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The vernal weather, that
had come so early in the year as to induce a fear that it would not be
lasting, seemed, contrary to that foreboding of change, to become every
day more mild and genial, and the spirit of beauty, that had at first
ventured out over the bosom of the earth with timid footsteps, was now
blending itself more boldly with the deep verdure of the ground, and the
life of the budding trees. Something in the air, and in the great wide
blue bending arch of the unclouded sky, called upon the heart to come
forth from the seclusion of parlour or study, and partake of the
cheerfulness of nature.
We had made some short excursions together up the lonely glens, and over
the moors, and also through the more thickly inhabited field-farms of
his parish, and now the old minister proposed that we should pay a visit
to a solitary hut near the head of a dell, which, although not very
remote from the manse, we had not yet seen; and I was anxious that we
should do so, as, from his conversation, I understood that we should see
there a family—if so a widow and her one son could be called —that would
repay us by the interest we could not fail to feel in their character,
for the time and toil spent on reaching their secluded and guarded
dwelling.
" The poor widow woman," said the minister, "who lives in the hut called
Braehead, has as noble a soul as ever tenanted a human bosom. One
earthly hope alone has she now—but I fear it never will be fulfilled.
She is the widow of a common cottar, who lived and died in the hut which
she and her son now inhabit. Her husband was a man of little education,
but intelligent, even ingenious, simple, laborious, and pious. His
duties lay all within a narrow circle, and his temptations, it may be
said, were few. Such as they were, he discharged the one and withstood
the other. Nor is there any reason to think that, had they both been
greater, he would have been found wanting. He was contented with meal
and water all his days, and so fond of work that he seemed to love the
summer chiefly for the length of its labouring days. He had a slight
genius for mechanics; and during the long winter evenings he made many
articles of curious workmanship, the sale of which added a little to the
earnings of his severer toil. The same love of industry excited him from
morning to night ; but he had also stronger, tenderer, and dearer
motives ; for if his wife and their one pretty boy should outlive him,
he hoped that, though left poor, they would not be left in penury, but
enabled to lead, without any additional hardships, the usual life, at
least, of the widow and the orphans of honest hardworking men. Few
thought much about Abraham Blane while he lived, except that he was an
industrious and blameless man; but, on his death, it was felt that there
had been something far more valuable in his character; and now, I
myself, who knew him well, was pleasingly surprised to know that he had
left his widow and boy a small independence. Then the memory of his long
summer days, and long winter nights, all ceaselessly employed in some
kind of manual labour, dignified the lowly and steadfast virtue of the
unpretending and conscientious man.
"The widow of this humble-hearted and simple-minded man, whom we shall
this forenoon visit, you will remember, perhaps,—although then neither
she nor her husband were much known in the parish,—as the wife of the
basket-maker. Her father had been a clergyman—but his stipend was one of
the smallest in Scotland, and he died in extreme poverty. This, his only
daughter, who had many fine feelings and deep thoughts in her young
innocent and simple heart, was forced to become a menial servant in a
farmhouse. There, subduing her heart to her situation, she married that
inoffensive and good man; and all her life has been—maid, wife, and
widow—the humblest among the humble. But you shall soon have an
opportunity of seeing what sense, what feeling, what knowledge, and what
piety, may all live together, without their owner suspecting them, in
the soul of the lonely widow of a Scottish cottar; for except that she
is pious, she thinks not that she possesses any other treasure; and even
her piety she regards, like a true Christian, as a gift bestowed.
"But well worthy of esteem, and, to speak in the language of this
world's fancies, of admiration, as you will think this poor solitary
widow, perhaps you will think such feelings bestowed even more
deservedly on her only son. He is now a boy only of sixteen years of
age, but in my limited experience of life, never knew I such another.
From his veriest infancy he showed a singular capacity for learning ; at
seven years of age he could read, write, and was even an arithmetician.
He seized upon books with the same avidity with which children in
general seize upon playthings. He soon caught glimmerings of the meaning
even of other languages; and, before he was ten years old, there were in
his mind clear dawnings of the scholar, and indications not to be
doubted of genius and intellectual power. His father was dead—but his
mother, who was no common woman, however common her lot, saw with pure
delight, and with strong maternal pride, that God had given her an
extraordinary child to bless her solitary hut. She vowed to dedicate him
to the ministry, and that all her husband had left should be spent upon
him, to the last farthing, to qualify him to be a preacher of God’s
Word. Such ambition, if sometimes misplaced, is almost always
necessarily honourable. Here it was justified by the excelling talents
of the boy—by his zeal for knowledge, which was like a fever in his
blood-and by a childish piety, of which the simple, and eloquent, and
beautiful expression has more than once made me shed tears. But let us
leave the manse, and walk to Braehead. The sunshine is precious at this
early season; let us enjoy it while it smiles!”
