But here I am, and suffering and work lie before me, for which I feel little physical or mental courage.But "blessed be the will of God."APRIL 5.-I was alone with father last evening, Ernest and Martha both being out, and soon saw by the way he fidgeted in his chair that he had something on his mind.So I laid down the book I was reading, and asked him what it was.
"My daughter," he began, "can you bear a plain word from an old man?"I felt frightened, for I knew I had been impatient to Martha of late, in spite of all my efforts to the contrary.I am still so miserably unwell.
"I have seen many death-beds," he went on; "but I never saw one where there was not some dread of the King of Terrors exhibited; nor one where there was such absolute certainty of having found favor with God to make the hour of departure entirely free from such doubts and such humility as becomes a guilty sinner about to face his Judge.""I never saw such a one, either," I replied; "but ere have been many such deaths, and I hardly know of any scene that so honors and magnifies the Lord.""Yes," he said, slowly; "but they were old, mature, ripened Christians.""Not always old, dear father.Let me describe to you a scene Ernest described to me only yesterday."He waved his hand in token that this would delay his coming to the point he was aiming at.
"To speak plainly," he said, "I feel uneasy about you, my daughter.
You are young and in the bloom of life, but when death seemed staring you in the face, you expressed no anxiety, asked for no counsel, showed no alarm.It must be pleasant to possess so comfortable a persuasion of our acceptance with God; but is it safe to rest on such an assurance while we know that the human heart is deceitful above all things and desperately wicked ?"I thank you for the suggestion;" I said; "and, dear father, do not be afraid to speak still more plainly.You live in the house with me, see all my shortcomings and my faults, and I cannot wonder that you think me a poor, weak Christian.But do you really fear that I am deceived in believing that notwithstanding this I do really love my God and Saviour and am His Child?""No," he said, hesitating a little, "I can't say that, exactly--Ican't say that."
This hesitation distressed me.At first it seemed to me that my life must have uttered a very uncertain sound if those who saw it could misunderstand its language.But then I reflected that it was, at best, a very faulty life, and that its springs of action were not necessarily seen by lookers-on.
Father saw my distress and perplexity, and seemed touched by them.
Just then Ernest came in with Martha, but seeing that something was amiss, the latter took herself off to her room, which I thought really kind of her.
"What is it, father? What is it, Katy?" asked Ernest; looking from one troubled face to the other.
I tried to explain.
"I think, father, you may safely trust my wife's spiritual interests to me," Ernest said, with warmth."You do not understand her.I do.
Because there is nothing morbid about her, because she has a sweet, cheerful confidence in Christ; you doubt and misjudge her.You may depend upon it that people are individual in their piety as in other things, and cannot all be run in one mould.Katy has a playful way of speaking, I know, and often expresses her strongest feelings with what seems like levity, and is, perhaps, a little reckless about being misunderstood in consequence."He smiled on me, as he thus took up the cudgels in my defence, and Inever felt so grateful to him in my life.The truth is, I hate sentimentalism so cordially, and have besides such an instinct to conceal my deepest, most sacred emotions, that I do not wonder people misunderstand and misjudge me.
"I did not refer to her playfulness," father returned."Old people must make allowances for the young; they must make allowances.What pains me is that this child, full of life and gayety as she is, sees death approach without that becoming awe and terror which befits mortal man."Ernest was going to reply, but I broke in eagerly upon his answer:
"It is true that I expressed no anxiety when I believed death to be at hand.I felt none.I had given myself away to Christ, and He had received me and why should I be afraid to take His hand and go where He led me? And it is true that I asked for no counsel.I was too weak to ask questions or to like to have questions asked;, but my mind was bright and wide awake while my body was so feeble, and I took counsel of God.Oh, let me read to you two passages from the life of Caroline Fry which will make you understand how a poor sinner looks upon death.The first is an extract from a letter written after learning that her days on earth were numbered.
