370 THE SPRING RIDE. "Yer told me to speak in time," said the man, I see the turn yonder. I ax your pardon." Miss Di's vexation with the man now changed to self-reproach for her unreasonableness; and when she saw him screwing himself up on the seat, with a face brimful of deferential anxiety to please, she said, "I think you shall drive, and then we shall be sure to get safe to the end." So she threw up the reins, and changed places with him. Never had confusion so possessed her head and heart since the period from which her present strange life might be dated. How many mistakes had she not fallen into!-her whole course had been one great mistake. The past, on which she had prided herself, faced her now A flight from the duties of her in its true colours. right position, a self-imposed banishment from those legitimate natural enjoyments to which her circumstances invited her-not for the purpose of sacrificing solf, that God might be honoured and the poor comforted, but to satisfy an imperious will, which taught her thus to wreak her vengeance on herself and her own class, for a wrong to be traced to no one's blame, but simply to her own overweening vanity and womanly weakness. Such was the testimony of conscience as to the past. And as to the present! "How you have disguised yourself!"—those words sounded in her ears. She was sure that he who had uttered them had not seen anything in the disguise akin to the religion he preached. "Too late for such regrets now: as I am, I am," she thought. But mingling with, and rising above all these thoughts, was this: "How do I stand for the future? Since the past is null, and the present"-(she sighed, for she felt that her interview that day had given a stab to her strange pleasure in such a life)" yes, that is null. If I have no future, what then?" Clearly she saw that the eternity she read of, and sometimes talked of to the people, was to her a vague, shadowy thing, having neither certainty nor substance. She had listened attentively enough to the general's teaching by the sick woman's bed to discover that the He Christian had a title to peace and joy in death. had spoken of the perfect love that casts out fear: what did she know of such things?-what had she been teaching? His wife had shocked But old Joel could talk so. her by declaring she was not afraid to die, for she was sure of salvation. That was his teaching-was he right? The general thought so—said so. Such were the perplexing themes of meditation that had occupied Miss Di from the moment of her taking the reins, and she resigned them now, that she might have better leisure for pursuing them. But her companion, encouraged by the mild tone and "Poor Sukey is never like to come back, miss, I whether she is curable." The doctors will say This was a long speech for Miss Di, who made it in the spirit of payment for past wrong; but the man looked on it as an encouragement. "Them doctors at 'firmaries is very short in their work sometimes. Don't yer think so, miss?" "I think you had better mind the bruk than talk about things you don't understand," said Miss Di, outraged at being again disturbed. The passage over the brook being accomplished, the "Sukey's no more chance left her but to pray now, The man was startled at the direct question as much "To make her peace Twenty-four hours sooner this would have fallen unnoticed on her ear. It was not so now: it held up to her conscience the scheme of self-salvation which old Joel had protested against, which she had heard that morning denounced, and which she had been diligently teaching. She was silent. "Ah, it's a fine thing to work while it's the day, isn't it, miss?-as you was a-telling my missus when she had the fever." "Are you working?" she asked. "Oh, I hope I'm doing my best, miss. I tries hard to repent, and I'm a deal more reg'lar in good living than I was; so I hope in time, miss, to make my peace Afore I go hence, and be no more seen," said the man, intensely satisfied with the knowledge of divinity he had displayed, and concluding that Miss Crubbers was too. "Make your peace!" said Miss Di in a tone of pity. "I am so weak, ma'am; but, once there, I may be 'Oh, never, never!" said her old mother, who sat more !" never see ye Simpleton!" said Miss Di, sternly, "and selfish but "Gond help the man with the bed into the cart," The mother, who seemed as earnest in begging the "You are very ill, Susan." "Do you hope to recover?" Miss Di saw a little tremor on the lips of the girl, "Then you are not afraid to die?" "How is this? You have been a great sinner." "But are you sure he died for you ?" THE SPRING RIDE. "Yes, I am sure," she said, with all the emphasis her strength allowed. "How long have you been sure ?” "I thought I knew it, and used to confess to him that I was a miserable sinner, when all the while I didn't know that I was, nor feel it. At last I found out that I had been saying what wasn't true, and I told Him so, and that I was sorry to my heart that I could not see myself a sinner, and a miserable one; and from that time I have mourned for sin, and hated it, and felt him to be the Saviour I wanted." This confession was made with