Read Ebook: Home Scenes and Heart Studies by Aguilar Grace Briscoe Hyde W Illustrator

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"Death," sobbed Leah, suddenly flinging herself on her knees beside the bed and covering her father's hand with tears and kisses, "death! Father, dear, dear father, do not say that dreadful word! You will live, you must live--God will not take you from us!"

"My child, call not death a dreadful word, it is only such to the evil doers, to the proud and wicked men, of whom David tells us, 'They shall not stand in the judgment, nor enter the congregation of the righteous, but shall be as chaff which the wind driveth away.' For them death is fearful, for it is an end of all things; but not to me is it thus, my beloved ones. I have sought to love and serve my God in health and life, and His deep love and fathomless mercy is guiding me now, holding me up here through the dark shadows of death. His compassion is upon my soul whispering my sins are all forgiven, that he has called me unto Him in love, and not in wrath. There was a time I feared and trembled at the bare dream of death; but now, oh, it seems but as the herald of joy, of bliss which will never, never change. My children, think that I go to God, and do not grieve for me."

"If not for you, my father, chide us not that we weep for ourselves," answered Simeon, struggling with the rising sob; "what have you not been to all of us? and how may we bear to feel that to us you are lost for ever, that the voice whose accents of love never failed to thrill our hearts with joy, and when in reproach ever brought the most obdurate in repentant sorrow to your feet, that dear, dear voice we may never--" he could not go on for his own voice was choked.

"My boy, we shall all meet again; follow on in that path of good in which I have humbly sought to lead you; forget not your God, and the duties of your faith; obey those commands and behests which to Israel are enjoined; never forget that, as children of Israel, ye are the firstborn and beloved of the Lord; serve Him, trust Him, wait for Him, and oh, believe the words of the dying! We shall meet again never more to part. I do but go before you, my beloved ones, and you will come to me; there are many homes in heaven where the loved of the Lord shall meet."

"And I and Ruth--father, dear father, how may we so love the Lord, as to be so loved by him?" tearfully inquired the young Joseph, drawing back the curtain at the head of the bed, which had before concealed him, for he did not like his father to see his tears. "Does he look upon us with the same love as upon you, who have served him so faithfully and well? Oh, what would I not do, that I may look upon death as you do, and feel that I may come to you in heaven, written amongst those He loves."

"And our God does love you, my little Joseph, child as you are, or you would not think and wish this; my works are not more in His sight than yours. Miserable indeed should I now be, if I had trusted in them alone for my salvation and comfort now. No, my sweet boy, you must not look to deeds alone; study the word of your God to know and love Him, and then will you obey His commandments and statutes with rejoicing, and glory that He has given you tests by which you may prove the love you bear Him: and in death, though the imperfection and insufficiency of your best deeds be then revealed, you will feel and know you have not loved your God in vain. His infinite mercy will purify and pardon."

His voice sunk from exhaustion; and Rachel, bending over him to wipe the moisture from his brow, tenderly entreated him not to speak any more then, despite the comfort of his simplest word.

"It will not hurt me, love," he answered, fondly, after a pause. "I bless God that He permits me thus to speak, before I pass from earth for ever. When we meet again, there will be no need for me to bid my children to know and love the Lord; for we shall all know Him, from the smallest to the greatest of us. But to you, my own faithful wife, oh, what shall I say to you in this sad moment? I can but give you to His care, the God of the widow and the fatherless, and feel and know He will not leave you nor forsake you, but bless you with exceeding blessing. And in that heavy care--which, alas! I must leave you to bear alone--care for our precious Reuben, oh, my beloved wife, remember those treasured words, which were our mutual strength and comfort, when we laboured in our youth. How well do I remember that blessed evening, when we first spoke our love, and in our momentary despondence that long years must pass ere we could hope for our union, we opened the hallowed word of God, and could only see this verse: 'Commit thy ways unto the Lord, trust also in him and he will bring it to pass.' And did He not bring it to pass, dear wife? Did He not bless our efforts, and oh, will He not still? Yes, trust in Him; commit our Reuben unto Him, and all shall yet be well!"

