THE ONE MOSS-ROSE. [Illustration: "STOP, STOP, --DON'T CUT IT!"] [Illustration] THE ONE MOSS-ROSE. BY REV. P. B. POWER, M. A. [Illustration: Emblem] LONDON: T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW; EDINBURGH; AND NEW YORK. 1872. [Illustration] THE ONE MOSS-ROSE. [Illustration: L]EONARD DOBBIN had a humble cottage upon SquireCourtenay's estate; but although the cottage was humble, it was alwayskept neat and clean, and was a pattern of everything that a poor man'sdwelling should be. The white-washed walls, the smoothly raked gravelwalk, and the sanded floor, were so many evidences that Leonard was acareful and a thrifty man; and while some of his poorer neighbourslaughed, and asked where was the use of being so precise, they couldnot help respecting Dobbin, nevertheless. The great, and, indeed, almost the _only_ pleasure upon which thelabourer allowed himself to spend any time, was the little flower gardenin front of the house. The garden was Dobbin's pride; and the pride ofthe garden was a moss-rose tree, which was the peculiar treasure of thelabourer's little crippled son, who watched it from the window, andwhenever he was well enough, crept out to water it, and pick off anystray snail which had ventured to climb up its rich brown leaves. Nomother ever watched her little infant with more eager eyes than JacobDobbin did his favourite rose; and no doubt he thought all the more ofit because he had so few pleasures in life. Jacob Dobbin had no finetoys, he could not take any long walks, nor could he play at cricket, or any such games, therefore his rose tree was all the more precious; infact, in his estimation there was nothing to compare with it in theworld. There was a great difference between poor Jacob's lot and that of SquireCourtenay's son. James Courtenay had plenty of toys; he had also a pony, and a servant to attend him whenever he rode out; when the summer came, he used often to go out sailing with the squire in his yacht; and therewas scarce anything on which he set his heart which he was not able toget. With all these pleasures, James Courtenay was not, however, so happy ayouth as poor Jacob Dobbin. Jacob, though crippled, was contented--hisfew pleasures were thoroughly enjoyed, and "a contented mind is acontinual feast;" whereas James was spoiled by the abundance of goodthings at his command; he was like the full man that loatheth thehoneycomb; and he often caused no little trouble to his friends, and, indeed, to himself also, by the evil tempers he displayed. Many a time did James Courtenay's old nurse, who was a God-fearingwoman, point out to him that the world was not made for him alone; thatthere were many others to be considered as well as himself; and thatalthough God had given him many things, still he was not of a bit moreimportance in His sight than others who had not so much. All this theyoung squire would never have listened to from any one else; but oldAggie had reared him, and whenever he was laid by with any illness, orwas in any particular trouble, she was the one to whom he always fled. "God sometimes teaches people very bitter lessons, " said old Aggie oneday, when James Courtenay had been speaking contemptuously to one of theservants; "and take care, Master James, lest you soon have to learnone. " Jacob Dobbin had been for some time worse than usual, his cough was moresevere, and his poor leg more painful, when his father and he held along conversation by the side of their scanty fire. Leonard had made the tea in the old black pot with the broken spout, andJacob lay on his little settle, close up to the table. "Father, " said Jacob, "I saw the young squire ride by on his gray ponyto-day, and just then my leg gave me a sore pinch, and I thought, Howstrange it is that there should be such a difference between folk; he'salmost always galloping about, and I'm almost always in bed. " "Poor folk, " answered Jacob's father, "are not always so badly off asthey suppose; little things make them happy, and little things oftenmake great folk _un_happy; and let us remember, Jacob, that whatever maybe our lot in life, we all have an opportunity of pleasing God, and soobtaining the great reward, which of his mercy, and for Christ's sake, he will give to all those who please him by patient continuance inwell-doing. The squire cannot please God any more than you. " "Oh, " said Jacob, "the squire can spend more money than I can; he cangive to the poor, and do no end of things that I cannot: all I can do isto lie still on my bed, and at times keep myself from almost cursing andswearing when the pain is very bad. " "Exactly so, my son, " answered Leonard Dobbin; "but remember thatpatience is of great price in the sight of God; and he is very oftenglorified in the sufferings of his people. " "The way I should like to glorify God, " said Jacob, "would be by goingabout doing good, and letting people see me do it, so that I couldglorify him before them, and not in my dull little corner here. " "Ah, Jacob, my son, " replied old Leonard Dobbin, "you may glorify Godmore than you suppose up in your little dull corner--what should youthink of glorifying him before angels and evil spirits?" "Ah, that would be glorious!" cried Jacob. "Spirits, good and bad, are ever around us, " said old Leonard, "and theyare watching us; and how much must God be glorified before them, whenthey see his grace able to make a sufferer patient and gentle, and whenthey know that he is bearing everything for Christ's sake. When aChristian is injured, and avenges not himself; when he is evil spokenof, and answers not again; when he is provoked, yet continueslong-suffering: then the spirits, good and bad, witness these things, and they must glorify the grace of God. " That night Jacob Dobbin seemed to have quite a new light thrown upon