That young man was the only son of the most prosperous farmer in all that region. Foolishly petted by his parents, he was not required to perform any hard work, because he did not like to do it. For the same reason, he left school and gave up all thoughts of educating himself, before he was fourteen years old. After an idle, unprofitable and not perfectly blameless youth, he thought it would be a fine thing to become a merchant, and so his father set him up in business in a large town twenty or thirty miles distant. It was at this period that the miniature was painted, for a young lady who shortly after became his wife. For a while he flourished; but owing to his loose habits, and his want of business training, he soon became a bankrupt, his father being the principal sufferer. Within a year after this, he followed both of his parents to the grave. The fine farm thus came into his possession, but it was heavily mortgaged for debt, owing to his own failure, and to the fact that his father, during the latter part of his life, had used intoxicating liquors to excess, to the injury of his business and property. The son followed but too swiftly in the steps of the father, emulating, not his many years of honest and prosperous toil, but only the sad errors by which he embittered his last days. He became a fast-bound victim of strong drink. He saw his patrimony slowly melting away, and his family coming to want. The pinching hand of poverty at length came upon them, and he felt ashamed to look his neighbors in the face, so bitter were his self-reproaches. He made one or two feeble attempts to reform, and then died as the fool dieth. He was overtaken by a dreadful snow-storm while intoxicated, and the next day was found stiff in death, with a jug of rum by his side.
Such was the sad history of Jessie’s father, whose tragic death occurred only about two months previous to the time of which I am now writing. No wonder the tears filled her eyes, as she gazed on the handsome face of the miniature, and thought how different might have been the life and destiny of the one who sat for it. She saw in that capacious brow, in that mild and thoughtful eye, and in those fine features, indications of capacities and feelings, that had never been developed. Oh, how mournful was it to contrast these things with the coarse, bloated and besotted features which relentless memory always called up at the mention of father!
Such thoughts as these were passing through Jessie’s mind, one Sabbath morning, as she sat in her room, awaiting the signal to start for church. The weather was dull and drizzly, and her feelings were so much in sympathy with it, that she could scarcely keep the tears from her eyes. She thought of her father, whose miniature she held before her; of her mother, whose health was quite poor, as a letter received a few days before had informed her; of her brother Sam, in his gloomy prison cell, who had not taken the slightest notice of the affectionate letters she had sent him; of Henry, with his peculiar trials and dangers; and of Benny, too, on whose little grave the snows were for the first time melting. Everything seemed to present its dark side to her, and she felt as though she could spend the day in weeping.
It was a rule in Mrs. Page’s house that every one should attend church regularly on the Sabbath, unless prevented by sickness or other sufficient cause. Perhaps I should say it had been a rule, for it had now become a custom—a habit—a matter of mutual agreement, rather than of law. Oscar chafed a little against the regulation, when he first came into the family; but finding that it would not be bent to suit him, he submitted to it, and now had no desire to absent himself from the house of public worship. The distance from Mrs. Page’s to the church was about a mile, and the family generally walked, unless the weather was bad. On the morning to which reference has been made, the female portion rode to church, and Marcus and the boys walked.
The sermon which the good pastor, Mr. Merrill, preached that morning, seemed intended expressly for Jessie. It was exactly adapted to the frame of mind in which she went up to the house of God. The course of thought was so plain and simple, that I think I can tell you about it so that even the youngest reader can understand it, and feel some interest in it. This was the text, and a sweet one it is:—“Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee.” You will find it in the twenty-second verse of the fifty-fifth Psalm. The pastor said that everybody who comes into the world, brings a burden with him. The young and the old, the rich and the poor, the high and the low, the wise and the ignorant, the virtuous and the wicked, all have their burdens. These burdens have various names, such as temptations, trials, disappointments, regrets, sorrows, sins, etc.; but there is one general name under which they may all be included, and that is, unhappiness.
The next thing the preacher noticed, was, that we are all running about trying to get rid of our burdens. We don’t want to be unhappy. Some try to laugh away their sorrows. They may succeed with a few of the lighter ones, but there are others too far down in the heart to be reached by laughter. Others mope, and cry, and fret over their troubles, and so make them worse. Others travel to new scenes, or plunge into new cares, or yield themselves up to their passions and desires, to get rid of the burden, but in vain. It only grows heavier, instead of lighter. And then the pastor repeated a German fable about a man who had a frightful goblin in his house, which haunted him day and night. After trying every way he could think of to get rid of the goblin, and all in vain, he shut up his house, and set it on fire, so that the tormentor might roast within, and flung himself into the saddle, and galloped away, homeless and pennyless, but merry in the thought that he was at last rid of the demon that made his life miserable. So after galloping a while, he turned round to see if his house burned merrily, and what was it he saw? The house burned, indeed, but the goblin, there he sat, cowered behind the rider, on his saddle’s cantle! “And do you know,” inquired the pastor, “what is the goblin’s name? His name is Sorrow.”
But, continued the preacher, there is a way, and only one way, to get rid of this pressing burden, this terrible goblin in our hearts. It is pointed out in the text. Bring all your cares and sorrows and cast them upon the Lord, and he will sustain you. He does not promise to remove them at once; but if he does not take them away now, he will give you strength to bear them, so that they will seem light. We must not expect to escape all pain, disappointment and trial in this world. It would not be good for us, if we should. But we can be happy, in spite of these, if we cast our burden upon the Lord, for He careth for us. The only truly happy people are those who have done this. The Christian can sing, in his darkest hour:
“I’ll drop my burden at His feet,
And bear a song away.”
The concluding portion of the sermon was devoted to an explanation of the way in which we can cast our burdens on the Lord. The preacher said we must do just what the little child does, when any trouble befalls it, and it runs crying to its mother. It believes its mother can and will relieve it. That is faith. It pours out its little complaints and desires. That is prayer. It is ready, if it goes in a proper spirit, to follow its mother’s directions. That is submission. So, if we would cast our burdens upon the Lord, we must believe in His promises, and ask Him to sustain us, and submit ourselves to His will.