Vol. i. page 300.
"You see," he said, "how instinctively we love immortality, and as we cannot live here always, we wish life to flourish over the tomb in which our body is decaying. This is simple and beautiful. She was a woman of great taste, and a Christian of high principle. Her knowledge of the gospel was clear, comprehensive, and profound; and she displayed, during her residence with us, a spirit as free from the ordinary imperfections of the human character as I have ever beheld."
I told him that I had been requested to ask if he would attend her funeral.
He replied, "Certainly, if the family wish it. I respected her—I loved her. I often retired from the labour and perplexity of study to pass an hour with her, and always found her conversation of such a spiritual, catholic, and heavenly cast, that I never failed to derive great benefit from it. Her conversation was remarkably suggestive; she has helped me to many texts, and some of my most useful sermons owe their origin to her observations and reflections. I was always delighted when I saw her in church, because I knew she was praying in spirit for the success of my ministry."
Upon the day appointed for her burial almost every inhabitant of the village attended, to pay the tribute of respect to her memory. The corpse was taken into the chapel, and after the minister had read the 15th chapter of 1st Corinthians, and delivered a very simple impressive address, and offered up a solemn prayer to "the God of the spirits of all flesh," it was interred amidst the sighs and tears of a large concourse of spectators. Some were attired in full mourning, many were in half mourning, but the majority had merely put on their Sabbath dress, being too poor to purchase clothes for the occasion. There was one female of the group, about the age of thirty, with an infant in her arms, whose appearance and manners indicated the most poignant grief. During the time the minister was conducting the service, the tear fell silently on her cheek, but when the body was lowered into the grave she wept no more, but appeared convulsed, and then advanced to the brink of the grave, and after looking with intense eagerness for some seconds, she exclaimed, "Lover and friend hast thou taken from me," and fell senseless on the ground. On inquiry, I found that she was the widow of a poor woodman, who was killed by the falling of a tree, and who was left with three children, and had another born three months after his father's decease. She lived about a quarter of a mile from the cottage, and as Mrs. Lewellin used to pass by her residence when taking her morning walks, she often called to see her. On one occasion (the poor woman told me the next day), after giving her weekly donation, she gave her a tract, and requested her to read it. "I did read it," said the weeping widow, "but I could not understand it. When she called the next time she asked me if I had read it, and when I told her I could not understand it, she said, 'Read it again, but before you read it the second time, pray to God for wisdom to enable you to understand it. He can give it, and he will give it if you ask him.' I did so. The Lord has answered my prayer, and made me, I trust, wise unto salvation. But he has taken from me my guide, my counsellor, and my friend. The death of my husband, which threw me on the charity of the parish, and deprived my dear babes of a father, was a great trial, but it did not pierce my heart like this. I sometimes think my heart will break, then I go and pray to the Lord for submission to his holy will, and I find myself better; but it will be a long time indeed before I shall be able to get over it."
I mentioned this incident at the rectory, and then learned that the poor widow was a regular attendant at the church, and was considered decidedly pious. Mrs. Stevens, having ascertained the amount of her departed sister's weekly donation, engaged the rector to become her almoner, and the usual payment was continued. Mr. Lewellin was so affected by this testimony to the memory of his mother, that he increased the sum; and before he left Stanmoor he called to see the bereaved sufferer, and gave her several articles of furniture, which once adorned the lonely cottage of her whose remains we had committed to the tomb.
The evening before our departure, I retraced the steps I had trodden on my former visit to this village; and fixing on the same hour for my ramble into the vale, I anticipated another interview with the pious shepherd. As I walked on I heard the bleating of the sheep, and saw them at a distance ascending the steep path which led up to their fold in a neighbouring field. I heard also the barking of the dog; and soon afterwards the shepherd made his appearance, but I knew him not.
"Is the old man dead," I asked, "who kept his flock here about six years ago?"
"Yes, Sir; he died about Christmas."