[Frontispiece]
[i]
LEILA ADA, THE JEWISH CONVERT
An Authentic Memoir.
BY OSBORN W. TRENERY HEIGHWAY.
REVISED BY THE EDITOR.
“A sacred glory rested on her brow,
And mantled o’er her cheek; a lovely smile
Sat like a cherub on her faded lips:
A solemn rapture was that dying scene;
Celestial spirits fanned it with their wings—
It breathed the air of heaven.”—LEILA ADA.
PHILADELPHIA:
PRESBYTERIAN BOARD OF PUBLICATION,
No. 265 CHESTNUT STREET.
[ii]
Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1853,
By A. W. MITCHELL, M.D.,
in the Office of the Clerk of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania.
SLOTE & MOONEY, Stereotypers.
iii
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Introductory Remarks
CHAPTER I.
Introduction—Leila’s Character and Pursuits—The Mishna—The Talmud
9
CHAPTER II.
Leila accompanies her Father to the Holy Land—Their Journey—Cologne—The
Rhine—The Juras—Geneva—Chillon—Lausanne—Gibbon
24
CHAPTER III.
The Journey continued—Bernese Oberland—Simmenthal—Staubbach—Wengern
Alp—An Avalanche—The Simplon
36
CHAPTER IV.
The Journey continued—Milan—Verona—Venice—Ferrara—Bologna—The
Apennines—Florence—Rome—The Coliseum—Naples
47
CHAPTER V.
The Journey continued—Athens—Mistra—The Morea—Sparta—The Ægean
Sea—Constantinople
60
CHAPTER VI.
The Journey continued—Antioch—Jerusalem—Account of the Holy Land—The Return
Home—Alexandria—Malta—A Tempest
72
iv
CHAPTER VII.
Leila’s Conversion
82
CHAPTER VIII.
Leila’s Letter to her Father
92
CHAPTER IX.
Leila’s Letter to her Father concluded
108
CHAPTER X.
Conversations between Leila and her Father—Leila is sent to her Uncle
121
CHAPTER XI.
Treatment of Leila by her Uncle—Her Trials—Character of Leila’s Cousin
143
CHAPTER XII.
The Final effort to Reclaim her—Cut off from her Nation—Her acquaintance with Miss
H.—Returns to Her Father—”How soon we fade!”
151
CHAPTER XIII.
Evanishings
167
CHAPTER XIV.
“We all do fade as a Leaf”
193
CHAPTER XV.
Leila’s Dying Hours—The Closing scene
203
CHAPTER XVI.
Leila’s Poems, &c
208
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INTRODUCTORY REMARKS.
THE young lady who is the subject of this memoir was, as its title indicates, a Jewess by
birth. The majestic beauty of the religion of Jesus has, in all ages, obtained its finest
representatives from the house of Israel: and among the many lovely examples of sublime
attainment in the divine life made by Hebrew Christians, Leila Ada is not one of the least
conspicuous. What she appears in the record of her now presented, that she was in real
life, a pure, holy, humble Christian—a Christian hallowed, sublimed, etherealized by the
influences of the Holy Spirit.
Leila is a character of undoubted loveliness: but she is not in the very least degree an
ideal. We have been scrupulously exact in our descriptions and comments throughout.
We have written from knowledge obtained through personal acquaintance of the dearest
kind.
Leila was one of those fair and flower-like natures, which at intervals rise to cheer us
along the dusty highways of life; but she was a plant which flourished in
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the shade, and her real worth was known to very few. Her natural abilities were of the
highest order, and she had cultivated them with the strictest care; so that had God seen it
fitting to spare her life and call her to a more public situation, she would have occupied
no humble position among those nobled-souled and intellectual women who are an
honour to our country. She was one of the loveliest flowers that ever gleamed in the cold
atmosphere of a world of sin; a flower fragile in its pensile form, delicate in its tender
purity, spiritual in its beauty; too frail to live amidst these tempestuous clouds of earth,
and only at home in the kindlier soil and among the stormless skies of “the better land.”
All Leila’s papers are given verbatim et literatim. Write incorrectly she could not. A
thoughtful, reflective mind she always had. Although her language is in some places
diffuse and inartificial, we could not feel at liberty to alter it. We felt (and perhaps our
feeling may be smiled at—let it be even so,) that Leila would never have consented to
any similar mode of procedure while she lived; to be truthfully exact was always the rule
of her conduct; and that if she was cognisant of our occupations now that she was in the
skies, she would regard such disguise with even less allowance still. It is almost
unnecessary for us to say that she never expected anything she wrote would be given to
the world.
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We have written, we trust, with a single heart—with a pure intention that God may be
glorified. To him Leila was indebted for whatever she was. That in every respect she
fully realized the picture of her which we have drawn, we are assured. We say this from a
calm, unprejudiced, deliberate judgment. Were we to speak as we feel, we should be at
once inclined to say, that her sweet Christianity could be estimated at its proper value
only in the hearts of those who know her while she was upon the earth—that any attempt
to give in writing an adequate idea of her character must of necessity fall short.
Finally, we again repeat that we have nowhere written one word, look, or expression
which is not most exact to the truth. Our dear relative, Miss H. (the Miss H. whose
friendship with Leila is noticed in the Memoir itself,) once said to us—”Such a life, and
such a death! You cannot possibly give it a beauty which it did not really possess.”
OSBORN W. TRENERY HEIGHWAY.
LONDON, July, 1853.
[8—blank]
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LEILA ADA,
THE JEWISH CONVERT.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTION—LEILA’S CHARACTER AND PURSUITS—THE
MISHNA—THE TALMUD.
THE West of England abounds in scenes of quiet and picturesque beauty. Its shores are
girded by tall gray cliffs, bold headlands, numerous islets, and large caves hollowed out
and draped with sea-weeds by the musical waves of the Atlantic; while the inland scenery
is rich in hills and valleys, dells and dingles, woods and meadows, combined in forms of
surpassing loveliness. Crystal streamlets wind amongst quivering aspens; and glide,
breaking into fall and rapid, and murmuring with a sweet complaining eloquence as
though they were of life.
Amidst one of the sweetest of these scenes, and near the southern coast of Cornwall,
there is an ancient-looking mansion, soft and tranquil in its elegant simplicity, and
removed far away from the smoke and stir of earth. It stands in a deep but most lovely
valley, between a line of picturesque eminences. Embosomed amid lofty and luxuriant
trees, and surrounded by a
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verdant lawn thickly dotted with beds of rich flowers, it impresses the mind as the very
repose of peace and beauty. Several of the windows are partially hidden by festoons of
luxuriant ivy; while roses, jessamines, and other sweet-scented plants and creepers, have
thickly interlaced the open trellis-work of the balcony which encloses the door.
Many a time and oft have we wandered at sunrise over the velvet green sward, and in the
noble gardens attached to the house, seeking to learn the life, the freshness, the purity, the
joy of this little Eden. And then we went on to the side of the clear streamlet, and sat
down by its little gushing waves. Each had its own separate being; they varied in
form—one pure and glassy reflected an unbroken sunbeam; another dashed it into a
thousand glittering spangles, but they all came from the same deep fountain. They all
rejoiced in the same light; they all hasted on their happy race to the same wide ocean.
And ever, as they flowed, soft voices like a spirit-melody met our ears; purity, life, and
joy, must produce sweet tones of harmony.
A romantic and shady road encircles the valley, and passing in front of the house, enters
an avenue of giant oaks, which grow upon the borders of a luxuriant forest. Between this
avenue, and a double row of chestnut and walnut trees which mark the margin of the
lawn in that direction, runs the beautiful little river to which we have just adverted.
Towards the east a lofty hill throws up its huge body—its sloping sides covered with
lovely orchards, and long rich grass, and flocks of sheep.
Several pretty nests of trees grow in the little park which adjoins the house, and beneath
them are some
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tastefully arranged seats. And often, after wearying herself in frolics with the goat and her
kid, that lived in a small paddock separated from the lawn by a ring fence, the subject of
this memoir has reposed herself upon one of these seats, and gazed upon the loveliness of
nature, and watched the majestic glories attendant upon the setting sun.
Before taking possession of this mansion, A. T—, Esq., had buried the wife of his youth;
and on coming to this charming retreat, he and an only and lovely daughter, named Leila,
lived in comparative seclusion from the world. He knew no happiness independent of his
child, for all his enjoyment consisted in promoting her interest and gratification. She was,
indeed, the very being to excite the most tender lavishment of paternal love. Beauty
surrounded her as a mantle, but her cultivated mind, and amiable disposition, threw
around her an influence superior to any of the short-lived fascinations of the body. In her
conduct and manner there was a freshness of innocence, and a winning grace which could
not fail to arrest the interest of every beholder. She was highly accomplished, and could
read and write several languages with fluency. The idol of her fond father, he loved her
tenderly—a feeling which she as tenderly reciprocated. Being of the seed of Abraham, he
had educated her in the strictest principles of the Jewish ritual, and felt the most intense
satisfaction in witnessing her early seriousness and devotion. To her religion he thought
her an ornament.
For our slight knowledge of the early part of Leila’s life, we are principally indebted to a
series of papers written by herself, and entitled, “Reflections.” A few
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references to it are also made in her diary and correspondence. From these sources we
learn that a leading characteristic in the earliest development and exercises of her mind,
was an ardent thirst for truth. It is also evident that from her earliest years she felt the
drawings of the Holy Spirit, and had an anxious desire for her eternal salvation. And it is
painful, yet pleasing, to witness the deep struggles of a soul whose whole wish is simply
to be a true and accepted servant of the living God, yet surrounded by the exclusive spirit
and deadening influences of Judaism. It never appears, however, that through the whole
course of her childhood, and the first years of more thoughtful youth, she had any
misgiving respecting the truth of the Jewish belief. Her conviction, upon this point, was
doubtless heightened, in her maturer years, by her deep acquaintance with the Eastern
writings. From her conversation and reflections it is evident that the fanciful and mystic
lore of these, joined to a supposition that she observed coincidences in approaching
changes, greatly strengthened her belief in the approaching advent of the “Murdah,” or
“Good One”—the Messiah of the Scriptures. But the dawn of a brighter day was coming.
Her character, even in childhood, was thoughtful and reserved; she was always disposed
to be grave rather than gay. In adverting to this phase of her disposition, we cannot do
better than use her own language; we therefore extract from her diary the following
reflection: “I enjoy solitude much; my heart delights in its own company, and finds this a
richer enjoyment than any which can be had in busy life. It is an important matter to feel
in no way embarrassed, because excluded
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from the bustling joy of social life. Really, I am in no way indebted to external sources of
amusement; in contemplating God, in nature, I have opened a mine of happiness which is
indescribable. Indeed, I am rather unsocial; I do not like company; I am quite miserly in
selecting the sources of my happiness. To hold sweet converse with my own heart, and sit
in my dear closet, with my pen and my book, are the greatest delights I can enjoy. I do
not know that I could wish for a large diffusion of all and exactly this feeling; if
universally indulged, it might cast a shade of moroseness over our fireside enjoyments.
Being natural to me, however, I cannot avoid it; and, really, it makes me very happy.”
At sixteen years of age she began to keep a diary, or, rather, prescribe rules for her
conduct, and note her experience, by way of meditation and reflection; for, it does not
appear, that she began to keep a regular diary till she had nearly completed her
seventeenth year. Her diary and reflections were designed to be a secret correspondence
with her own heart, and certainly were never written with any expectation that they
would meet the eye of man. Extracts from these portraitures of her inmost soul, will more
justly display her character than anything which could be said by any other person.
Among this interesting collection of papers, we find the following prayer. It is powerfully
descriptive of the feelings and aspirations of her heart at a very early age, for it is dated at
the commencement of the new year, 18—, when she had just completed her thirteenth
year:—
“O thou great and adorable Jehovah! fountain of love! listen to the prayer of a sinful,
rebellious child;
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hide not thyself from my supplications. May thy Spirit illuminate my dark, benighted
soul; may it dispel the gloom which now casts down my spirit, and guide my petition
aright.
“I adore thee for the countless blessings which to the present time, thou hast bestowed
upon me; and for thy care, which has preserved my existence amid these numberless
mercies. But when I look into my heart, and see its depravity; when I think on the
ungrateful return I have made thy love, I am abased—I am prostrate in the dust.
“Thou, who permittest me to address thee as my God, and my Creator, thou seest my
state; thou knowest me altogether. O that I could express half that I feel of love to thee,
who hast done so much for me. O God, I am proud, self-willed, worldly-minded, and I
cannot be happy; but thou hast inspired ardent desires for thyself; answer me according to
thy word—thy word which is truth itself—eternal as thy duration—O that on it my soul
may repose. O that thy love may refresh my spirit, and cause my eyes to overflow with
tears of joy, in the conviction that thou lovest me. Then how poor and mean will be all
earth-born joys; then will my soul rejoice in its freedom, and exult in its immortality.
“The dissolving universe shall one day proclaim that the hour of retribution is at hand;
and the great arcana of nature, in which I love to trace thy finger, shall melt before the
piercing glance of thine avenging eye. O, that through thee I may be enabled to hail the
moment, as that of my complete happiness.
“On this commencement of another year, I enter
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into a solemn covenant with thee, to dedicate myself to thee. Show me what thou wouldst
have me to be and do, and I will pray earnestly for thy assistance, that I may fulfil thy
will. O, that thou wouldst arise, and by thy glorious beams scatter my spiritual darkness.
Grant me thy aid, that I may not swerve from my resolution. Enlarge and bless my soul;
and let me be happy from a constant walking in thy fear. Amen.”
We have every reason to suppose that at this period Leila’s belief in her religion was
unshaken; yet from this her earliest record of thoughts and imaginings, written at the time
she felt them, we may see that she was now earnestly in pursuit of that in which she
afterwards found solid happiness. We can perceive an enthusiastic longing of the spirit,
and a deeply wrought effort of the soul, which when the veil fell from her eyes,
abundantly prepared her to press into the liberty of the children of God.
Although the children of Israel profess to receive the Old Testament Scriptures as divine,
yet they greatly neglect their study, and as a consequence are involved in gross darkness.
But while they have cast Moses and the Prophets into the shade, they have introduced an
enormous rival to divine revelation, under the pretence that it is a comment upon the Law
of Moses. This they call the Mishna, or oral law.
The Mishna is divided into six orders:—the first order treats of the vegetable world; the
second of feasts; the third of women; the fourth of damages; the fifth of holy things; and
the sixth of purifications.
The Mishna was published to the world in 1698, in six folio volumes, by Surenhusius, of
Amsterdam. The
16
principal part of these volumes is occupied by the comments of translators and rabbis.
We will give an account of the Mishna by Rabbi Moses Ben Maimon. This Moses Ben
Maimon was one of their ablest doctors. He was physician to the Sultan of Egypt, lived in
the twelfth century, and was enthusiastically engrossed in the philosophy of Aristotle.
From the initials of his name the Jews call him Rambam: he is the writer of their creed
and liturgy; and they have a saying, that from Moses to Moses there is no one like Moses.
Of the Mishna he gives the following account:—”All the precepts of the law were given
by God to Moses, our master, together with an interpretation of what the authentic text
signified. Moses, going into his tent, first related to Aaron the text and the interpretation;
he rising and going to the right hand of Moses. Eleazar and Ithamar, the sons of Aaron,
came and heard the same that had been before dictated to their father; so that he beard it
twice. Then came the seventy elders, and at last the whole people heard the same. They
all committed to memory the text and the interpretation, which Aaron had heard many
times, and hence arose the written law, and the oral law—613 precepts together with their
interpretations: the precepts inscribed in the books—the interpretations handed down by
word of mouth.
“Moses dying left these interpretations to Joshua, and he again to the elders, and they to
the prophets, who handed them down from one to another without any dissent, till the
time of the men of the great synagogue, who were Haggai, Zechariah, Malachi, Daniel,
Hananiah, Mishael, Azariah, Ezra the scribe, Nehemiah,
17
Hacaliah, Mordecai, and Zerubbabel the son of Shealtiel, with others to the number of
one hundred and twenty. But the last of the men of that sacred company was the first of
the wise men mentioned in the Mishna, Simeon the Just, at that time high priest. After
whom it came in process of time to our Rabbi, the holy, who was the ph_nix of his age
and the unique glory of that time, a man in whom God had accumulated such virtues that
he merited to be called by his contemporaries, our Rabbi, the holy, whose name was
Judah, so that it was said, ‘From the days of Moses to the Rabbi, we have never seen law
and nobility together, and from the time that he died, humility and the fear of sin ceased;’
and so rich was he that it used to be said, ‘The groom of the stables of Rabbi was richer
than Sapor king of the Persians.’ He, tracing his doctorial genealogy up to Moses,
composed the Mishna, partly from the traditions from the lips of Moses, partly from
consequences elicited by argument in which there is unanimous consent, partly from
conclusions in which there is a difference arising from two modes of interpretation (for
they have thirteen modes of interpreting); so that sometimes our Rabbi says, ‘Such a one
affirms this, such another says that.’“
There being such various modes of interpretation has given rise to numberless
dissensions among, the Jews. From Simeon the Just to the year 150 of the Christian era,
Judah mentions ninety-one wise men, as handing down to him their decisions.
