THE CHURLISH FARMER. ARE you kind-hearted or churlish? This is a little like asking if you are a cordial or a scourge to those around you. One of the most churlish remarks that I remember to have ever heard was made by a farmer; it was on a Shrove Tuesday. A servant-girl had been frying pancakes and fritters all the morning, till, what with the heat and the fatigue she seemed hardly able to stand. A kind-hearted visitor, who happened to be present, interceded that the girl might have a little rest. "Let her rest in her grave!" was the reply of the churlish farmer. This happened when I was a boy, so that by the time I grew up to manhood, the churlish farmer was in years. With the wrinkled brow and the grey hair came age's infirmities, weakness, rheumatic attacks, loss of appetite and decrepitude. Often and often did I hear him complain of weariness and pain, and especially that he could get no rest; but never do I remember hearing him make this last observation without being reminded of his churlish remark, "Let her rest in her grave!" 222 THE CHURLISH FARMER. Years rolled on; spring and summer, autumn and winter passed away. The farmer's ground was ploughed and sowed, reaped and mowed ; his harvests were safely stowed in his rickyards and barns, and at last he himself was gathered into the garner of death. It seems but as yesterday when I attended his remains to the house appointed for all living. When the funeral service had been read, the rattling earth dropped on the coffin, and the minister had taken his departure, some who were present indulged in a few remarks standing on the edge of the grave. One remembered this of the departed, and another remembered that. I had my remembrance too; and I wish it had been of a different kind. I remembered and it moves me even now to acknowledge it-I remembered his churlish remark, "Let her rest in her grave!" Now, whatever of our frailties and infirmities may be remembered by our surviving friends, when the green sod is growing over us, let it not be said that we had within us unkind and churlish hearts. We are borne with; let us bear with others, not forgetting the injunction of the apostle Peter: "Be pitiful, be courteous;" nor that of St. Paul, "Be kindly affectioned one to another," Rom. xii. 10; 1 Pet. iii. 8. DESOLATION. ANOTHER thought for the thoughtful. Most persons, young and old, have a pleasure in visiting ruins: this inclination is somewhat romantic in youth, but in age it springs from graver and deeper emotions. When an old man gazes on a dilapidated mansion, a roofless church, a ruined abbey, a desolated palace, or a mouldering castle, it comes home to his heart. The ivy, the crumbling wall, the falling fragment, and the tottering tower speak to his spirit in a language that he cannot but comprehend. They are monuments on which are graven his own mortality. Old Humphrey has wandered in desolate places, while the hollow blustering wind and the voiceless solitude have alike impressed his mind with the solemn truth, that the ground was giving way beneath his feet, and all things fading around him. His latter end has been vividly brought before him, and his lips in a subdued tone have syllabled the words, "All the days of my appointed time will I wait, till my change come," Job xiv. 14. How impressive is the language of Holy Writ when prophetically sketching the ruins of Babylon! "It shall never be inhabited, neither shall it be dwelt in from generation to generation, neither shall the Arabian pitch his tent there: neither shall the shepherds make their fold there. But wild beasts of the desert shall lie there; and their houses shall be full of doleful creatures; and owls shall dwell there, and satyrs shall dance there," Isa. xiii. 20, 21. "I will also make it a possession for the bittern, and pools of water: and I will sweep it with the besom of destruction, saith the Lord of hosts," Isa. xiv. 23. Not only Christians, but Turks have been moved to solemn reflections by the influence of desolate places over their minds. It is said that when Mohammed, second emperor of the Turks took possession of Constantinople in the year 1453, and thus put an end to the Roman name, that the splendid palaces of Constantine in their desolation much affected him. For a season he mused in a melancholy manner on the fading nature of earthly greatness, and then broke out in the language of Arabian poetry, "The spider hath woven her web in the imperial palace, and the owl hath sung her watch song on the towers of Afrasiab." THE DOORS BEING SHUT. I HAVE been reading over the text: "Then the same day at evening, being the first day of the week, when the doors were shut where the disciples were assembled for fear of the Jews, came Jesus and stood in the midst, and saith unto them, Peace be unto you," John xx. 19. I have been reflecting on the circumstance of "the doors being shut," and some pleasant though somewhat fanciful thoughts have come across my mind. Do you wish that Jesus would come into your heart, saying, "Peace be unto you?" Look well to it, that the "doors" and windows are "shut;" for if your ears are open to take in all the vain babbling that prevails in Vanity Fair, and your eyes open to stare at all the fine things there set forth, your heart will soon be as full as the inn at Bethlehem, and there will be no room for Jesus. Either keep the doors and windows shut, or watch them carefully. It is cold work watching, especially when darkness is round you. Many a weary hour will you have while other folks are merry-making; but when He comes, you shall see that the morning Sun of Righteousness is better than the midnight lamp of revelry. |