"No, Sir, I must have an Oxford or Cambridge man. To speak my mind, Mr. Ingleby is the preacher for me. I never went into his church before you took lunch with us, but what you said then inclined me to go. Why, I would rather hear one of his sarmunts, than I would a score of Parson Cole's. He sends what he says home here," laying his hand on his heart; "but I can get a comfortable nap when Parson Cole is holding forth. We all go to church now on a Sunday morning, and I seem to like it; and the youngsters like it, and so do the sarvants. It helps to keep us in a bit better order. And wife often tells me she was never so happy in all her life as she is now; and that makes me feel a bit more comfortable, as I like to see smiling faces in my homestead."
I listened with some emotions of surprise and delight while he was running on in his tale of reformation, and, after a little hesitation, I ventured to propose reading a chapter of the Bible, and going to prayer.
"Ay, that's right, Sir. That puts me in mind of what I heard my uncle say, the last time he slept here, and he was as staunch a Churchman as ever sung a psalm tune: 'Prayer and provender are two good things; one is good for man, and t'other for beast:' though, I must say, we ant had much prayer here; worse luck."
I read the second chapter of Ephesians, making a few comments on it, and then we knelt before the throne of grace; and when this domestic service was over, I received the hearty hand-shake, and set out to retrace my steps to Fairmount, which I reached just in time to lead the devotions of the family; when, having committed ourselves to the protecting care of our heavenly Father, we retired to rest.
A VILLAGE FUNERAL.
Death is a solemn subject of meditation; and it is one which presents stronger claims on our attention than any other, because we all must die. If to die were a mere cessation of being; if, when the mind ceases to think, and the passions cease to glow; if, when the active and the passive virtues cease to display their moral beauty and vigour, and when the mantle of mortality falls from off us, we live only in the recollection of surviving friends, we should forbear passing a heavy censure on the general indifference which is manifested towards death and dying. But we live, when dying; we outlive death, and live for ever. Yes, life and immortality are brought to light by the volume of inspiration. There we read that "the hour is coming, in the which all that are in the graves shall hear His voice, and shall come forth, they that have done good unto the resurrection of life; and they that have done evil unto the resurrection of damnation."
Death spares neither age nor rank, talent nor piety. The king of terrors sways the sceptre of absolute authority over all the living; none can elude his grasp, nor resist his power. What a scene is presented where he has achieved a conquest! The sparkling eye become dim, the instructive lips sealed in perpetual silence; the ear deaf alike to the voice of friendship and the song of mirth; and the tabernacle of bliss changed into the house of mourning. The preparations necessary for the interment keep the mind in a state of constant agitation; but when these are all adjusted, and the ministers of death enter to bear away the dear departed to the distant tomb, then the sobs, and tears, and groans of agonized survivors, proclaim the greatness of the irreparable desolation.