The Mishna is said to be an oral law, received from the lips of God, and intended as an
exponent of his written law. But we should transgress the purity
18
which religion demands, were we to quote some of its puerile and absurd follies. If those
who penned it set about their work with an intention to shock common sense, and load
the Jewish religion with contempt, they could scarcely have acquitted themselves better.
And let no one suppose that our strictures are unkind: any one at all acquainted with the
Mishna, will at once perceive them to be within the bounds of that charity and pity, which
we owe to those who err. Indeed, it were but too easy to quote passages which would
justify our severest censures.
But withal, the Mishna is surrounded with a degree of obscurity and hardness, owing to
its orientalisms, and a considerable pervasion of a sort of Hebræo-Grecism in its
structure. This obscurity has given rise to another commentary, called the Gemara, or
completion. One Gemara, written in Palestine, forms with the Mishna, the Jerusalem
Talmud, and another, written at Babylon, composes the Babylonish Talmud, Thus the
Mishna, which the Jews declare to be God’s own interpretation of his law, requires
interpretation from man, and the whole together forms a mighty work of twelve folio
volumes. These are the volumes which contain the whole of the Jewish divinity; for,
dishonouring to God, they have almost completely withdrawn the Jews from the study of
Moses and the Prophets.
In common with the rest of her nation, the Talmud formed the basis of Leila’s religious
education. Of the Old Testament she knew comparatively little. It is far from certain,
indeed, that she knew a great deal of the Talmud. For this there were causes:—first, she
did not like its study: she tells us in her Reflections, that
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while believing in its divinity, as she was instructed, she experienced a smothered dislike
to many of its forms, observances, and precepts. “I felt it,” she says, “smouldering at the
bottom of my heart long before I had moral courage to permit a single thought upon it. I
shuddered at my suspicions as blasphemous, yet I could not conquer them. But as the
Spirit of God opened my eyes, I felt no difficulty in fully avowing my severest thoughts
upon the inane, absurd, debasing studies of the Talmud. I felt no compunction while I
openly declared to my own heart that it was an impure, stupid fabrication, composed by
fallen and sinful man.” What a volume is contained in these few thrilling sentences!
Would the sons of Jacob speak out, how many would tell us the same story? Impossible it
is but that among them there are thousands who, while they dare not repudiate the
Talmud, are conscious of a feeling of offence at its impurities, and absurdities. Secondly,
her father, although strictly a Jew in belief and profession, gave himself little trouble
about their requirements and observances, and, therefore, was very far from pressing
them upon his daughter.
But a mind constituted like that of Leila, eagerly thirsting after truth, could not be always
content without strictly examining the Old Testament Scriptures; those Scriptures which
all her nation believe in, as the pure word of God. Her first intentions to study them (for
certainly she had previously read them, especially the Psalms) are expressed among the
earliest entries in her diary, and bear date when she was about seventeen years old. We
extract the passage: “I have read the Talmud, and have dipped into the learning of the
East, and
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while my heart has been intent in the prosecution of these studies, I have comparatively
neglected the blessed word of God—the majestic Scriptures. The result of my reading is a
strong opinion that the advent of the Messiah is probably near; yet, while I have been
consulting the writings of men, I have greatly neglected the prophecies which relate to
him. Why then do I profess to my heart that I have formed an opinion, when I have
neglected the great test, the predictions of the Scriptures? O Lord, forgive my thus
dishonouring thee. As I now determine that in thy strength I will give myself to the
earnest, simple, devout reading and study of thy holy word, I ask of thee, I beseech of
thee, illuminate my soul, and guide my judgment aright.
“O Lord, my God, thou knowest my heart, and thou knowest how ardently I pant to be
thine accepted servant; yet, alas! I am in bondage; yet alas! I am not happy. Oh, that I
could pour out my eyes in tears for my sins! It is they, which like a mountain, cast down
and oppress my spirit. I find no comfort but in aspirations after thee; and thou knowest I
am sincere—at least I believe I am sincere; if not I beseech thee rectify my heart. O that I
knew how I might please thee! for then should I be at rest. Forgive me for the time that is
passed: guide me, and teach me, and assist me in the future. O that thou wouldst visit me
according to the word which thou hast declared unto my fathers! Amen.”
Leila was fully aware of the necessity of acting on a digested plan, that all her time might
be used to some purposes of good. A considerable portion of it was devoted to reading,
and other endeavours for the
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improvement of her mind; and this was to her a source of pleasure which she highly
valued—far more so, indeed, than the empty frivolous pursuits of many of her own age
and sex. That she might have every help to strictly fill each moment, she drew up an
arrangement in writing. In this she apportioned to every hour its occupation, and to it she
endeavoured to rigidly adhere. “I strive,” she says, in her diary, “to occupy every moment
well; I do this, not simply because it is my interest, but also, and I hope and believe
chiefly, because it is my duty.”
At about the same time she also formed a series of resolutions for the regulations of her
conduct; and the mind which could make and act upon them, must have had in it all the
elements of greatness and efficiency; it must have possessed a character deservedly
esteemed and revered. They are worthy the imitation of every one, especially the young,
and we cannot forbear copying them here:—
“For the regulation of my life, and balancing my conduct, I resolve:
“1. That the salvation of my soul shall be my first and great concern.
“2. That I will never be ashamed of my religion, but will always avow it when and where
it shall seem proper so to do.
“3. That I will always carefully speak the truth; never indulge in the very least
equivocation, but always be both verbally and substantially correct; and to this end I will
carefully watch the meaning of all I utter.
“4. That I will always be ready to confess a fault, or ask forgiveness for it, no matter what
the character or position of the person against whom I have offended.
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“5. That I will do nothing to another which I should object to their doing to me. That I
will never do anything which if I saw it committed by another would cause him or her to
fall in my esteem.
“6. That as far as in me lies, I will never do nor be anything upon which I cannot
expectingly and confidingly ask the blessing of God.
“7. That when I have fixed a principle in my mind I will never abandon it, whatever
occurs, unless I am convinced that it is a wrong one, or would involve me in bad
consequences.
“8. That in fulfilling a clear duty, or in the pursuit of a good and proper object, I will
never allow myself to be overcome by any trials or difficulties whatever.
“9. That I will daily study the Scriptures.
“10. That I will encourage meditations upon death and eternity.
“11. That I will live to God, with all my might while I do live. That I will strive never to
engage in anything which I should shun, if assured I was living the last hour of my life.
“12. That I will decide nothing which is brought before my judgment, until I have
thoroughly examined it on every side. That what I have once decided, shall be fixed and
irrevocable. That I will take nothing for granted, but that I will endeavour to discover
what is truth in reference to the smallest principles.
“13. That upon all occasions I will discountenance improper levity and conversation, in
whatever company I may be.
“14. That I will carefully guard my temper, and never show the least symptom of
impatient emotion;
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not even by an altered tone of voice, or expression of countenance. That I will do this
even if from physical causes I feel fretful and uneasy: no one else should suffer on this
account.
“15. That I will never speak sharply or crossly to our servants; on the contrary, I will be
gentle and affectionate, which will gain all my desires the sooner.
“16. That my conversation shall be always in love, and as far as possible adapted to the
tone of feeling, in those with whom I converse. That I will never talk upon trifles, nor
self, nor the failings or defects of others; nor in it will I ever seek to display superiority of
attainment over the company I may be among; but I will always use it in advancing the
happiness of my social and domestic circle.
“17. That I will never waste a moment.
“18. That I will be temperate in eating and drinking.
“19. That I will strictly guard against pride in dress, and every other of its manifestations;
against vanity, self-conceit, and indulging supposed superiority of mind.
“20. That I will live only to serve God and for the good of others. Never seek my Own
pleasure or satisfaction at the expense of that of any one else; but as far as possible I will
forget that there is a self to please.
“21. That I will love my dear father with all my might and do everything I can to promote
his temporal and spiritual happiness.”
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CHAPTER II.
LEILA ACCOMPANIES HER FATHER TO THE HOLY LAND—THEIR
JOURNEY—COLOGNE—THE RHINE—THE
JURAS—GENEVA—CHILLON—LAUSANNE—GIBBON.
LEILA was now in the eighteenth year of her age. Her mother was dead. Her father,
lonely except in the company of the child of his love, resolved to visit with her the Holy
Land and the city of his fathers. This was a season of joyous excitement to Leila.
Happiness in ten thousand dreamy forms flitted before her mental vision, and filled her,
even in anticipation, with indescribable pleasure. In a letter written just before leaving
England, after much playful description, she continues: “I love the East; it has always
been the sweetest spot in my imagination. All my anticipations are in joyous exercise. I
shall be fired by the loneliness of the ocean, the stirring excitement of new scenes, the
romantic and historical associations connected with the places through which I shall pass,
their variety of manners, customs, and costumes, the shores and hoary mountains which
border upon the sea, the sublime solitariness of the wildly beautiful isles of the blue
Ægean, and a host of adventures and pleasurable situations. At every step I shall be
furnished with abundant materials for thought and reflection.” And to a large extent she
was not disappointed, as is proved by some of her beautiful sketches, in poetry and prose.
But that the enjoyment which she proposed to herself
25
was tinged by a deep religious feeling, and that with it was connected a deep concern for
her religious interests, is evinced by the remarks made in her diary. Here, too, we notice
the commencement of a glorious era in the life of Leila; the circumstance which, under
the blessing of the Holy Spirit, led to her embracing the Christian faith; and how
delightful it is to trace the prevailing character of her mind in these reflections; hastily as
they sometimes appear to be written. But we will go on to our extract:—
“For a while, then, I am about to leave thee, my much-loved C—. The green sward on
which I have so often sported—the groves which have so often rung with my wild and
girlish joy—the sweet river, whose, constant changes, and whose lulling murmurs, give a
sweet variety and music to the scene; and ye, my lovely flowers, whose culture has so
often engaged my time and attention, and led me to look
’To Him whose sun exalts,
Whose breath perfumes you, and whose pencil paints;
yes, must leave you all. Shall I ever again behold you? A stray tear flows down my
cheek—welcome drop! I would on no account forego thy pleasure. The passions, when
acted upon in a manner both pure and innocent, are sources of deep delight.
“Thou Infinite Eternal! go with me. I visit that land which has in a special manner been
visited with exhibitions of thy miraculous power—the land in which my fathers
worshipped. ‘Oh! that the salvation of Israel were come out of Zion. When God bringeth
back the captivity of his people, Jacob shall rejoice, and Israel shall be glad.’
26
“I am sensible of my sinfulness; I am unworthy of the slightest mark of favour from thy
hand; but cast me not utterly from thy presence. Save me, O God, by thy name; take not
thy Holy Spirit from me. Thou desirest no other sacrifice than that of a broken spirit and a
contrite heart—this I offer to thee. Dispel thou now the cloud which afflicts my soul.
Enable me to rejoice in thy salvation, and evermore glorify thee in my body and spirit, in
my life and conversation.
“I desire to record the blessed effect which the reading of the Scriptures has had upon my
mind. I desire to read them more attentively, that in future this good may be increased. I
have also determined to read the book which the Christians call the New Testament. They
profess that prophecies in the Old Testament are clearly fulfilled in the New. I intend to
see what ground they take. It is true I have heard much, and read much, of the awful
character of that book, and am told that a fearful curse rests upon the reading of it. I
cannot think this to be true, where it is intended to increase a knowledge of the difference
between the Jew and the Christian. Besides, shall I not be a better Jew for reading it? Will
it not assist to imbue my mind with the proofs of the dreadful mistake which the
Christians commit? I cannot doubt that I am right. Suppose I were conversing with a
Christian, how could I give the lie to a book I have never read? Would he not turn upon
me and inquire, ‘Where is your principle?’ The Christians read and study the Old
Testament; and how should I be prepared to prove to them that the New Testament is
untrue, if I am unacquainted with the nature of the proofs in favour of Christianity
27
which it contains? Curiosity, a sense of duty, and a desire to have a well-instructed, well-
balanced mind, all impel me forward. Indeed, too, I look at the Christians, and I see no
manifestations that a curse rests upon them—shall I, dare I say, that, compared with our
own afflicted nation, they are most happy? It is true; then I will repeat it.
“With sentiments of gratitude to God, I at present close my Cornish journal. May my
future one, in addition to the catalogue of mercies, of divine favours, record also more
heartfelt thankfulness for their bestowment, and more ardent longings for an entire
devotion of myself to the service of my God and King. Amen.”
It was arranged that their pilgrimage to Asia, should be by way of Switzerland, Italy,
Greece, and Turkey. In a journal entitled “Notes of a Tour to the Holy Land,” Leila has
given us a most interesting series of remarks upon the places in their course. From this
we shall make large quotations; more especially as her reflections upon her spiritual state
are in many cases inseparably mixed with the accounts of the emotions excited by the
solemn beauties of nature, as presented to her view.
On the 9th of April, 18—, Leila, in company with her father, left London for Ostend. In
the following pathetic lines, she has beautifully expressed the feelings produced in her
mind, as she behold the shores of her native country gradually vanish in the distance:—
“One look, one parting look, and now thy shores,
Thy happy shores, are vanished, Albion;
Adieu! Adieu!
28
What can my grief be?
Have I not hope, and joy, and happiness?
Is not the world before me, and my home?
Have I not with me all I have to love?
What can my grief be?
Why am I so sad?
Why measures thus mine eye each saucy wave,
Which coursing drives me onward?
Why!
here is a spot engirt by those white rocks,
Most sacred of the earth; the Mecca’s fane
To which my holiest memory ever kneels—
My mother’s grave! a fragrant shrine. From thence
I distance count, henceforward and for aye.”
Arriving at Ostend the pilgrims pursued their way to Cologne. Of this city, Leila briefly
says, “And this is the Colonia Agrippina of the Romans, and the metropolis of Rhenish
Prussia. It is certainly very pretty, indeed beautiful, if you will take the trouble to cross
and view it from the right bank of the Rhine. Thence the effect is very fine—the river,
smooth as a polished mirror, reflecting in its bosom the various craft upon its
surface—the city bathing its deep shadow in the cooling waters—and the prominence of
those beautiful edifices, St. Martin, St. Gereon, Baiensthurm, and Der Dom. I have found
much to interest me.”
Thence they steamed up the Rhine; and in a few slight, but powerful touches, Leila has
given her testimony to the living freshness, and unchanging beauty, of the vine-clad
banks of that glorious river. “In looking,” she says, “upon the smiling fields and rich
orchards and luxuriant vineyards, with the pretty towns and villages buried amongst
them—upon the ancient and hoary castles tottering with age, upon the towering crags
which support their foundations, I felt I was living
29
some of the most delicious moments of my life: and I wept with a feeling of unutterable
delight. Oh! how good is God, to provide so much innocent pleasure for the gratification
of the senses! Oh! that men would praise him for his goodness! I trust that I can trace a
feeling of increased thankfulness and gratitude for the abundant blessings and mercies he
has bestowed upon me. May he help and save me, and make me all that is pleasing in his
sight: in him, the strong, the Almighty, do I put my trust: I will not be afraid. Thy vows
are upon me, O God; then come thou to my present salvation.”
Amid scenes of living loveliness, which more and more imbued her mind with the
purifying and exalting influences of nature, she approached the Alps. This stupendous
range of mountains, proudly rearing their snowy summits to the skies, seemed to her
imagination, as something spiritual, which she had seen in her dreams: as something too
ethereal to belong to reality.