hislife. "Perhaps, " said he to himself, as he lay upon the little settle, "I'm afflicted in order that I may glorify God. I suppose he isglorified by his people bearing different kinds of pain; perhaps someother boy is glorifying him with a crippled hand, while I am with mypoor crippled leg: but I should like to be able even to bearpersecution from man for Christ's sake, like the martyrs in father's oldbook; as I have strength to bear such dreadful pain in my poor leg, Idaresay I might bear a great deal of suffering of other kinds. " * * * * * The spring with its showers passed away, and the beautiful summer came, and Jacob Dobbin was able to sit at his cottage door, breathing in thepure country air, and admiring what was to him the loveliest object innature--namely, one rich, swelling bud upon his moss-rose tree. Therewas but one bud this year upon the tree, --the frosts and keen springwinds had nipped all the rest; and this one was now bursting intobeauty; and it was doubly dear to Jacob, because it was left alone. Jacob passed much of his time at the cottage door, dividing hisadmiration between the one moss-rose and the beautiful white fleecyclouds, which used to sail in majestic grandeur over his head; and oftenhe used to be day-dreaming for hours, about the white robes of all whosuffered for their Lord. While thus engaged one day, the young squire came running along, and hiseye fell upon Jacob's rose. "Hallo, " cried he with delight--"amoss-rose! Ha, ha!--the gardener said we had not even one blown in ourgarden; but here's a rare beauty!" and in a moment James Courtenay hadbounded over the little garden gate, and stood beside the rose bush. Inanother instant his knife was out of his pocket, and his hand wasapproaching the tree. "Stop, stop!" cried Jacob Dobbin; "pray don't cut it, --'tis our onlyrose; I've watched it I don't know how long; and 'tisn't quite come outyet, "--and Jacob made an effort to get from his seat to the tree; butbefore the poor little cripple could well rise from his seat, the youngsquire's knife was through the stem, and with a loud laugh he jumpedover the little garden fence, and was soon lost to sight. The excitement of this scene had a lamentable effect upon poor JacobDobbin. When he found his one moss-rose gone, he burst into a violentfit of sobbing, and soon a quantity of blood began to pour from hismouth--he had broken a blood-vessel; and a neighbour, passing that way alittle time after, found him lying senseless upon the ground. Theneighbouring doctor was sent for, and he gave it as his opinion thatJacob could never get over this attack. "Had it been an ordinary case, "said the doctor, "I should not have apprehended a fatal result; butunder present circumstances I fear the very worst; poor Jacob has notstrength to bear up against this loss of blood. " For many days Jacob Dobbin lay in a darkened room, and many were thethoughts of the other world which came into his mind; amongst them weresome connected with the holy martyrs. "Father, " said he to his agedparent as he sat by his side, "I have been learning a lesson about themartyrs. I see now how unfit I was to be tried as they were; if I couldnot bear the loss of one moss-rose patiently for Christ's sake, howcould I have borne fire and prison, and such like things?" "Ah, Jacob, " said the old man, "'tis in little common trials such as wemeet with every day, that, by God's grace, such a spirit is rearedwithin us as was in the hearts of the great martyrs of olden time;--tellme, can you forgive the young squire?" "The blessed Jesus forgave his persecutors, " whispered Jacob faintly, "and the martyrs prayed for those who tormented them--in this at least Imay be like them. Father, I do forgive the young squire; and, father, "said Jacob, as he opened his eyes after an interval of a few minutes'rest, "get your spade, and dig up the tree, and take it with my duty tothe young squire. Don't wait till I'm dead, father; I should not feelparting with it then; but I love the tree, and I wish to give it to himnow. And if you dig up a very large ball of earth with it, he can haveit planted in his garden at once; and--;" but poor Jacob could say nomore; he sank back quite exhausted, and he never returned to thesubject again, for in a day or two afterwards he died. * * * * * When old Leonard Dobbin appeared at the great house with hiswheel-barrow containing the rose tree and its ball of earth, there wasno small stir amongst the servants. Some said that it was fine impudencein him to come troubling the family about his trumpery rose, bringingthe tree, as if he wanted to lay Jacob Dobbin's blood at their youngmaster's door; others shook their heads, and said it was a bad business, and that that tree was an ugly present, and one that they should notcare to have; and as to old Aggie, she held her tongue, but prayed thatthe child she had reared so anxiously might yet become changed, and growup an altered man. Old Leonard could not get audience of the squire or his son; but thegardener, who was in the servants' hall when he arrived with his rose, told him to wheel it along, and he would plant it in Master James'sgarden, and look after it until it bloomed again; and there the rosefinally took up its abode. Meanwhile the young squire grew worse and worse; he respected no one'sproperty, if he fancied it himself; and all the tenants and domesticswere afraid of imposing any check upon his evil ways. He was not, however, without some stings of conscience; he knew that Jacob Dobbinwas dead--he had even seen his newly-made grave in the churchyard onSunday; and he could not blot out from his memory the distress of poorJacob when last he saw him alive; moreover, some of the whisperings ofthe neighbourhood reached his ears; and all these things made him feelfar from comfortable. As day