"Yes, yes, I know it will; but oh, my husband, pray for me, that I may realize this blessed trust when you are gone. You have been my support, my aid, till now, cheering my despondence, soothing my fears; and now--"

"Rachel, my own wife, I have not been to you more than you have to me; it is our God who has been to us more--oh, how much more!--than we have been to each other, and He is with you still. He will heal the wound His love inflicts. But for our erring, yet our much-loved boy, I need not bid you love him, forgive him to the end--and his brothers and sisters. Oh, listen to me, my children." He half-raised himself in the energy of his supplication. "Promise me but this, throw him not off from your love, your kindness, however he may turn aside, however he may fall; even if that fearful indifference increase, and in faith he scarcely seems your brother, my children, my blessed children, oh, love him still. Seek by kindness and affection to bring him back to his deserted fold. Promise me to love him, to bear with him; forget not that he is your brother, even to the last. Many a wanderer would return if love welcomed him back, many a one who will not bear reproach. Do not cast him from your hearts, my children, for your dead father's sake."

"Father, father, can you doubt us?" burst at once from all, and rising from their varied postures, they joined hands around him. "Love him! yes. However he may forget and desert us, he is still our brother and your son. We will love him, bear with him. Oh, do not fear us, father. There needed not this promise, but we will give it. We will never cease to love him."

"Bless you, my children," murmured the exhausted man, as he sunk back. "Sarah, you have not spoken. Are you not our child?"

She flung down her work and darted to his side. She struggled to speak, but no words came, and throwing her arms round his neck, she fixed on his face one long, piercing look, and burst into passionate tears.

"It is enough, my child. I need not bid you love him," whispered Perez, so as to be heard only by her. "Would you were indeed our own; there would be less grief in store."

"And am I not your own?" she answered, disregarding his last words, which seemed, however, to have restored her to calmness. "Have you not been to me a true and tender father, and my aunt as kind a mother? Whose am I if I am not yours? Where shall I find another such home?"

"Yet you have a father, my gentle girl; one whom I have lately feared would claim you, because they told me he was once more a wealthy man. And if he should, if he would offer you the rest and comfort of competence, why should you labour throughout your young years for us? If he be rich, he surely will not forget he has a child, and therefore claim you."

"He has done so," replied Sarah, calmly, regardless of the various intonations of surprise in which her words were repeated. "My father did write for me to join him. He told me he was rich; would make me cease entirely from labour, and many similar kind offers."

"And you refused them! Sarah, my dear child, why have you done this?"

"Why," she repeated, pressing the trembling hand her aunt held out to her between both hers; "why, because now, only now, can I even in part return all you have done for me; because I cannot live apart from all whom I so love. I cannot exchange for short-lived riches all that makes life dear. Had my father sent for me in sickness or in woe, I should fly to him without an hour's pause. But it is he who is in affluence, in peace; and you, my best, kindest friends, in sorrow. No, no; my duty was to stay with you, to work for you, to love you; and I wrote to beseech his permission to remain, even if it were still to labour. I did not feel it labour when with you; and I have permission. I am still your child; he will not take me from you."

"God's blessing be upon him!" murmured Rachel, as she folded the weeping girl to her bosom.

A pause of deep emotion fell upon the group. Perez drew her faintly to him, and kissed her cheek; then saying he felt exhausted, and should wish to be left alone a brief while, Sarah led the twins away, and, followed by Leah, softly left the apartment. Simeon and his mother still remained beside his couch.

The night passed quietly. Sarah put the twins to bed, and persuaded Leah to follow their example, and, exhausted by sorrow, she was soon asleep, leaving Sarah to watch and pray alone; and the poor girl did pray, and think and weep, till it seemed strange the night could so soon pass, and morning smile again. She had not told that permission to remain with her aunt had been scornfully and painfully given; that her father had derided her, as mean-spirited and degraded; that as she had chosen to remain with her poor relations, she was no longer his daughter. Nor did she pray and weep for the dying, or for those around him. One alone was in that heart! Why was he not there at such a moment? and she shuddered as she pictured the violence of the self-accusing agony which would be upon him when he discovered he had lingered until too late. Hour after hour passed, and there was no footstep. She thought the chimes must have rung too near each other; for as one struck, she believed he must be at home ere it struck another, and yet he came not: she watched in vain.

Day dawned, and as light gleamed in upon the dying, there was a change upon his face. He had not suffered throughout the night, seeming to sleep at intervals, and then lay calmly without speaking; but as the day gradually brightened, he reopened his eyes and looked towards the richly glowing east.