difficulty, and in broken sentences, but every word was clear. "You shall have all you want, that the rules allow you to receive. I have written an order for it; and if you get well—” May the Lord bless you, miss! I don't think I shall get well, nor want much where I'm going; but if you'd look to poor mother-she is so strange to the love of Jesus. Oh do, miss, tell her what a friend he is! To rest in his love is heaven upon earth." Her head sank wearied on the pillow as she spoke; but exhaustion was clothed with so sweet a smile of happiness, that Miss Crubbers once more dashed the tears from her eyes. "Psha!" she thought to herself; "dry-eyed for near thirty years, and turned into a 'cry-baby' in a day!" Poor Susan, if we may call her so, had been obliged to leave service from "a white knee," as it was thought, and the doctors had decided that her only hope of life was in having the leg amputated. When the cart was ready, Miss Di tenderly as adroitly lifted her with her mother's help mto it, and with the kindest words, in tones still kinder, promised to attend to her last request. "There is a sister' for him, if you please," she said to herself, as she stood by the cottage door, and watched the cart slowly winding its way along the side of the brook towards the main road. So long she had lingered there after it was no longer visible, that she resolved to finish the day by other visits, and get a draught of milk and some bread-her usual evening meal-with some of her pensioners, to refresh her after the turmoil of mind the day had brought, and make her ready for her long march homewards. "No doubt Miss Crubbers is sorry enough for Susan," said one neighbour, who noticed the gentleness of her manner. "Belike they never told her about old Joel's going to see Sukey," said another. "She can't abide old Joel." It was dusk when she began her walk, and would have been dark, had it not been for the bright moonlight, when she stood on the hill-side, on the brow of which lay the White Farm. "Pray, sir, can you tell me if I am in the right way for Partington ?" said a voice close to her, though she did not at urst see the speaker. "What do you want at Partington ?" she asked, in as rough a voice as she could assume, for she had a shrewd guess that the applicant was her cousin, Robert Carruthers. "That is my own concern, sir, and cannot interest you," said that gentleman, who was not used to nighttravelling in the dark, and had no fancy for highwaymen, Miss Di's answer and heavy staff bringing such persons to his imagination rather vividly. 371 Begging your pardon, Robert, it interests mu greatly," answered Miss Di; "for you are coming to my house, and I have no supper for you." Surely!" said Mr. Carruthers, in a questioning voice. "You take longer to know me than I did to remember you. But there's something in a hook-nose that keeps a face in the same place through life. You are not much altered." "Your dress deceived me quite," said Mr. Carruthers, feeling that some apology was necessary. "Oh, never mind. I'm as often taken at a first hasty sight for a man as a woman. But let us on-there's the house. Here, give me that bag." And seizing his carpet-bag, in spite of his remonstrances, she strode before him up the hill. CHAPTER X.-ROUGH HOSPITALITY. When the door opened, and the room where he was to domesticate for the next day or two displayed itself, a chill came over the traveller's spirit. Its whitewashed walls, unadorned except by a sheet-almanac in a black frame, looked very cold, he thought, and the long dark table and gaunt benches looked comfortless, and the fireless hearth gave no help to the scene. He shivered as he sat down on the window-seat, while Miss Di busied herself for a few minutes in getting a light. "I should think, cousin," he said, trying his best to look cheerful, "this must be a pleasant place in the summer, by what I can see of it by moonlight." Miss Di held the candle up to his face, and laughed. "You hope the best for summer, but you can't say much for it at other times, I see; but we'll soon have a fire, and then you'll have a better opinion of it." And, with a quickness and dexterity that surprised Mr. Carruthers, she made the cheerless hearth alive with a merry fire, and slung the kettle on the hook, and, placing her chair in the warmest corner, drew the baize curtain before the window, and invited him to be seated. "But where will you sit ?" he said, with an irresoluto look at the chair. "Oh, I'm at home. There are chairs in the house, but they were in the way. I am not used to chairvisitors, but I'll have one down to-morrow. I'll find a seat;" and she obliged him to take the place of honour. "And now for tea. I did not expect you till to-morrow at the earliest. I have sent by the cart for a supply of things; but I shall get nothing till to-morrow." And she stood looking vexed and puzzled; for she had the spirit of hospitality strong in her heart, and could not bear to receive a guest stintingly. "I knew I should not be expected; therefore, for fear I should inconvenience you, I made my wife put a trifle or two in the bag," said Mr. Carruthers, somewhat timidly; for he wasn't quite clear if he should offend or please by the avowal. "Then we shall get on till my supplies come," said Miss Di, taking with great gravity, as he unpacked them, the sundry parcels. Unwonted luxuries graced that portion of the long table on which the flames threw a bright flickering light. A tea-pot, long unused, was found, and tea, and delicate cakes, and sandwiches of ham and chicken were quickly at the disposal of Mr. Carruthers; while Miss Di cut her brown bread into the porringer of milk that made her customary supper. "You are living a life of singular self-denial, | now, if I had been kept from dangerous ground such as cousin," said Mr. Carruthers. she is thrown on ?" 