Here is another remarkable case of the Supernatural, provided by the same clergyman:—
“A lady of my acquaintance, a woman of great intellectual powers, with a keenly satirical and inquiring mind, chastened, however, by Christian faith and love—a most devout communicant—was the voucher of these facts.
“Retiring to rest some years ago, late at night, she happened, on her way to her room, to look out of a window which opened on a court behind the house. To her surprise (she was not in the least a superstitious person, nor had her mind been travelling in a ghostly direction), she saw standing beneath the window, in the full rays of the moonlight, the figure of a child in white clothing, the arms crossed in prayer, the face inclining forward, with a kind of white cowl or head-covering, from the body of which child rays seemed to pass. She was not terrified, but amazed; and after gazing fixedly some little while, during which the figure did not move, she went to her room, and sent the nurse down to fetch something, where she would be likely to see the figure, without saying anything about it to her. The nurse returned speedily, white with fear, saying, ‘Ma’am, did you see that wonderful thing all shining?’ The lady inquired what she meant. The servant’s impressions were identical with her own. Neither of them went to look again; but the lady thought within herself, that this might be a warning sent from God to prepare her for the death of an elder child, a daughter, whose figure and bearing, she thought, resembled that of the child enshrouded in white linen in the yard; and she consequently entertained a dread that that daughter might be taken from her. This did not prove the case; but as another younger child—the very darling of the mother’s heart, and an infant at the time of this singular apparition—grew older, the idea was borne in strongly upon the lady’s mind, that that younger child would be taken from her about the time when it attained the apparent age and stature of the mysterious visitant, who seemed to be a little girl of about five years old. This, doubtless, might be a fancy only: she had not seen the face, only the figure; and when this dear little one—a peculiarly sweet and engaging child—actually sickened, and at last, after a long illness, died, at about this age, the mother did not dare take to herself the consolation it seemed likely to afford her, as a foreshadowing of her child’s beatified rest. On the contrary, the mother’s heart was distracted with doubts and fears.... There had been no direct communion with God, as far as man could judge, near the last; rather a certain fretfulness, a turning from God to man, a clinging to the mother as her all. The Christian’s heart was almost paralysed by the vast and unspeakable terror which took possession of her soul. Was her dear one indeed saved?... Although she thought all day long of this child,—I knew her at the time, and she seemed consumed by grief, fast breaking, though never was God’s house opened without her finding her way thither,—she had never once dreamt of her, or seen her in her dreams, much to her own surprise, and despite the constant craving of her aching heart. But at last, one night she dreamt, and thus: that she had risen from her bed, and was standing in her chamber; that the door softly opened, and her little one came and sat upon the threshold, sweetly smiling. ‘What, my own darling! (she thought she said,) are you come back again to me?’ ‘Yes, my mamma,’ replied the child. ‘And are you happy, dearest?’ ‘Yes, quite happy; but not for anything I have done,—only for the merit of my Lord.’ The mother advanced and embraced her child, and thus embracing she awoke. And now wonderfully was it borne in upon her that the midnight apparition of so many years ago and the child of her dream were one. Her dream was so real, that she could not but receive it as a divine intimation, a direct answer to her prayers. She now felt and believed that her dear one was in Paradise. For some weeks, despite her longings to renew the vision, she saw her child no more. Then she did so once again, in a dream. She was crossing a radiant garden, where she knew not; in its centre was a stately hall or cupola, and on the marble steps which led to it stood her sweet one, looking pure and blessed. The mother bounded towards her, when she espied, within the hall, at the further end of a corridor or long passage, the form of another child of hers still living! This sight terrified her; she shrieked out, and shrieking she awoke. That child lives still, and may it long be preserved to the mother’s prayers! But meanwhile, it is not a little remarkable, that during nearly three years which have elapsed, despite every effort on the mother’s part, she has never once dreamt of her darling! This is what contributes, with the vision of the radiant child at first, to impart a supernatural character to the whole transaction, and take these visitations out of the category of ordinary dreams. On my own mind there is not the smallest doubt that here was a two-fold supernatural intervention; firstly, vision,—seen, remember, by two witnesses; then by a most strangely corroborative dream.”