"Another sun!" he said, in a changed and hollow voice. "Blessed be the God who sets him in the heavens, strong and rejoicing as a young man to run a race: my race is over--my light will pass before his. I prayed one night's delay, but still he does not come; and now it will soon be over. Rachel, my true wife, call the children; let me bless them each once more."

They were called, and, awestruck even to silence at the fearful change in that loved face, they one by one drew near and bowed down their bright heads before him. Faintly yet distinctly, he spoke a blessing upon each; then murmured, "The God of my Fathers bless you all, all as you love Him and each other. Never deny him: acknowledge Him as One! Hear, O Israel! the Lord our God, the Lord is one!"

The words were repeated in tears and sobs by all; he fell back, and they thought his spirit gone. Minutes rolled by, and then there was a rapid step without; it neared the door, one moment paused, and entered.

"My son, my son! O God, I thank thee! Reuben, my firstborn, in time, I bless, bless--" the words were lost in a fearful gurgling sound, but the father's arms were flung wildly, strongly round the son, who, with bitter tears, had thrown himself upon his neck--and there was silence.

"Father! oh, my father, speak--bless, forgive me!" at length Reuben wildly exclaimed, breaking from that convulsive hold to sink as a penitent upon the earth. He spoke in vain; the spirit had lingered to gaze once more upon the firstborn of his love, then fled from earth for ever.

IT is two years after the mournful event recorded in our last chapter that we recommence our simple narrative. When time and prayer had softened the first deep affliction, the widow and her family indeed proved the fulfilment of that blessed promise, "Leave thy fatherless children to me, and I will keep them alive, and let thy widows trust in me;" for they prospered and were happy. Affliction, either of failing health in those compelled to labour, or in want of employment, was kept far from them. The widow, indeed, herself often suffered; but she thanked God, in the midst even of pain, as she compared the blessings of her lot with those of others. Little Ruth, too, from her affliction and very delicate health, was often an object of anxiety; but so tenderly was she beloved, that anxiety was scarcely pain in the delight her presence ever caused. Sweet-tempered, loving, and joyous, with a voice of song like a bird's, and a laugh of child-like glee, and yet such strong affections, such deep reverence for all things holy, that who might grieve for her afflictions when she was so happy, so gratified herself? She was the star of that lowly little dwelling, for sorrow, or discord, or care could not come near her.

Joseph, her twin brother, had attracted the notice of a respectable jeweller, who, though he could not take the boy into his house as a regular apprentice till he was thirteen, not only employed him several hours in the day in cleaning jewels, etc., but allowed him small wages--an act of real benevolence, felt by the widow as an especial blessing, rendered perhaps the dearer from the fact that it was the high character her husband had borne which gave his youngest son so responsible an office, intrusted as it was to none but the strictly honest.

Simeon, now nearly seventeen, was with the same watchmaker who had formerly brought forward his father. It was not a trade he liked; nay, the delicate machinery required was peculiarly annoying to him, but it was the only opening for him, and he conquered his disinclination. He had long since made a vow to use his every effort to restore his parents to the comfortable estate from which they had unfortunately fallen, and no thought of himself or his own wishes should interfere with its accomplishment. Persevering and resolute, he took a good heart with him to the business; and though his first attempts were awkward, and the laughter of his companions most discouraging, the praise of his master and his own conscience urged him on, and before the two years which we have passed over had elapsed, he had conquered every difficulty, and promised in time to be quite as good a workman as his father.

These peculiar feelings occasioned a degree of coldness in Simeon's sentiments towards his brother Reuben, of whom we have little more to say than we know already.

The death of his father was indeed a fearful shock; yet, from a few words which fell from him during some of his interviews with Sarah, she fancied that he almost rejoiced that he was bound by no promise to the dying. In the midst of repentant agony that he had arrived too late for his parent's blessing, he would break off with a half shudder, and mutter, "If he had spoken that, he might have spoken more, and I could not have disobeyed him on his death-bed. Whatever he bade me promise I must have promised; and then, then, after a few brief months, been perjured. Oh, my father, my father! why is it my fate to be the wretch I am?"