66 A singular life, no doubt. As to the self-denial, I please myself in the fancy I have for being above and proof against accidents and reverses. While I can live as I do, no tumble-down of fortune would rob me of comfort." "Very true," said Mr. Carruthers. "I have often felt that we live in the indulgence of appetites and fancies till we enervate ourselves, and become slaves to them." "And yet you have gone on feeling one way and living the other how long?" said Miss Di, with a half laugh. 66 Ah, cousin, I am the same in everything, and am worse than ever. I was always a weak, undecided man ; but I think I grow weaker and weaker." Mr. Carruthers said this in a melancholy tone, that asked for sympathy. "I see you do," responded Miss Di, who had perched herself on a wooden bench, and was eating her milk porridge. "You are quick-sighted," said Mr. Carruthers, "if the short time we have been together has shown it." "It hasn't," said Miss Di. Mr. Carruthers looked surprised. 'I saw it in your daughter. One glance at her was enough." "What did she do?" asked the father, rather piqued now for his child's sake. "Never mind what she did. I am finding no fault with her. She is not to blame for being where she is, and what she is for that feather in her cap, and those gloves fit for a court miss." "I know that is all wrong-it is all contrary to my judgment. Truly, Diana, I wash my hands of it," said Mr. Carruthers. "You can't do that. You are answerable for it, whatever you may think-and more answerable, the more you disapprove of it," said Miss Di, coolly. Mr. Carruthers was silent. He couldn't openly bring a charge against his wife, and he felt that his cousin was right; though how he could have gained his own way against such opposition was more than he could discover. "Robert, don't look so downhearted," said Miss Di. "But one reason why I wanted to see you was to warn you, that if that girl is left in her mother's hands, and allowed to go on in her present ways, I shall leave every shilling I have to the poor of Partington." "Believe me, Diana, that would concern me far less than does the difficulty I have before me of retrieving errors," said Mr. Carruthers, with another deep sigh. "You should have seen her face when I offered my hand to help her from the horse she rode. What! put that lily glove into this bronze machine!" And Miss held up her broad dark hand with a laugh. "I think I settled her nonsense a little, though-I didn't spare her. I hope to put in the wedge towards making it her last visit at Harley, at any rate." Mr. Carruthers looked unfeignedly surprised. “I always thought your mode of life originated in poor Caroline's death," he said, with some hesitation. 66 Yes-yes-of course," answered Miss Di, recollecting herself; "but I might have borne that better, if the scenes I had previously mixed in had been different." "Ah, yes," said Mr. Carruthers. "Well, if I can only see my way of duty in this, as in many other things, I shall joyfully follow it." And by degrees the consins got into a conversation which lasted till the fire, being forgotten, grew low, and the candle was down in the socket. "I can give you a better bed than you perhaps expect," said Miss Di, starting up. "I keep one for any sick person who wants more nursing than I can be sure will be given if from under my eye. It is empty now. Two children have had it until yesterday-but I turned them over to another, to air it for you-don't look nervous-they were not patients-and the bed is soft and dry, and fit for your daughter Blanche. So you may feel happy in it." As she was removing the things from the table she lifted her Bible. As she held it, the paper left by the general fell out. "Look, Robert," she said, holding up the book. "I believe it is here we must come to be set right." "I am sure of it," said Mr. Carruthers, earnestly; "yet the more I read, the more perplexed I become." Miss Di continued looking at the paper, and long after her cousin was asleep she sat reading and ruminating. More than once Susan's words- I went to Him to confess I did not feel myself a sinner "-came into her mind; but whether she had not the same conviction, or whether she did not desire heartily to receive the gift of a broken heart and contrite spirit, she lay down dissatisfied and weary, after her usual form of prayer. The next morning Mr. Carruthers found the house deserted; but the blazing fire and singing kettle showed that busy hands had been