THE CHARCOAL BURNER'S STAR.
In one of the Protestant cantons of Switzerland dwelt a lady of fortune, in a handsome mansion, surrounded with extensive grounds. These were laid out with the greatest taste, so as to command at every convenient point a favourable view of the romantic and interesting country that rose on all sides round the lovely and fertile plain in which it was situated.
Madame de Blénal was a widow who had, at an early age, married a gentleman of property in the canton who, like herself, was a humble follower and sincere lover of the Redeemer, but who, after a year or two of as perfect happiness as this world can be expected to afford, died in faith, looking forward with assured hope to the promises made by the Lord Jesus to all who truly believe in Him.
With a heart prepared by faith to submit to the decrees of Providence, whether for this world's good or ill, Madame de Blénal, though she deeply felt the blow which her Heavenly Father had inflicted upon her, soothed her grief with the reflection that her husband was now at peace, and removed from the troubles which beset every sojourner in this mortal world. Too fondly attached to his memory ever to enter a second time into married life, she applied herself entirely to the cultivation of a treasure he had left behind, in the person of a little boy named Alfred, whom she endeavoured prayerfully to bring up "in the nurture and admonition of the Lord." Neither did she neglect to enrich his mind with such knowledge as might enable him to manage the earthly inheritance which was hereafter to belong to him, if it pleased God that he should live to arrive at the age of manhood.
At the time of which we are writing, Madame de Blénal had just resigned to him the management of the property which he inherited from his father, reserving to herself only the portion which she had brought with her when she married. Still, as, in his own opinion as well as hers, he was yet too young to think of taking a wife, Madame de Blénal remained the mistress of his household, while he applied himself to studying the nature of the duties that had devolved upon him, and to endeavouring to acquire personal experience in the management of his estate, as well as to improve the characters and condition of his tenants and labourers.
It happened one day, towards the end of summer, that a party who were friends of her son's, together with some older ones of her own, had been dining at her house, and the whole party had retired after dinner, to take their coffee in an open part of the grounds which commanded the best view both of the plain and of the mountains beyond it. The former was already involved in the shades of evening, which, gradually ascending the latter, soon reached the glaciers in the distance, and converted the roseate tint with which the last beams of the departing sun had invested them into that cold, lurid hue that heralds in the approaching night. The stars now began to appear, one by one, in the clear blue sky, and led the thoughts of many, if not all, of the party from Nature up to Nature's God. Some of the younger ones, however, began to amuse themselves by counting them, as they came into view; and one or two, rather vain of their knowledge of astronomy, informed the others of their names. Suddenly Alfred exclaimed—
"I can see one which is not to be found in the lists furnished by any astronomer, and yet it is by far the most brilliant."
His friends thought that he was jesting, but yet attempted to discover it in the sky.
"You are all looking too high," he said, laughing, and pointed to a distant mountain, where the fire of a charcoal burner had just made its appearance.
The party gazed attentively for some time, when one of the ladies said, with a sigh—
"Poor man! How much he is to be pitied, sitting all alone up there!"
"Perhaps, madame, he is not so solitary as you imagine. The mountaineers of these parts seldom leave their village homes for the summer season without taking a Bible with them, so that I trust it may be said of this one, even if his solitude is not sometimes broken by a passing visit from a goatherd, that he is never quite alone, for God is always near them that fear Him."
"That is a blessed thing indeed," said the lady; "but is he not in danger from the wolves?"
"No, madame. First of all, the wolves are not so numerous about here as many persons think; and, even where they are more abundant, there are few, at this season, so pressed by hunger as to have the courage to attack a man; and besides, the fire itself would keep them at a distance. They have an instinctive dread of it."
"So far so good, Mr. Alfred. Still, if I were in the place of this man, I should not be quite at ease. I should every moment be expecting the approach of robbers."
"Robbers, madame, are very considerate people. They do not like to lose either their time or their labour. Now, what could they find worth stealing from this poor charcoal burner?"
"What? Why, his money, to be sure!"
"His money? If he happens to have any. He does not carry it with him into the forest, where he has no use for it, but leaves it at home with his wife."
"A very good husband! But his watch?"
"An article quite useless to him. He marks the time by the sun and stars; or, if the weather is cloudy, most of the mountain châlets are furnished with a small wooden clock, which holds out no great temptation to men whose thoughts are fixed upon the well-stored purses of travellers."
"You have an answer for everything, Mr. Alfred. Do you know the man?"
"I cannot say that I do, madame. We have few, if any, charcoal burners in our domain. That mountain is at some distance, and he belongs most probably to another village. But I have had occasion to observe the habits of these mountaineers, and have acquired a tolerable knowledge of them generally."
"And what can he possibly be doing at this hour, in that wild place?"
"Precisely what we are doing ourselves—he is watching his fire."
After many other conjectures had been hazarded as to the way in which the charcoal burner was passing his time, Madame de Blénal said—
"A truce with these idle fancies. Our pastors in this canton are not idle, and our peasantry are generally well instructed in their Christian duties, so I trust that he is better employed than any of you suppose. Perhaps, at this moment, he is sitting with the Bible on his knee, reading of the mercies of Jesus, meditating upon them as he watches his fire, and lifting up his heart in prayer to Him who alone is able to inspire it with holy thoughts and divine affections."
"However," said the lady who had first begun the conversation, "I should really like to know what he is about. I wish some one could tell us who has actually seen him."
"I can easily satisfy your curiosity, madame," said young Alfred. "I have nothing to do but to mount my horse and gallop to the foot of the mountain. It will not be more than an hour's ride. I will then engage a guide to take me to the charcoal burner's hut, and, without losing a moment, I will find out what he was doing at nightfall."
