THE setting sun was obscured by dark clouds, and distant thunder warned me to shorten my evening stroll. The nearest path towards home was by Y― ‘s farm. As I approached the comfortable abode, I saw his wife standing at the garden-gate.
“Are you looking for your husband?” I inquired.
“No; I am happy to say he has been in this quarter of an hour. I am anxiously watching for the arrival of an invalid committed to my care. Lady N. called at our house last week and asked if I could accommodate one of her female servants. The young woman, she said, had been ill for many months, and required medical attendance and good nursing. She was also pleased to say, that having made inquiry into my character, and finding it every way satisfactory, she was willing to meet any reasonable demand I might make; and as she was going to travel with her family, she would be glad to have a ready answer. We soon came to terms, and the invalid was to be with me this evening.”
“Has she any friends in this place?” I inquired.
“My lady told me she was an orphan, and that the few relations she had were in a distant county, living in poverty; but, hark! I hear the sound of wheels.”
A fresh arrival in a retired village excites attention, and the neighbors stood at their cottage doors to see the stranger alight. The young woman was so much fatigued, that her companions bore her in their arms to the house. They remained with her until she was partially recovered, and when they took leave of her the fast falling tear showed how much she felt at parting with them. I remained in the room during the thunder-storm, and from the expressions that were dropped in conversation, found that poor Wilmot, for such was her name, in the midst of her distress was without the rich consolation of knowing “the Lord;” the word of God was no rich treasury to her. She had not been brought to Christ.
On the following morning I found her wrapped in a warm shawl, sitting under the influence of a July sun.
“How are you today?” I inquired.
“Thank you very much for this attention,” she replied, “I could not have expected a visit from you so early; I am not recovered from my journey, but I like the lodging. I think this air will do me good, and if I should recover, my lady told me her house should be my home again. I am afraid I shall be very dull here, there is nothing to amuse me, and I have not an acquaintance in the village.”
“Have you any books?” I asked.
“I do not like reading,” she replied; “I am not much of a workwoman, and 1 find Mrs. Y―is much engaged with her farm, so that I shall be lonely indeed.”
After having made a few general observations, I asked her if she had been in the habit of going to any place of worship when the weather was fine.
She said, “I would sometimes take a walk to the church with an acquaintance, but for some months past I have been unequal to the fatigue.”
“It is well,” I said, “to embrace every opportunity of hearing the word of God.”
She instantly replied, “I have no cause to reproach myself, having always performed my duty. My lady would give me the best of characters, and her present kindness proves how well she is satisfied with my conduct; and my fellow-servants I am sure would speak favourably of me, for I always acted towards them as I should wish them to do to me. That is the best gospel.”
“It is a good rule,” I replied. “But there is duty owing to God as well as to man, and the blessed Saviour says, the first and great commandment is, Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, with all thy soul, and with all thy strength.’ Can you do that?”
Wilmot gave evident tokens of fatigue and restlessness, and after a few words more I left her to repose.
In successive visits I endeavored to interest her affections, making no allusion to our former conversation, occasionally reading a little, or repeating suitable hymns. This plan placed the young woman at her ease, and she expressed her sentiments without reserve. Upon one occasion I was reading the 20th chapter of Matthew to her. She interrupted me at the 32d verse, clasped her hands, and cried aloud, ―
“If I had faith, then, I might recover. Oh how ardently do I desire to live! Oh that I might be restored to health and activity! Do you pray for me. God will hear you. Sometimes I do hope I shall get well. I can walk with less fatigue than I did last week, and I eat my food with better appetite; my cough is troublesome, but that is not of much consequence. I may be better yet.”
I felt it would be useless to endeavor to repress such thoughts by attempting to fix her attention upon the dreadful subject of death. I therefore sought to awaken her mind to the beauties of redeeming love, and to lead her to meditate upon select portions of Scripture without any immediate reference to herself; waiting for a seasonable opportunity of saying, “Thou art the man.”
As months rolled on every neighbor remarked the progress of disease on poor Wilmot’s frame. She alone was insensible to any change; but the eye of a long-suffering God was upon her for good, the life-giving word became an instrument in his hands of opening her understanding, and she listened to it with interest. While casual observers were pronouncing upon the frivolity of her conversation, a God of infinite purity and wisdom was silently instilling into her mind heavenly truth, line upon line, as the weak vessel could receive it. How wonderfully gracious is the forbearance of God towards sinners! God’s ways are not our ways, nor his thoughts our thoughts. He “waiteth to be gracious.”
One morning as I was returning from visiting in the village, I met Mrs. Y―.
“Will you have the kindness,” she said “to call in at my house as you pass by? Wilmot is low spirited; she gives way to melancholy thoughts. I assure you I find my engagement an arduous one.”
I found Wilmot weeping.
“You find me depressed today,” she said. “Mrs. Y — has had some friends to see her. They were happy together, I was not noticed; I have no friends to care for me: no one loves me. My relations, it is true, know that I do not want, but affection, affection there is none. No one will weep over my grave.”