after day passed by, James Courtenay felt more and moremiserable: a settled sadness took possession of his mind, varied by fitsof restlessness and passion, and he felt that there was somethinghanging over him, although he could not exactly tell what. It wasevident, from the whispers which had reached his ears, that there hadbeen some dreadful circumstances connected with poor Jacob Dobbin'sdeath, but he feared to inquire; and so day after day passed inwretchedness, and there seemed little chance of matters getting anybetter. At length a change came in a very unexpected way. As James Courtenay wasriding along one day, he saw a pair of bantam fowls picking up the cornabout a stack in one of the tenants' yards. The bantams were veryhandsome, and he felt a great desire to possess them; so he dismounted, and seeing the farmer's son hard by, he asked him for how much he wouldsell the fowls. "They're not for sale, master, " said the boy; "they belong to my youngsister, and she wouldn't sell those bantams for any money, --there isn'ta cock to match that one in all the country round. " "I'll give a sovereign for them, " said James Courtenay. "No, not ten, " answered Jim Meyers. "Then I'll take them, and no thanks, " said the young squire; and sosaying, he flung Jim Meyers the sovereign, and began to hunt the bantamsinto a corner of the yard. "I say, " cried Jim, "leave off hunting those bantams, master, or I mustcall my father. " "Your father!" cried the young squire; "and pray, who's your father?You're a pretty fellow to talk about a father; take care I don't bringmy father to you;" and having said this, he made a dart at the cockbantam, that he had by this time driven into a corner. "Look here, " said Jim, doubling his fists. "You did a bad job, youngmaster, by Jacob Dobbin; you were the death of him, and I won't have youthe death of my little sister, by, maybe, her fretting herself to deathabout these birds, so you look out, and if you touch one of these birds, come what will of it, I'll touch you. " "Who ever said I did Jacob Dobbin any harm?" asked James Courtenay, hisface as pale as ashes; "I never laid a hand upon the brat. " "Brat or no brat, " answered Jim Meyers, "you were the death of him; youmade him burst a blood-vessel, and I say you murdered him. " This was toomuch for James Courtenay to bear, so without more ado, he flew upon JimMeyers, intending to pommel him well; but Jim was not to be so easilypommelled; he stood upon his guard, and soon dealt the young squire sucha blow between the eyes that he had no more power to fight. "Vengeance! vengeance!" cried the angry youth. "I'll make you pay dearlyfor this;" and slinking away, he got upon his pony and rode rapidlyhome. It may be easily imagined that on the young squire's arrival at theHall, in so melancholy a plight, the whole place was in terribleconfusion. Servants ran hither and thither, old Aggie went off for someice, and the footman ran to the stable to send the groom for thedoctor, and the whole house was turned upside down. In the midst of all this, James Courtenay's father came home, and greatindeed was his rage when he heard that his son had received this beatingon his own property, and from the hands of a son of one of his owntenantry; and his rage became greater and greater as the beaten boy gavea very untrue account of what had occurred. "I was admiring a bantam ofMeyers, " said he to his father, "and his son flew upon me like a tiger, and hit me between the eyes. " Squire Courtenay determined to move in the matter at once, so he sent agroom to summon the Meyers--both father and son. "I'll make Meyers paydearly for this, " said the squire; "his lease is out next Michaelmas, and I shall not renew it; and, besides, I'll prosecute his son. " All this delighted the young squire, and every minute seemed to him tobe an hour, until the arrival of the two Meyers, upon whom amplevengeance was to be wreaked; and the pain of his eyes seemed as nothing, so sweet was the prospect of revenge. In the course of an hour the two Meyers arrived, and with much fear andtrembling were shown into their landlord's presence. "Meyers, " cried the squire, in great wrath, "you leave your farm atMichaelmas; and as to that young scoundrel, your son, I'll have himbefore the bench next bench-day, and I'll see whether I can't make himpay for such tricks as these. " "What have I done, " asked old Meyers, "to deserve being turned adrift?If your honour will hear the whole of the story about this business, Idon't believe you'll turn me out on the cold world, after being on thatland nigh-hand forty years. " "'Hear!' I have heard enough about it; your son dared to lift a hand tomine, and--and I'll have no tenant on my estate that will ever ventureupon such an outrage as that;--it was a great compliment to you for myson to admire your bantams, or anything on your farm, without his beingsubjected to such an assault. " "I don't want to excuse my boy, " said old Meyers, "for touching theyoung squire; and right sorry I am that he ever lifted a hand to him;but begging your honour's pardon, the young squire provoked him to it, and he did a great deal more than just admire my little girl'sbantams. --Come, Jim, speak up, and tell the squire all about it. " "Ay, speak up and excuse yourself, you young rascal, if you can, " saidthe angry squire; "and if you can't, you'll soon find your way into theinside of a prison for this. Talk of poaching! what is it to an assaultupon the person?" "I will speak up, then, your honour, since you wish it, " said JimMeyers, "and I'll tell the whole truth of how this came about. " And thenhe told the whole story of the young squire having wanted to buy thebantams, and on his not being permitted to do so, of his endeavouring totake them by force. "And when I wouldn't let him carry away