“I wish all witch stories would end as well as this,” said Susan. “And that all witches were as good as Aunt Lois,” said Charles.
Chapter VII
Judea’s daughters mourn her blighted soil,
Her dark-eyed sons in foreign regions toil,
But Holy is the land where Jesus trod
Sacred its soil, though desolate and sad.
A bright, clear, cold Sabbath morning dawned. The smooth snow sparkled as if sprinkled with diamonds, and the bracing atmosphere seemed to infuse new life into creation. The strict habits of our Puritan fathers, in regard to public worship, were not forgotten in the family of Mrs. Wilson, and, when, all meeting at their social evening conversation, many remarks were made upon the exercises of the day, no carping criticisms, no sarcastic observations were indulged in, or would have been permitted. Ministers, in those days, were both loved and reverenced; loved for themselves, and reverenced for their holy vocation, and, generally grew old among a people to whom they were attached by the strongest ties, whose interests were theirs, and whose children were considered their own. There is no more beautiful description of a country clergyman, and none that more generally applies to the times of which I am writing, than Goldsmith’s. The pastors, in those days, literally “allured to brighter worlds, and led the way.”
After a day spent in listening to the words of one of those emphatically good men, the evening fire was surrounded by our little company, who were comparing notes upon the services of the day. The subject was Christ choosing his disciples, and, one of the remarks of one of the speakers was, that because the first followers of Christ were probably illiterate men, it should not be inferred that learning was not necessary for ministers of the present day. Almighty power could inspire them with wisdom, without human means, and, that was then the case, but the miraculous interposition of Providence was not now granted, therefore, education was a most useful auxiliary to piety. An interesting conversation upon the subject then ensued. At length Mary reminded Herbert of his promise to read them some poetry, and he read as follows:
“The setting sun shone bright and clear on Galilee’s dark sea,
Lovely was its reflection of the clear and cloudless sky.