about betimes. He went out for a stroll, and the first voice that greeted him with a hearty good morning was that of old Joel. THE REV. DR. ANDREW REED. I. ANDREW REED, the son of godly parents, was born in London, on the 27th of November, 1787. In the memoirs of his life, written by his sons, we are presented with a pleasing picture of the happy Christian home of his childhood. The prayerfulness and reliDigious instructions of a revered father, and the watchful tenderness of a pious and devoted mother, impressed his opening mind, and shielded his early life from many surrounding evils. His father, we are told, took the boy to "Paul's Coffee House," on May 10th, 1799, to be present at the beginning of the Religious Tract Society; and to the Society he, sent, in 1805, one of his earliest compositions for publication, incited, perhaps, by his recollection of an occasion so full of interest to himself, and so fruitful of good to Cousin, kindness-isn't that the most effectual persuasive?" said Mr. Carruthers. "Yes-you have found it so," answered she, shortly. Mr. Carruthers was provoked to reply: Well, you will pardon me, but I must say your brown hand is no more in keeping with your true position than Blanche's gloves with hers." "Don't you see that the one extreme leads to the other? Should I have been the strange being I am * "Memoirs of the Life and Philanthropic Labours of Andrew Reed, D.D., with Selections from his Journals." Edited by his sons, Andrew Reed, B.A., and Charles Reed, F.S.A. London, Strahan and Co. 1863. THE REV. DR. the world. Three years before, in company with his mother, he visited St. Paul's, to see the statue just erected to the honour of the philanthropist John Howard. This is a noteworthy circumstance; for on no man of recent times has the mantle of Howard more fully fallen, or the spirit of his philanthropy been more largely inherited than by Andrew Reed. The loving and sympathetic labours of this boy, in after years, were to earn for him the deserved title of "The Orphan's Friend." And not only was he the friend of the orphan, his ready hand of succour reached also to the helpless of every degree-even to the lowest and most abject. In the second portion of our sketch we shall endeavour to give due prominence to these philanthropic exertions. Meantime, the man, the author, and the minister of Christ, will more exclusively engage our attention. 66 A maxim of Andrew Reed's maternal grandfather was, "that a good education is a fortune which a child can never spend, and a parent can always bestow." Guided by the spirit of this maxim, the parents of the lad gave to him the best education which their circumstances would allow. At the age of fifteen, he left his home to be apprenticed to his father's trade -that of a watchmaker. By the wicked behaviour of my master's son," he says, "I was led astray; but restrained by my conscience, and many admonitions from home, I was constrained to pray against my temptations." A sermon, to which he listened, from the text, "And the door was shut," made a strong impression on his mind. Afterwards, while reading Dr. Watts's "Advice to a Young Man," sent to him by his mother, conviction of sin took hold upon him, and he was constrained to yield up his heart to God. Now no longer able to remain in the uncongenial abode of his master, the indentures of apprenticeship were cancelled, though at a pecuniary sacrifice, and the lad returned to his father's house. Perplexed for a time what course to follow, it became gradually evident, from the bent of his inclinations and the scope and nature of his studies, that it was not as a mechanician, nor in any other secular calling that he was likely to excel. Impressed with a sense of the value of her husband's gifts, Mrs. Reed, with the true courage of a Christian heroine, proposed that he should give up his business of watchmaking, and devote himself entirely to the good of others. She would herself maintain the household by conducting a business of her own. This was done. Henceforth the father and son became fellowstudents; both alike looking forward to the preaching of the gospel as the vocation of their lives. Together they read the old divines, and endeavoured to understand the Scriptures in the original tongues. Often, too, might the itinerant preacher and his son have been seen walking in company along the road, on their way to or from the places where religious services were conducted by the father. As an unpaid lay agent this work was continued by the elder Reed among the neglected poor, for a period of twenty years. Nor is it likely that the son of such a fatherand one too, so largely partaking of his spirit-after having resolved to give himself up to the Christian ministry, would fail to emulate that father's disinterested devotedness. Following out this purpose, and to qualify himself for the work, he entered the Congregationalist College at Hackney, where he was noted for his intent studiousness, the fervency of his prayers, and his friendly conduct to his inferiors in station. On the subject of Mr. Reed's early preaching. engagements in different parts of the country, there is little