my sister'sbirds, he flew on me like a game cock, and in self-defence I struck himas I did. " "You said I murdered Jacob Dobbin, " interrupted James Courtenay. "Yes, I did, " answered Jim Meyers, "and all the country says the same, and I only say what every one else says; ask anybody within five milesof this, and if they're not afraid to speak up, they'll tell just thesame tale that I do. " "Murdered Jacob Dobbin!" ejaculated the squire in astonishment; "I don'tbelieve my son ever lifted a hand to him, --you mean the crippled boythat died some time ago?" "Yes, he means him, " said Jim Meyers' father; "and 'tis true what thelad says, that folk for five miles round lay his death at the youngsquire's door, and say that a day will come when his blood will berequired of him. " "Why, what happened?" asked the squire, beginning almost to tremble inhis chair; for he knew that his son was given to very violent tempers, and was of a very arbitrary disposition; and he felt, moreover, withinthe depths of his own heart, that he had not checked him as he should. "What is the whole truth about this matter?" "Come, speak up, Jim, " said old Meyers; "you were poor Jacob's friend, and you know most about it;" the squire also added a word, encouragingthe lad, who, thus emboldened, took courage and gave the squire thewhole history of poor Jacob Dobbin's one moss-rose. He told him of thecripple's love for the plant, and how its one and only blossom had beenrudely snatched away by the young squire, and how poor Jacob burst ablood vessel and finally died. "And if your honour wants to know what became of the tree, you'll findit planted in the young squire's garden, " added Jim, "and the gardenerwill tell you how it came there. " The reader will easily guess what must have been the young squire'sfeelings as he heard the whole of this tale. Several times did heendeavour to make his escape, under the plea that he was in great painfrom his face, and once or twice he pretended to faint away; but hisfather, who, though proud and irreligious, was just, determined that heshould remain until the whole matter was searched out. When Jim Meyers' story was ended, the squire bade him go into theservants' hall, and his father also, while old Dobbin was sent for; andas to James, his son, he told him to go up to his bed-room, and not comedown until he was called. Poor old Leonard Dobbin was just as much frightened as Jim Meyers andhis father had been, at the summons to attend the squire. He had aclear conscience, however; he felt that he had not wronged the squire inanything; and so, washing himself and putting on his best Sundayclothes, he made his way to the Hall as quickly as he could. "Leonard Dobbin, " said the squire, "I charge you, upon pain of my worstdispleasure, to tell me all you know about this story of your late son'smoss-rose tree. You need not be afraid to tell me all; your only causefor fear will be the holding back from me anything connected with thematter. " Leonard went through the whole story just as Jim Meyers had done; onlyhe added many little matters which made the young squire's conductappear even in a still worse light than it had already done. He was ableto add all about his poor crippled boy's forgiveness of the one who hadwronged him, and how he had himself wheeled the rose tree up to thesquire's door, and how it was now to be found in the young squire'sgarden. "And if I may make so bold as to speak, " continued old Leonard, "nothing but true religion, and the love of Christ, and the power ofGod's Spirit in the heart, will ever make us heartily forgive ourenemies, and not only forgive them, but render to them good for evil. " When Leonard Dobbin arrived James Courtenay had been sent for, and hadbeen obliged with crimsoned cheeks to listen to this story of the poorcrippled boy's feelings; and now he would have given all the roses inthe world, if they were his, to restore poor Jacob to life, or never tohave meddled with his flower; but what had been done could not beundone, and no one could awake the poor boy from his long cold sleep inthe silent grave. "Leonard Dobbin, " said the squire, after he had sat for some timemoodily, with his face buried in his hands, "this is the worst blow Ihave ever had in life. I would give £10, 000 hard money, down on thattable, this very moment, that my boy had never touched your boy's rose. But what is done cannot be undone; go home, and when I've thought uponthis matter I'll see you again. " "Meyers, " said the squire, turning to the other tenant, "I was hasty insaying a little while ago that I'd turn you out of your farm nextMichaelmas; you need have no fear about the matter; instead of turningyou out, I'll give you a lease of it. I hope you won't talk more thancan be helped about this terrible business. Now go. " The two men stood talking together for a while at the lodge before theyleft the grounds of the great house; and old Leonard could not helpwiping his eyes with the sleeve of his rough coat, as he said to Meyers, "Ah, neighbour, 'tis sore work having a child without the fear of Godbefore his eyes. I'd rather be the father of poor Jacob in his grave, than of the young squire up yonder at the Hall. " * * * * * Bitter indeed were Squire Courtenay's feelings and reflections when thetwo old men had left, and, his son having been ordered off to hischamber, he found himself once more alone. The dusk of the evening cameon, but the squire did not seem to care for food, and, in truth, hismelancholy thoughts had taken all appetite away. At last he went to thewindow, which looked out over a fine park and a long reach of valuableproperty, and he began to think: What good will all these farms do thisboy, if the tenants upon them only hate him, and curse him? Perhaps, with all this property, he may come to some bad