Proceeding onward they came to the heights of the Jura. “Here,” says Leila, “the scene
which burst upon our view, far exceeds my powers of description. It was intensely grand
and beautiful. The lovely lake of Geneva, lying in a hollow, begirt by the sublimely
majestic Alps, which in their turn arouse feelings of wonder and delight; and then the
other objects, sweet, chaste, and impressive, which compose the landscape, form an
ensemble of overpowering magnificence. I was at once reminded of Rousseau’s
description of a Swiss exile beholding again his native country. I could enter into the
passionate ecstacy. As far as a stranger could feel it, it was my own:—
30
“‘The moment in which, from the heights of the Jura, I discovered the lake of Geneva,
was one of ecstacy and ravishment. The view of my country, that country so dear to me,
where my heart had overflowed with torrents of delight; the Alpine air so salutary and so
pure; the soft air of my native soil, sweeter than all the perfumes of the East; this rich and
fertile land, this unique landscape! the most beautiful with which the human eye was ever
struck! delightful abode, to which I had never found an equal in the world! the aspect of a
free and happy people, the sweetness of the season, the serenity of the climate—a
thousand delightful recollections, which awakened all the feelings I had tasted there; all
this threw me into such transports as I cannot describe, and seemed to give back to me at
once the enjoyment of my whole existence!’“
Traversing Switzerland, in the direction of Geneva, they stayed a moment at Avenche,
thus noticed by Leila: “This morning we reached Avenche, the ancient Aventicum. We
went to see the column erected to the young princess, Julia Alpinula. How exquisitely
touching are the recollections of history! I looked upon its venerable aspect, seemingly
worn rather by grief than time. I thought upon her purity and filial devotion, and I felt her
immortality.”
They had now reached the beautiful, the romantic lake of Geneva. Every one who has
seen the grandeur of this lake and the surrounding scenery—the sublime majesty of the
distant Juras—the dreamy Alps, hovering in the sky, unsubstantial as a vision, spiritual,
heavenly in beauty—the luxuriant shores of the Pays de Vaud, its hill-sides covered with
the richest vineyards,
31
among which numerous towns and villages smile in all the attractions and loveliness of
Paradise—the afar off mouths of the blue and rapidly gliding Rhone—the rich shores of
the Chablais—every one who has seen the unequalled beauty and magnificence of this
panorama, has felt its syren-like influence, in withdrawing the imagination from
contemplating the harshness, and roughness, and impurity of the world, and in exalting
communion with the pure spirit of nature, to fill the heart with the genius of a higher and
holier existence. Moving amid these ennobling scenes, Leila imbibed a still deeper love
for solitude: and soothed by their exquisite softness, or exalted by their ethereal majesty,
she spent many hours in their contemplation. Her study and her closet, she made of the
mountain torrent, the placid lake, the crystal stream, or the embowering copse. And
elevated and refined by their sublimity and sweetness, we hear her saying, “I have almost
forgotten the world, and were not such feelings, perhaps, selfish, I could wish never to
return to it, but live and die among contemplations upon the beauties and harmonies of
nature. I love to be alone. The deep emotions which throb in my bosom, while I gaze
upon the beautiful earth and sky, I could not express—indeed, were they expressible,
their value must be diminished. Thankful I am that my heart is so deeply susceptible of
impressions of loveliness and sublimity.”
Embarking at Geneva, our travellers began their voyage along the interesting shores of
this beautiful expanse of water. Leaving Hermance, Nerni, and Evian behind, they arrived
at Meillerie; to which Rousseau
32
has contributed interest, by his “Nouvelle Heloïse.” With this village, and its situation,
Leila was delighted: in reference to it she says, “After dinner we ascended the heights [of
Meillerie]. It occupied us upwards of an hour. The caverns echoed and re-echoed with the
wild screams of the terrible eagle of the Alps. A torrent, formed of the melting snows,
rolled its turgid waters at a short distance from us. Below us, and on the left of the
torrent, grew a large wood of oaks. Behind us, was that part of the Alps called the
Glaciers; a chain of rocky precipices separated it from the part of the heights on which we
stood. On our right hand, were thick forests of black pines: and beneath us, lay the
smiling lake, fawning upon the beach, and separating us from the luxurious shores of the
Pays de Vaud, beyond which towered the magnificent Juras. All was silent grandeur and
exquisite loveliness.”
Thence they passed to the singularly beautiful village of St. Gingoux, respecting which
Leila says, “I was enraptured with Meillerie; but, in comparison, this village is of
surpassing beauty.”
Montalegre, Hermance, Nerni, Lausanne, Meillerie and its heights, the castle of Chillon,
Clarens, the range of Alps above Boveret and St. Gingoux, the mountains of Savoy and
the Valais, the blue lake, all these formed a panorama of images of ideal loveliness,
which found their way to the inmost soul of Leila. In her own language, “This would
seem the abode of idealism; I can scarce believe that what I see is real. It impresses my
mind as a familiar scene which was once dear to my imagination, and, lost in the
spirituality of a vision, is
33
now brought before me, in its sublime magnificence a creation too powerfully bright for
reality.”
Crossing the stream of the Rhone, at the eastern extremity of the lake, they continued
their voyage, and soon came up to the Chateau de Chillon. Around this castle an undying
interest is thrown by the remarkable Bonnivard, it being the place of his imprisonment for
several years. A visit to it is thus described by Leila: “The castle of Chillon is situated
between Clarens and Villeneuve. Opposite it are the heights of Meillerie and the Alps. In
situation and everything else it is striking and romantic. An irregular mass of towers and
pointed roofs, it rises from out of the waves near the eastern extremity of the lake. The
water, which washes its walls, having been sounded, is found to be, eight hundred feet
deep, French measure. Immense mountains enclose and overhang it, and greatly
contribute to impress the beholder with awe, while he recollects the scenes of which its
walls have been the theatre. The access to it is by means of a draw-bridge. Its white walls
make it a very conspicuous object, and being large it may be seen along the lake for a
great distance. Descending below the level of the lake, you come to a range of prisons; an
involuntary shudder crept over me as I entered these dark, chilly abodes of cruelty. There
is one which is pointed out as the principal place of confinement for the early Reformers;
how I felt my heart dilate with thankfulness to God, that those days have passed away
from the earth. In later years it was used as a place of confinement for prisoners of state.
It is supported upon pillars, to which rings for the captives
34
are attached; their names are engraved upon the stones. A narrow cell is adjacent to this
dungeon, and still beyond this is another one, very dark and lofty, and supported upon
arches. Across one of these arches is a black and mouldering beam, upon which the
condemned prisoners were formerly executed. I felt a cold thrill of terror as I looked upon
it. We were told, also, that a secret spring communicated with the lake, by means of
which the whole of the dungeons could be filled with water, and so rapidly that all
possibility of the captives escaping would be certainly prevented. Bonnivard has left the
traces of his footsteps in the pavement of the prison in which he was confined. I was
very, very glad, to quit these dungeons of cruelty and suffering; and I felt an
indescribable sense of liberty, when again I inhaled the free and salutary air of the Alps.”
Leaving Chillon, they landed at Vevay. “Vevay,” she says, “is a pretty town. Sweet and
lovely in simplicity, it is the kind of abode which is often present in my imagination. The
market-place is a spacious square, beautifully interspersed with trees. From thence you
have a fine view of the blue lake, the mountains of the Valais and Savoy, and the
picturesque valley of the Rhone.”
Going onward, they visited Ouchy, and thence proceeded to Lausanne, about a mile
distant. Their purpose was to see the house and garden of Gibbon. We again quote from
Leila’s journal: “After dinner we walked to Lausanne, and proceeded at once to our great
object of interest, the residence of Gibbon. We were shown the avenue of old acacias on
his favorite terrace,
35
so often noticed in his memoirs, and where he took his final leave of the great work
which had occupied so large a portion of his life. I gathered a few acacia leaves to
preserve in remembrance of him.”
From Ouchy, a pleasant sail brought the travellers back to Geneva, beautifully situated at
the outlet of the Rhone from the lake. Thus closed what had proved to each a most
delightful voyage.
36
CHAPTER III.
THE JOURNEY CONTINUED—BERNESE
OBERLAND—SIMMENTHAL—STAUBBACH—WENGERN ALP—THE
SIMPLON.
THE pleasure which Leila had experienced during her Swiss tour, determined her father
to prolong it by another to the Bernese Oberland—a region certainly not less interesting
than any they had yet visited. Once more, therefore, they entered their boat, and retracing
the lovely borders of the lake, they again visited Ouchy and Lausanne. Still cruising by
the shore, they landed at Vevay. Leaving Vevay, they proceeded on to Clarens. Arriving
there, they began a passage up the beautiful ascent of the range of mountains which
separate the basin of the Leman Lake from the valleys of the Bernese Oberland.
After repeated slips down the precipitous declivities, and meeting with all the variety of
occurrences incident to a mountain passage, our travellers surmounted the crest. Here
they lingered awhile to gaze upon the magnificent prospect before them. The lofty Juras
and the majestic Alps, encircled the blue expanse of the lake. In an opposite and easterly
direction, might be dimly seen the lakes of Morat and Neufehatel, and still nearer the
Canton of Friburg and its mountains.
Leaving these peaceful and ennobling scenes, our travellers, as Leila expresses herself,
“with a mind full of the beauties of nature,” slowly prepared to descend
37
into the pastoral district of the valley of the Simmenthal. The Simmenthal is considered
the longest and most beautiful of this range of the Alps. Leila’s mind was filled with
images of the peace and quietude of the pastoral life in these vales. The following is an
extract from her description: “All around me is poetic beyond my powers to
describe—poetic even to the most simple features of the peasant’s life. The rustic
shepherd of the Alps, seated upon a rugged rock, his crook beside him, his pipe, his bottle
of simple whey, and the wallet containing his hard cheese and coarse bread, perhaps,
suspended by a girdle, the bleating of the mountain goats, the bells hung to the necks of
the cows, the tinklings of which become fainter and more faint as they fearlessly climb
the most precipitous rocks—all combine to fill me with inexpressible pleasure. Never
before did I equal the enjoyment experienced in mixing with this unsophisticated pastoral
life.” So it would seem, for we find her conversing with the shepherds, playing with their
goats, visiting their châlets, eating at their board, drinking their milk and whey, frolicking
with their children, and nursing their infants.
Emerging from the lovely valley of the Simmenthal, the charming lake of Thun burst
upon their view, forming with the surrounding prospect a scene of chaste and unrivalled
beauty. On arriving at Thun they found a village fête was just commencing. There were
booths gracefully hung with festoons of variegated lamps, buried amid bouquets, and
interwoven with branches of trees. These booths exposed refreshments and other articles
for sale. Our travellers were enraptured with the beautiful, simple, and sweetly wild
melody of the
38
native airs sung by the peasant girls of Thun and the neighbouring villages. In the
evening the streets were illuminated. There was a profusion of rustic music and dancing,
and the streets were not quieted till long after midnight. It was conducted, however, with
pastoral simplicity, and altogether devoid of any approach to profanity or debauchery.
At Thun they embarked upon the lake, and were not long ere they reached Interlachen. In
their way into the remarkable valley of Lauterbrunnen, they had to pass through the
impressive gorge of the Lütschinnen, where they met with scenes of indescribably
sublime and awful grandeur. In her journal, Leila says: “I write while sitting upon a rock
in the gorge of the Lütschinnen. I am overwhelmed in contemplation of the magnificent
workings of divine power which lie around me and above me. All is grand, full of
majesty, and omnipotence, and glory. As I sit, I obtain a glimpse of the distant Jungfrau.
The bright silver of its glaciers, resting upon the soft azure of the sky, greatly heightens
the sublimity of the scene. Large masses of fallen rocks lie on either hand, among which
the mountain streams bound with a wild and impetuous majesty. Above me are terrible
overhanging precipices, and huge rocks suspended in mid air. Spanning the boiling
torrents at intervals, and at a height which makes me giddy even to look at, are the frail
and perilous planks which form the bridges of the Alps. One unused to see such paths
would imagine that any attempt to cross them at such a dizzy elevation, and over the
rushing and roaring cataracts, must involve certain and fearful destruction. But Alpine
maidens
39
trip across the awful abyss without manifesting any trepidation. We have just passed a
rock called the Bruderstein. It is in the most savage part of the gorge, and bears an
inscription, recording that there one brother committed murder upon another. I shall be
glad to leave this dismal pass, where, in my apprehension, every thing bears the marks of
earthquakes and convulsions.”
Leaving this “dismal pass,” they entered the wildly magnificent valley of Lauterbrunnen.
The change from the savage grandeur of the Lütschinnen, to the beauty and deliciousness
of Lauterbrunnen, produces, from the powerful contrast, the most lively emotions of
pleasure and delight. The mind is filled with a soul-felt love for nature, of a higher and
more comprehensive order than the mere sympathy of individual passion, so blended
with the entire being, that our personality is destroyed, and, though knowing ourselves to
be but part, we mingle in the glory and beauty of the whole.
Our travellers lingered awhile to contemplate the lovely Staubbach. “Staubbach,” says
Leila, “is like nothing which my richest imagination had depictured or conceived. Its
effect is beautiful—indescribable, as it falls from an immense height (about nine hundred
feet), like a volume of finely powdered snow, gradually widening in the most graceful
curves as it descends. Upon it sits an iris of great beauty, so near that you may walk into
it; I myself did so. Though so very high, its descent is soft and peaceful.
“I find these scenes of inestimable value in stirring me up to a deeper acquaintance with
the word of God, and also in enlarging my views and conceptions of his majesty and
greatness, and love and power. To gaze
40
upon the bright stars, as one by one they peep from behind the distant peaks, or are seen
through the vistas of the rocky pass; to watch the fading glories of the setting sun, and
mark their brilliant hues as reflected in the clear, deep bosom of the soft lake; how
beautiful! how exalting! how impressive!
“I trust that this effect may not be lost upon me; but that, as where much is given, much is
also required, I shall be found faithful to my opportunities and privileges. For this I pray
earnestly. O God, go not far from me, but arise and deliver me for thy name’s sake. Thou
knowest—thou art my witness—how much I desire that my heart may be rightly guided,
and entirely subdued to thy service. ‘As the hart panteth after the brooks of water,’ even
thus doth my soul pant for the enjoyment of my God.
“At such seasons as the present, when indisposition and languor affect my body, how
practically I feel that no mere earthly good can make me happy. Nothing but the constant
presence of him who fills the earth and heaven, can content my soul. For this my prayers
shall be more earnest and persevering than ever; and though he seems to tarry, I will
endeavour to wait patiently for his coming.
“What can I do? All the curses of God’s broken law seem impending over me; my soul is
earthly; the heavens reveal my iniquity! And God is a ‘just God.’ But he is also
inexhaustible in mercy. He is a being all love. O that I and my sins may be swallowed up
in its pure unsearchable sea. O thou Eternal! I appeal to thee if I do not love thee with my
whole heart
41
Thou knowest that with all my soul I desire to serve thee.
“I can scarcely write for weeping: often I spend the night-watches restless, and watering
my couch with my tears. I am in a strait of bitter darkness—darkness which may be felt. I
know not the way of salvation. In the Talmud I have no faith—I can have no faith. The
more I read the lovely Scripture, the more clearly do I perceive that that book is
altogether a fabrication of man. I can believe nothing else; nay, more, I feel that for
worlds I could not insult God by imputing it to him, or supposing that he had anything to
do with its being written. And the Mosaic law I cannot fulfil; it is impossible to me and
all our nation. Lord, help me and save me! O that thou wouldst take compassion on my
woeful state, and teach me what to do.
“My condition so oppresses my spirits, that to elevate them I often write, and endeavour
to make myself believe, that God will enable me to rejoice in his salvation, although I
cannot tell why, nor how, for if I can understand the Scripture, there are clearly
conditions which must be fulfilled. I repent, heartily repent; my heart is indeed broken on
account of sin—.”
She has left this painful entry unfinished. Every reader will sympathize with such a state,
and will be able to image it for himself. Comment upon it is needless; it could neither add
to, nor diminish from the impressions created by it.
They now began to make the passage from the valley of Lauterbrunnen to the valley of
Grindelwald, over the Wengern Alp. This is one of the most magnificent and beautiful
scenes, in this land of magnificence and
42
beauty. Their ascent commenced amongst pasturages, and goats, and shepherds, and
châlets; while as they wound higher and higher up the slopes the distant mountains
gradually unfolded themselves to view, forming a scene of surpassing majesty and
magnificence. At length, a scene of overpowering sublimity burst upon them—they were
opposite the Jungfrau, and separated from it by a tremendous and impenetrable abyss. It
was here that they had their grandest view of those striking phenomena of the Alpine
regions—the mists rising from the valleys. This abyss had the appearance of an ocean of
vapour, boiling and foaming with agitation, and heaving and dashing against the terrific
precipices. The effect is solemn, and perfectly sublime. Looking across this cloudy sea,
the Jungfrau elevates its snowy crest, surmounted by a superb cupola of bright clouds,
and brilliantly ornamented with glaciers. Not less beautiful are the Wetterhorn and
Eigher. And several thousands of feet below lay the valleys of Lauterbrunnen and
Grindelwald.
With the bracing and exhilarating air of the mountains, our pilgrims and their men appear
to have had a return of the fresh youthful spirit of gaiety, for, “While descending the
Wengern Alp,” says Leila, “we heartily amused ourselves in pelting each other with
snow-balls. In the palmiest days of my girlhood I have really never surpassed the noisy
mirth which I gave way to on this occasion.”
