the next day being sunday, as usual i went to see the dominie and mr turnbull. i arrived at the school just as all the boys were filing off, two and two, for church, the advance led by the usher, and the rear brought up by the dominie in person, and i accompanied them. the dominie appeared melancholy and out of spirits—hardly exchanging a word with me during our walk. when the service was over he ordered the usher to take the boys home, and remained with me in the churchyard, surveying the tombstones, and occasionally muttering to himself. at last the congregation dispersed, and we were alone.
“little did i think, jacob,” said he, at last, “that when i bestowed such care upon thee in thy childhood, i should be rewarded as i have been! little did i think that it would be to the boy who was left destitute that i should pour out my soul when afflicted, and find in him that sympathy which i have long lost, by the removal of those who were once my friends! yes, jacob, those who were known to me in my youth—those few in whom i confided and leant upon—are now lying here in crumbling dust, and the generation hath passed away; and i now rest upon thee, my son, whom i have directed in the right path, and who hast, by the blessing of god, continued to walk straight in it. verily, thou art a solace to me, jacob; and though young in years, i feel that in thee i have received a friend, and one that i may confide in. bless thee, jacob! bless thee, my boy! and before i am laid with those who have gone before me, may i see thee prosperous and happy! then i will sing the nunc dimittis, then will i say, ‘now, lord, let thy servant depart in peace.’”
“i am happy, sir,” replied i, “to hear you say that i am of any comfort to you, for i feel truly grateful for all your kindness to me; but i wish that you did not require comfort.”
“jacob, in what part of a man’s life does he not require comfort and consolation; yea, even from the time when, as a child, he buries his weeping face in his mother’s lap till the hour that summons him to his account? not that i consider this world to be, as many have described it, a ‘vale of tears’; no, jacob; it is a beautiful world, a glorious world, and would be a happy world, if we would only restrain those senses and those passions with which we have been endowed, that we may fully enjoy the beauty, the variety, the inexhaustible bounty of a gracious heaven. all was made for enjoyment and for happiness; but it is we ourselves who, by excess, defile that which otherwise were pure. thus, the fainting traveller may drink wholesome and refreshing draughts from the bounteous, overflowing spring; but should he rush heedlessly into it, he muddies the source, and the waters are those of bitterness. thus, jacob, was wine given to cheer the heart of man; yet, didst not thou witness me, thy preceptor, debased by intemperance? thus, jacob, were the affections implanted in us as a source of sweetest happiness, such as those which now yearn in my breast towards thee; yet hast thou seen me, thy preceptor, by yielding to the infatuation and imbecility of threescore years, dote, in my folly, upon a maiden, and turn the sweet affections into a source of misery and anguish.” i answered not, for the words of the dominie made a strong impression upon me, and i was weighing them in my mind. “jacob,” continued the dominie, after a pause, “next to the book of life, there is no subject of contemplation more salutary than the book of death, of which each stone now around us may be considered as a page, and each page contains a lesson. read that which is now before us. it would appear hard that an only child should have been torn away from its doting parents, who have thus imperfectly expressed their anguish on the tomb; it would appear hard that their delight, their solace, the object of their daily care, of their waking thoughts, of their last imperfect recollections as they sank into sleep, of their only dreams, should thus have been taken from them; yet did i know them, and heaven was just and merciful. the child had weaned them from their god; they lived but in him; they were without god in the world. the child alone had their affections, and they had been lost had not he in his mercy removed it. come this way, jacob.” i followed the dominie till he stood before another tombstone in the corner of the churchyard. “this stone, jacob, marks the spot where lies the remains of one who was my earliest and dearest friend—for in my youth i had friends, because i had anticipations, and little thought that it would have pleased god that i should do my duty in that station to which i have been called. he had one fault, which proved a source of misery through life, and was the cause of an untimely death. he was of a revengeful disposition. he never forgave an injury, forgetting, poor, sinful mortal, for how much he had need to be forgiven. he quarrelled with his relations; he was shot in a duel with his friend! i mention this, jacob, as a lesson to thee; not that i feel myself worthy to be thy preceptor, for i am humbled, but out of kindness and love towards thee, that i might persuade thee to correct that fault in thy disposition.”
“i have already made friends with mr drummond, sir,” answered i; “but still your admonition shall not be thrown away.”
