The Search for Happiness 2
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"Not tonight, Edward," urged the wife. "It is so cold and stormy. Wait till morning."
"I may then be too late. There is great misery even in our own neighborhood. I noticed a wretched hovel today which I am told contains a widow and four little ones. I was prevented from visiting them before I returned home, but I feel strongly impelled to see them before I sleep. Fill a small basket with nourishing food, and seek not to detain me. It is good to be mindful of the poor."
"My mission here is ended," whispered the angel. "The sufferers have found a friend. Come forth again. We will stand by the bed of sickness and death. I have there a labor of love to perform."
In an instant, they stood in a darkened room, where a young maiden lay extended on that bed from which she was to rise no more. One glance at her countenance showed thatdeath had marked her, and before many hours had passed, would claim her for his own. In silent anguish, the fond parents bent over the idol of their affections. Eagerly they listened to the broken words which escaped her lips. There was sadness in the tones of her voice as she murmured some expressions of endearment to those around her. Life was to her bright and beautiful — the passage to the world of immortality was dark and gloomy — and she looked not beyond. Was there no kind friend to raise her thoughts to those realms of bliss, of which the beautiful in this world is but as a dim outline or shadow? Was there none to speak of the infinite love of her Heavenly Father, who saw fit thus early to call her to Himself? Alas! no. All were too much absorbed in their own grief. They sought not to rise with the departing spirit to her new and glorious home; but, by their overpowering sorrow, rather strove to draw her back to earth.
"Here, there is indeed a great work to be done," said the angel. "To the sick girl, I may myself draw near, for the veil which obscured her mortal vision, is partially removed. See, she sleeps. I will approach and minister to her needs. Remain where you are. You, too, are invisible to mortal eyes. Listen to the instructions of him who through my agency will speak consolation to the hearts of the bereaved parents. Already he draws near."
As the spirit spoke, Eveline looked and beheld a venerable old man entering the room. His benevolent countenance wore an expression of the tenderest pity and commiseration as in soothing accents he addressed the afflicted ones. He entered fully into their grief, and descended with them into the dark valley. But gradually he led them to look beyond — to rise above the clouds which had gathered around them — to look upon death as the messenger of life, immortal life. The frail and perishable body was indeed to be laid aside — but the freed spirit would rejoice in glory.
The sufferer awoke, but all was changed around her. The mother bent over her, whispering words of faith and hope; the father clasped her hand in his, and breathed an earnest prayer; her own thoughts and feelings were no longer sad and earth-bound. She looked upward to her heavenly home; perfect peace was in her heart, a radiant smile played upon her lips. She breathed a few words of happiness and love, and calmly sank to rest, like a wearied infant upon its mother's bosom.
With intense interest Eveline stood gazing upon this scene, when a light touch aroused her.
"Come forth," whispered her guide. "Other ministering spirits will now fill my place. My duty calls me elsewhere."
They stood together in a quiet churchyard. Around them were the monuments which affection rears to the memory of departed friends. It was the twilight hour, and the most profound stillness reigned. At length Eveline heard a low moan; and, seated on a new-made grave at a short distance from her, she saw a lady, somewhat past the prime of life. At first she bowed her head in silent agony, and her powerful emotion seemed almost to rend her feeble frame. Then raising her eyes to Heaven, she exclaimed in the most piercing accents of bitter grief:
"All gone! husband and children, father, mother, and friends. Not one link left to bind me to earth! Nothing left to love! Why, then, am I permitted to remain? Why may not my struggling spirit burst its bonds, and join the loved ones who have gone from me? Oh God! look upon me in my affliction. Leave me not thus alone."
"Poor woman!" murmured Eveline; "how great is her affliction! Gladly would I draw near to her, and endeavor to console her, or at least mingle my tears with hers; even sympathyis sometimes consolation."
"It is, indeed," replied the angel, with an approving smile; "but a medium is already provided. Look to the right of the lady, near the white stone. What do you see?"
"A lovely child," answered Eveline, "quietly sleeping with her head upon the turf which covers another grave of recent date."
"She slumbers not," returned the angel. "She is listening intently to the words of her whose sorrows have so strongly excited your pity. She, too, has suffered. That grave contains the mortal remains of her late only surviving parent; and the little one also feels friendless and alone in the wide world. See, she rises and draws nearer to the lady."
As she spoke, the child quietly approached the still weeping mourner. Tears, not for her own sorrows, but for those of another, were on her cheeks; and, placing her little hand within that of her companion in affliction, she said, endearingly,
"You need not be alone. I will love you, and stay with you always."
"Who are you, my child?" was the astonished reply; for the step of the little one had been unheard upon the soft grass, and the lady knew not of her presence, until she felt the gentle pressure of her hand.
