liberal woman, very charitable to any who were in affliction, yet prudent and careful in all the affairs of the household.
When I had reached the age of twelve years, I began to read and study books of a religious character, especially those works that touched on controversial subjects. In this way I became acquainted with the tenets of Roman Catholicism; and drinking in one by one the errors of this religious system, I virtually argued my self into being a Romanist, greatly to the grief of my dear father. The seeds seemed to sink deeply into my mind and heart as into virgin soil, and resulted in a plentiful crop of works of the flesh. Among other activities I was found regularly at confession and communion every week. Alas! what will not man do, whether it be by mortifying the poor body or the outward show of charitable act, if he may only earn salvation by his own good deeds instead of receiving it in all the fullness and freeness wherewith our God is ready and willing to bestow it on all who will come unto Him through Christ.
Up to this time I had had no thought of being a monk, but I was now fast approaching the moment that was to be a turning point in my life: it may be that God was over it all and allowed my feet to go astray into the by-paths of religious life that I might be taught certain lessons that it would have been difficult for me to learn in any other way.
I was in my fourteenth year when I met my first great loss in this life—my dear father was taken away by death. It was the first time I had ever been face to face with death, and it consequently made a great impression on my mind.
It had been my father's custom to assemble us both morning and evening for prayer, and I well remember one old familiar prayer that he often sent up to the throne of grace; it was that we might be preserved from sudden death and also preserved from a lingering illness. In both these particulars it was answered to a remarkable degree as regards himself. Only three days before he died he had a strong presentiment of his approaching end. So much so that he actually made the arrangements for his funeral, and then urgently requested to partake of the Lord's supper.
On the morning of his last day on earth I was summoned hastily from bed and told that if I wanted to see my father once more before he died, I must make haste. What a scene was that death-bed! Well may we recall the words, "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?" He was fully prepared for it, and therefore there was no terror at death or fears at what might lie beyond it. His face lit up with a smile as he calmly sank to rest as a child would fall asleep on its mother's breast.