The Old Dominion

by G. P. R. James

"It is no prayer for death, sir," said the old negro teacher. "Our Saviour has said,--'The kingdom of God is within you!' and it may either be a prayer that the holy and happy kingdom of God be established with all its peace in our own hearts, or that it be established in its purity and unity throughout the whole world. 'Thy will be done!' are the succeeding words; and these teach, first, that resignation to the will of God which is one of the purest forms of His worship--a humble acknowledgment of His wisdom, and mercy, and love; and a profession of our full faith, and trust, and confidence in Him; and secondly, taken with the words that follow, how we ought to do God's will ourselves, and how we ought to wish all others to do it, 'in earth as it is in Heaven!' not slowly, not grudgingly, not doubtingly; but with joy and alacrity, and full faith and trust--as it is performed spontaneously by the holy angels." Mr. Thornton moved impatiently in his bed; and the old man, as if afraid that he would interrupt him, proceeded more rapidly.

"The prayer then goes on to say, 'Give us this day our daily bread!' That means, I think, the complete provision of God's mercy--all that is needful for us during that day, as well for the body as the soul--the bread that sustains the flesh, and the bread of life itself--all, in short, that we want and require--"

"Well, that is sensible," said the wounded man, in a somewhat stronger voice. "It is a very fine prayer; I don't deny it."

"You can't think, sir, what a comfort it would be to you if you could but make up your mind to repeat it."

"I think I can repeat it," said Mr. Thornton. "I am sure my mother made me say it so often when I was young, that I can't have forgotten it--though that is a long time ago. Let me see." And he began the prayer, murmuring in a low, but still articulate voice. He proceeded very fluently till he came to the words, "Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us." There he paused, and muttered something between his teeth.

"Those are the most important words of all," said the old negro, earnestly. "Upon these words hang the only hope of being forgiven. Oh, Mr. Thornton, do say them. If ever you have done anything to offend God--if you have ever done anything to injure man--if you have any cause to fear the judgment hereafter, and which of us has not?--if there be one act in your whole life which you could wish to blot out--forgive, if you would be forgiven."

"Davenport!" ejaculated Mr. Thornton, in a wandering tone, "Davenport! He did not trespass against me; but his wife did. She spat at me--she called me villain, and scoundrel--said she would tell her husband all. I recollect how he looked when he died. She could not have told him, Uncle Jack, for there was no time; yet he looked very much as if he thought I had done something. It was a bitter, reproachful sort of look. But I say, uncle, do you think that we are obliged to forgive those who have never trespassed against us as well as those who have? That's the question." The man's mind was evidently beginning to wander, and Mr. Wheatley entered the room without further ceremony.

"Ah, doctor," cried the wounded man, turning round in the bed as soon as he heard a step; but when his eyes fell upon Mr. Wheatley, a strange and fearful change came upon his countenance. When he first turned it, it was not only as usual, red from long habits of somewhat excessive drinking, but apparently flushed with fever. When he beheld Mr. Wheatley, however, the colour changed in a moment to a cadaverous white, with here and there a bluish spot; neither did it resume its former hue: the effect was permanent, and he remained looking more like a dead man than a living one. Wheatley saw the change which had taken place; and, advancing to his bed-side, he spoke kindly to him, and in a cheerful tone.

"Ah, Mr. Thornton," he said, "I am sorry to see you ill. I came over to inquire after you, and try if we could not settle that little matter between you and me amicably."

"Who is that man?" said Mr. Thornton, glaring at me, as I stood a little behind my friend. "I have seen him before. It can't be Richard Conway come out of the Chesapeake--he is very like him."