_ CHAPTER XXIX
Dr. Oswald was still the teacher of Fulton Academy, and many happy hours were passed in the interchange of visits during our stay at Uncle Nathan's; and I suppose I must inform my readers of a sentimental scene which took place in Mr. Oswald's garden on a delightful evening in midsummer, when, at my earnest entreaty, lovely Rose Oswald renewed the promise made to me on that very spot just eight years ago; for my boyish fancy had ripened into the strong man's love, and I felt that Rose Oswald, as my wife, was all that was wanting to render me as happy as one can reasonably expect to be in this world of change and vicissitude. "If you are willing to resign yourself to my keeping," said I, "there is no need of a long engagement, and when I leave Fulton I must take you with me as my wife." "So soon, Walter." "Yes, Rose,
just so soon. I have long looked forward to this day, and now I almost count the minutes till I can claim you as all my own," and so the matter was settled. When Aunt Lucinda was informed of this arrangement she opened her eyes wide in astonishment, and when she learned that the marriage was to take place within a few days, she was highly delighted, "for", said she, "the sun never shone on one like Rose Oswald before; in fact, she was far too good for any one but you Walter, so if you had not chanced to fall in love with her, she must have died an old maid."
It was a bright morning, early in September, that a small wedding party was assembled at Mr. Oswald's residence; the few guests invited were all old friends. I sent an urgent message for good old Dr. Gray and his wife, and although they seldom left Elmwood, they responded to my call, and made what, to them, was quite a long journey, that they might be present at my marriage. That same evening we set out on our wedding tour, while my mother and Flora, with Charley Gray, returned to Elmwood; and, after travelling for several weeks, we found ourselves at my mother's home, where we were to spend a few weeks longer before returning to the city, which was to be our permanent home. Soon after my return to Elmwood, I received an urgent message to visit Mr. Judson, who was said to be fast failing. I felt a degree of reluctance to go, having never once entered his dwelling since the memorable day on which I left it years ago, but I felt it my duty to comply with his request. I found him much weaker than I had expected. He seemed much overcome, when I softly entered the room, and extending my hand, enquired how he found himself. "I am very weak," he replied, "and feel that I have but a short time to live. I have felt very anxious to see you, and I feared you would not arrive in time to see me alive. I hope you will forgive my unkindness and harshness to you when a boy. I did not then know that I was so unkind, but it has come back to me since. At that time my whole desire and aim was to accumulate riches, and it was that which caused me to be harsh and unfeeling. I
have become rich, but riches will avail me but little, as I stand upon the brink of eternity, and the way looks dark before me, but it will afford me some comfort to hear you say you forgive me, before I die." I took his hand within my own, as I said: "Any resentment I may once have cherished toward you, Mr. Judson, has long since passed away. I was but a boy when I resided with you, and very likely at times taxed your patience severely, and you have my entire forgiveness for any harshness I may ever have experienced at your hands. I am sorry to find you so ill, and hope you will soon be better." "No, Walter;" he replied, "that will never be, and I am now sensible that in my anxiety for the things of time, I have neglected the all-important matters of eternity. Since I have lain upon this sick-bed I have tried to repent, and I trust I do feel sorry for my sins; but, somehow, I do not find the comfort I seek. Would that you could tell me what to do Walter." Can this softened and subdued man, thought I, be the same of whom I once stood in so much fear. As well as I was able I directed him to the sinner's only hope, the merits of a merciful Saviour; while, at the same time, I referred him to many comforting Bible-promises; which, when I had read, he said: "Do you think, Walter, those promises can be meant for me, who have neglected my Bible and been careless and worldly all my life long?" For answer, I directed his attention to the promise which says: "He that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out." He requested me to pray with him. I have never before prayed save in the retirement of my own room, and I felt a degree of diffidence at the thought of praying in the presence of others, but I overcame the feeling, and, kneeling down, I forgot the physician as well as others who listened to me, and lifted up my voice in solemn earnest prayer. I forgot everything but the God before whom I pleaded. I prayed that were it the will of Providence, he might be restored to health; but, if not, that he might, in believing on the Saviour, find a comfort which would enable him to triumph even over the terrors of death. When I rose from my knees, he seemed more composed, and, after remaining silent for a short time, he addressed me with much earnestness, saying: "It seems to me, Walter, that I
must see my two boys, before I die. Send for them at once. I drove them from me by my harshness, years ago. Send for them at once, and I hope my life maybe spared to see them once more." He held my hand long at parting, saying: "You have done me good, Walter, and I do begin to have a hope that my Heavenly Father will have mercy upon me and receive me, not for any merit of my own, but through the merits of that Saviour who died for the salvation of repentant and believing sinners." Learning the address from Mrs. Judson, I at once dispatched a telegraph message to the two sons, and four days later they arrived, to mingle their tears at the death-bed of their father, from whom they had so long been estranged. It was evident, from day to day, that Mr. Judson was failing fast; but, as his bodily strength wasted away, a most happy change came over his mind, during the last few days of his life.