Descending the Wengern Alp among precipices of ice, here and there rent into deep
ravines, through which rushed the mountain torrents, they entered the valley of the
Grindelwald. The romantic magnificence
43
of this valley, full of the most superb scenes of the Bernese Oberland, could not fail to
intensely interest them. The immense glaciers rent and rugged, and looking like a sea
locked by immense breast-works of ice, which, while hoary with the storm, had been
suddenly frozen amid the wildness of its tossing, the tremendous defiles and precipices,
the overhanging rocks, the tottering crags, the impetuous dashing of the Alpine torrents,
all these formed a striking contrast to the peaceful woodland, the green pasturages, the
rich forests of pines, interspersed with verdant plains, and smiling cottages, and crystal
streams.
Passing the base of the steep Wetterhorn, they entered upon the richly verdant pastures of
the Scheideck—motley with cows and sheep, and lovely paradisiac cottages, smiling with
pastoral innocence and beauty. From hence they had an unequalled view of the great
glacier of Rosenlaui. Pausing at the beautiful fall of the Reichenbach, they leisurely
contemplated the loveliness of the scene; then, proceeding onwards, they shortly after
quitted the Oberland, and returned to Geneva by a route in which nothing calls for
particular notice.
They were now to leave Switzerland for Italy. Their route was by the lovely lake of
Geneva and the Valais, by way of Sion, Brieg, &c., to the famous pass of the Simplon. Of
this magnificent effort of human ingenuity, Leila expresses herself in terms of mingled
wonder and delight: “The passage of the Simplon is most extraordinary in its
wonders—here, sweet and magnificent; there, solemn and majestic. Here, we
44
proceed through beautiful forests of pine and larch; there, through the most desolate and
sterile solitude. Now, through scones of loveliness and sublimity; anon, between frightful
and terrific rocks, abysms calculated to strike awe into the most impassioned beholder.
The termination of the valley of the Simplon is a frightful chasm between precipices,
perhaps two thousand feet high, evidently a rent formed by some terrible convulsion. The
Doveria, formed by the junction of the Krumbach and Querna, foams and roars through
this abyss, and follows the course of the road, sometimes dashing its boiling torrent
beneath the feet of the traveller; at others, with impetuous rage, it rushes headlong past
him. So does the traveller proceed for a very great distance, through scenes awfully wild
and desolate, and between rocks of frightful height, which, overhanging his head,
threaten each instant to tumble, and involve him in destruction. I am struck with awe
while I only think upon it. The gallery of Gondo is another remarkable feature in this
extraordinary road; it is an excavation in the solid granite of nearly six hundred feet in
length. Immediately upon issuing from this gallery we stood over the Frassinone. This
cataract is seen falling from a very great altitude, and, continuing its course to the depth
of perhaps a hundred feet below you, it precipitates itself into the Doveria. It is
impossible to give any adequate description of the emotions which this scene excited in
my mind. They were of the true sublime, with a mixture of awe and surprise, that created
a conflict I can never cease to remember. It is, perhaps, the finest assemblage
45
of objects to excite admiration which I have met with in the Alps.
“When near the gallery of Gondo, a terrible storm of rain, hail, and thunder broke
overhead. We took the best shelter we could find—an inhospitable, dripping grotto. The
lightning was awfully vivid, and as it rushed from peak to peak, and glided down the
deep abyss, the effect was magnificent—sublime. The thunder, reverberated in powerful
echoes from the mountains, was deafening. Rain fell in torrents, and large hailstones in
abundance. It was a terrific tempest; but I was perfectly calm and composed throughout. I
know who held the storm, and I felt safe in the protecting hand of Omnipotence.
“Leaving Gondo, and the solitary and gloomy pass of the Julla, the character of the abyss
changes, and, gradually widening, puts on an appearance less sterile and dreary. At length
the defile opens; the aqueous, chilly mists and vapours are dispersed, and a scene of the
greatest beauty is unfolded to the view. This is the lovely, the smiling valley of Fontana.
We are now in Italy. Here, in a succession which bewilders the senses, rise orchards,
vineyards, gardens, groves, tiny parks, and snowy white villages, nestling amid them. The
balmy atmosphere is a perfume. The exhilarating effect of this change is indescribable. I
was almost ashamed of my loud outbursts of pleasure; again and again did I inhale with
increased delight the odoriferous air of the Italian plains.
“With the impetuous Doveria still rushing and roaring by your side, you proceed a few
miles further.
46
Here, at the village of Crevola, another, and more extensive, and perhaps more delightful,
valley comes into view. This is the delightful Val d’Ossola. Our drive from the pretty
village of Crevola to Duomo d’Ossola was a season of the deepest enjoyment; surely it is
one of the loveliest spots which the traveller can visit.”
47
CHAPTER IV.
THE JOURNEY
CONTINUED—MILAN—VERONA—VENICE—FERRARA—BOLOGNA—THE
APENNINES—FLORENCE—ROME—THE COLISEUM—NAPLES.
ON arriving at the Lago Maggiore, the Borromean Islands arrested the attention of our
travellers. “They are fine,” writes Leila, “but they do not agree with my notions of
beauty. They are too artificial—too much of the architectural ornée over them.” Thence
they passed onward through Sesto Calende to Milan. Again we extract from Leila’s
journal: “This city, the capital of northern Italy, is, in some sense magnificent; not very
so, I am apt to think; indeed, scarcely what I anticipated. Its beautiful cathedral, of white
marble, is certainly no less than grand, noble, and majestic. I felt an exquisite sense of
admiration when I first saw it. It seems almost too ethereal to be an earthly creation, as
something which could exist only in poetical imagination. It is the largest cathedral in
Italy, St. Peters, at Rome, excepted. The great object of interest in the interior, is the
subterranean chapel of San Carlo Borromeo. His remains are kept in a sarcophagus of
crystal, superbly adorned with silver gilt and other decorations.
“The gateway, which Napoleon erected at the entrance to the city, is also a striking and
impressive structure.
“We were particularly fascinated with a fine Guercino
48
in the Brera collection, ‘Abraham putting away Hagar and Ishmael.’ While standing
before it, one cannot feel that it is only a picture—that we look merely upon gross and
earthly colours. Hagar’s countenance is full of soul; every point in every feature beams
with deeply-wrought emotion; her intense distress, her mighty agony, the mixture of
pathos and entreaty, of sternness and upbraiding, of pride and desolation. Oh! it is a face
which once seen must ever be remembered. Miraculous power! wondrous art! to endow a
piece of canvass with life, and thought, and all the noblest emotions of the soul! to invest
an inanimate board with a power, an impassioned eloquence, beyond what tongue could
ever utter, signs convey, or language express!”
After visiting the Ambrosian Library, our tourists quitted Milan, and, continuing their
route, arrived at Lake Garda. Leila thus notices it: “It being a lovely day, we had a
delightful drive on the borders of the lake, and along the promontory of Sirmione, to visit
the ruins of the Villa of Catullus. On reaching the villa, I was altogether interested and
pleased, until our guide conducted us to a dirty room—or, more correctly, a cellar,
choked with filthy rubbish—and then sagely assured us that we were looking upon the
very place which Catullus occupied while writing his Odes to Lesbia. I was so poetically
indignant that I did not ask him to adduce a single proof; but I afterwards reflected that
whatever belief I might choose to indulge, there is no more proof that it is not, than that it
is.”
Proceeding by the ancient Via Æmilia, they came to Verona, the birth-place of Catullus,
Pliny the elder, and Paulo Veronese. Of its majestic amphitheatre, Leila
49
thus speaks: “With the grandeur of the amphitheatre I was much impressed—it is a
surprising structure. It is composed of large blocks of marble, and is considered the most
perfect remain of Roman architecture which now exists. It is to be regretted that the
greater portion of the upper range of arches in the exterior wall is destroyed; thereby the
effect is greatly diminished. Within, however, the preservation is surprising. To the
interior there are two principal entrances. The arena is encircled by forty-five rows of
seats. The form of the amphitheatre is oval: in length it is 464 feet; in width, 367 feet,
French measure.”
Going forward, we bring our travellers within sight of the city of Venice. The floating
churches, domes, palaces, and spires of Venice, are now united to the mainland by a
railway thrown across the lagoon. Those however, who prefer the poetic association of
the adventure—suggestive gondola, to the thunder and rattling of the unpoetic railway
train, may still enjoy the luxury of a transport on the rippling waves. Numerous gondolas,
and polite and characteristically. attired gondoliers, are in constant readiness,
Leila has drawn a lively picture of their approach to Venice:—
“It was a lovely moonlight evening as we approached the Adriatic; and such a
moonlight—so soft and yet so bright and clear, as I never saw before—a thorough Italian
sky and landscape. The sparkling eyes of night twinkled like precious brilliants in the
liquid azure. An exquisitely-tinted, bluish-roseate mist, hovered over the plains which
stretched before and on each side of us; the effect was rendered intensely
beautiful—became indeed
50
a feeling—as the silvery light of the moon pierced through it. We rolled on. At length I
became sensible to the salt breeze of the Adriatic; we were on its shore, and with an
overpowering thrill of rapture, I stepped into a gondola. Plash! plash! as the oar of the
gondolier struck the flashing waves,* and made them dance in brilliant coruscations. Our
gondola swept on, the yielding waters dashing against the prow with a heavy sluggish
gurgle. Each anxiously strained his eyes to be the first to descry Venice. There is the
glorious city! as a dim light was seen in the distance, and a voice of softened melody
came undulating across the waters. Our gondoliers assured us that the singing proceeded
from another gondola, and (I shall never forget the effect) immediately commenced the
same wild air, each alternately singing a verse. O, that moment! Tears suffused nay eyes;
the air still trembled with melodious intonations—it found its way to my inmost soul. We
glided on. A light spiritual haze rested on the waters before us. It vanished as we
approached, and, like a vision of enchantment, Venice was seen approaching upon the
dark waves. All was novel; and I felt an indescribable sense of mystery and melancholy,
mournfulness, and pleasure, as we glided into the Grand Canal, and were in the now
sleeping Venice.”
* By night in a warm latitude, every stroke of the oar is followed by a light, ethereal flash
from the water. It somewhat resembles sheet lightning. This effect is also often observed
in a cold latitude; perhaps, oftener than I am aware.
The poetic aspect and situation of Venice invariably awaken, a train of similar emotions
in the bosom of every traveller at all gifted to appreciate them. Three
51
days afterwards we find Leila writing: “This Venice is the city of my dreams! and yet I
never dreamed it was what it is. My first excitement is not yet over; my heart has not yet
ceased its increased rapidity of palpitation. My mind is full of memory and admiration;
my soul full of intense pleasure and satisfaction, yet so exquisitely tinged with sadness
and depression, that again and again I could weep with renewed gratification. My
enjoyment is so great, so intense, that I really cannot command myself to appreciate it.”
Having seen all that was interesting in Venice, they proceeded towards Rome. At Ferrara
they visited the prison of Tasso, and the house of Ariosto. Leila thus adverts to them:
“The prison in the hospital of St. Anna, in which Tasso was confined seven years, is a
small, gloomy, intensely miserable cell. The windows are grated; altogether its aspect is
bereft of any saving relief: it is a dungeon.
“In the Ferrarese Library are preserved some of his letters, and the original manuscript of
his ‘Gierusalemme Liberata.’
“The house of Ariosto the poet is an object of great interest also; although certainly less
attractive than the memorials of the unfortunate Tasso. He was born at Reggio, in the
duchy of Modena. As well as his house, the Ferrarese profess to show (and I have no
reason to doubt their correctness), his autographs, the arm-chair he was want to use, and
his inkstand.”
Passing onward through Bologna, they began to climb the purple Apennines, in the
direction of Florence. The ascent of these romantic hills winds among deep defiles, and
gloomy chasms, and profound acclivities; sometimes,
52
perhaps, overtopped by a ruined tower. At intervals, a snowy white convent is seen
peeping from amid the thick groves of pine and cypress. The scenery here, is altogether
of a different character to that of the Alpine regions; less grand and majestic, but more
romantic. As the road approaches the half-way house between Bologna and Florence, it
puts on an aspect increasingly wild and dreary, until at length, in the gloomiest part, we
arrive at the sinister, mistrustful-looking, inn of Covigliajo. This inn was, for a succession
of years, the scene of numerous murders. They were perpetrated by the mistress, assisted
by a servant, and the curé of a village which lay near. The victims were travellers, whose
riches were sufficient to tempt the cupidity of the murderers. Their clothes, carriages,
baggage, and everything which might lead to detection, were either burned or buried.
From these heights, the view of and descent to Florence, “Frienze la bella,” is one of
surpassing beauty. At the feet lie Fiesole and the whole of the Val d’Arno, stretched out
in placid, sun-lit loveliness. This beautiful vale is enclosed within a fine range of
mountains, of the richest blue and purple colouring, and variety of picturesque forms. The
whole of its expanse is clothed with the most luxuriant vegetation, and in the very midst
of it reposes the delicately fair Florence, lovely as an eastern beauty. When Milton was
afflicted with that great loss, the severity of which caused his pathetic and touching
lament—
”Thus with the year
Seasons return, but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn”—
53
he recorded, that were permission given to him to choose the scene upon which he would
once more open his eyes, he would desire, that it should be to look down upon Fiesole
and the Val d’Arno. “When from the heights above Fiesole,” says that elegant writer,
Mrs. Jameson, “we beheld the city of Florence, and above it the young moon and the
evening star suspended side by side, and floating over the whole of the Val d’Arno and
the lovely hills which enclose it a mist, or rather a suffusion of the richest rose colour,
which gradually as the day declined, faded, or rather deepened into purple, then I first
understood all the enchantments of an Italian landscape.”
Leaving Florence, after a very short stay, in which, however, our tourists found time to
visit the Medicean or Florentine Gallery of Paintings and Sculptures, and a few objects of
interest beside, they pressed onward toward Rome. They took their route by way of
Perugia, in order to visit the superb falls of Terni. Here neither space, nor the object of
this work, will permit us to detail the features of the beautiful country, and the various
interesting objects which they passed. Our materials would be superabundant; we,
therefore, bring them to Perugia. Near to this city is its sweet lake—the Lacus
Trasimenus of the Romans, one of the fairest spots on earth. But here history is over
officious. While looking upon its crystal waters one cannot avoid a shudder at the thought
of their once being reddened by the choicest blood of Rome.
“We have visited the lake,” writes Leila. “On its shores is the venerable ruin which
commemorates the name of the victorious Hannibal, being called ‘Forteressa
54
di Annibale.’ Here are the passes in which Hannibal so skilfully disposed his troops, and
by means of which he induced the Roman consul Flaminius to make an attack upon his
main body. A number of his light horse, whom he had artfully concealed, then fell upon
the Roman rear and cut off all possibility of a retreat. By these man_uvres the Romans
were completely enclosed between the lake and the mountains; their rear was blocked up
by the light horse; the remainder of the Carthaginian army hemmed them in. For three
hours the Romans maintained the battle with the most desperate courage; the presence
and example of their general, Flaminius, inspired them to perform the most daring acts of
valour, and great execution was done among the ranks of Hannibal’s army. In the midst
of the battle a terrible earthquake occurred. It overthrew many cities in Italy, changed the
course of rivers, tore down and rent mountains, and threw the sea upon the land; but,
according to Livy, the combatants were so ardent and intent upon the battle that not one
of them felt the shock. With the fall of Flaminius, however, the courage of the Roman
army sank; they ultimately gave way, and were cut in pieces by the flushed horse and
foot of the Carthaginian army. No mercy was asked, and none was shown. I saw a small
stream which is still called the ‘Sanguinetto,’ from its having been red with the blood of
the vanquished Romans.
* * * * * *
“But my favourite spot here is the banks of the pretty little river Clitumnus. I spend hours
of every day reposing upon the verdant slopes, which look upon its crystal current. It is a
spot which infuses itself
55
into the soul as peace, and love, and joy, and beauty, all combined.”
The cataract of the Velino is thus noticed by her: “The falls of the Velino are as grand an
object as any I have yet seen. My imagination is bewildered while I think upon it. A vast
volume of water, fifty or sixty feet broad, tumbling headlong a depth of three hundred
feet into an impenetrable gulf of boiling vapour, and then, again leaping over the black
crags, forming several smaller cataracts, but each from fifty to a hundred feet in height,
(for the whole altitude of the cataract is seven hundred feet;) altogether forms a scene
which words can never express. To gaze upon it is overpowering to the senses; there it
flows and flows, an eternity of waters, ever rushing, ever changing, yet ever the same. It
does not descend equally, but falls over the top in rugged ridges, or rather (and which will
express the meaning better), in thick careless folds. A deep thunder reverberates up the
abyss, yet, it is never the same, but is ever modulating, ever changing. Now, by the varied
motion, it has a sound which I know not how to better express than by comparing it to a
deep, sonorous howl, mingled with the boom of artillery; anon, it rolls a real and crashing
peal of deafening thunder; yet there is an indescribable difference which is wonderful to
the ear.
