“Are they not late, mother?” inquired Simeon, as he joined his mother in her own parlour. “Troublesome loiterers! I wish they would arrive—I want my tea.”
“And is that all you want, Simeon?” said the widow, smiling; “because that may easily be satisfied.”
“No, no; not quite so voracious as that comes to. I want the loiterers themselves, though I have seen them later than you have, you know. You won’t find Sarah a whit altered; she is just the gentle yet energetic creature she always was, only more animated, more happy, I think. Then Ruth, darling Ruth—oh, how much I owe to her! I never shall forget her reminding me of my promise to my poor father—her compelling me as it were, to love my brother; and now what is not that brother to me? Mother, is it not strange how completely prejudice has gone?”
“No, my dear son; your heart was too truly and faithfully pious, too desirous really to love its God, for prejudice long to obtain the ascendant. It comes sometimes in very early youth, when we are apt to think we alone are quite right, but, unless encouraged, cannot long stand the light of strengthening reason and real spiritual love.”
“But does it not seem strange, mother, that I alone of my family, should have been the one selected to receive such extreme kindness from a Christian—one of those whom, in former days, I was more prejudiced against than I dared acknowledge? I was very ill on my way home from London, and as you know, Mr. Morton had me conveyed to his house, instead of leaving me to the care of heartless strangers at the public inn—had a physician to attend me, nursed me as his own son—would read and talk to me, even after he knew I was a Jew, on the spirit of religion, which we both felt. Never shall I forget the impressive tone and manner with which he said, when parting with me, ‘Young man, never forget this important truth—that heart alone in sincerity loves God, who can see, in every pious man, a brother, despite of difference of creed. That difference lies between man and his God: to do good and love one another is man’s duty unto man, and can, under no circumstances and in no places, be evaded. Learn this lesson, and all the kindness I have shown you is amply rewarded.’ Is it not strange this should have occurred to me?”
“I do not think it strange, my dear son,” replied Mrs. Perez affectionately, though seriously. “I believe so firmly that God’s eye is ever on us, that He so loves us, that He guides every event of our lives as will be most for our eternal good. He saw you sought to love and serve Him—that the very prejudice borne towards others had its origin in the ardent love you bore your faith, and His infinite mercy permitted you to receive kindness from a Gentile and a stranger, that this one dark cloud should be removed, and your love for Him be increased in the love you bear your fellow-creatures.”
“May I believe this, mother? It would be such a comfort, such a redoubled excitement to love and worship,” answered Simeon, fixing his large dark eyes beseechingly on his mother’s face. “But can I do so without profaneness, without robbing our gracious God of the sanctity which is so imperatively His due?”
“Surely you may, my dear boy. We have the whole word of God to prove and tell us that we are each individually and peculiarly His care—that he demands the heart; for dearer even than a mother’s love for her infant child is His love towards us. How may we give Him our heart, if we never think of Him but as a being too inexpressibly awful to approach? How feel the thanksgiving and gratitude He loves to receive, if we do not perceive His guiding hand, even in the simplest events of our individual lives? How seek Him in sorrow, if we do not think He has power and will to hear and to relieve?—in daily prayer, if we were not each of us especially His own? My boy, if the hairs of our head are numbered, can we doubt the events of our life are guided as will be but for our eternal good, and draw us closer to our God? Think but of one dear to us both: did it not seem, to our imperfect wisdom, that Reuben’s marriage must for ever have divided him from his nation? Yet that very circumstance brought him back. Our Father in mercy permitted him to follow his own will, to be prosperous, to lose even the hated badge of Israel, that his own heart might be his judge. Affliction also, sent from that same gracious hand, deepened the peculiar feelings which becoming a parent had already excited. Then the year of research put the final seal on his return to us. His mind could never have believed without calm, unimpassioned, steady examination. He has examined not alone his own faith. Mr. Vaughan, from being the explainer, was forced to become the defender of his own creed. He drew back, avowing, with a candour and charity which proved how truly of God was the spirit of religion within him, spite of the mistaken faith, that Reuben never could become a convert. And we know what true friends they are, notwithstanding Mr. Vaughan’s disappointment. They have strengthened themselves in their own peculiar doctrines, without in the least shaking each other’s.”
“Yes, yes; you are quite right, mother dear, as you always are,” replied Simeon, putting his arm round her, and affectionately kissing her. “What a blessing it has been for me to have such a mother. Why, how now, master Joseph, what has happened? have you lost your wits?”
“If I have, it is for very joy!” exclaimed the boy, springing into the parlour, flinging his cap up to the ceiling, and so stifling his mother with kisses, as obliged her to call for mercy. “Mother, mother, how can I tell you the good news? I must scamper about before I can give them vent.”