"'As many will hear and will not understand, why I want no time of, preparation, often desired by far holier ones than I, I tell you why, and shall tell others, and so shall you.It is not because I am so holy but because I am so sinful.The peculiar character of my religious experience has always been a deep, an agonizing sense of sin; the sin of yesterday, of to-day, confessed with anguish hard to be endured, and cried for pardon that could not be unheard; each day cleansed anew in Jesus' blood, and each day more and more hateful in my own sight; what can I do in death I have not done in life? What, do in this week, when I am told I cannot live, other than I did last week, when knew it not? Alas, there is but one thing undone, to serve Him better; and the death-bed is no place for that.Therefore I say, if I am not ready now, I shall not be by delay, so far as I have to do with it.If He has more to do in me that is His part.I need not ask Him not to spoil His work by too much haste.'
"And these were her dying words, a few days later:
"'This is my bridal-day, the beginning of my life.I wish there should be no mistake about the reason of my desire to depart and to be with Christ.I confess myself the vilest, chiefest of sinners, and I desire to go to Him that I may be rid of the burden of sin-the sin of my nature-not the past, repented of every day, but the present, hourly, momentary sin, which I do commit, or may commit -the sense of which at times drives me half mad with grief!"'
I shall never forget the expression of father's face, as I finished reading these remarkable words.He rose slowly from his seat, and came and kissed me on the forehead.Then he left the room, but returned with a large volume, and pointing to a blank page, requested me to copy them there.He com plains that I do not write legibly, so I printed them as plainly as I could, with my pen.
JUNE 20.-On the first of May, there came to us, with other spring flowers, our little fair-haired, blue-eyed daughter.How rich I felt when I heard Ernest's voice, as he replied to a question asked at the door, proclaim, "Mother and children all well." To think that we, who thought ourselves rich before are made so much richer now!
But she is not large and vigorous, as little Ernest was, and we cannot rejoice in her without some misgiving.Yet her very frailty makes her precious to us.Little Ernest hangs over her with an almost lover-like pride and devotion, and should she live I can imagine what a protector he will be for her.I have had to give up the care of him to Martha.During my illness I do not know what would have become of him but for her.One of the pleasant events of every day at that time, was her bringing him to me in such exquisite order, his face shining with health and happiness, his hair and dress so beautifully neat and clean.Now that she has the care of him, she has become very fond of him, and he certainly forms one bond of union between us, for we both agree that he is the handsomest, best, most remarkable child that ever lived, or ever will live.
JULY 6.-I have come home to dear mother with both my children.Ernest says our only hope for baby is to keep her out of the city during the summer months.
What a petite wee maiden she is! Where does all the love come from?
If I had had her always I do not see how I could be more fond of her.
And do people call it living who never had any children?
JULY 10.-lf this darling baby lives, I shall always believe it is owing to my mother's prayers.
I find little Ernest has a passionate temper, and a good deal of self-will.But he has fine qualities.I wish he had a better mother.
I am so impatient with him when he is wayward and perverse! What he needs is a firm, gentle hand, moved by no caprice, and controlled by the constant fear of God.He never ought to hear an irritable word, or a sharp tone; but he does hear them, I must own with grief and shame.The truth is, it is so long since I really felt strong and well that I am not myself, and can not do him justice, poor child.
Next to being a perfect wife I want to be a perfect mother.How mortifying, how dreadful in all things to come short of even one's own standard What approach, then, does one make to God's standard?
Mother seems very happy to have us here, though we make so much trouble.She encourages me in all my attempts to control myself and to control my dear little boy, and the chapters she gives me out of her own experience are as interesting as a novel, and a good deal more instructive.
AUGUST.-Dear Ernest has come to spend a week with us.He is all tired out, as there has been a great deal of sickness in the city, and father has had quite a serious attack.He brought with him a nurse for baby, as one more desperate effort to strengthen her constitution.
I reproached him for doing it without consulting me, but he said mother bad written to tell him that I was all worn out and not in a state to have the care of the children.It has been a terrible blow to me One by one I am giving up the sweetest maternal duties.God means that I shall be nothing and do nothing; a mere useless sufferer.But when I tell Ernest so, he says I am everything to him, and that God's children please him just as well when they sit patiently with folded hands, if that is His will, as when they are hard at work.But to be at work, to be useful, to be necessary to my husband and children, is just what I want, and I.do find it hard to be set against the wall, as it were, like an old piece of furniture no longer of any service I see now that my first desire has not been to please God, but to please myself, for I am restless under His restraining hand, and find my prison a very narrow one.I would be willing to bear any other trial, if I could only have health and strength for my beloved ones.I pray for patience with bitter tears.