"Are you not afraid of your son's undertaking such an enterprise at this late hour?" asked a young lady of Madame de Blénal.
Madame de Blénal smiled, and replied, "No, mademoiselle. My son is well acquainted with the road. We are not infested with robbers in this canton, and, as the object of his pursuit is perfectly innocent, I can confide him to the protection of Him on whom I know his own trust is constantly fixed. Go, then, Alfred, but exercise your usual prudence, and do not heedlessly expose yourself to danger."
An old lady who had not yet spoken, but who knew how to "speak a word in season," then remarked, "Place, each of you, a small sum of money in Alfred's hands. If he finds the charcoal burner worthily employed, let him bestow it upon him. If otherwise, as some of you have supposed may be the case, let him bring it back, and restore to each one what he has contributed."
Every one readily agreed to the proposal. Each drew out his purse, and Alfred received a very respectable sum. He was leaving the party, when some one asked how soon they might expect him back?
"By midnight," he replied.
"And where shall we meet?"
"Here," said Madame de Blénal. "We will return into the house when Alfred is gone, for the air is getting cold, and it will not be prudent to sit here any longer."
Alfred then set out; and as soon as the sound of his horse's hoofs was heard, the young men pulled out their watches, that the precise length of his absence might be ascertained when he returned.
We will now leave Madame de Blénal to order supper for her party, and the remainder to amuse themselves with conversation, music, and such resources as her house afforded, while we accompany Alfred on his nocturnal excursion.
The moon had just begun to rise in full splendour above the mountains as he started, and to spread her silver light over the plain. This, together with the increasing freshness of the air, infused spirits into the rider as well as his horse. Notwithstanding, however, the knowledge which both of them possessed of the road they had to traverse, they scarcely reached the foot of the mountain within the time upon which Alfred had calculated. Here were situated two or three picturesque cottages, inhabited by guides, one of whom was known to Alfred by name. Him therefore he sought out, and engaged to conduct him to the object of his journey. The man was rather surprised at a summons so late in the evening, and asked the traveller whether he had not better wait at his cottage till daybreak.
"No," replied Alfred; "I only wish to go as far as the charcoal burner's hut, whose fire can be seen for some miles off, and I must return to where I came from before midnight."
"Ah! my friend Gervais. I know him well, sir. But it is a good way up the mountain, and if you have far to ride back, you will hardly keep to the time you have mentioned."
"Never mind," said the young man; "I must go on now. Where can I put my horse?"
"Here in this shed, sir. There is a bit of hay and some beans, with which he can amuse himself while we are gone."
The path was not steep, for it was cut in a zig-zag form, sometimes leading over pastures, and sometimes through woods so thick that the moonlight could not penetrate them; but the guide was provided with a torch of pine, to prevent the danger of a false step. For the first part of the journey they travelled on in silence, the guide amusing himself with forming conjectures as to the object of Alfred's visit to the charcoal burner after night had set in. "Can it be," he said to himself, "a relation from the Indies, or from Algeria? I never heard that Gervais had any relations in those parts. Or a creditor? No, that cannot be, for my honest friend, I am sure, does not owe any one a single penny. Or has he gained a prize in the lottery? He would consider it a sin to risk the smallest fraction upon such a hazard. Ah! perhaps some one has left him a legacy. So much the better, if it is so. I shall be well paid for the trouble I have had. He is too good a fellow not to reward me to the utmost of his power."
Thus it was that the guide employed himself in vain conjectures. When the uncertain light by which they travelled, whether of the moon or of the torch, fell sufficiently clear upon Alfred's features, he examined them attentively, as if he could have read his secret in them. His curiosity made him not less impatient to reach the charcoal furnace than the young man himself. At length, by a sudden turn of the path, it appeared at once before them. The wood, heaped in the form of a cone, and covered with a thick coating of earth, was burning slowly, openings being made at different heights on the mound, to give a passage to the flames, and to afford a proper proportion of atmospheric air, to keep them alive.
Alfred, though born in the neighbourhood, had never before visited a charcoal furnace; but, new as the sight was to him, he did not pause long to observe it. His attention was arrested by the hut which stood near, built something in the form of a tent, and composed of planks leaning on both sides against a cross-beam, which rested on two others placed one at each end of the building. This kind of hut is common to most of the charcoal burners of these mountains, where they make their dwelling during the whole of the summer months, having no other bed than dried leaves—no other apparent occupation than cutting and piling up the wood, and watching their fires. One moment only Alfred stopped to gaze upon this humble dwelling, compared with which the châlets of the cowherds were almost splendid mansions; the next instant, his attention was arrested by something far more interesting. A chorus of youthful voices burst upon his ears, accompanied by one deep, clear bass, which was powerful enough to support and regulate the trebles. They were singing the following hymn, to a beautiful Swiss air, well known to Alfred as one used in the churches of that Protestant canton—
"Look to Jesus, weary wanderer,
Sinful, wretched as thou art;
He is precious; thou shalt know it;
Only trust His loving heart.
"Trust it wholly; it was broken
That thine own might be at peace;
Every sin its streams atone for;
He can bid all anguish cease.
"Now He reigns above the heavens,
And shall reign for evermore;
But His mighty arm is guarding
Those for whom He died before.
"He shall come again in glory;
All creation shall bow down;
Those who seek not His salvation
Must endure His awful frown.
"Wait upon Him, then, His people;
Let Him be your constant strength;
Lean upon Him daily, hourly;
Ye shall reign with Him at length.
"May the Spirit of adoption,
Which our Heavenly Father gives,
Help us all and each to please Him
More each moment of our lives."
(To be continued.)
Envy shoots at others and wounds itself.
We should often have reason to be ashamed of our most brilliant actions, if the world could see the motives from which they spring.