As it was a very fine evening, I resolved on taking my usual walk, and sallied forth, sauntering along, undecided where to go, till I came within sight of the towering hill overlooking the woodman's cottage. "Yes, I will go and see the surviving mourners. They are doubtless still in trouble; but the heavy swell of grief may have subsided a little, now that all that remained of their lovely Jemima[3] is in the grave." The rich scenery through which I was passing supplied me with ample and varied materials for thinking; but my thinking faculty felt more inclined to muse on death and immortality than on trees or flowers, on bleating sheep, or on lowing cattle.
Yes, man dies; but he still lives. He passes from one locality and condition of existence to another. He will never die again. No, his next life is endless. If saved, what varied and splendid forms of beauty and of grandeur will open on his vision the moment he passes the dark frontier that divides the visible from the unseen world! What sounds of harmony, coming from the pure and happy spirits of the celestial state, will vibrate on his ear! What ecstasy will he feel when presented faultless before the glorious presence of the Divine Majesty! If lost!—Woe, woe, woe! My heart recoils from a contemplation of his fearful and changeless destiny.
On entering the cottage I saw a stranger, in the costume of a gentleman, polite and accomplished; but there was an air of mannerism about him uncongenial to my taste. The woodman and his wife were glad to see me, and after making a few faint allusions to the mournful event which had recently occurred, they relapsed into expressive silence, which induced me to suppose that my abrupt appearance had interrupted some conversation or discussion. At length, after a little desultory and somewhat forced chit-chat, the woodman, who appeared rather singularly excited, addressing himself to the stranger, said, "There is, Sir, one evidence that the Bible comes from God, which gives to me and my wife entire satisfaction, and against which no objection can be brought that can stagger or weaken our faith."
"These good people," said the stranger, turning towards me, "appear not to have perplexities enough in the casualties and contingencies of life, and therefore they are perplexing themselves by the mysteries of the Bible."
"Yes, Sir," said the wife, "just as we should perplex ourselves if an old and endeared friend looked in to see us, bringing with him some good news. We certainly might feel a little perplexed about the accommodation we could give him, but none on account of his coming to see us, or the good news he brings; that would be a matter of rejoicing."
"I admire the happy art you possess to give a good turn to an objectionable observation. Well, Mr. Woodman, let me hear what this evidence is, which gives to you both so much satisfaction, and which you think no objection can set aside. I see," taking out his watch as he spoke, "I must soon go."
"Why, Sir, it is just this: when reading my Bible, I cannot help thinking of myself—my condition as a sinful and an immortal being—of my last end—of God, his goodness in providence, but his still greater goodness in making such grand provision, through the redemption of Christ, for my present and future happiness. These thinkings awaken in my soul gratitude, and love, and filial trust in Him, and constrain me to surrender my soul to Him, through Christ, to be redeemed, sanctified, and saved. Now, Sir, as the road which leads to your mansion must lead from it, so I think that the Bible, which leads us to God, as our father and our best friend, must come from Him."
"Well, my good fellow," rising, and taking him by the hand, "perhaps it would do you no good if I were to attempt to disturb you while reposing with so much satisfaction in your innocent delusions."
"You have, Sir, been trying to do it for the last hour and a half," said the wife, with a marked emphasis of severe rebuke, "and without directing us to any other source of comfort under our troubles. We have just lost one of our dear children; but the Bible reconciles me to that loss, by telling me that my child is now happy in heaven; but you have been trying to make us believe that this is a delusion. Why, Sir, you would, if in your power, do us a greater act of cruelty than Captain Dunlop, who lives in yon big house, attempted to do to us last autumn."
"I would scorn to commit an act of cruelty against any one, especially against you, who have behaved with so much civility to me. But what act of cruelty did the Captain meditate committing against you?"