“The scenery around is chaste, sublime, beautiful. In the distance sunny mountains repose
upon the bright blue of the lovely Italian sky, their sides clothed with verdant vegetation,
and forests of pines waving in the clear and ambient air. Near are groves of golden
56
orange, and olives, and arbutus with its crimson fruit, and the tall ilex.
* * * * *
“Passing Narni, and its picturesque but ruined bridge, and the beautiful Civita Castellana,
we entered the dreary solitude of the Campagna di Roma. The aspect of this desolate
waste, combined with a recollection of the scenes of grandeur and tumult to which it had
been witness, filled me with a deep melancholy. To feel that you are treading upon the
ashes of a nation whose sway once governed the world; of an empire which once existed
in the greatest earthly splendour, the cultivation of whose intellect had attained a high
degree of perfection, and then to look around and witness this majesty hurled to the dust,
and silence and desolation seated upon its ruins—how very impressive! The air, which I
am this moment breathing, once resounded with the loud notes of the martial trumpet;
mighty legions and triumphant cars have coursed upon this very ground; the victor and
the vanquished have trod its surface; the regal diadem has on this spot been led captive at
the conqueror’s victorious chariot; the mightiest princes of the earth have here licked the
dust and rendered the most submissive homage to their proud mistress. I ask to see the
monuments of this grandeur, and am pointed to some stunted shrubs, a few mutilated
columns and broken statues, which here and there lie half-buried in the soil, the
dissevered and ruined arches of an aqueduct, or, at intervals, some melancholy tower.
“How clear to any mind, even if it be but little accustomed to reflect, is the
superintendence of Providence
57
over the creation. Dreadful are the effects of the unrestrained passions of men. Nations
which have filled the measure of their iniquities are hurled from their pinnacle of power,
their country given to ruin and desolation, but all work together for good in the wisdom
of him who governs the universe and sees from beginning to end.”
They had now reached Rome—the “Eternal city.” “We ascended the Capitoline Mount;”
we extract from Leila’s journal; “before us were a few columns of the Comitium and the
field of the Forum—a waste. Still looking in the same direction is the arch which
commemorates Titus’s triumph over Jerusalem, the arch of Constantine, and the huge pile
of the Coliseum. Towards the left is the Basilica of Constantine in ruins. At our feet a
part of the Via Sacra, the ruins of the temples of Fortune and Jupiter Tonans, and the arch
of Septimius Severus. Extending our view beyond the walls we perceive the broken
aqueducts by which the ancient Romans were supplied with water, and a few scattered
tombs, marking the direction of the Appian way.
“Afterwards we visited that mighty pile of masonry, the Coliseum. It stands a monument
of a debased and degenerate people, of that depraved taste which rapidly paved the way
for the final downfall of the Roman empire. I shuddered, as standing within its vast area I
traced in my imagination the deeds of slaughter, the human butcheries, which had been
enacted upon the spot whereon I trod. Once this arena was wont to be deluged with the
blood of unoffending men, men compelled
58
to murder each other that they might yield a barbarous gratification to depraved
emperors, senators, people, even women—yes, even women could enjoy the fiendish
occupations of the arena, aye, worse, could at length appear upon the accursed stage; and
it was always a virgin who gave the signal for slaughter.
“It is now a stupendous ruin. The ascent to the great corridor is up decayed stairs, and by
broken and ruined walls overgrown with long grass and wild flowers, among which the
birds build their nests and rear their young. Looking through the fragments, glimpses are
obtained of the immense area beneath, with its mouldering seats and passages rising one
above another. Its immense magnitude, its slowly mouldering ruins, its awful solitude, its
complete desolation, fill the heart with a conflict of emotions, but the most prominent is a
sad, yet soft, melancholy—peculiar—indescribable.
“Leaving the Coliseum, we visited the beautiful St. Peter’s. It is massive, majestic,
magnificent. We ascended to the roof, a height of four hundred feet, by a broad and
commodious staircase. I was awed by the solemn grandeur of the interior. The
decorations are superb and gorgeous, yet harmonious and chaste. But in truth, from my
having but just left the Coliseum, I had not force of mind left sufficient to appreciate the
majesty of St. Peter’s. My heart was full of admiration, my eye of forms and
proportions.”
After visiting the palace of the Vatican, with the statues in which Leila could not fail of
being interested, the Castle of St. Angelo, Tivoli, and the pretty lake of Nemi, our
travellers gave Rome a parting glance, and
59
went onwards to Naples. The situation of this city is enchanting: rising like an
amphitheatre, it forms with its verdant shores and magnificent bay a scene of almost
unrivalled beauty. Leila speaks of it in terms of enthusiastic delight. It was here they bade
adieu to Italy, and turned to the equally classic land of Greece, embarking in an English
vessel bound to Athens.
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CHAPTER V.
THE JOURNEY CONTINUED—ATHENS—MISTRA—THE
MOREA—SPARTA—THE ÆGEAN SEA—CONSTANTINOPLE
LANDING at the harbour of the Piræus, Leila and her father lingered to contemplate the
lovely islands anchored off in the blue Ægean, the gulf and rock of Salamis, the ancient
Sunium, the chain of marble mountains which inclose the plain of Attica, the temples of
Phidias on the top of the Acropolis, the olive groves of the Academus, immortalized by
Plato and his disciples; and then slowly drove into the city of Athens.
“Visited the Acropolis,” (we quote from Leila), “the beautiful, venerable and hoary
Acropolis, with its magnificent ruins. Thence I turned to the Parthenon, and with my eye
fixed upon its mouldering but majestic desolation, I reclined in the delicious shadow of
the temple of Erichtheus. There I sat for hours, looking upon its fallen columns, which in
immense blocks, were scattered upon the pavement by the side of its broken capitals.
“On a piece of ruin before me sat a Grecian girl, whose picturesque costume, in my
imagination, added much to the poetry of the scene. On the crown of her head she wore
the close, red cap of Albania. Her temples were bound by a rich muslin turban, elegantly
tied by a costly band set with pearls, and from thence it depended almost to the shoulder,
the end being finished by a tassel. Her dark hair, enwreathed with pearls, fell
61
in thick ringlets upon her neck. A loose robe, open in front, was negligently thrown
across her shoulders, leaving her wrists (on which she wore bracelets) and part of her
arms bare. Beneath this was a gown of striped silk, and white stockings and yellow shoes
completed her elegant attire. Her look was pensive, with somewhat of melancholy, but
very intellectual, clearly indicating a mind superior to that of Greek women in general;
and—I can scarcely tell why—but I felt for her such an affectionate interest, such a desire
for intimate communion of soul, as quite oppressed me when I reflected it could not be.
“From contemplating the Parthenon, I turned to the Propylea, and the temple of
Erichtheus, and of the Caryatides: all of these are close to the Parthenon. But majestic as
they are—magnificent as they are, the mind is incapable of receiving their adequate
impressions through comparison with the great majesty itself. In the contemplation of
that, the soul has expended all its strength—it is full of the true emotions of sublimity,
and has no chord left to be excited by the others. As I gazed upon these great and almost
superhuman efforts of genius, I was transported in admiration and praise of that great and
lovely Being who is the source of all mind, whom to know is the highest wisdom, whom
to serve is happiness, whom to love is heaven. O, that all this may be the experience of
my soul! I do not despair. The hand of the Lord is not shortened that it cannot save. He
will lead my ignorant, guilty, soul to drink of the fountains of repose. He will teach me.
O, I am sometimes quite animated with hope! My trust is in God, I shall yet praise him:
soon he shall arise
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upon my soul, and his glory, yes, his glory shall scatter this night, which prevents my
knowing or doing anything aright, and I will rejoice in the Lord, I will joy in the God of
my salvation. In a spiritual sense, I do record it, that at the present moment, I am more
happy than usual. I can confidently rely upon the divine direction in those momentous
considerations which now engross my mind.
* * * * *
“In the midst of the ruins of what was once Athens, rises a precipitous mountain. It is
surrounded by enormous walls. At their base, they are constructed of fragments of white
marble; higher up, with ruins of columns and broken friezes. Its summit, which is
levelled to receive the foundation of temples of the gods, contains an area of perhaps,
upwards of a hundred thousand square feet. From its top is obtained one of the most
beautiful views of all the space which was ancient Athens, and the country which
surrounded it—divested, indeed, of most of its gorgeous splendour, its thousand temples
fallen to decay, the great wall of the Piræus broken and mouldering into dust, the
magnificent Parthenon mutilated and destroyed by Venetian cannon, the slopes of yon
beautiful amphitheatre of mountains, once clothed in forests, in pastures, in groves of
vines, and citron, and oranges, and olives, in towns and villages—all, all desolate and
depopulated; but notwithstanding this, one glance over to that lovely horizon, the
recollection of which since I saw it, has haunted me both awake and asleep—one glance
on the glorious colouring of the scene, will fill the soul with emotions most deep, noble,
and sublime.
63
“With a heart beating quick from association and memory, you take a first hasty
look—are overpowered by the comparison of ancient and modern Athens—of the city
and surrounding country when Plato stood, and taught, and admired on that very spot
where you now stand, and its present ruin and decay. You imagine for a moment, that
you see the port of Phalerus, the harbour of the Piræus, the sea of Athens, and the gulf of
Corinth, as in ancient times, covered with forests of masts, and snowy sails, and proud
flags, trembling in the classic air; that you hear the murmurs of the busy tribe within the
mighty capital, and the sound of the sonorous hammer as it detaches the huge blocks of
marble, from the quarries of Pentelicus; that you see the people pressing in a waving
mass towards the very place where you are now seated, to burn incense and offer
sacrifice to their imaginary deities; that you hear the declaim of the mighty orator, and the
plaudits of the delighted audience. You feel what you have imagined; and then look
again, and behold the present solitude and ruin—you turn away weeping. Let your tears
flow! the ground is consecrated to remembrance.
“This relieves you, and while you feel the past you are enabled to contemplate the
present beauty of the scene. You see the hills which formed the ancient Athenian soil, the
course of the now exhausted Ilissus, the scanty Cephisus,* the valleys of Pentelicus, the
plain of the Piræus, the range of valleys and towering mountain crests which conceal
Marathon, and stretch away to the Acropolis of Corinth, and the lovely Ægean,
* Cephisus’ stream is indeed scanty; the Ilissus has no stream at all.
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with its romantic islands, Salamis and Ægina, on top of which is the Temple of Jupiter
Panhellenius. The whole presents such an assemblage of beautiful objects, of the wonders
of nature and art, such sublimity of colouring, such perfection of beautiful and inimitable
perspective, as neither the imagination can conceive, nor the memory recollect anything
like it.
“How poor and laborious is the effect, when that which should strike as a whole upon the
sense, is detailed in parts! We may tell of the rippling ocean streaked with shadows of the
richest purple, its hoary crested waves tipped with the effulgent lights of the sunbeam; of
islands floating upon its surface, some in the distance dimly seen through golden mists,
and looking as though they belonged to an ethereal creation; others bright and clear, their
naked rocks and precipices varied by verdant mosses and brilliant tints—orange, red,
gray; we may add to this, a description of glowing summits, themselves more intensely
azured than the sky against which they repose; of marble columns and ruined temples,
beaming with radiance effulgent as the sun, yet exquisitely relieved by deeper shadows,
and most lovely colours; we may tell all this, and more than this, and yet after all, how
ineffectual are the ideas conveyed by such a picture!”
Engaging a body guard of hardy Mainiotes, they left Athens, and entered the Morea by
the Isthmus of Corinth. With an intention to visit Lacedæmon, they proceeded in the
direction of Mount Taygetus, and in a short time arrived at Mistra, a beautiful little town,
situate at the commencement of its acclivity.
“Our drive into Mistra,” writes Leila, “was delightful.
65
The shadows of evening were fast descending when we entered its quiet streets. Its
situation at the foot of Mount Taygetus is picturesque and pretty: the groves of olives,
&c., are as rich and as classic as any I have yet seen in Greece. Indeed, from my
observation of the Morea, I am prepared to say that it does not yield in climate, fertility,
and classical interest to any part of Greece, nor indeed of Europe, so far as I am
acquainted.
“The same evening we obtained a place in which to reside during our stay. It is situated in
the prettiest part of the suburbs of Mistra, overlooking the groves and pastures towards
Amyclæ and the Eurotas.
“The night I passed very restlessly, between wakefulness and fevered dreams of Sparta,
and Leonidas, and Lacedæmonians. In the morning I rose early, and took a walk among
some beautiful trees which grew near our residence. After breakfast, accompanied by our
cicerone, we ascended the castle of Mistra, whence we were to see the spot which once
was Sparta. On reaching the summit I exclaimed to the cicerone, in breathless haste,
‘Now, first show me the city of Lycurgus!’ ‘Signora, what did you say?’ ‘I wish to see
Sparta—Lacedæmon; this Mistra is not the site of the ancient Sparta?’ ‘I think I do not
feel your meaning.’ ‘Show me the Eurotas!’ He pointed to the right, with a grave and
stately bow. ‘Now, Sparta, the great republic. Palæochori! Palæochori! Surely you know
what I mean!’ ‘O yes, O yes, Signora!’ cried the Greek with profound gesticulations. ‘I
know what your ladyship means—Palæochori, great Lycurgus; it is there, at Magoula,’
pointing to the valley. I looked
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in the direction indicated, and saw a small white cottage and a few trees. ‘And this is all,’
I said, while my eyes suffused with tears, ‘this is all that marks the site of that celebrated
city, where are the graves of Agis and of Leonidas!’“
Leaving Mistra, they took the route to Nauplia di Romania. Nauplia di Romania is a
fortified seaport near the head of the gulf of Nauplia, the Argolic Gulf of the ancients, on
the east of the Morea. At Nauplia they embarked for the Turkish capital.
Their course lay among the beautiful islands of the Ægean, “amid scenes,” writes Leila,
“enrapturing in beauty and classical interest.” Delos, Syra, Myconi, Scio, Lesbos,
Lemnos, were each in turn intensely attractive objects. At length they entered the
Dardanelles, the ancient Hellespont, and passing Sestos and Abydos, they soon arrived at
Constantinople.
Here Leila found scenes full of intense interest. “Every day,” she says, “I ascend the
belvedere upon the top of our house, and give myself to dreamy and delicious
contemplations. The beautiful objects around me fill my soul with the most charming
images, and the most sublime emotions; yet, as often as I go, I experience increased
delight.”
The walls of Constantinople are now in ruins. “I know,” writes Leila, “no walk in the
whole city of Stamboul which I prefer to that by its decayed walls. That triple line of
immense battlements is now in ruins, and covered with ivy. It is four miles in length, and
surmounted with two hundred and eighteen towers. From the historical scenes connected
with it, and which have been so beautifully described by Gibbon, every step
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along it is full of the deepest interest. On the other side of the road are those lovely spots,
the Turkish burying grounds, full of lofty and luxuriant cypresses, and interspersed with
the choicest flowers of the East. In them I spend many hours. I love to visit every
repository of the dead wherever I go. Meditations upon death and eternity are with me,
favourite ones; and no means should be neglected, which have the effect of making the
mind familiar with that solemn event which must soon arrive, and through which we
must pass to heaven. O, that when it comes, it may find me prepared to meet it! O, that at
that season, I may have that divine support, and that blessed hope of heaven, which shall
encircle my brow with composure and my spirit with calmness and delight! Then—yes,
then—I will meet him with a smile, I will welcome him as my dearest friend. His gloomy
valley passed, I shall be for ever with my Lord—ever in the presence of him whom my
soul loveth. Lord, prepare me, I beseech thee! O, lift up the light of thy reconciled
countenance upon me, for the sake of him who thou hast promised shall be our Saviour
from the retribution which our sins have deserved! I tremble with emotions of fear,
uncertainty,—uncertainty?—O, I do not know myself! I do not know my conviction! I do
not know what to do! I sometimes scarcely dare to think I lest I am—. Lord, do teach me;
do make me happy! O, give me thyself; convince me, show me the truth; yet hast thou
not answered my prayers for guidance? Surely, thou hast made my way plain. Lord, thou
knowest me altogether; I cannot disguise my heart from thee. I fear no trial, no loss of
friends, no difficulties,
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so that I am not offending thee, but am living according to thy written word, and
believing everything which thou—I may not write. Lord, make me to know thee; and, if it
be necessary, I will forsake all to follow thee, and to serve thee. O, I love thy delightful
service!”