Had then Reuben Perez, the beloved and cherished son of such good and pious parents, indeed deserted the religion of his forefathers? Not in semblance, for there were times when he still visited the synagogue; and as he did so, he was by many still conceived a good Jew. The flagrant follies of his youth had subsided; he was no longer wild, wavering, and extravagant. Not a word could be spoken against his moral principles; his public, even his domestic conduct was unexceptionable, and therefore he bore a high character in the estimation alike of the Jewish and Christian world. What cause had his mother, then, for the grief and pain which swelled her heart almost to bursting, when she thought upon her firstborn? Alas! it was because she felt there was One who saw deeper than the world--One, between whom and himself Reuben had raised up a dark barrier of wrath--One who loved him, erring and sinful as he was, with an immeasurable love, but whose deep love was rejected and abused--even his God, that God who had been the Saviour of his forefathers through so many thousand ages. The mother would have preferred seeing him poor, dependent, obtaining but his daily bread, yet faithful to his faith and to his God, than prosperous, courted, and an alien.

The brothers seldom met, and therefore Simeon was ignorant how powerfully coldness was creeping over his affections for Reuben; how, in violently condemning his indifference and union with the stranger, he was rendering the observance of his promise to his dying father a matter of difficulty and pain. Faithful and earnest himself, he could not understand a want of earnestness and fidelity in others. But, however the world might flatter and appear to honour his exemplary moral conduct, one truth it is our duty to record--Reuben was not happy. It was not the mere fancy of his mother and cousin, it was truth; they knew not wherefore--for if he neglected and contemned his religion, he could scarcely feel the want of it--but that he was unhappy, perhaps was the secret cause which held the love of his mother and Sarah so immovably enchained, bidding them hope sometimes in the very midst of gloom.

Of the female members of Perez' family we have little to remark. Leah's good conduct had not only made her the favourite of her mistress, but her liveliness and happy temper had actually triumphed over the sometimes harsh disposition she had at first to encounter. There was no withstanding her good humour. She had the happy knack of making people good friends with themselves, as well as with each other, and was so happy herself, that, except when she thought of her dear father, and wished that he could but see her and hear her sing over her work, sorrow was unknown. Every Friday evening she went home to remain till the Sunday morning, and that was superlative enjoyment, not only to herself, for her mother looked to the visit of her merry, affectionate daughter as a source of pure feeling, delight, and recreation.

In Sarah there was no change. Still pensive, modest, and industrious, she continued quietly to retain the most devoted affections of her relatives, and the goodwill and respect of her employers. Of her own individual feelings we must not now speak, save to say that few even of her domestic circle imagined how strong and deep was the under-current of character which her quiet mien concealed.

It was the evening of the Sabbath, and the widow and her daughters were assembled in their pretty little parlour. Simeon and Joseph were not yet returned from synagogue. Reuben, alas! was seldom there on the Sabbath eve. The table was covered with a cloth, which, though not of the finest description, was white as the driven snow; and the Sabbath lamp was lighted, for in their greatest poverty this ceremony had never been omitted. When they had no lamp, and could not have afforded oil, they burnt a wax candle, frequently depriving themselves of some week-day necessary to procure this indulgence. The first earnings of Sarah, Leah, and Simeon had been used to repurchase the ancient Sabbath lamp, the heirloom in their family for many generations. It was silver and very antique, and by a strange chance had escaped the fire, which rendered perhaps the sale of it the more painful to Perez. His gratification on beholding it again had amply repaid his affectionate children. Never being used but on Sabbaths, it seemed to partake of the sanctity of that holy day.

Bread and salt were also upon the table, and the large Bible and its attendant prayer-books there also, open, as if they had just been used. Ruth had plucked some sweet flowers just before Sabbath, and arranged them tastefully in a china cup, and Leah had playfully removed a sprig of rosebuds and wreathed it in the long glossy curls which hung round Ruth's sweet face and over her shoulders. The dresses of all were neat and clean, for they loved to make a distinction between the seventh day and the six days of labour.

"If we were about to pass a day in the presence of an earthly sovereign, my dear children," the widow had often been wont to say, "should we not deserve to be excluded if we appeared rudely and slovenly and dirtily attired? You think we could not possibly do so; it would not only be such marked disrespect, but we should not be admitted. How, then, dare we seek the presence of our heavenly sovereign in such rude and sinful disarray? The seventh day is His day. He calls upon us to throw aside all worldly thoughts and cares, and come to Him, and give our thoughts and hearts to His holy service. If an earthly king so called us, how anxious should we be to accept the invitation--shall we do less for God?"

"But, dear mother," Leah would answer, "will God regard that? Is He not too holy, too far removed from us, too pure to mark such little things?"

"But I have heard you remark with regret, mother, that some of our neighbours are dressed so very smart on Sabbath. If it be to mark the holy difference between that day and the others, why should you regret it?"

