“And the first is to begin at seven this evening,” said Edith. “Papa has given me leave to be always present—at least when the weather is fine; and some of our servants will go too. They are not all able to get to church on Sundays, for Axe is five miles from the Castle.”
The cousins, slowly sauntering up the avenue, had now reached a grassy mound at the end of it, on which a tall weather-cock stood, and which might be ascended by a flight of marble steps. Having mounted these steps, a very extensive and beautiful prospect lay before Isa and Edith, while a rural seat invited them to rest and enjoy it.
“I have looked upon many lovely views in Italy,” observed Edith, as her eye wandered with delight over the scene; “but, to my mind, there is none to compare with this. I always missed that dear little spire seen in the distance yonder, where I knew that Sunday after Sunday the real truth was preached in my own native tongue by a servant of God. It always seems to me with Mr. Eardley as if he were like the disciples, who went to their Master and had their directions in the morning straight from His lips; and that in the evening, when his labour was over, he would go and ‘tell Jesus’ all that he had done, and all that he had tried to do—receive the Lord’s smile and His blessing, and then lie down to rest at His feet.”
“It seems so with some clergymen,” said Isa. “When they feed the people with the bread of the Word, we feel that they have just taken it from the hands of the Lord—that He has given thanks, and blessed, and broken it; so that we look from the servant to the Master, and realize that the ministry of the gospel is hallowed service indeed.”