which calls for special remark. It is enough to say that he occupied pulpits belonging to the Independents. In 1811, he was ordained to the pastoral oversight of the congregation of the New Road Chapel, near to the Commercial Road, which then numbered only sixty church members. With fear and trembling, and a sense of insufficiency overwhelmingly great, the young minister entered upon his work. "Lord, make me extensively and eminently useful!" was his condensed prayer, and the summary of all his emotions and desires. While thus exercising the functions of his sacred office with a becoming self-distrust, but with a simple reliance on Divine help, a well-filled and sometimes crowded chapel attested the superiority of his pulpit powers. Breadth of intellect, vigour of imagination, clear doctrinal exposition, and earnest practical application, characterized his preaching. From month to month encouraging additions were made to the membership of the church; while the high character of his pulpit ministrations was such as to attract students and strangers to the New Road Chapel. In this early stage of his pastoral experiencelooking, as it became so much his wont to do, beyond his immediate charge-the circulation of the Bible in the district, and the state of the Sunday schools specially engaged his attention. "I have been at great pains," we find him saying, "to impress upon the poor that the sabbath is their day, that the sanctuary is their house, and that the Bible is their book." Acting on these views, he succeeded in establishing a district Bible Society, and also formed the Sunday schools of different denominations into the "East London Auxiliary to the Sunday-school Union," so as to insure a more systematic and united effort in bringing under Christian tuition the masses of neglected and heathenish children abounding in the neighbourhood. But while labouring to benefit some of the teeming multitudes of the east end of London, among whom Providence had cast his lot, Mr. Reed threw himself also heart and soul into the efforts then being made to carry the gospel to the heathen in distant lands. "I have been able," he writes, on the 18th of May, 1814, "to attend the May meetings of the past week. I shall not forget, while memory is mine, the meeting at Surrey Chapel, on Thursday evening. Old and young, wise and illiterate, tender and callous, all were melted. I held up my hand on the Thursday, and took the cup on Friday" (at what was called the Missionary Communion), "in pledge of my everlasting adherence to the missionary cause." To know fully what manner of man Mr. Reed was, and what the spirit which animated him in all the varied labours in which, then and afterwards, he engaged, it is desirable to take a glimpse-and a single glimpse will suffice-at his inner life and secret aspirations as unfolded to us in his journal. "Oh! it is possible," he exclaims, "to lose the spirit of religion even in the services of religion. There is nothing I dread so much, and, therefore, I hope the Lord will give commandment to save me. How I pant for Whitefield's ardour, talents, and success." Again: "Oh! had I a thousand lives, I would devote them all to my Lord. But I have only one, and that a frail one. Blessed Saviour, receive what I have. Give strength to my body and exaltation to my mind. Let my bosom be purged from every 374 THE REV. DR. ANDREW REED. debasing feeling. Let it become the temple of the Holy Ghost; and let me preach, and act, and think, and live, beneath his inspiration." With the care of a growing and prosperous church, and with the establishment of his success and popularity as a London preacher, responsibility and labour increased, and incessant demands were made upon his time. How heavy this burden is they only know who have borne it. After a seventeen years' pastorate in the New Road Chapel, it was deemed advisable for the accommodation of the congregation that a new and larger building should be erected. This was named "Wycliffe Chapel," in honour of the morning star" of the Reformation in England; and in it Mr. Reed continued to preach until the close of his fifty years' ministry. The first of his literary efforts of any importance was a work in two volumes, entitled, "No Fiction. A Narrative founded on recent and interesting Facts." It proved a successful attempt to use literature in the service of religions truth. The work became highly popular. The sale in America was very large. In this country it has passed through eleven editions, and it has been translated into French, and into Dutch. Although published anonymously, the author soon came to be known. When at Northampton, in 1839, a young man called to see him. He had embraced infidel opinions, and happening to hear "No Fiction" highly commended, he obtained the book, and read it. "The account of Lefevre's repentance and return home touched him deeply. He fell prostrate before God, weeping for sin, and praying for salvation. He had, since that time, become a member of a Christian church, had married respectably,' and now came to render his thanks to the author." A young lady of rank in Germany had read the book in circumstances