end, and bring disgraceupon his family and himself. And then the squire's own heart began tosmite him, and he thought: Am not I to blame for not having looked moreclosely after him, and for not having corrected him whenever he wentwrong? I must do something at once. I must send him away from thisplace, where almost every one lets him do as he likes, until he learnshow to control himself, at least so far as not to do injustice toothers. Meanwhile the young squire's punishment had begun. When left to thesolitude of his room, after having heard the whole of Leonard Dobbin'saccount of Jacob's death, a great horror took possession of his mind. Many were the efforts the young lad made to shake off the gloomythoughts which came trooping into his mind; but every thought seemed tohave a hundred hooks by which it clung to the memory, so that once inthe mind, it could not be got rid of again. At length the young squirelay down upon his bed, trembling as if he had the ague, and realizinghow true are the words, that "our sin will find us out, " and that "theway of transgressors is hard. " At last, to his great relief, the handle of his door was turned, and oldAggie made her appearance. "O Aggie, Aggie, " cried James Courtenay, "come here. I'm fit to die, with the horrid thoughts I have, and with the dreadful things I see. JimMeyers said I murdered Jacob Dobbin; and I believe I have, though Ididn't intend to do it. I wish I had never gone that way; I wish I hadnever seen that rose; I wish there had never been a rose in theworld. --O dear, my poor head, my poor head! I think 'twill burst;" andJames Courtenay put his two hands upon the two sides of his head, asthough he wanted to keep them from splitting asunder. Aggie saw that there was no use in speaking while James Courtenay's headwas in such a state as this. All she could do was to help him into bed, and give him something to drink, --food he put from him, but drink heasked for again and again. Water was all he craved, but Aggie was atlast obliged to give over, and say she was afraid to give him any more. James Courtenay's state was speedily made known to his father, and in afew minutes, from old Aggie's conversation with him, the groom was onhis way to a neighbouring town to hasten the family physician. Thelatter soon arrived, and, after a few minutes with James Courtenay, pronounced him to be in brain fever--the end of which, of course, no mancould foresee. And a fearful fever indeed it was. Day after day passed in wilddelirium. The burden of all the poor sufferer's cries and thoughts was, that he was a murderer. He used to call himself Cain, and to try to tearthe murderer's mark out of his forehead. Sometimes he rolled himself inthe sheet, and thought that he was dressed in a funeral cloak attendingJacob Dobbin's funeral, and all the while knowing that he had caused hisdeath. At times the poor patient would attempt to spring from his bed;and now he fancied that he was being whipped with the thorny branchesof rose trees; and now that he was being put in prison for stealing froma poor man's garden. At one time he thought all the tenants on theestate were hunting him off it with hounds, while he was fleeing fromthem on his gray pony as fast as her legs could carry her; and the nextmoment his pony was entangled hopelessly in the branches of littleDobbin's rose tree, and the dogs were on him, and the huntsmen werehalloing, and he was about to be devoured. All these were the terribleravings of fever; and very awful it was to see the young squire with hishair all shaved off, and vinegar rags over his head, tossing his armsabout, and endeavouring at times to burst from his nurses, and leap outupon the floor. The one prevailing thought in all the sick boy's ravingswas Jacob Dobbin's rose bush. Jacob, or his rose bush in some form orother, occupied a prominent part in every vision. Ah, how terrible are the lashings of conscience! how terrible theeffects of sin! For what a small gratification did this unhappy youthbring so much misery upon himself! And is it not often thus? The apostlesays, "What fruit had ye then in those things whereof ye are nowashamed?" And what fruit of pleasure had James Courtenay from hisplunder of Jacob Dobbin's rose? Where was that rose? It had long sincefaded; its leaves were mingled with the dust upon which it had beenthrown; yet for the sake of the transient enjoyment of possessing thatflower a few days before abundance would have made their appearance inhis own garden, he had brought upon himself all this woe. Poor, verypoor indeed, are the pleasures of sin; and when they have been enjoyed, they are like the ashes of a fire that has burned out. Compare JamesCourtenay's present troubles, --his torture of mind, his pain of body, his risk of losing his life, and the almost momentary enjoyment which hehad in plundering his poor neighbour of his moss-rose, --and see howSatan cheats in his promises of enjoyment from sin. Dear young reader! let not Satan persuade you that there is any profitin sin--momentary pleasure there may indeed be, but it is soon gone, andthen come sorrow and distress. Sin is a sweet cup with bitter dregs, andhe who drinks the little sweet that there is, must drink the dregs also. Moments of sin may cause years of sorrow. * * * * * For many days James Courtenay hung between life and death; night andday he was watched by skilful physicians, but they could do very littlemore than let the disease run its course. At length a change for thebetter appeared; the unhappy boy fell into a long sleep, and when heopened his eyes his disease was gone. But it had left him in a trulypitiable state. It was a sad sight to see the once robust boy now verylittle better than a skeleton; to hear the once loud voice now nostronger than a mere whisper; and instead of the mass of