“But angels may rejoice over you,” I replied.
She shook her head.
“The prodigal son was alone and deserted; when he came to himself,’ no man gave unto him.”
A pause ensued.
“Do you feel like the prodigal son, Wilmot?”
This beautiful history had often been the subject of conversation between us; her voice trembled while she said, ―
“I would willingly be God’s servant if I could.”
“God invites you in Christ to be his child.”
“That,” she replied, “would be happiness, indeed; but my sins are too great.”
“Look to Jesus;” I replied, “behold him bleeding on the cross. Do you ask why he was nailed there? The Scripture tells us he died for sinners. Do you feel yourself a sinner? you are invited to come as well as others.”
Wilmot said, “No one wants a Saviour more than I do, but I cannot approach him; I want power to do so.”
“Ask him to give you power,” I replied. “Lord, help thou mine unbelief,” was her fervent ejaculation, and God eventually granted that which she requested. In a little while she was enabled to believe, and from that time her confidence and trust in Jesus increased daily.”
Having once got settled peace herself, she became concerned for others, and especially for her nurse, Mrs. Y —. Henceforth she read the Scriptures to her every evening, and sought every opportunity of leading her to Christ, and the Lord blessed her labors. On one occasion she remarked to me, “Faith in the atoning blood of a crucified Saviour enables me to repose upon his encouraging promises. I hope I shall not be tempted with distrusting thoughts in the hour of death. When heart and flesh fail, and my fainting soul is sinking within me, Oh, how shall I do?”
“That,” replied Mrs. Y―, who was standing by her bedside, “is not your concern; God will provide for the morrow. He can supply all your wants; you put your trust in him and be not afraid; ‘He will never leave thee nor forsake thee.’”
These cheering promises, uttered by her own pupil, animated Wilmot’s countenance, and looking towards me, she exclaimed with a holy gratitude, “How good God is.”
“He is indeed,” I replied; “and giveth you peace always, by all means; and you will find in your hour of need, how well your heavenly Father knoweth how to deliver the godly out of temptation.”
Each successive visit became more and more satisfactory, and it was evident to all around that as her outward man decayed, her inward man was renewed day by day. Twelve months had now passed since I first saw Wilmot. The second winter of our acquaintance was ushered in with great severity. A deep fall of snow surrounded my house. The fast-falling flakes and trackless paths induced me to devote the day to study. Night advanced, and I was preparing to assemble my family circle for evening prayer, when I was told Mrs. Y― was inquiring for me at the house door. She told me that Wilmot was at the point of death, and wished to see me.
“I have brought my lantern,” said the kindhearted woman, “and a strong oaken staff, so that we shall not lose our footing.”
I found the expiring Christian awaiting my arrival. “I am anxious to see you before I die,” she said, “that I may tell you I am quite happy. The grave is no longer dreaded by me. Jesus is with me; my fears are gone; I am able to trust him fully. O God, I thank thee! O Jesus, my Saviour, my Hope, my All! Will you kneel and praise him for his unmerited goodness towards me?” Mrs. Y― joined with fervency in this our last prayer at the throne of grace. On the following morn I heard that Wilmot had yielded her spirit to him who had created and renewed it, She retained her confidence unto the end, and thus strengthened the faith of her nurse and pupil.
Blessed be God for this additional trophy to the Redeemer’s glory! After the funeral, I called on Mrs. Y —, and could not but remark her languid appearance. “I am much indisposed,” she said, “and I miss my young companion greatly; she was always directing my thoughts upwards. I feel quite lost without her at times. I feel so very ill that I think I shall not be long after her. May my last end be like hers!”
This kind-hearted woman had been struggling with internal cancer for some time past, and when she was told that her complaint was incurable, she showed no alarm, but committed her body, soul, and spirit to him who ordereth all things in infinite wisdom. She said to me one day, while I was sitting by the bedside, “The same Lord who saved Wilmot hath saved me also; the light that shone around her is not extinguished; though dead, she yet speaketh. I have, thank God, the same Shepherd to lead me. I bless God that that young woman ever entered my house. She was the first person that led me to see my own sinfulness and the value of redeeming love.” Even in the time of great bodily suffering Mrs. Y — was kept in perfect peace. She loved to dwell on the loving-kindness of the Lord in translating her into the kingdom of his dear Son. She lingered long and requested me to visit her while her life lasted. Towards the close of her pilgrimage, my own indisposition confined me to the house for ten days; at the end of that time the tolling bell spoke of the departure of a soul. I heard it was for Mrs. Y―; she had sunk into insensibility during my illness, and therefore did not regret my absence.
The nurse and her charge are now alike forgotten. The place which knew them knoweth them no more. Many seasons have passed over their graves. Not even a simple stone marks the spot where they sleep in Jesus; but their names are written in the Lamb’s book of life, they shall be manifested at last heirs of God and joint-heirs with Christ.
W.