Chapter F.

ATE in the afternoon of a "brief November day" I found myself approaching the church of Abbot's-Arderne, a village some two miles south-west of my own parish of Yateshull, and on the opposite side of the river Trent.

The day was not ungenial for the time of year-indeed, the air was soft and warm; but there is something of

peculiar melancholy in that season, when the rich and varied hues of autumn having passed away, its sombre accompaniments only remain; when nature has not assumed her winter garb; and when, instead of clear bright skies, and frosty, but bracing and healthful air, dark, leaden clouds invest with one monotonous hue of sullen grey every feature of the landscape, or thick, penetrating vapours obscure it from the sight. It was so on the present occasion : the incessant rains and equinoctial gales had ceased; but the whole atmosphere was so overcharged with

moisture, that the drops fell fast and thick from the boughs of the now almost leafless trees, and wreaths of mist hung upon the meadows, and followed the windings of the swollen river. All around me was dank and cheerless; and I felt the depressing influences which the sight of decaying nature can hardly fail to produce in those who rejoice in its opening bloom.

But if the day was melancholy, not less so was the task in which I was about to be engaged.

My friend Walter Long, the vicar of Arderne, had that morning requested me to read the burialservice over one of his parishioners; a lady with whom he and his family had long lived in such habits of friendship and daily intercourse, that he felt himself quite unequal to the personal discharge of the painful duty which had devolved upon him. Nor could I wonder at his distress; for the deceased Mrs. Fullerton was one of those persons whose loss is felt acutely, far beyond their own immediate household; and she had been cut off, after a very few days of severe suffering, in almost the prime of life. Her husband, who had died twelve or fourteen years previously, had placed such unbounded confidence in her, that he had left her his estate of Godsholme for life, and constituted her sole guardian of his son and only child.

At Godsholme Mrs. Fullerton had resided from the commencement of her widowhood; the only companions of her solitude being her son, and a little girl,

the orphan child of a distant relative of her late husband, whom she had adopted in infancy, and whose education was at once the anxiety and solace of her life. But although Mrs. Fullerton lived in comparative retirement, seldom moving from home, or visiting for visiting's sake, she was, perhaps, the most universally popular person in the neighbourhood, and her society was courted as that of a woman of most pleasing manners and cultivated mind. But the deceased lady was much more than this; for while she exercised at home the hospitality which was befitting her means and position in life, and thereby gained the good-will of her equals, it was among her inferiors that her character was most truly known and appreciated. Like the good Shunamite of old, she might have said, "I dwell among mine own people;"1 and her own people had daily experience of the advantages which that simple expression secured to them. Charitable in the true sense of the term (neither profuse, that is, nor indiscriminate; neither encouraging indolence, nor allowing herself to be imposed upon), she was as much reverenced as loved. Compassionate and kind-hearted, she grudged neither cost nor pains, whenever it was in her power, to alleviate the trials of those who were in sickness or sorrow. Courteous and gentle, yet sincere and open as the day, she said what she meant, and meant what she said. Sound in judgment, and with fewer prejudices than fall to the lot of most persons, she was 12 Kings ini. 13.

always a safe adviser in difficulties, and was ever ready to aid with her counsels her poorer neighbours; among whom, indeed, she was looked upon as the universal referee. These were some of the qualities which endeared her to her dependents, and fitted her to discharge the duties of her appointed station.

She had, however, yet higher claims on our regard and admiration; for she was one of the humblest, most simple-minded Christians with whom it has been my happiness to become acquainted; and she was quite a pattern to those around her in the quiet practical discharge of religious duties. Indeed, religion was with her the one object of existence by this all the petty details of her daily life were hallowed; from this they all took their tone; to this all her thoughts and wishes (so far as human infirmity permits) were referred. Upon mature reflection and conviction, a sound and zealous Churchwoman, she became on that ground a peculiar blessing to the parish where she dwelt. Ever, in carrying out her schemes of usefulness, did she act in subordination to the parochial minister, as unto God's priest and Christ's ambassador. Never did she permit herself to meddle-(no common praise for zeal in these times!)—with matters which were beyond her province; never did she interfere with a trust which had not been committed to her; never did she sanction with her name or influence, measures, persons, or societies, which the clergyman of the parish did not Her happiness (and her wisdom) was to

approve.

act under him, to co-operate with him in his labours, and to aid him in them to the full extent of her means; not giving grudgingly or of necessity, when called on to devote a portion of her substance to pious uses, but receiving the invitation to do so with thankfulness, and esteeming it a very high privilege to be permitted in any way to contribute to God's honour, or the extension of His kingdom.

2

"And being such as this," thought I to myself, as I walked along, "how mysterious is the dispensation which has thus suddenly cut off such an exemplary person from the land of the living, while her light was shining so brightly before men, and she was adorning the doctrine of God our Saviour in all things! Her sun is gone down while it is yet day;' and, oh, how sorely will its light be needed! Her boy, just of an age when such a parent's advice and guidance would be most valuable. Little Mildred Clifford too, poor thing! deprived of a mother's care, and left, I fear, without a home or a friend in the world! Well, God's ways are not our ways, neither are our thoughts His thoughts! Often does He remove the person most needed, at the time apparently most needful for their continuance among us; as if to shew us that He requires not the aid of man, and that He can work His will as effectually with one instrument as with another. There is comfort in this; and there is comfort in the thought that by being summoned thus early, poor Mrs. Fullerton may have been 2 Jer. xx. 9.