"Because, love, there ought to be moderation in all things, and when I see very smart showy dresses, which, if not in material, in appearance are much too fine and smart for our station, I fear it is less a religious than a worldly feeling which dictates them. Have you not noticed that those who dress so gaily generally spend their Sabbath in walking about the streets and exchanging visits, conversing, of course, on the most frivolous topics? I do not think this the proper method of spending our Sabbath day, and therefore I regret to see them devote so much time and thought on mere outward decoration, which is so widely different from obedience to their God."

Leah thought of this little conversation many times. From thoughtlessness and dislike to trouble, she had hitherto been rather negligent than otherwise in her dress; then going to a contrary extreme, felt very much inclined to imitate some young companions in their finery. Her mother's word saved her from the one, and their subsequent misfortunes effectually from the other, as all her earnings were hoarded for one holy purpose, simply to assist her parents; and she would have thought it sacrilege to have spent any portion on herself, except on things which she absolutely needed. But so neat and clean was she invariably in her dress, that her mistress always sent her to receive orders, and, trifling as appearance may seem, it repeatedly gained customers.

"They are coming--I hear their footsteps," said the little Ruth, springing up to open the parlour door. "Oh! I do so love the Sabbath eve, for it brings us all together again so happily."

"Is it only Simeon and Joseph, my child?" inquired the widow, mournfully; for there was one expectation on her heart and that of Sarah, which, alas! was seldom to be fulfilled.

Ruth listened attentively.

"Only they, mother!" she said, checking her voice of glee, and returning to her mother's side, for she knew the cause of that saddened tone, and she laid her little head caressingly on her mother's breast.

Simeon and Joseph at that moment entered, and each advancing, bent lowly before their mother, who, laying her hand upon each dear head, blessed them in a voice faltering from its emotion, and kissed them both. The kiss of love and peace went round, and gaily the brothers and sisters drew round the table, which Sarah's provident love speedily covered with the welcome evening meal. The happy laugh and affectionate interchange of the individual cares and pleasures, vexations and enjoyments of the past week, occupied them delightfully during tea. Sarah had to tell of a new kind of work which had diversified her usual employment, and been most successful; a kind of wadded slipper, which, after many trials, she had completed to her satisfaction, in the intervals of other work; and which not only sold well, but gave her dear aunt an occupation which she could accomplish without pain, in wadding and binding the silk. Leah told of a pretty dress and bonnet which her mistress had presented to her, in token of her approbation of her steadiness in refusing to accompany her companions to some place of amusement, which, from its respectability being doubted, she knew her mother would not approve; and, by staying at home, enabled Mrs. Magnus to finish an expensive order a day sooner than had been expected, and so gained her a new and wealthy customer.

The happy mother smiled on her animated girl; but her heart did not glorify itself, it thanked God that her early efforts had been so blessed. "And Ruth!" some of our readers may exclaim, "poor blind Ruth, what can she have to say?" And we answer, happy little Ruth had much of industry and enjoyment to dilate on. The straw she had plaited, the hymns she had learnt through Sarah's kindly teaching, the dead leaves she had plucked from the shrubs and flowers, for so delicate had her sense of touch become, she could follow this occupation in perfect security to the plants, distinguishing the dead and dying from the perfect leaves at a touch. Then she told of a poor little orphan beggar girl, whom Sarah had one day brought in cold and crying, because she had been begging all day and had received nothing, and she knew she should be beaten when she went home; and how she had said she hated begging; but she could do nothing else; and little Ruth had asked her if she would like to sell flowers; and poor Mary had told her she should like it very very much, but she could not get any. She knew no one who would let her take them from the garden. How she had promised to make her some little nosegays, and Sarah and her mother said they would make her some little nick-nacks, pincushions, and housewives to put with her flowers.

"Ah, we made her so happy!" continued the child, clasping her little hands in delight. "Mother gave her some of my old things, which were quite good to her, and it is quite a pleasure to me to make her nosegays, and feel they give her a few pence better than begging; and Sarah is going to try if I can make her some little fancy things when winter comes. You know I am quite rich to her, for God has given me a home, and such a kind mother, and dear brothers and sisters, and she has neither home nor mother, nor any one to love her. Poor, poor Mary! and then, too, some say the Christians do not like the Jews, and I know she will and does like us, and she may make others of her people like us too."

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