brown curlyhair, to behold nothing but linen rags which swathed the shaven head. But all this Squire Courtenay did not so much mind; his son's life wasspared, and he made no doubt but that care and attention would soonfatten him up again, and the curly locks would grow as luxuriantly asthey did before. Old Aggie, too, was full of joy; the boy that she hadnursed so tenderly, and for whom she had had such long anxiety, was notcut off in the midst of his sins, and he might perhaps have his heartchanged and grow up to be a good man. And what an opportunity was thisfor trying to impress his mind! Old Aggie was determined that it shouldnot be lost, and she hoped that the young squire might yet prove ablessing, and not a curse, to those amongst whom he lived. There were not wanting many upon Squire Courtenay's estate who wouldhave been very glad if the young squire had never recovered. They hadtasted a little of his bad character, and they feared that if he grew upto inherit the property, he would prove a tyrannical landlord to them. But amongst these was not to be reckoned old Leonard Dobbin. True, hehad suffered terribly--indeed more than any one else--from JamesCourtenay's evil ways; but he did not on that account wish him dead--farfrom it. It was old Leonard's great fear lest the young squire shoulddie in his sins, and no one asked more earnestly about the invalid thanthis good old man. As it was necessary that the sick boy should be kept as quiet aspossible, no one went near his room except old Aggie and those whoseservices could not be dispensed with. Old Aggie alone was allowed totalk to the invalid, and a long time would have elapsed before she couldventure to speak of the circumstances which had brought about thisdreadful illness, had not the young squire himself entered on thesubject. "Aggie, " said he one morning, after he had lain a long time quite still, "I have been dreaming a beautiful dream. " This was quite delightful to the old nurse, who for many long days hadheard of nothing but visions of the most frightful kind. "I saw a rose bush--" "Hush, hush, Master James, " said Aggie, terrified lest the dreadfulsubject should come uppermost again, and once more bring on the deliriumand a relapse of the fever. "No, no, Aggie, I cannot hush; it was a beautiful dream, and it has doneme more good than all the doctor's medicine. I saw a rose bush--amoss-rose--and it had one bud upon it, and sitting under the bud waslittle Jacob Dobbin. O Aggie, it was the same Jacob that used to be downat the cottage, for I knew his face; but he was beautiful, instead ofsickly-looking; and instead of being all ragged, he was dressed insomething like silver. I wanted to run away from him, but he looked sokindly at me that I could not stir; and at last he beckoned to me, and Istood quite close to him; and only he looked so softly at me, I musthave been dazzled by the light on his face and his silvery clothes. "I did not feel as though I dared to speak to him; but at last he spoketo me, and his voice was as soft as a flute, and he said, 'All the roseson earth fade and wither, but nothing fades or withers in the happyplace where I now live; and oh, do not be anxious to possess thewithering, fading flowers, but walk on the road that leads to my happyhome, where everything is bright for ever and ever. ' "Aggie, Aggie, " said James Courtenay, who saw his nurse's anxious face, and that she was about to stop his speaking any more, "it is no use totry to stop my telling you all about it. My head has been so strange oflate, that I forget everything, and I am afraid of forgetting thisdream; so I must tell it now, and you are to write it down, that I mayhave it to read, if it should slip out of my mind. Jacob Dobbinsaid, --'You are not now in the right road; but ask Jesus to pardon yoursins, and then go and love everybody just as Jesus loved you; and try tomake every one happy, and do good morning, noon, and night, and try toscatter some flowers of happiness in every place to which you go; andthen you shall be with me in the land where all is bright. ' And Ithought Jacob pulled the one moss-rose, and gave it to me, and said, 'This is an earthly rose; keep it as long and as carefully as you will, it will fade at last; but our flowers never fade: try, O try, to come tothem. ' I heard music, Aggie, or something like music, or perhaps like astream flowing along, and I felt something like the summer breeze uponmy cheeks, and Jacob was gone, and there I stood with the rose in myhand. "Write it down, Aggie, " said the invalid, "exactly as I have told you;"and having said this, James Courtenay dropped off into a doze again. Some days intervened between this reference to what had passed and thenext conversation upon the subject, in which James Courtenay toldAggie--who had to listen much against her will--what he thought aboutthis wonderful dream. "I know the meaning of that dream, " said James Courtenay to his nurse. "I do not want any one to explain it to me; I can tell all about it. Themeaning is, that I must become a changed boy, or I shall never go toheaven when I die; and all the good things which I have here are not tobe compared with those which are to be had there. What Jacob said was, that all these things are fading, and I must seek for what is betterthan anything here. "Aggie, " said James Courtenay, "you often think I am asleep when I amnot; and you think I scarcely have my mind about me yet, when I lie solong quite still, looking away into the blue sky: but I am thinking; Iam always thinking, and very often I am praying--asking forgiveness forthe past, and hoping that I shall be changed for the future. " "But we can't do much by hoping, " said Aggie, "and we can't do anythingby ourselves. " "I mean to do more than _hope_, " said James Courtenay; "I mean