To the present part of her diary, Leila carefully abstains from making any reference to the
cause of all this commotion. With the fact that she has commenced to read the New
Testament, we are already acquainted. But to explain her turmoil and agitation of mind,
and the reason of her remark, “I may not write,” we must refer to her writings of a later
date. And in these she tells us, that until she had obtained a clear conviction, she carefully
abstained from making any remarks which palpably referred to a belief in Jesus as the
Messiah: she knew that if they were found, they would subject her to the severest trials.
Who does not feel emotions of deep sympathy while reading such a portraiture? How
faithfully does it depict the tossing and uncertainty of her mind! “When I begin to write,”
she says, elsewhere, “I am in such a whirl of doubt, fear, and conviction, that I can
scarcely trust myself. But, it would not be thus with me, if I had any one to whom I could
lay open my soul. Oh, no! I shall be glad to return to England; here, I cannot have any
books to help me; no, nor yet sympathy, except from my Lord: and I do praise him for
those seasons of inexpressible comfort which I receive from his love. I am determined
that I will simply follow where he leads, no matter how great my earthly difficulties.”
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And now we turn to our narrative.
A strong desire to see the interior of the mosque of St. Sophia had nearly plunged Leila
into serious results. We give the incident in her own words: “I was walking, in company
with our Turkish guide, one beautiful evening, when, as yet, we had been but a few days
in Constantinople. We were near the principal entrance to the mosque of St. Sophia,
when the clear music of the Muezzin’s voice was heard from the highest gallery of the
minaret. The last notes of the sonorous and beautiful “Allah Hu,”* had died away in
melodious intonations, as we turned to go onward. A firman, which would permit us to
visit the mosque, we were unable to procure. I had an unquenchable desire to see the
interior, and now that the Mussulmans were bending over their Comboloios,† and
praying with their faces turned towards Mecca, it invested my desire with an additional
charm. In a few moments it became irresistible; I determined to step up to the Turk who
guarded the door, and obtain a peep within, forgetting, in my enthusiasm, that my
temerity might be attended with unpleasant results. “Alfi,” said I, as we stood before the
entrance, (Alfi, was a mussulman, a descendant
* The Turks have no bells. “Allah Hu,” are the words which conclude the Muezzin’s call
to prayer. He dwells on the last syllable, which gives it a most striking and extraordinary
effect, especially if the evening be still, and he have a fine, clear voice; then it is solemn
and beautiful beyond any other means of invocation. “Allah Hu,” is also the proper war-
cry of the Mussulmans, and the peculiarity of their tone gives it an air of singular
wildness.
† “Comboloio,” a Mahometan rosary. The beads are ninety-nine in number.
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of the Prophet, and wore the privileged green garb,* ‘Alfi, come with me a moment, let
us view the interior of the great temple.’ ‘Signora!’ cried Alfi, violently catching my light
muslin dress, for I had begun to act while speaking; ‘Lady Signora, you know not what
you say; you will be cut in pieces, though they had broken bread and salt with you.†
Bismillah! ge!’‡ ‘Amaun, amaun,|| Alfi; I forgot that I was in danger; thank you.’ “
After a season of the “richest delight” at Constantinople, they embarked for Smyrna. As
they sailed down the Dardanelles, Leila cast a longing, lingering look towards the city,
with its magnificent domes and
* Green is the significant colour of the Prophet’s descendants, and if we are to believe all
who assume it, he has left a very numerous family. Faith is reckoned as their direct and
unchangeable family inheritance; and as it supersedes the necessity of good works, their
characters are in general very indifferent; indeed, they are the worst of the followers of
their father Mahomet.
† For a Mussulman to partake food with you, to break bread and salt with you, insures
your safety as his guest. Even though you were his enemy, from that moment your person
is sacred. And so far is this characteristic carried among most of the Mahometan tribes,
that if a captured haramy or robber have a piece of bread given to him by a child (the
child of the person who took him prisoner only excepted), he may demand the privilege
attached to having partaken food with his captor, and must be directly set at liberty. From
that time he is the friend of all that tribe, and of all others in amity with it.
‡ Bismillah,” in the name of God. This is the commencement of all the chapters in the
Koran, with the exception of one: likewise of thanksgiving and prayer. “Ge,” come.
|| “Amaun,” pardon, mercy, quarter.
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minarets, and then turned away to enjoy fresh and not less lovely scenes. Their course lay
among some of the most beautiful islands which stud the blue Ægean. Their wild and
sunny grandeur, their sublime rocks, their deep inlets, were favourite contemplations for
Leila.
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CHAPTER VI.
THE JOURNEY CONTINUED—ANTIOCH—JERUSALEM—ACCOUNT OF
THE HOLY LAND—THE RETURN HOME—ALEXANDRIA—MALTA—A
TEMPEST.
AFTER a stay at Smyrna, which did not exceed many hours, they proceeded in the same
ship to Cyprus, and thence they went on to Antioch.
“The present city of Antioch,” says Leila, “although superior in size to any other of the
towns upon the coast, is not beautiful, scarcely handsome, for it is not well built. There is
not one of the public buildings which strikes the observer as being worthy of particular
notice, but the view of the town and valley from an eminence is picturesque, even pretty.
The streets are very narrow, and not particularly clean. On each side of them is a raised
pavement for foot passengers, and in the middle a deep defile for the horses, but it is
seldom that this is sufficiently wide to admit of two horses passing each other. The river
Orontes winds through the valley, at about three miles an hour. It is here about a hundred
and thirty feet wide, and crossed by an old but really romantic and picturesque bridge of
four arches. The bazaars are very numerous, and in them may be purchased all the usual
articles of demand. Here are several fountains, all rather ordinary ones. One is called the
Ain-el-Omra, or fountain of life.
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The water which it supplies is very beautiful, and being supposed to possess medicinal
virtues, is a great resort of the afflicted. Between the stones are great quantities of nails
driven in by these persons, either as a propitiatory or a thank-offering to the imaginary
genius of the spring. The Jews here are quite unmolested in the exercise of their peculiar
observances. There are twenty-one families of them, and they meet in a small room in the
rabbi’s house. The mosques are fourteen in number. Six of these, in the purely Turkish
style of architecture, have tall white minarets, close galleries, and blue pointed tops,
surmounted by the crescent. The men wear cloth kaooks, long robes, red trousers, and
yellow boots. The women wear white muslin, and veil their faces with black gauze.
Indeed, both men and women are Turkish in their dress, taste, and language.”
They were now approaching the ancient land of Canaan; and let us by no language of our
own trespass upon Leila’s most touching account of the sacred and holy feelings and
associations awakened in her bosom, as she first saw it stretched before her in all its
goodly beauty:—
“How languid is this land which once throbbed with animation and warm delight! How
silent those groves and valleys which were wont to echo the notes of softened and joyous
music! How desolate and solitary those plains which were the garden of the Lord!—a
land of fountains, springs, and murmuring streams, of wheat, and barley, and grapes, and
olives, and fig-trees, and pomegranates, of oil, and milk, and honey. These hills and dales
which even still repose in placid and sunny beauty, are the Jewish father-land; those
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smiling plains their home—alas! how could I say their home? Poor
‘Tribes of the wandering foot and weary breast,
How shall ye flee away and be at rest?
The wild dove has her nest, the fox his cave,
Mankind their country, Israel but the grave.’
“They are homeless wanderers—exiles. Jerusalem, although so dear, is not now theirs.
They are permitted to remain on this their ancient soil only by tolerance. Not an inch can
be claimed as their own. A Turk may scare them from the tomb of their father Abraham.
A look upon the hallowed spot which contains the ashes of their fathers must be obtained
by stealth. Their land has been
’Trodden down
By all in turn, Pagan, and Frank, and Tartar—
So runs the dread anathema—trodden down
Beneath the oppressor; darkness shrouding thee
From every blessed influence of heaven;
Thus hast thou lain for ages iron bound
As with a curse.’
—’Iron-bound as with a curse.’ May that be true? O! if I will believe the truth, I fear it is.
How else am I to explain the position of our people through the past eighteen centuries?
What adequate cause can be assigned for our long protracted and unexampled
chastisement? Our fathers, who were guilty of idolatry, the greatest crime they could
possibly commit against God as their king and lawgiver, were only punished with a
captivity in Babylon of seventy years’ continuance; but though we have ever since
entertained the utmost abhorrence of idols, and have not, as a people, been chargeable
with greater vices than other nations,
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yet that captivity, in which we are at present, has lasted more than twenty-five times
seventy. What can be the crime which our ancestors committed, and of which to the
present we have not repented, that the hand of the Lord has lain, and still lies, so heavily
upon us? Whatever it is, it must be some act or deed of a most atrocious character, which
they perpetrated before our dispersion: an act or deed in the approval of which we have
unchangingly persisted, and the guilt of which we have obstinately refused to
acknowledge.
“I have read our national records, and I find but one act to which all our nation have in
every age given their unanimous, and persevering, and really obstinate adhesion. It is the
crucifixion of Jesus, the Son of God. That he was the Messiah I no longer doubt. The
New Testament agrees with the Old. In the 26th chapter of St. Matthew I find the
fulfillment of the 53d of Isaiah. O, what glories it has unfolded to my view! I thank my
God and Father for the palpable influence and assistance of his Holy Spirit, while
engaged in its delightful reading. I am not now afraid to write; I am no longer
intimidated. I never feared the curse of the rabbis; and, therefore, I have endeavoured to
calculate the time of the prophecies which relate to the coming of the Messiah. These are,
I think, in almost every case, expired; in all perhaps. But O, my nation, with what heart-
rending agony of soul must I view this act! The innocent Jesus—terrible thought!—that
he who is the Saviour of his people, should have been by our nation crucified, and
afterwards sneered at as the Talui;* that the Divine Redeemer of the
* The “Crucified One.”
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world, the promised Messiah, should be blasphemed in the miserable, insane Toldoth
Jeshu. Weep, weep! ye Jews, for your iniquities; let your wails rise to heaven, long, loud,
and deep. O, what will ye feel—who shall describe your poignant grief when the Spirit of
God convinces you of this guilt—the brf (:#$ape.* The very land in which it was
committed weeps, looks mournful, and is desolate.
* The great transgression.
“My heart is very full. I have read the lovely Gospel, but I am a poor, ignorant, benighted
creature, and cannot understand it as I wish. O, that I were in England! that I might obtain
more knowledge from the servants of Christ. I am now tossed in a whirlwind of thought,
all-engrossing, yet so agitated and indefinite that I can select no language to portray it. It
is an agony of soul. I wish to be a Christian. O Lord! calm my troubled spirit. Do of thy
loving-kindness guide me to thy simple truth. Let me rest and be at peace beneath the
canopy of thy love. Teach me thy law of liberty, as thou in thy word hast described; and
having taught me thy will, assist me to follow thee, to give up my own, whatever shall
happen to my body. Amen.
“Now, my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, my hope is in thee, my prayer is unto thee; in
the multitude of thy mercy hear me. Deliver me out of the mire, and let me not sink, and
out of these deep waters, that they may not overflow me.”
Almost immediately upon their arrival at Jerusalem, Leila was visited with a severe and
wasting illness. “I am just recovering from the most severe illness I ever
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had. Throughout my indisposition I received much divine support, yet I have not that
indwelling peace desire to have, and which it is clearly my privilege to possess. I want
the evidence that I am what God would have me be. Although I earnestly pray for this
evidence, all seems dark and mysterious. Lord, arise and scatter my darkness for the
Redeemer’s sake. O, let me, unworthy, miserable, sinful me, obtain thy promised
salvation! Amen.
“It is a solemn scene! From my window I see the Mount of Olives, the deep ravine that
forms the bed of the brook Kedron, and the valley of Jehoshaphat where my fathers lie
buried. Beneath me lies most of the Holy City. With a slight turn of my head, I see the
Mount Moriah, and the enclosure where once stood the Temple of the Lord. Again
shifting my view, I see the few thin-leaved olives which are supposed to mark the garden
of Gethsemane—the scene of the agony of the divine Redeemer! A solemn calmness
hovers everywhere around me. My spirit harmonizes with the time and scene.”
The illness of Leila resolved her father that they would proceed no further in their
pilgrimage; although his original intention was to visit the Dead Sea, and various parts of
Arabia Petræ. As soon, therefore, as she was sufficiently recovered to be removed, they
left Jerusalem for Jaffa, its port: there they embarked for Alexandria.
“Alexandria,” writes Leila, “presents a scene of magnificent ruin and desolation.
Everywhere the eye is met by half-ruined houses, whose symmetry is not for solitude;
and heaps of rubbish, and fragments of temples,
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palaces, obelisks, capitals, and columns, are scattered around. The gardens of Ptolemy,
and most of the buildings and groves which environed Alexandria, are no more.
Cleopatra’s palace has quite disappeared; it stood upon the walls which face the fort. East
of it were the two obelisks called Cleopatra’s needles. One of them still remains. It is
composed of one piece of Thebaic stone, and is nearly seventy feet in height; its surface
covered with deeply cut hieroglyphics. A few of the porphyry pillars of Cæsar’s palace
may still be seen, and the beautiful front is entire. Near the ancient gate of Rosetta, five
marble columns stand solitary; they belonged to the colonnade of the Gymnasium, and
are all of it which escaped the barbaric destruction of the Turks.
“On the sea coast, there is an artificial reservoir, called the Bath of Cleopatra. Ruins in
connection with it indicate that it was formerly ornamented. In its sides are two beautiful
saloons, furnished with benches cut from the rock. A winding canal conveys water from
the sea to these saloons, and renders it transparent as crystal.
“In modern Alexandria, there are no public buildings which are worthy of particular
notice. The city consists of narrow, dirty, unpaved, and awkward streets. Like the other
towns upon the coast, the houses are all flat-roofed, with inconveniently constructed
wooden lattices, for the admission of light and air. There are several mosques, a few
Greek churches, and a convent.”
After an inconsiderable stay at Alexandria, they left for England (via France) in a
government steam-ship.
Day and night,” writes Leila, “we steamed on
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without mercy. One morning we were at breakfast, using every means (materially
assisted by a slice of tough beef) to prolong this congenial break in the dreary monotony
of a sea-day, when an officer entered the cabin, and informed the captain that land was
seen a-head. We hastily despatched the remnants of our meal, and proceeded to the deck;
thence we saw the land, hovering like a gray, sombre cloud upon the verge of the
horizon. This was announced to us as the island of Malta.
“At about noon, we entered the noble harbour of Valetta, the capital of the island. It is a
pretty town, and strongly fortified. The scenery around is of the grandest character.
“At eight o’clock in the evening, our steamer was again under weigh. The wind, which
for a day and a half had been boisterous, now blew with the violence of a storm. It was no
matter; our sailing was imperious, and could not be delayed. The night was a dismal one;
the heavens and the ocean were all on uproar. Heavy masses of clouds drifted over the
dark and tumultuous waters, and the gale shrieked in wild chorus to the dashing billows.
We cleared the harbour, and entered the Mediterranean in a tempest, the wind blowing
full a-head, and directly upon the land. The whole power of the engine was exerted, and
yet it could not be perceived that the steamer made any headway. I, among several other
passengers, had staggered to the quarter-deck, and was stoutly clinging to the rails, not
far from the men at the helm. The menacing headland, covered with surf, seemed close
upon us, and ever threatened from the same point of view. Not an inch did the steamer
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gain upon her way; all her power was exhausted, in maintaining her position. Her every
nerve was on the strain, and as her fiery breath flashed from her huge throat it seemed to
show how mightily she grappled in the deadly struggle. Sometimes, as plunging long and
deep, she buried herself to the very bulwarks, it appeared as though she were lost for ever
in the whelming abyss; but she recovered with a shock which quivered to her centre. She
struggled on, labouring heavily; and as she rolled from side to side with the violence of
the gale, now and then one wheel was deeply submerged in the water, while the other
impotently churned the air. The storm increased, the wind howled, and the waves
foamed, as though the spirit of the tempest were gnashing to devour us. I was terrified, as
again looking towards the rock, it appeared closer to us, and our ship driving upon it. I
convulsively grasped my father’s hand, believing that the next minute would involve us
in destruction. A hoarse rough voice suddenly bawled, ‘Nor’-nor’-west; keep her to half a
hair’s breadth!’ Full of fear, I turned to look at the men at the helm. The light of the
compass shone like a hopeful star in the thick darkness. With a turn of their strong arms,
the helmsmen brought the ship upon her course. She wrestled heavily with the tempest.