We crossed a few fields—a few coppice woods—an extensive sheep—pasture;
and then found ourselves on the edge of a moorland. Keeping the shelving
heather ridge of hills above us, we gently descended into a narrow rushy
glen, without anything that could be called a stream, but here and there
crossed and intersected by various runlets. Soon all cultivation ceased,
and no houses were to be seen. Had the glen been a long one, it would
have seemed desolate, but on turning round a little green mount that ran
almost across it, we saw at once an end to our walk, and one hut, with a
peatstack close to it, and one or two elder, or, as we call them in
Scotland, bourtrie bushes, at the low gable-end. A little smoke seemed
to tinge the air over the roof uncertainly—but except in that, there was
nothing to tell that the hut was inhabited. A few sheep lying near it,
and a single cow of the small hillbreed, seemed to appertain to the hut,
and a circular wall behind it apparently enclosed the garden. We sat
down together on one of those large mossy stones that often lie among
the smooth green pastoral hills, like the relics of some building
utterly decayed—and my venerable friend, whose solemn voice was indeed
pleasant in this quiet solitude, continued the simple history of the
poor scholar.
"At school he soon outstripped all the other boys, but no desire of
superiority over his companions seemed to actuate him—it was the pure
native love of knowledge. Gentle as a lamb, but happy as a lark, the
very wildest of them all loved Isaac Blane. He procured a Hebrew Bible
and a Greek Testament, both of which he taught himself to read. It was
more than affecting—it was sublime and awful to see the solitary boy
sitting by himself on the braes shedding tears over the mysteries of the
Christian faith. His mother’s heart burned within her towards her son;
and if it was pride, you will allow that it was pride of a divine
origin. She appeared with him in the kirk every Sabbath, dressed not
ostentatiously, but still in a way that showed she intended him not for
a life of manual labour. Perhaps, at first, some half thought that she
was too proud of him; but that was a suggestion not to be cherished, for
all acknowledged that he was sure to prove an honour to the parish in
which he was born. She often brought him to the manse, and earth did not
contain a happier creature than she, when her boy answered all my
questions, and modestly made his own simple, yet wise remarks on the
sacred subjects gradually unfolding before his understanding and his
heart.
"Before he was twelve years of age he went to college; and his mother
accompanied him to pass the winter in the city. Two 'small rooms she
took near the cathedral; and while he was at the classes, or reading
alone, she was not idle, but strove to make a small sum to help to
defray their winter’s expenses. To her that retired cell was a heaven
when she looked upon her pious and studious boy. His genius was soon
conspicuous; for four winters he pursued his studies in the university,
returning always in summer to this hut, the door of which during their
absence was closed. He made many friends, and frequently during the
three last summers, visitors came to pass a day at Braehead, in a rank
of life far above his own. But in Scotland, thank God, talent and
learning, and genius and virtue, when found in the poorest hut, go not
without their admiration and their reward. Young as he is, he has had
pupils of his own — his mother’s little property has not been lessened
at this hour by his education ; and besides contributing to the support
of her and himself, he has brought neater furniture into that lonely
hut, and there has he a library, limited in the number, but rich in the
choice of books, such as contain food for years of silent thought to the
poor scholar—if years indeed are to be his on earth."
We rose to proceed onwards to the hut, across one smooth level of
greenest herbage, and up one intervening knowe, a little lower than the
mount on which it stood. Why, thought I, has the old man always spoken
of the poor scholar as if he had been speaking of one now dead? Can it
be, from the hints he has dropped, that this youth, so richly endowed,
is under the doom of death, and the fountain of all those clear and
fresh-gushing thoughts about to be sealed? I asked, as we walked along,
if Isaac Blane seemed marked out to be one of those sweet flowers "no
sooner blown than blasted," and who perish away like the creatures of a
dream? The old man made answer that it was even so, that he had been
unable to attend college last winter, and that it was to be feared he
was now far advanced in a hopeless decline. "Simple is he still as a
very child ; but with a sublime sense of duty to God and man of profound
affection and humanity never to be appeased towards all the brethren of
our race. Each month—each week—each day, has seemed visibly to bring him
new stores of silent feeling and thought—and even now, boy as he is, he
is fit for the ministry. But he has no hopes of living to that day—nor
have I. The deep spirit of his piety is now blended with a sure
prescience of an early death. Expect, therefore, to see him pale,
emaciated, and sitting in the hut like a beautiful and blessed ghost.”
We entered the hut, but no one was in the room. The clock ticked
solitarily, and on a table, beside a nearly extinguished peat fire, lay
the open Bible, and a small volume, which, on lifting it up, I found to
be a Greek Testament.
