SATURDAY EVENING AT FAIRMOUNT.
I t was on a fine summer evening, when taking a solitary ramble, that I seated myself on the stump of an old elm tree, gazing on the splendour of the heavens and the beauties of the earth; thinking of the mysterious period when there was no sun, or moon, or stars; when there was no material universe or created beings; that I unconsciously fell into the following train of reflection. Here I am; but how came I here? Am I the child of chance, or the offspring of a wise and beneficent Creator? When I see a machine, I feel conscious that it was constructed by an artist; and can I suppose that the more curious mechanism of my body was formed by chance? Was it chance that placed my eye in the only proper position in the body to guide the motion of my hands and my feet; that stationed around it so many guards to keep it from injury; that has given it a mysterious power to travel over a wide and extended surface without fatigue; and to receive the exact form and colour of external objects on the dark canvas spread out behind the lens, without intermixture or confusion? Was it chance that constructed my ear for the nice discrimination of sounds; that let fall the ray of intelligence on my understanding; and gave to my fancy its capabilities to adorn the conceptions of my mind with the drapery of a beauteous imagery? And was it chance that gave to my tongue the sense of taste and the gift of speech? Impossible! I trace contrivance in all these astonishing arrangements and endowments, which demonstrates the existence of a God who made me. Was it chance that placed the sun in the centre of the planetary system; that impressed laws on those unconscious bodies which revolve around it, which keep them from deviating from their mysterious course; that set bounds to the sea, which it cannot pass; that gave to the air I breathe a salubrious and elastic quality; and enriched the earth with a prolific power? Impossible! In all these mighty works I trace the operations of intelligence and design. "The heavens declare the glory of God; and the firmament sheweth his handywork." All nature is full of God. He shines in the brightness of the sun,
——"Refreshes in the breeze,
Glows in the stars, and blossoms in the trees."
And does not the visible creation display the goodness of God? Pain is not the object of contrivance, which would have been the case had the Creator been a malevolent being. The eye is formed for the purpose of vision, not to be injured by the atom floating in the air; the ear for hearing, not for aching; the hand and the foot to be active and useful, not to be lacerated by instruments of torture.
The sun was now creeping gently down the western horizon; the sky was clear and bright, as on the eve of the first day of the creation; no sounds broke in upon my calm serenity, except the lowing of the cattle and the bleating of the sheep penned in a neighbouring fold; and, just as I was rising to a more glorious theme of contemplation, my attention was arrested by the appearance of a gentleman, who was walking along the bank of a river, gliding through the vale beneath me. His manner was singular. Now he advanced with hurried steps the distance of fifty yards, then suddenly stopped, looked round him, advanced again, again stopped, stood motionless, then approached the brink of the river, receded, walked up to the edge again, paused, appeared wrapped in deep and solemn thought, retraced his steps, abruptly stopped, fixed his cane in the ground, threw down his gloves, took off his hat, advanced, and fell. During the whole of these apparently mysterious movements, my sympathies were excited, and I was making every necessary preparation to save a soul from death. My feelings were too violently agitated to allow of cool reflection; but I could not refrain from paying the tributary sigh to that unknown cause of woe which appeared to be hurrying an intelligent and accountable being out of a world on which I had been gazing with so much delight, and sending him, stained with the blood of his own life, into another and a changeless economy of existence.
As soon as I saw him fall, I rushed forward; and, as the river was not more than a few hundred yards distant from me, I felt conscious that I should be able to reach him in time to save his life; but just as I was going to leap over the stile that stood midway between us, I saw him raising himself on his knees. I drew back, and looking through the hedge, I perceived that he had not fallen into the river, but among the high rushes that grew on its brink, and that he was not meditating the destruction of his own life, but the rescue of a little lamb, that had accidentally slipped into the stream. The transition of my mind from one of the most awful subjects of contemplation, to a touching incident of human benevolence, was not less gratifying to my feelings than the sudden hushing of the midnight tempest is to the mariner, who, having lost his compass, can steer his vessel only by the light of the polar star.
Curiosity impelled me to watch the movements of this stranger, and I beheld him cautiously removing the weeds which were entwined around the exhausted lamb, and then carrying it to its dam, which, I imagined from her bleating, instinctively knew the danger from which her offspring had been delivered. This sight brought to my recollection the language of the prophet, who represents the Redeemer as gathering the lambs with his arms, and carrying them in his bosom.
On perceiving the stranger advancing towards the stile which I intended to cross, I again seated myself on my former post of observation, and soon had the gratification of seeing him saunter up the lane. He was a young man, on whom the God of nature had bestowed a fine exterior form; and who by an action, which he was not conscious I had witnessed, had strongly prepossessed me in his favour. I arose on his coming near me; we exchanged the customary bow of polite recognition; and, after passing a few cursory remarks on the varied scenery around us, we moved onwards together, and were soon engaged in a very interesting and important discussion.