"I am an orphan. My name is Ellen. My dear father died many months ago, and now my mother has gone too. They laid her body in that grave where you see the white stone, and I love to sit upon it and think of her. She lives in Heaven now. She used to bid me not to weep, but to think of her and love her, and try to be a good child until my Heavenly Father should take me home; and I do try, but there is no one to speak kindly to me now, and teach me to be good. They give me food and clothes, but they do not kiss me and love me, and call me their own darling child, as my poor mother used to do. You have nothing to love. Will you not love me?"
"I will, indeed, sweet one," replied the lady, clasping the little girl in her arms. "Our Heavenly Father has sent you to me to comfort me in my grief. I will watch over your tender years, and be a mother to you. My life will no longer be without an object. Another bud of immortality is entrusted to my care."
Eveline still lingered, but the angel whispered,"It is enough; my task is ended. New duties await me."
The night was dark and fearful on the tempestuous sea, and high on the mountain waves, a pirate vessel rode proudly on its course. Eveline shrank closer to the side of her heavenly protector, as she stood with him among that fierce crew; but his gentle words soon reassured her.
"Recollect that we are invisible to mortal eyes," he said. "Nothing can harm you. Even here, there is a work of love to be performed."
"Surely, not to these wicked men!" exclaimed Eveline. "Nothing of Heaven could find admission into their hardened hearts."
"There is one among their number who may yet be saved," replied the angel. "True, his deeds have been bloody and fearful, but a glimmer of light still remains. A pious mother watched over his infant years, and the remembrance of her gentle teachings still steals over his mind like some long-forgotten dream, awakening tender emotions, checking for the moment his evil course, calling upon the sinner to repent and return once more to the path of virtue. Behold him just before us. Mark well his countenance. Even in its fierce lineaments, you may discern an expression which tells of better things. A change is about to take place with him. I must draw near to him in his sleep, and endeavor to touch sometender chord of memory."
The pirate's nightly watch was ended, and, unheeding the danger around him, he slept securely. His dreams were of his childhood's home. Once more he was an innocent boy, and, kneeling by his mother's side, he lisped his evening prayer. Alas! years had gone by since words like these had passed his lips. Her soft hand was upon his head as in days of yore, and her mild countenance gazed lovingly upon him as she repeated these words: "For this, my son, was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found."
The storm had passed with the shadows of night, and the morning dawned bright and beautiful. The vessel now lay at anchor on the shores of a lovely but uninhabited island. For a few hours the crew were at liberty to tread on land once more, and gladly did they avail themselves of the privilege.
Still keeping near to the object of his mission, the angel stood with Eveline in a thick grove, in the midst of which the waters of a bubbling spring came gushing up with a delightful coolness.
The pirate threw himself upon a mossy bank, and seemed for a time lost in deep and painful reflection. The perfect stillness of that little spot, so beautiful to one whose eye had long been accustomed to nothing but the vast expanse of waters, with the deep green foliage of its graceful trees, the fragrant breath of the brilliant flowers — awakened feelings which had long been a stranger to his heart. His dream came vividly to his mind. With wonderful distinctness, the home of his childhood was before him.
Nearer and nearer drew the ministering spirit, still holding Eveline by the hand.
"Must you still work through earthly mediums?" she whispered. "Surely there are none on this lonely island who can minister to a diseased mind."
"No human being, indeed," the spirit replied; "but the Creator of the universe has many mediums of good. Even in inanimate nature, the fragrant flowers, the waving leaves, the gurgling waters — all may become messengers of hope and consolation to those who are bowed down by affliction, or who have wandered far from the right path. But see! yonder comes the present messenger of peace;" and as he spoke, Eveline beheld a beautiful dove fluttering slowly through the air, until she perched upon a tree overhanging the spring.
Absorbed in his own bitter reflections, the pirate marked her not, until she sent forth her sweet mournful notes of love. Another chord of memory was touched. The sinner could bear no more; he wept like a little child, and, kneeling on that lonely spot, poured out his heart in prayer.
Then solemnly he vowed to join no more the wicked band who had led him so far in the sinful way. He would remain in strict concealment until the vessel set sail, trusting in Providence to open the way for him to leave the island, and dwell once more among his fellow men.
"It is enough," said the angel; "my present mission is ended. Return with me to my heavenly home."
In an instant, they stood once more in that beautiful garden where Eveline had first beheld her friend and guide. New beauties now surrounded him. Trees, birds, and flowers, had acquired a loveliness surpassing anything which Eveline could have imagined to exist; and the angel himself seemed encompassed by a light and splendor unobserved before.
"It is but the form of the happiness within," he said, in reply to the maiden's look of surprise. "The works of love which I have been permitted to form, have given me the most interior delight, and therefore everything around me glows with new beauty.
"You must now return to the material world which is yet your dwelling-place. Bear in your heart the lesson which you have learned. Live no longer for yourself. In every act of your life, have regard to the good of others. Happiness will be yours, for you will find delight in use, and this is the only source of true heavenly happiness. Farewell."
The angel disappeared, and in her own room, Eveline awoke to ponder on her dream.
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