“hast thou, jacob? then is my mind much relieved. i trust thou wilt no longer stand in thine own light, but accept the offers which, in the fulness of his heart to make redress, he may make unto thee.”
“nay, sir, i cannot promise that; i wish to be independent and earn my own livelihood.”
“then hear me, jacob, for the spirit of prophecy is on me; the time will come when thou shalt bitterly repent. thou hast received an education by my unworthy endeavours, and hast been blessed by providence with talents far above the situation in life to which thou wouldst so tenaciously adhere; the time will come when thou wilt repent, yea, bitterly repent. look at that marble monument with the arms so lavishly emblazoned upon it. that, jacob, is the tomb of a proud man, whose career is well known to me. he was in straitened circumstances, yet of gentle race—but like the steward in the scripture, ‘work he could not, to beg he was ashamed.’ he might have prospered in the world, but his pride forbade him. he might have made friends, but his pride forbade him. he might have wedded himself to wealth and beauty, but there was no escutcheon, and his pride forbade him. he did marry, and entail upon his children poverty. he died, and the little he possessed was taken from his children’s necessities to build this record to his dust. do not suppose that i would check that honest pride which will prove a safeguard from unworthy actions. i only wish to check that undue pride which will mar thy future prospects. jacob, that which thou termest independence is naught but pride.”
i could not acknowledge that i agreed with the dominie, although something in my breast told me that he was not wrong. i made no answer. the dominie again spoke.
“yes; it is a beautiful world for the spirit of god is on it. at the separation of chaos it came over the water, and hath since remained with us, everywhere, but invisible. we see his hand in the variety and the beauty of creation, but his spirit we see not; yet do we feel it in the still small voice of conscience, which would lead us into the right path. now, jacob, we must return, for i have the catechism and collects to attend to.”
i took leave of the dominie, and went to mr turnbull’s, to whom i gave an account of what had passed since i last saw him. he was much pleased with my reconciliation with the drummonds, and interested about the young lady to whom appertained the tin box in his possession. “i presume, jacob, we shall now have that mystery cleared up.”
“i have not told the gentleman that we have possession of the box,” replied i.
“no; but you told the young lady, you silly fellow; and do you think she will keep it a secret from him?”
“very true; i had forgotten that.”
“jacob, i wish you to go to mr drummond’s and see his family again; you ought to do so.” i hesitated. “nay, i shall give you a fair opportunity without wounding that pride of yours, sir,” replied mr turnbull; “i owe him for some wine he purchased for me, and i shall send the cheque by you.”
to this i assented, as i was not sorry of an opportunity of seeing sarah. i dined with mr turnbull, who was alone, his wife being on a visit to a relation in the country. he again offered me his advice as to giving up the profession of a waterman; but if i did not hear him with so much impatience as before, nor use so many arguments against it, i did not accede to his wishes, and the subject was dropped. mr turnbull was satisfied that my resistance was weakened, and hoped in time to have the effect that he desired. when i went home mary told me that tom beazeley had been there, that his wherry was building, that his father had given up the lighter, and was now on shore very busy in getting up his board to attract customers, and obtain work in his new occupation.
i had not launched my wherry the next morning when down came the young gentleman to whom i had despatched the letter. “faithful,” said he, “come to the tavern with me; i must have some conversation with you.” i followed him, and as soon as we were in a room, he said, “first, let me pay my debt, for i owe you much;” and he laid five guineas on the table. “i find from cecilia that you have possession of the tin case of deeds which has been so eagerly sought after by both parties. why did you not say so? and why did you not tell me that it was you whom i hired on the night when i was so unfortunate?”
“i considered the secret as belonging to the young lady, and having told her, i left it to her discretion to make you acquainted or not as she pleased.”
“it was thoughtful and prudent of you, at all events, although there was no occasion for it. nevertheless, i am pleased that you did so, as it proves you to be trustworthy. now, tell me, who is the gentleman who was with you in the boat, and who has charge of the box? observe, faithful, i do not intend to demand it. i shall tell him the facts of the case in your presence, and then leave him to decide whether he will surrender up the papers to the other party or to me. can you take me there now?”
“yes, sir,” replied i, “i can, if you please; i will pull you up in half an hour. the house is at the river’s side.”
the young gentleman leaped into my wherry, and we were soon in the parlour of mr turnbull. i will not repeat the conversation in detail, but give an outline of the young man’s story.