‘Nor’-west; don’t let her fall off,’ cried the same voice. Another turn of the wheel placed
our good ship upon the desired course. Soon the line of the storm was broken, and we
steamed away from the threatening breakers to open sea. But the captain walked the deck
with a chart in his hand the whole of that tempestuous night.”
It does not appear that they met with anything else
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which calls for particular attention. In France they made no stay, but proceeded directly
homeward; and it was not long ere they safely arrived at their sweet mansion in Cornwall.
On the day following their arrival, Leila remarks in her diary: “I am very grateful while I
acknowledge the many mercies and kind providences we have experienced, since I left
this, my loved closet. Our travel has been one of rich and pure enjoyment; but I am very
thankful to be again at home. I feel a blissful assurance that I am about to enter upon a
life of blessing and happiness; and my delight is beyond expression.”
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CHAPTER VII.
LEILA’S CONVERSION.
WE are now brought to the most interesting portion of Leila’s life—her conversion to
Christianity.
It has already appeared that her belief in the tenets of Judaism had received an
irremediable shock; the absurd fables of the Talmud were cast aside as unworthy of a
thought, and the trammels of rabbinical authority completely burst asunder. On her return
to England she was only waiting for more instruction in the articles of the Christian
belief, to dispose her to embrace it with all her heart. One of her first objects, therefore,
was, she says, “to find a company of simple, earnest Christians.”
At a small village, distant about three miles from her residence, there was a chapel in
which was exercised such a ministry as she desired. This was the nearest place of
Christian worship which presented itself, and it was here she began to attend. Being
aware that a knowledge of this would call down the severest displeasure of her father, her
visits to it were by stealth, and, chiefly indeed, except in one or two instances, solely by
night; and she always sat closely veiled. The way to the chapel was through a long,
dreary, and solitary lane; but, at all hours, when it was possible for her to be present at the
services, Leila might be found, unattended, wending her way among the gloomy
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trees. Her natural timidity was painful, and her dread of walking alone at night
unconquerable, until now that an earnest desire for the salvation of her soul made her
superior to any bodily fear she might entertain. In her own pleasing way, she says, “I was
dreadfully frightened during my first essays in the dark. I usually ran the very utmost of
the distance that I could; my agitation and terror of mind being, during the whole time,
indescribable. Hurrying in this manner, the whole distance from our house to the chapel
was frequently done in a few minutes over half-an-hour; but, by prayer, all my terror was
removed, and although I continued to be just as fearful of going anywhere else, yet I
could always go to, and return from, my dear chapel, without the slighted perturbation of
mind, feeling quite sure that my Father would give me his protection.”
We have said that, during the first part of her attendance, she kept herself strictly secret,
even from the congregation; but, as the influence of the Holy Spirit applied each
discourse more and more powerfully to her mind, this fear subsided, and, in proportion,
she felt an increased desire to unbosom herself to some Christian friend, who would
sympathize with, and still further instruct her in that glorious cause to which she had now
engaged her whole heart. Being assured that this would assist her to the attainment of that
peace she so ardently desired, she conferred not with flesh and blood, but, with that
fearless decision in favour of duty which ever characterized her, she resolved to seek an
interview with her minister. This was easily obtained; and she describes it as “a blessed
season:” and says, further, “It has stirred me up to seek the Lord fully—to
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agonize with a determination not to rest till I am accepted in the Saviour—till my
mourning is turned into joy.” And, again, “O, for that earnest, child-like simplicity and
faith of which Mr. - [her minister] told me. I want to take the word of God just as it is.
This is the faith of the New Testament: this is the faith God requires, and will have, in
order to my salvation. Lord, save me! increase my faith; increase it largely—mightily;
confirm my hope, and fan my love for thee into a mighty flame!”
She was an earnest and humble seeker of the truth as it is in Jesus. Her heart had now
become intent upon one great business—the salvation of her soul, and to this end she
used every means, and every effort, regardless of personal consequences. This we think,
is abundantly set forth in the entries made in her diary at this important period. We make
a scanty extract:—
“O, that I could express half that I feel of love to that gracious Being who has kept me
hitherto, and led me from my deep darkness into spiritual light. I have not yet the
evidence that he has pardoned my sins through the blood of the Atonement—through my
Jesus, but I earnestly pray for it; I am determined to agonize for it in simple faith. I know,
I believe—oh, yes! I do believe that Jesus died for me. I thirst, I pant for the Spirit of
adoption, whereby I shall be enabled to cry, ‘Abba, Father!’
“O, my Father, I thank thee; I adore and praise thy holy name, that thou hast removed
from my heart that dark, impervious veil which so long separated between me and
thyself, and so between me and the source of all happiness. Now through thine infinite
mercy, I
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behold thy glory, who art full of grace and truth, and the form and comeliness of him who
is altogether lovely, even the Saviour and Preserver of my soul.”
* * * * *
“I am convinced by the experience of every day that I am utterly dependent upon thee for
all the power through which I can persevere. Oh, continue to help me! Give me thy
present assistance. Without this aid from thee, I sink—I die. Enable me to rigorously
fulfil all the means thou hast prescribed for the salvation of my soul: and, O, do thou
bestow the blessings which thou hast promised shall attend their use. Only believe and all
things are possible; believe, and all the fullness of the blessings of the Gospel are mine,
Christ Jesus is mine, full and perfect salvation—holiness is mine, and the blissful fruition
of holiness, in the enjoyment of God for ever in heaven is mine—all are mine through
faith. Lord, I do believe; help thou my unbelief. Blessed Jesus, my hope is in thee! take
up thy abode in my heart; there reign, and direct my every thought and act.
“Father, forgive my manifold sins and offences against thee! my rest is on thy mercy,
through the atonement of my Lord Jesus Christ. Make me a temple for thyself. Be near
me in the hour of temptation. O, be with me in the future; thou knowest what is before me
to endure; but do thou only make the season of worldly trial a time for communications
of thyself, and I will cheerfully embrace whatever thou shalt appoint. Lord, hear and
answer my petition; increase my faith and my humility, and make me wholly thine,
through the merits of my Saviour. Amen.”
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And in a very little time after this she was enabled to rejoice in the God of her salvation;
her heart was filled with joy and gladness, and her mouth with praise. This delightful
change took place while receiving the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper, after having been
dedicated to God in baptism. In her diary she thus refers to it:—
“Bless the Lord, O my soul, and never forget this day’s benefits! I have sealed the
covenant—have enlisted under the banners of the cross, by receiving the ordinances of
baptism and the Lord’s supper—but, let me write while my eys overflow with tears of
joy—my gracious Redeemer has manifested his presence to my soul, has filled me with
the joy and peace of believing. That blood which the Jews have imprecated upon
themselves and their children, has been showered upon me, in the most abundant and
unspeakable mercies. I am happy beyond expression. I do, indeed, rejoice with a joy that
is unspeakable and full of glory. I feel on the very verge of heaven; I have experienced a
glorious elevation of soul—Christ is mine and I am his. Unspeakably happy conviction!
Come unto me all ye that fear God, and I will tell you what he hath done for my soul!
Bless the Lord, O my soul, and never forget this day’s benefits.
“It is a solemn season, a day to be held in everlasting remembrance. When the cup was
hold to me and the solemn words were pronounced—’The blood of Jesus Christ, which
was shed for thee, preserve thy soul and body unto everlasting life! Drink this in
remembrance that Christ’s blood was shed for thee, and be thankful—I felt that my God
was reconciled through my
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Saviour’s death, and I was enabled to feed upon Christ in my heart through faith, and
with thanksgiving.
“O, my Jesus, help me now to persevere! There are heights and depths in religion which
long to experience; my soul is on fire with the divine love. Help me to tell to all what a
gracious, what a mighty Saviour thou art. May no motives of personal comfort induce me
to swerve from the character of an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile. O, that thou
wouldst give me thine assistance, and direct me by thy Holy Spirit, while I make it known
to my dear father! Do, O my Saviour, hear my prayer for this, and to thee I will give all
the glory, now and through endless ages. Amen.”
“I bless and adore thee—Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, that all have united to deliver me
from my guilt and bondage. And now, O God, my heart is fixed: my heart is fixed to live
in Christ. Nothing but the constant indwelling of thyself will satisfy my soul. O, for that
mysterious and incomprehensible union with my God which shall produce in me mighty
faith, ardent love, lively hope, and active obedience. Blessed be God, all this is promised!
I believe it. Who shall circumscribe the Holy One? He can so touch the heart as to
extirpate sin, and save with this full salvation; for it shall be my never-ceasing prayer.
Lord, enable me to feel myself as nothing, and thou my all. Keep me in the hollow of thy
hand. Prepare me for all thy righteous will, for I have given up all my soul and body’s
powers fully and unreservedly to thee. O, accept my sacrifice; enter into covenant with
me and ratify it in Heaven. Amen.”
Leila’s baptism was an interesting—a singularly lovely
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scene. We do not expect ever to witness another equally affecting on earth. It was our
privilege to be one of four friends who at her request waited near her during the
performance of the solemn ceremony. Arrangements had been made to prevent the gaze
of inquisitive and idle curiosity, by ensuring that none but regular members of the
congregation should be present. At the appointed time Leila was led from the vestry, her
pure countenance having in its expression more of heaven than of earth. Her answers to
the questions were made in a calm and decided, but weak and tremulous tone; for she was
bathed in tears. Indeed, we think all present wept with deep emotion. The solemn act of
baptizing her in the name of the Triune Jehovah having been performed, the minister
delivered an exquisitely touching and beautiful address. This finished, the sacrament of
the Lord’s supper was administered to all present, which concluded a season of hallowed
and holy influence never to be forgotten.
Having herself become acquainted with the truth as it is in Jesus, she wept as she thought
of the darkness which still surrounded her dear father; she felt that her Christianity, and,
indeed, every natural feeling was involved, if she made no effort to induce him to
renounce Judaism. But how was she to proceed? To obtain an answer to this question cost
her much mental agony. To her father she was tenderly devoted, and she knew that he
was a strict believer in the faith of his fathers; and, therefore, all the prejudices of his
mind would be strongly against her Christianity. To the present period in her life he had
never once spoken to her with a look or tone of displeasure, and she had at no time
crossed his
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will, nor done anything to which he would not give permission; but God was with her,
and through the fortitude of Christian principle, she was enabled to dare the worst. And
unquestionably, if we reflect a moment upon the Jewish character, we shall perceive that
she had cause to fear not a little.
Of the means taken by Leila, she thus remarks in her diary:—
“I have this night laid a letter on my father’s dressing-table; in it I have detailed the
change which has taken place in my soul; in it I have avowed my belief in Jesus of
Nazareth, and the joy and peace which I experience in believing. O, that it may do him
the good I ardently pray for—that it may lead him to embrace the Gospel of Christ. I have
committed it to God; I leave it in thy hands, O my Father; bless it I beseech thee. This
whole night do I intend to devote to special wrestling with thee, for the salvation of my
dear father.
“And now, I beseech thee, be thou my helper. Choose thou for me my future portion; be
my inheritance, calm my agitated spirit; have I not committed the event to thee? O, be
with me on the morrow, when I shall be questioned respecting the hope that is in me; do
thou be very present with me, and enable me to speak as becomes a temple of the living
God. May I be saved from bringing any disgrace or disrepute upon the religion of
Jesus—that divine cause which now possesses my heart. May my feet be firmly fixed
upon the rock Christ Jesus; and then, whatever shall occur, whether I live or die, I shall
be happy—for I shall be the Lord’s.
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“It is with gratitude I record that my soul is impressed with a sense of the divine presence
and love. I can rejoice in the blessed conviction that my Beloved is mine, and I am
his!—I have a present salvation. Blissful hopes—animating prospects are before me.
Whatever results happen to me, temporally, may my soul but enjoy the presence of God,
and all will be well. O, my Father, baptize me largely, and still more largely, with the
hallowing influences of thy Holy Spirit; this will renovate my nature, and cleanse the
very thoughts of my heart. This is what I want—inward holiness—to be holy as thou hast
called me to be.
“Each day lays me under increased obligations to dedicate myself entirely to the service
of my God and king, and I find the blessed effect of each morning renewing my covenant
engagements with God, my devotion of all I have, and all I am, to him. I desire to have a
constantly indwelling God. Unspeakable love! that he whom the heaven of heavens
cannot contain, will condescend to come and take up his abode in the humble, contrite
heart. My religion calls me to be up and doing. My time is short; the veil which separates
me from eternity may soon be drawn aside. Indeed, I am not able to repress a serious and
solemn foreboding that my days on earth will not be prolonged. How important that I
should prepare! so that, with holy calmness and composure I may await the momentous
summons. If I am always ready, it cannot come upon me unawares. One with Christ,
through faith, when I shall hear that ‘the Master is come and calleth for thee,’ I shall then,
in its full triumph, be enabled joyfully to exclaim, ‘Even
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so, come, Lord Jesus.’ I am really in a strait: I have ‘a desire to depart and be with
Christ.’
“Ere I close my book, I again pray for thy blessing, O my Father; bless, O bless, I
beseech thee, the confession I have made of thee, and give me strength according to my
need. Amen.”
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CHAPTER VIII.
LEILA’S LETTER TO HER FATHER.
THE letter to which Leila refers, we shall give in full: it breathes the spirit of filial piety
and love, and is at once a fine proof of her good sense, and an ornament to the religion
she professed:—
My very, very dear Father:—Do you love me? O, how plainly I hear you say, ‘How can
my dear daughter ask me this question? Has she not had proofs of my affection again and
again? Does she not know that she is dearer to me than all the world besides?’ But, my
very dear father, do you love me?—do you love me? Yes, I know that you love
me—dearly love me; and, my dear father, I love you most tenderly—most deeply; so as
no language I could think of could describe to you; and I know that you believe that I do.
“Well, then, my father, will you not rejoice whilst your daughter tells you of the goodness
of God as manifested towards her—a poor, sinful, guilty creature? O! I do so fear you
will distrust this delightful work, and yet not from wilful unkindness neither, but from
what you will believe to be a proper sense of duty. But, my dear father, with tears of joy
coursing down her cheeks, your Leila tells you that she knows, she feels all her sins are
forgiven through the blood-shedding of Jesus of Nazareth. O! be mild while I speak
further, and yet I am
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faint, and my hand trembles so that I can scarcely go forward.
“I am so happy!—O! my dear father, if you did but know how very happy, I am quite
sure of this, you would rejoice with me; you would not hesitate a single moment, but
would come, as you are invited, and drink largely of those fountains of bliss, the streams
whereof make glad the city of God. I feel that God loves me, and that I love Him. I feel
that I am his child, and I have through grace a blissful assurance that, saved by my
blessed Redeemer, I shall see him, and be happy in his presence to all eternity. And will
you not come to heaven, too, my dearest father?
“Do not suppose that I am mistaken, or that I am deceiving myself. O, no! I am as sure
that all my sins are forgiven through Christ Jesus, as I am of the being of God himself. I
could tell you the very minute when I first received this conviction, and was enabled to
rejoice in God my Saviour. And if you, my dear papa, would in this same way test its
reality, by possessing for yourself a knowledge of the love of God, it would alone be
quite sufficient to convince you of the truth of the Christian religion. When under the
influence of joy, no argument, however forcible or sophistical, could convince you that
sorrow filled your heart. The result of faith in Christ is peace and joy in believing; to this
my experience bears testimony. What further proof can I wish that its origin is divine? I
do not. I have this internal consciousness, and am as certain of it, as of anything that
affects my external senses.
“With great propriety we always attach importance to a remedy that has been tried, and
more especially
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too, if the individual recommending it has personally proved it to be efficacious. I once
was very unhappy. Instead of submitting myself to the righteousness of God, I was going
about to establish my own righteousness. At this time I was sunk in sin, and knew not
where to look for one ray of comfort. My whole soul hungered for food my religion could
not give; it groped in its deep night for some pillow on which to repose itself, and find the
dawnings of heaven, but all was in vain till it found repose in the wounded side of Jesus;
and here may I abide for ever! Allow me, then, my dear father, in the fullest filial
affection, to recommend to you this remedy. I know you are not happy; you cannot be
happy as you are at present, and this is the only cure, and it is the never-failing cure, for a
weary sin-sick soul.
“I need not tell you the train of circumstances which, in a gracious and benignant
providence, God used to produce this sweet change—of course you will understand me as
meaning instrumentally; to God’s Holy Spirit alone am I indebted for that illumination
which enabled me to see his way of salvation. And O, it is so simple—only believe!
‘Whosoever believeth on him [that is Christ] shall be saved.’ Christ is the end of the law
for righteousness to every one that believes. But the proofs that the Messiah has come,
and that Jesus of Nazareth is the Messiah, are numberless, unmistakable, and positive.