"They have gone out to walk, or to sit down for an hour in the warm
sunshine," said the old man. "Let us sit down and wait their return. It
will not be long." A long, low sigh was heard in the silence,
proceeding, as it seemed, from a small room adjoining that in which we
were sitting, and of which the door was left half open. The minister
looked into that room, and, after a long earnest gaze, stepped softly
back to me again, with a solemn face, and taking me by the hand,
whispered to me to come with him to that door, which he gently moved. On
a low bed lay the poor scholar, dressed as he had been for the day,
stretched out in a stillness too motionless and profound for sleep, and
with his fixed face up to heaven. We saw that he was dead. His mother
was kneeling, with her face on the bed, and covered with both her hands.
Then she lifted up her eyes and said, "O merciful Redeemer, who wrought
that miracle on the child of the widow of Nain, comfort me—comfort me,
in this my sore distress. I know that my son is never to rise again
until the great judgment day. But not the less do I bless Thy holy name,
for Thou didst die to save us sinners."
She arose from her knees, and, still blind to every other object, went
up to his breast. "I thought thee lovelier, when alive, than any of the
sons of the children of men, but that smile is beyond the power of a
mother's heart to sustain." And, stooping down, she kissed his lips, and
cheeks, and eyes, and forehead, with a hundred soft, streaming, and
murmuring kisses, and then stood up in her solitary hut, alone and
childless, with a long mortal sigh, in which all earthly feelings seemed
breathed out, and all earthly ties broken. Her eyes wandered towards the
door, and fixed themselves with a ghastly and unconscious gaze for a few
moments on the gray locks and withered countenance of the holy old man,
bent towards her with a pitying and benignant air, and stooped, too, in
the posture of devotion. She soon recognised the best friend of her son,
and leaving the bed on which his body lay, she came out into the room,
and said, "You have come to me at a time when your presence was sorely
needed. Had you been here but a few minutes sooner you would have seen
my Isaac die ! ” .
Unconsciously we were all seated; and the widow, turning fervently to
her venerated friend, said, "He was reading the Bible—he felt faint—and
said feebly. ‘Mother, attend me to my bed, and when I lie down, put your
arm over my breast and kiss me.’ I did just as he told me ; and, on
wiping away a tear or two vainly shed by me on my dear boy’s face, I saw
that his eyes, though open, moved not, and that the lids were fixed. He
had gone to another world. See—sir! there is the Bible lying open at the
place he was reading—God preserve my soul from repining! —only a few,
few minutes ago."
The minister took the Bible on his knees, and laying his right hand,
without selection, on part of one of the pages that lay open, he read
aloud the following verses:-
"Blessed are the poor in
spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
"Blessed are they that mourn: for they shall be comforted."
The mother’s heart seemed
to be deeply blest for a while by these words. She gave a grateful smile
to the old man, and sat silent, moving her lips. At length she again
broke forth:-
"Oh! death, whatever may have been our thoughts or fears, ever comes
unexpectedly at last. My son often, often told me, that he was dying,
and I saw that it was so ever since Christmas. But how could I prevent
hope from entering my heart? His sweet happy voice—the calmness of his
prayers— his smiles that never left his face whenever he looked or spoke
to me—his studies, still pursued as anxiously as ever—the interest he
took in any little incident of our retired life—all forced me to believe
at times that he was not destined to die. But why think on all these
things now? Yes! I will always think of them, till I join him and my
husband in heaven!"
It seemed now as if the widow had only noticed me for the first time.
Her soul had been so engrossed with its passion of grief, and with the
felt sympathy and compassion of my venerable friend. She asked me if I
had known her son ; and I answered, that if I had, I could not have sat
there so composedly ; but that I was no stranger to his incomparable
excellence, and felt indeed for her grievous loss. She listened to my
words, but did not seem to hear them, and once more addressed the old
man.
"He suffered much sickness, my poor boy. For although it was a
consumption, that is not always an easy death. But as soon as the
sickness and the racking pain gave way to our united prayers, God and
our Saviour made us happy; and sure he spake then as never mortal spake,
kindling into a happiness that was beautiful to see, when I beheld his
face marked by dissolution, and knew, even in those inspired moments
(for I can call them nothing else), that ere long the dust was to lie on
those lips now flowing over with heavenly music!”
We sat for some hours in the widow’s hut, and the minister several times
prayed with her, at her own request. On rising to depart, he said that
he would send up one of her dearest friends to pass the night with her,
and help her to do the last offices to her son. But she replied that she
wished to be left alone for that day and night, and would expect her
friend in the morning. We went towards the outer door, and she, in a
sort of sudden stupor, let us depart without any farewell words, and
retired into the room where her son was lying. Casting back our eyes
before our departure, we saw her steal into the bed beside the dead
body, and drawing the head gently into her bosom, she lay down with him
in her arms, and as if they had in that manner fallen asleep. |