I was summoned from my pillow at midnight to stand by his death-bed. His death was calm and full of hope; but, to the last, it was to him a matter of regret, that he had neglected, through life, those things which afforded him any hope in death. Among his last words to me, he warned me against setting my heart upon riches, in a way that would prove a snare to any soul. "Riches," said he, "are a great blessing when rightly used, but ought not to be the chief aim and object of life." Before the morning dawned, his spirit passed away, and it was my hand that closed his eyes in the dreamless sleep of death. The next day I called, in company with my mother, and entered the darkened room where lay his lifeless remains, now habited for the grave. I gazed long and silently upon those features now stamped with the seal of death. Reader, if there lives one against whom you cherish angry and bitter feelings, pause a moment and consider what your feelings would be if called to stand by their coffin; for, be assured, your anger will then give place to sorrow that you ever indulged anger toward the poor fellow-mortal now extended before you in the slumber of death. I attended the funeral of Mr. Judson, and saw his body consigned to the grave. He sleeps in the village churchyard at Elmwood, and a marble slab marks his resting-place. When, after the funeral, his will was read, the large amount of the property left was a matter of wonder to many. In his will he gave largely to several benevolent and religious institutions, and to me he left the sum of one thousand dollars. I could see no reason why he should have done this, but as his will was drawn up in legal form and properly attested I thought it right I should accept of the generous gift; and, indeed, it was but a small sum out of the large property left by Mr. Judson. Besides his liberal gift to me, he also gave largely to different benevolent and religious causes. Half the remainder of his large property was to go to his surviving widow, and the remainder was to be equally divided between the two sons. Before his death it was settled that Reuben, the youngest son, was to remain on the home place to care for his mother in her old age, while the eldest was to return to their former business; and thus Mrs. Judson's declining years were rendered happy and contented through the care and love of her favorite son. And so Rose and I at length bade adieu to our friends, after a protracted visit, and returned to the city, where, by my direction, a pleasant and tasteful house already awaited us. Rose liked not to reside in the noisy city, so our home is in one of the most pleasant suburbs in Montreal. Should any of my readers be curious enough to enquire if Rose and I are happy, I would cordially invite them to pay us a visit, and judge for themselves, the first time they pass our way. The evening before we were to leave Elmwood, I was seated beneath my favorite tree in my mother's garden, and leaning backward against its grey trunk, with its thick and wide-spreading canopy of green branches above my head, I indulged in a long and deep reverie. Memory ran backward over the careless happy days of my childhood, the struggles of my youth, and the exertions of mature manhood; and although bereft, at a very early age, of my earthly father, I could not fail to observe the guiding hand of a Heavenly Father who had smiled upon my youthful efforts to assist my widowed mother, and had prospered my undertakings, and crowned my mature years, by giving me, as a life-partner, the one who had been my first and only choice, and almost unconsciously to myself, I repeated aloud the following verse from what was Grandma Adams' favorite psalm: "Commit thy way unto the Lord, trust also in Him; and He shall bring it to pass."
So busily was my mind occupied that I failed to notice the approach of my sister Flora, till she seated herself close to my side, and leaning her head upon my shoulder said in a constrained hesitating voice: "There is one thing I must tell you, Walter, before you go away: Charley Gray has told me he loves me, and asks me to be his wife." This did not surprise me much for I had noticed with secret anxiety the growing intimacy between Charley and my sister. "What shall I tell him, Walter," said my sister, "for I must not, dare not act without the counsel of my only brother?" I looked up in my sister's face with all the affection which welled up from my heart and said, "you love him then, Flora?" "How can I help loving him, who is so gifted, so noble," was her reply. "And," continued she, "on account of his reserved nature, I believe few give him credit for the real goodness of heart he possesses." As Flora had said, Charley possessed a kind heart, and was just and honorable in every respect, but I trembled for the woman who placed her happiness in his keeping; and how much more so, when that woman was my beloved and only sister. "You do not answer me," said Flora; "mamma would give me no reply till I had consulted you." "My dear sister," said I, "Charley is all that you say, just, honorable and good; but with all this he has qualities which, if not brought under subjection, will sadly mar his own happiness and that of all who love him. He is exclusive and jealous even of a friend, how will it be with a wife? Suspicion and jealousy is inherent in his very nature, for did not Doctor Gray tell me years ago that a suspicious, jealous nature was hereditary in the family of Charley's mother and he therefore begged me not to blame Charley too severely for a fault which he could not help saying 'he feared the cloud which hovered over Charley's cradle would follow him to his grave.' I doubt not Charley's affection for you, Flora; but the very depth of his affection will, I fear, prove a source of unhappiness to you both, for you are aware as well as I that Charley's affection, like his anger when roused, goes beyond the limits of sober reason. From your childhood, Flora, you have been petted and indulged, and a life of continual watchfulness and restraint will be something entirely new for you; for I never knew even a friend of Charley's who could act themselves when he was present, and unless there has been a wonderful change, as his wife, you will be forced to guard your every word and look lest you offend him; you must be pleased only with what pleases him, in short his will must be yours in all things." "You are my brother," said Flora, "and I need not blush to tell you I love Charley Gray better than I once thought it possible for one to love another, and I know from his own lips that he loves me equally in return, and as his wife the confidence between us will be so full and entire, there will be no room left for doubt and suspicion." "Well, little sister" said I, "knowing Charley as I do, I could not help uttering those warning words, but I shall not seek to hinder your marriage. I love and respect Charley more than any other friend I have, but I am very sensible of his faults. A heavy responsibility will devolve upon you as his wife, but love works wonders, and all may be well; but remember, Flora, you have a most peculiar nature to deal with, but it may be your privilege to exorcise the dark spirit from the breast of Charley Gray." That same evening the engagement ring glittered upon Flora's finger; and six months later, amid a small company of friends, they uttered their marriage vows in the old church at Elmwood; and by many they were called with truth a beautiful and noble looking couple; and immediately after their marriage they set out for their new home in one of the large cities of the Western Provinces, where Charley was to begin the practice of his profession. They left us under seeming summer sky, and I breathed a prayer, that no cloud might arise to mar its serenity. _