to_try_. " "And you mean, I trust, to ask God's Spirit to help you?" said Aggie. "Yes, every day, " said James. "He helped Jacob, and he'll help me; and Ihope to be yet where Jacob is now. " "Ay, he helps the poor, " said Aggie, "and he'll help the rich. Jacob hadhis trials, and you'll have yours; and perhaps yours are the hardest, sofar as going to heaven is concerned; for the rich have a temptation inevery acre of land and in every guinea they have. Our Lord says that''tis hard for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of heaven. '" For many days James Courtenay thus pondered and prayed, with Aggie ashis chief companion and instructor, and at length he was able to leavehis room. But he was a different James Courtenay from the one who hadentered that room some months before. The young squire was still paleand thin; but this was not the chief change observable in him, --he wassilent and thoughtful in his manner, and gentle and kind to every onearound. The loud voice which once rang so imperiously and impatientlythrough the corridors was now heard no more; the hand was not lifted tostrike, and often gratitude was expressed for any attention that wasshown. The servants looked at each other and wondered; they couldscarcely hope that such a change would last; and when their young masterreturned to full health and strength, they quite expected the old stateof things to return again. But they were mistaken. The change in JamesCourtenay was a real one; it was founded on something more substantialthan the transient feelings of illness, --he was changed _in his heart_. And very soon he learnt by experience the happiness which true religionbrings with it. Instead of being served unwillingly by the servantsaround, every one was anxious to please him; and he almost wondered attimes whether these could be the servants with whom he had lived all hislife. They now, indeed, gave a service of love; and a service of love isas different from a service of mere duty as day is from night. Wherever the young squire had most displayed his passionate temper, there he made a point of going, for the sake of speaking kindly, andundoing so far as he could the evil he had already done. He kept ever inmind what he had heard from Jacob Dobbin in his dream, --that there wasnot only a Saviour by whom alone he could be saved from his sins, butalso that there was a road on which it was necessary to walk; a roadwhich ran through daily life; a road on which loving deeds were to bedone, and loving words spoken;--the road of obedience to the mind ofChrist. James Courtenay well knew that obedience could not save him; buthe well knew also that obedience was required from such as were saved bypure grace. * * * * * Altered as James Courtenay undoubtedly was, and earnest as he felt tobecome different to what he had been in olden time, he could not shakeoff from his mind the sad memory of the past. His mind was continuallybrooding upon poor little Dobbin's death, and upon the share which hehad in it. For now he knew all the truth. He had seen old Leonard, andsat with him for many hours; and at his earnest request the old man hadtold him all the truth. "Keep nothing back from me, " said the youngsquire, as he sat by old Leonard's humble fire-place, with his facecovered with his hands; and over and over again had the old man torepeat the same story, and to call to mind every word that his departedson had said. "What shall I do, Leonard, to show my sorrow?" asked James Courtenay oneday. "Will you go and live in a new house, if I get papa to build onefor you?" "Thank you, young squire, " said Leonard; "it was here that Jacob wasborn and died, and this will do for me well enough as long as I'm here. And it don't distress me much, Master James, about its being a poor kindof a place, for I'm only here for a while, and I've a better house upyonder. " "Ay, " said James Courtenay, "and Jacob is up yonder; but I fear, withall my striving, I shall never get there; and what good will all my fineproperty do me for ever so many years, if at the end of all I am shutout of the happy land?" "Master James, you need not be shut out, " said old Dobbin; and he pulleddown the worn Bible from the shelf; "no, no; you need not be shut out. Here is the verse that secured poor Jacob's inheritance, and here is theverse that by God's grace secures mine, and it may secure yours too;"and the old man read out the passage in 1 John i. 7, "The blood of JesusChrist his Son cleanseth us from _all_ sin. " "All, all!" cried oldDobbin, his voice rising as he proceeded, for his heart was on fire;"from murder, theft, lying, stealing, --everything, everything! Oh, whatsinners are now in glory!--sinners no longer, but saints, washed in theprecious blood! Oh, how many are there now on earth waiting to be takenaway and be for ever with the Lord! I am bad, Master James; my heart isfull of sin in itself; but the blood of Jesus cleanseth from allsin;--and whatever you have done may be all washed out; only castyourself, body and soul, on Christ. " "But how could I ever meet Jacob in heaven?" murmured the young squirefrom between his hands, in which he had buried his face; "when I sawhim, must not I feel I murdered him? ay, I was the cause of his miseryand death, all for the sake of one fading, worthless flower!" "Don't call it worthless, Master James; 'twas God's creature, and verybeautiful while it lasted; and you can't call a thing worthless thatgave a human being as much pleasure as that rose gave poor Jacob. Butwhatever it was, it will make no hindrance to Jacob meeting you inheaven, --ay, and welcoming you there, too. If you reach that happyplace, I'll be bound Jacob will meet you with a smile, and will welcomeyou with a song into the happy land. " "Well, 'tis hard to understand, " said James Courtenay. "Yes, yes, Master