of sorrow, and was so impressed by it, that she addressed a touching letter "To the Author of the work entitled 'No Fiction,' London." The letter was replied to, and a correspondence begun which Mr. Reed highly valued. Other persons also, both in France and in this country, have traced to this work their religious decision. and platform, and come into close and endearing contact with the leading men of all the different churches, on the eve of their return a valedictory service was held in one of the New York churches, and an official address read to them. The following brief extract from which, in these times of contention and prejudice, may be not unappropriate. "Go home, then, brethren, beloved by the churches in these United States, to our fellow-Christians in England, Scotland, and Ireland, and tell them that, in religious and moral character, grace has made us much like themselves; that we love the Saviour whom they love; that we love their representatives tenderly, whom we have seen; and that our hearts shall be more and more knit to all British Christians whom we have not seen, in the fellowship of the gospel." We have already alluded to the deep interest felt by Dr. Reed (during the visit to America he was made D.D.) in missionary enterprises. In May, 1831, he was selected by the Directors of the London Missionary Society to preach the annual sermon at Surrey Chapel. The sermon was a powerful and impressive effort. Suffering at the time from cold and sore throat, he thus writes, referring to his feelings at the time of delivery: "While I was depressed by the thought, that from the nature of my subject and the defect of my voice, the people would hardly bear with me to the end, they became evidently interested, and even agitated. To complete my surprise, the numerous ministers were, of all others, most affected." So highly did the Hon. and Rev. Baptist Noel estimate this sermon, that he caused it to be translated into French at his own charge. The best proof of Dr. Reed's sincerity in the cause of missions was his publicly offering himself as a missionary. This offer was made in Exeter Hall, at the anniversary of the Society, in May, 1835. "The field is the world," he exclaims; "and wherever Providence may guide his servants, it is their duty to follow. If a committee of my brethren, surveying my circumstances, age, talents, and all other considerations which wise men would take into account, should think that I could better serve the cause of Christ by going to Malacca, or India, or Greenland, or to Iceland, I am ready to go." The brethren to whom the matter was referred, however, deemed that Dr. Reed would be most serviceable by remaining at home; yet was not his proposal without fruit. It stirred up others to ponder the question of unreserved dedication to God, and called forth labourers for the mission field. With the view of establishing Christian intercourse with the churches of America the Congregational Union of England appointed a deputation to visit the United States. Mr. Reed was one of the two ministers whe crossed the Atlantic for this purpose. This commission was one which he was peculiarly fitted to execute, not only from his powers as a preacher and a platform speaker, but from the soundness of his The visit to America seems really to have marked an judgment, and the depth and extent of his Christian era in the spiritual life of this devoted man. The biosympathies; it was, besides, an undertaking altogether graphers record proofs of the more earnest tone of his congenial to his feelings, and may be said, from the ministry after his return home. Not only were his spiritual refreshment and impulse it afforded him, to "aspirations more ardent," and "his rich natural gifts have constituted an era in his history. He stood on largely developed," but he more eagerly laboured and the rock where the pilgrim fathers had landed, seek-longed for the religious advancement of the people of ing for religious liberty in the new world denied to them in the old; and at the tomb of Washington, where also his enthusiasm was called forth, he penned a just and glowing tribute to his memory, which has since been frequently published. Extremely susceptible to the influences of nature, we may conceive with what emotion, he witnessed the Falls of Niagara, and how much his soul was stirred by other scenes of grandeur and beauty which met his gaze. Nothing could exceed the cordiality of the reception accorded to the deputation. Having visited the chief towns of the States, and addressed large audiences from pulpit his charge. In 1836, he took a prominent part in a conference of the Board of Congregational Ministers, on the subject of "The best Means to promote the Spirituality of our Churches." In his own church he was specially cheered by the increasing prayerfulness of his people, and by a continuous revival of religion amongst them. About this time, he writes: "There was never more of the spirit of prayer among us-so humble, earnest, and comprehensive were the petitions. Oh! I am strong in the prayers of my people." As if in answer to these prayers, Dr. Reed personally experienced a |