Another example, shadowing forth the possible value and power of prayer,—“the effectual, fervent prayer of a righteous man,”—though briefly told, is not without its own special interest in these days of Irreligion and Unbelief.
“An English gentleman I knew well was residing in France; his only son was a barrister in the Middle Temple Chambers in London. This son suffered from disease of the heart, not known to be immediately dangerous; he was a professed unbeliever—a scoffer, even; and had, alas! spoken lightly of Revelation the day before his death. A sudden, violent attack prostrated him; and, after a few hours of suffering, he departed. That night, the father, who was not aware of any immediate danger to his child, dreamt that the spirit of his deceased wife appeared to him, and addressed him, saying, ‘Rise and pray! William is dying, and there are none to pray for him!’—or words to that effect. This dream was repeated, I believe, thrice. The father did rise, and remained in earnest intercessory prayer (he was a devout Christian man,) for the greater part of the night. This is a well-authenticated fact, the certainty of which may be relied on.”
This chapter is brought to its close by a most impressive account of sweet and heavenly music which was heard near the dying bed of one, whose patience and devotion during sickness were as remarkable as her earthly life had been pure and holy.
It is from the pen of one who for many years was a clergyman of the Church of England, but is now a Cistercian monk of the Monastery of Mount S. Bernard, on the Charnwood Hills, in Leicestershire, and who is known in religion as Father Augustine.
“On the last day she [Mary, daughter of A. P. de Lisle, of Garendon Park, Esq.], longed much for a cup of cold water, but it was not thought good for her; and so, when reminded of our Saviour’s thirst on the Cross, she offered up her own thirst in union with His, and said she would ask for it no more.[68] Her faculties, however, continued entire and clear to the end, and by her particular request indulgenced prayers[69] were recited to her that she might frequently repeat them. Thus her life ebbed softly away; the last words on her lips being a prayer to her ‘Sweet Saviour to have mercy upon her.’ And are not such things as these natural grounds for having a sure hope that she died in the favour of God? It is true that we have even supernatural grounds in the fact that on the night before her decease (whilst she was receiving with devout mind the last anointing of Holy Church to prepare her for her end) there was heard distinctly and by several persons the sound of a celestial chant, proceeding from her chamber, hymned by no earthly voices. Does not this look as if the blessed spirits themselves had been assisting to prepare her that she might soon become one of their company?”
“Four men,” continues the author of the Sermon from which the above is taken, in a note to it, “none of them [Roman] Catholics, heard the chanting three several times. They all agreed in their conviction as to whence it came, that it was from the chamber of the dying child. The third time it was so loud that they could distinguish, as it were, the several voices that blended in this celestial harmony, some of which sung the treble notes, while others took the deeper parts. The character of the music was indescribably beautiful; and one of the men, who had been in the habit of attending the Catholic service in S. Mary’s chapel, at Grâce-Dieu, declared that the style of it was exactly like that of the solemn Plain Chant used in that chapel which he was accustomed to hear there. They described the chanting as having no air in it that they could carry away, but the effect was solemn and beautiful beyond expression. They supposed, at the moment, that it was some service, according to the Catholic rites, which was being sung in the sick chamber by the priest and his attendants. When they heard it, therefore, they were not surprised at the sound, except that its beauty exceeded that of any religious service they had ever heard; and it was not until the following morning, at the breakfast hour, when relating what they had heard to their fellow-servants, and being then informed that there had been no service chanted in the sick room, that the conviction flashed upon them, as upon all to whom these facts have been since related, that the chanting proceeded from heavenly spirits and departed saints, who had come hither on an errand of mercy, to hedge round the dying bed of the departing child.”—Note, p. 13.
The Editor prefers to leave these varied records of the spiritual powers and properties of the Church, these different examples of the presence of the Supernatural, to the consideration of the reader; himself declining either to lay down principles, frame arguments, or draw deductions from facts already set forth.