James, hard to our poor natures, but easy to those whoare quite like their Saviour, as Jacob is now. When He was upon earth hetaught his followers to forgive, and to love their enemies, and to dogood to such as used them despitefully; and we may be sure that, nowthey are with him, and are made like him, they carry out all he wouldhave them do, and they are all he would have them be. I don't believethat there is one in heaven that would be more glad to see you, MasterJames, than my poor boy, --if I may call him my poor boy, seeing he's nowin glory. " Many were the conversations of this kind which passed between oldLeonard and the young squire, and gradually the latter obtained morepeace in his mind. True, he could never divest himself of the awfulthought that he had been the immediate cause of his humble neighbour'sdeath; but he dwelt very much upon that word "all, " and Aggie repeatedold Leonard's lessons, and by degrees he was able to lay even his greattrouble upon his Saviour. But all that James Courtenay had gone through had told fearfully uponhis health. His long and severe illness, followed by so much mentalanxiety and trouble, laid in him the seeds of consumption. His friends, who watched him anxiously, saw that as weeks rolled on he gained nostrength, and at length it was solemnly announced by the physician thathe was in consumption. There were symptoms which made it likely that thedisease would assume a very rapid form. And so it did. The young squirebegan to waste almost visibly before the eyes of those around, and itsoon became evident, not only that his days were numbered, but that theymust be very few. And so they were. Three weeks saw the little invalidlaid upon his bed, with no prospect of rising from it again. At his ownearnest request he was told what his condition really was; and when heheard it, not a tear started in his eye, not a murmur escaped his lips. One request, and one only, did the dying boy prefer; and that was, thatLeonard Dobbin should be admitted to his room as often as he wished tosee him. And this was very often; as James had only intervals ofwakefulness, it became necessary that the old man should be always athand, so as to be ready at any hour of the day or night, and at lengthhe slept in a closet off the sick boy's room. And with Leonard came theold worn Bible. The good old labourer was afraid, with his rough hands, to touch the richly bound and gilt volume that was brought up from thelibrary; he knew every page in his own well-thumbed old book, and inthat he read, and from that he discoursed. The minister of the parishcame now and again; but when he heard of what use old Leonard had beento the young squire, he said that God could use the uneducated man aswell as the one that was well-learned, and he rejoiced that by anyinstrumentality, however humble, God had in grace and mercy wrought uponthe soul of this wayward boy. At length the period of the young squire's life came to be numbered, notby days, but hours, and his father sat by his dying bed. "Papa, " said the dying boy, "I shall soon be gone, and when I am dying Ishall want to think of Christ and of holy things alone;--you will do, Iknow, what I want when I am gone. " Squire Courtenay pressed his son's hand, and told him he would doanything, everything he wished. "You remember that grandmamma left me some money when she died; giveLeonard Dobbin as much every year as will support him; and give him mygray pony that he may be carried about, for he is getting too old towork; and"--and it seemed as though the dying boy had to summon up allhis strength to say it--"bury me, not in our own grand vault, but byJacob Dobbin's grave; and put up a monument in our church to Jacob, andcut upon it a broken rose; and let the rose bush be planted close towhere poor Jacob lies--" The young squire could say no more, and it was a long time before hespoke again; when he did, it was evident that he was fast departing toanother world. With the little strength at his command, the dying boymuttered old Leonard's name; and in a moment the aged Christian, withhis Bible in his hand, stood by the bedside. "Read, read, " whispered Aggie the nurse; "he is pointing to yourBible, --he wants you to read; and read quickly, Leonard, for he soonwon't be able to hear. " And Leonard, opening his Bible at the well-known place, read aloud, "Theblood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth us from all sin. " "_All, all_, " whispered the dying boy. "_All, all_, " responded the old man. "_All, all_, " faintly echoed the dying boy, and in a few moments nosound was heard in the sick-room--James Courtenay had departed torealize the truth of the words, that "the blood of Jesus Christcleanseth from _all_ sin. " Next to the chief mourners at the funeral walked old Leonard Dobbin; andclose by the poor crippled Jacob's grave they buried James Courtenay--soclose that the two graves seemed almost one. And when a little time hadelapsed, the squire had a handsome tomb placed over his son, whichcovered in the remains of poor Jacob too, and at the head of it wasplanted the moss-rose tree. And he put up a tablet to poor Jacob'smemory in the church, and a broken rose was sculptured in a little roundornament at the bottom of it. And now the old Hall is without an heir, and the squire without a son. But there is good hope that the squire thinks of a better world, andthat he would rather have his boy safe in heaven than here amid thetemptations of riches again. Oh, what a wonder that there is mercy for the greatest sinners! but oh, what misery comes of sin! "The wages of sin is death; but the gift ofGod is eternal life through Jesus Christ our Lord. " [Illustration] * * * * * Transcriber's Notes: Obvious punctuation errors repaired. Page 16, "worst? poor" changed to "worst; poor"