Shall I go on? I must hope that you will bear with me.
“The law, which was given by Jehovah to Moses upon Mount Sinai, was designed for
that land which was given to our great ancestor Abraham, and for that
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land only, for it cannot be fulfilled in any other; therefore, through the dispersion of our
nation, we are in the position of a people who have a law given to them by God which
they cannot obey. From what we know of the divine government we are sure that it
cannot consist with the wisdom and character of God, that this shall still be the law by
which we are governed.
“And is not our destitution of a sacrifice bewailed in our service as a great calamity? In
one of the prayers that are offered on the Day of Atonement, is this expression: ‘Woe
unto us, for we have no Mediator!’ And to make up for this want of a sacrifice we have
transgressed the law by our invention of rites and observances; a course expressly
forbidden.
“Then, my dear father, in the absurdities of the Mishna and Gemara—the Talmud—see
the consequences of man’s attempting to supply the place of God’s law. O! I do think that
in every sense that book is a terrible insult to the divine wisdom, and, therefore, how
sinful! If it had been desired to hold up the religion of the Jews to universal contempt,
and outrage propriety, delicacy, and common sense, a more fitting book than the Talmud
could scarcely have been devised. Moses gave no intimation of this traditionary or oral
law—of this interpretation of God’s written law. The law which was written and laid up
in the ark, was the only law of which he spoke, and that only was commanded to be read
in the ears of all the people.
“You, my dear father, are, doubtless, as well acquainted with the Mishna as I am, and,
therefore, I need not point out to you—need not quote its impurities, nor its follies.
Indeed, I must beg you will let
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me recall a part of what I have just said; for some of them I could not write—you would
not love me if I could. But how impious, to stigmatize God as the author of such a book!
“The Jews declare that the Mishna contains God’s interpretation of his law; yet this
interpretation is so obscurely given, that it requires an interpretation from man.
“And you know that this belief in the childish follies and foolish observances of the
Talmud has caused an almost total neglect of Moses and the Prophets; or, when they are
read, it is so carelessly and cursorily in spirit, that we never understand their meaning.
Hence we are involved in a fearful darkness. We acknowledge, and honour, the
Scriptures of the Old Testament as divine—so do the Christians: and during many
centuries, the deep, rational study of the Old Testament Scriptures has been confined to
them solely, or very nearly solely. Now, my dear father, this forms to us a powerful
presumptive proof that the Scriptures of the New Testament are also divine; for, as the
Christians, who are so deeply acquainted with the Old Testament, believe in them as
divine, it clearly follows that they cannot be hostile books. Indeed, I might say further
than this—that the Scriptures of the New Testament have led them to study those of the
Old Testament; and the result is, that they acknowledge both as the written word of God,
for they are agreed together. Can we say as much of our inane, debasing Talmud, and the
books of Moses and the Prophets? Beside, what man knows much of the enormous
Talmud? and he that does know much of it, knows this likewise, that
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no mortal can ever fulfil the law set forth in it. Who then is safe? Hence it is that the Jew
looks beyond the present life with terror and alarm; hence his dread of death, and his fear
that in the grave he will be beaten by the Evil One, and suffer other terrors too numerous
to mention. Hence he cannot die with holy confidence and composure, for he cannot be
certain whether he shall be taken to heaven or not. R. Inani, on his death-bed, confessed
and said, ‘that he did not know whether he should be happy or miserable.’ Once, too, my
dear father, like the rest of our nation, I was unhappy and in doubt, and knew not where
to turn for comfort; but now, through my Redeemer, I am very happy, for I have found
the place of rest and calm repose; and this can be found in no other way but by resting the
soul upon the atonement of Jesus.
“Before this I might have said that unquestionably the law of Moses is not perfect,
inasmuch as it leaves some sins without an atonement; but this is to teach us to look
forward beyond the type to the great Antitype—even the Messiah.
“All our nation and all Christians believe that the Old Testament writings give promise of
a Redeemer, who will save his people from their sins. The prophecies in reference to this
are most explicit, so that if we will diligently study them, with a prayerful dependence
upon divine aid, I do not see that we can be easily mistaken as to his person. A history of
the promised Deliverer’s life is given: the manner of his death, his empire, the time and
circumstances of his birth, and other particulars are clearly written. Let us see, my dear
father, if Jesus of Nazareth be not the Messiah; and if we can
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prove it from the books of the Old Testament, will you not then believe? O! you must; I
must be sure you will; and then you and your child will glorify God together. I pray that
the Lord Jesus will grant me the aid of his Holy Spirit, and graciously answer my
petitions for the salvation of my beloved father.
“The Jews admit that they have no certain, definite knowledge of the time of the
Messiah’s appearing. ‘Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.’ ‘Our eyes fail while we wait
for our God,’ was anciently the language of our people. The hope of Israel, the Saviour
thereof in time of trouble, they know not. Hence they have ever been liable to deception,
and again and again they have been bitterly disappointed. That there was a general and
strong expectation of the Messiah at the time that Jesus of Nazareth appeared, is evident
by the numbers of well-informed and learned men who received him; and who were so
convinced of the truth of what they saw and heard, that they willingly suffered the most
cruel martyrdom for his sake.
“But the Jews themselves likewise expected him at this period. This is especially testified
by the heathen writers, Suetonius and Tacitus; and a reference to Josephus, our own
historian, proves that from their hope of deliverance by the Messiah proceeded their
desperate resistance of the Roman power. Under every misfortune of their country, they
still clung to this hope, and more and more earnestly as its calamities increased. They
were buoyed up by it during the miseries of the most dreadful siege which history
records—that of Jerusalem. And we are told by Josephus, that on the day upon which the
city was taken, the poor,
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infatuated people were persuaded by a false prophet to ascend the battlements of the
temple with the expectation that they would there receive miraculous signs of their
deliverance.
“And that Jesus was the Messiah is confirmed by the sufferings of the early Christians.
Their belief in Jesus was not a mere matter of opinion, it related to matter of fact. We
certainly know whether we see a person, or do not see him; we certainly know whether
we see anything wonderful, or do not see it. The first Christians united to assert a series
of miraculous and astonishing facts; they were convinced of what they saw, and rather
than compromise or deny the truth, they submitted to the most horrible sufferings, and the
most cruel oppressions. These they endured, not for a short time merely, but through a
long course of years. But they had seen the miracles of Jesus, and had, also, seen him
after his resurrection from the dead; for ‘he was seen,’ says St. Paul, ‘of Cephas, then of
the twelve [apostles], after that he was seen of above five hundred brethern at once, of
whom the greater part remain unto this present.’ Now, supposing the story were false,
would St. Paul have dared to make such an assertion, and mention in connection with it a
host of witnesses, who, as he declares, still lived, and might, therefore, have come
forward and contradicted this statement?
“Then the accounts of the Christians by heathen writers agree as to their sufferings and
numbers with those accounts we have in the Scriptures. I extract the following passage
from Murphy’s Tacitus: ‘In order if possible to remove the imputation [of ordering Rome
to be set on fire], Nero determinded to transfer the guilt to
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others. For this purpose he punished with exquisite tortures a race of men detested for
their evil practises, by vulgar appellation commonly called Christians. The name was
derived from Christ, who in the reign of Tiberus suffered under Pontius Pilate, the
procurator of Judea. They were put to death with exquisite cruelty, and to their sufferings
Nero added mockery and derision. Some were covered with the skins of wild beasts, and
left to be devoured by dogs: others were nailed to the cross, numbers were burnt alive;
and many, covered over with inflammable matter, were lighted up, when the day
declined, to serve as torches during the night!’ Now, although it was shameful to
misrepresent the conduct of such a suffering people, yet Tacitus’ testimony is valuable;
and not the less valuable because he was a heathen, and an enemy to the Christians. It
proves that Jesus suffered under Pontius Pilate; and that within thirty-one years after his
crucifixion, there were great numbers of Christians in Rome, as well as in Judea; and that
for their belief in Christ they were called to endure most fearful sufferings. All these
beautifully agree with the accounts we have in the Scriptures.
“But now that the Jews have rejected the true Messiah, they are ever liable to imposture,
for they cannot calculate the time for his appearing; thus at a loss, they have always been
ready to grasp at any shadow. It has been so from the time of the impostor, Bar Cozab,*
to that of Napoleon Buonaparte; and so far
* We extract the following note from Leila’s correspondence. “In the second century of the
Christian era, the Jews scattered over the whole Roman empire rose in rebellion. Their leader in
the province of Syria was Cozab, who represented himself to be the Messiah, and in this he was
supported by a celebrated Rabbi named Akibah. This Cozab persecuted the Christians, struck
medals, and pretended to work miracles. He was crowned King of the Jews at Bether, and he
then assumed the name Bar Cozab, or son of a star. The emperor Adrian sent Julius Severus to
quell the rebellion. He completely subdued the rebels, took fifty fortified places, destroyed very
nearly one thousand towns and villages, and slew in various engagements about 580,000 Jews.
Embittered by the terrible consequences of his pretensions, the Jews afterwards designated this
false Messiah Bar Cozba, or son of a lie.”
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have they now lost all pretension to a knowledge of the true time for his appearing, that
embittered by frequent disappointment, they have uttered the dreadful anathema, ‘Cursed
be he that shall calculate the time!’ Yet is the period for the Messiah’s appearance most
clearly marked out in Scripture. Why are our nation sceptical in reference to the prophet
Daniel’s inspiration? Simply because it is Daniel who most unmistakably defines the time
of the Deliverer’s appearance; and if Daniel be true, that is, if he be inspired, they have a
deep conviction that the period is past. Therefore, it is, that they have removed him from
his place in this dgt, and made him one of the writers of the Mybwtk and not one of
the My)ybb [sic—should be My)ybn—JMH ed.].
“And who and what the Messiah is to be, the Jews profess to know not, except that they
declare to us one thing, ‘He is to deliver them from their afflictions, and give them in
reversion, joy, temporal dominion and prosperity, and the triumphant possession of their
own land.’ I will notice this belief again directly. ‘When the Messiah comes,’ they say,
‘he will manifest his
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claims, and make his mission altogether plain.’ How are they to judge of these claims, but
according to their agreement with the prophecies? How would they have ever known that
any Messiah should be given, except God had promised him? And has God declared no
means by which he was to be known? Has he said nothing about him; what he is to be;
how we are to be certified of him; whether he is to be a Gentile or a Jew? Yes: they know
something of this, from the predictions of the Scriptures: they know that he is to be a Jew;
and they do profess further, that they know enough to be able to declare that Jesus of
Nazareth was an impostor and blasphemer. Why do they not study all that can be known
by the prophecies; and having studied, why do they not declare to the world all that can
be told about the Messiah; so that the Christians may compare the Messiah in whom they
believe, with the one whom the Jews expect, according to the Scriptures; so that the Jews
may be able to say, ‘This is a picture of the promised Messiah; a history of his life, acts,
death, and sufferings, as drawn from the unerring standard of Scripture. Judge ye between
us this day!’ Why should they hesitate to do this? The Christians are ever ready to bring
into light their multitudinous proofs that the Jesus in whom they believe is the Messiah,
the promised Son of God. But if, for a moment, we suppose that he is to come, how are
the Jews to know him? They neglect the reading of the only book which tells of him; then
how shall they know him? Even should a mighty conqueror appear, it could be no proof
that he is the Messiah, any more than the conquests of Alexander, or Cæsar, or Judas
Maccabeus,
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or Buonaparte, could prove them to be the expected Deliverer. And even if one should
come and work miracles, he must be brought to the test of the Scriptures. This our nation
admit; then, why do they not study them? They also admit another scriptural definition of
who he is to be: ‘he is,’ they say, ‘to be the son of Abraham, and Judah, and David.’ But,
if he were to come now that the genealogies are lost, by what means could the descent be
proved?
It is a visionary and idle theory to suppose that Messiah will miraculously restore the
genealogies. This inane supposition lays our nation open to imposture and forgery in this
very particular. It is essential to the very nature of genealogical proofs that they be
transmitted from age to age through all posterity. If the Messiah were to restore these
registers, they would neither be genealogical proofs, nor, indeed, any proof at all of his
descent. If he were distinctly seen to create such records, it would prove that he had
performed a miracle—nothing more; it would be just as availing that he testified his
descent by some other miracle. I speak reverently: I can think of no miracle which the
Messiah, if he be not come, could now perform, that could be to man a test that he had
descended from Abraham, and Judah, and David. To restore our genealogies would, in
the opinion of man, bear the character of fraudulent evidence; and, therefore, it would not
be such as God would ask of him to believe. In God’s dealings with mankind he
universally appeals to the exercise of their judgment, and, according to this judgment
does he suit all conviction by means of miracles. He makes his proofs so plain, so clear,
so direct
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to the reason, that man cannot avoid conviction, unless he determinedly oppose himself
to the truth. When Jesus made his appearance upon earth he did not ask men to take it for
granted that he was the Messiah because he declared himself to be so. No; he exhibited
miraculous signs; and of what character? Were they of a kind which might be forged; was
it possible that they could be surreptitiously performed; or, after all, according to human
judgment, would they, as proofs, be regarded as inconclusive? O, no; to the commonest
reason, they were palpably, clearly divine. Were they not? To walk upon the sea; to
restore the blind; to raise to life the dead; to heal the sick by a word; to calm the fury of
the tempest, &c.; can there be any doubt that these were exercises of divine power?
Indeed, our Saviour appeals to the judgment of the multitude; ‘If I do not the works of my
father, believe me not!—I ask not that ye shall believe my Divinity, except as I prove it to
you by my acts. Of this kind would be his language in reference to our genealogies: ‘If it
cannot be proved by your own registers that I am the son of Abraham, and Judah, and
David, believe it not.’
“But, as the prediction that he was to be the Son of Abraham, and Judah, and David, is
explicitly written in the Scriptures, it follows, clearly, that his appearance was to take
place while his descent could be proved by our registers. Therefore, here again is
powerful evidence that he has appeared; and here, I say, too, that this prediction is
fulfilled in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. He was proved by our genealogies to be
lineally descended from Abraham, and Judah, and David.
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“I just now observed, that our people expressly believe that a part of the Messiah’s office
is, that he shall be a temporal deliverer. If this belief be a correct one, my dear father, it
would show just this—that, on the coming of the Messiah, he would find them in a
condition which needed temporal succour. And was not their position at the appearance
of Jesus one which needed help? Were they not suffering intensely from the galling yoke
of their Roman masters: from the severe government of Herod, the deputy sovereign
under Cæsar? ‘Yes,’ they will answer, ‘and if this Jesus, of whom you speak, were the
Messiah, we should have been delivered from this tyranny!’ How can you tell what he
would have done, had you believed upon him? The prophet describes the Messiah as first
to suffer, and then to conquer; and from this very prophecy, the Jews have thought fit to
invent what I may call a twofold Messiah—Ben Joseph the Sufferer, and Ben David the
Conqueror. He is to be a conqueror—but in what way? Is it not in this?—That all his
enemies shall be put under his feet: that all his foes shall be bruised and made his
footstool? And were not all the promises of deliverance made to his friends? Were not
temporal blessings, in abundance, promised to these, and shame and confusion to his
enemies? Undoubtedly. Evidently it was thus understood by Zacharias, the father of John
the Baptist. This fully appears in his beautiful and prophetic song, in reference to the
birth of our Lord Jesus Christ: ‘Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he hath visited and
redeemed his people; as he spake by the mouth of his holy prophets, which have been
since the world began: that we should be
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saved from our enemies, and from the hand of all that hate us; to perform the mercy
promised to our fathers, and to remember his holy covenant: the oath which he sware to
our father Abraham, that he would grant unto us, that we, being delivered out of the hand
of our enemies, might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness before him,
all the days of our life.’
“And those who rejected, blasphemed, insulted, and crucified the Messiah, could it be
expected that he would grant such heinous sinners temporal deliverance? That, at about
the period of the coming of Jesus, the Jews were a most iniquitous nation, is proved by
the testimony of Josephus; so wicked, that he observes, ‘If God had not sent the Romans
as his executioners, the earth would have opened and swallowed us up.’ What a dreadful
place! And, doubtless, the most crying evil of these people was their rejection and
treatment of Jesus Christ the Son of God. How could such sinners expect deliverance?
Did not Jesus weep and lament over Jerusalem, while he foresaw the punishment which
would descend upon it, and the calamities which would befall it, for putting him to death?
Listen, my dear father, to the thrilling passage, as I copy it from the gospel of St. Luke;
and, O that, by the aid of the Holy Spirit, it may sink deep into your heart, is your loving
daughter’s prayer: ‘And when he [Jesus] was come near, he beheld the city [Jerusalem]
and wept over it, saying, If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the
things which belong unto thy peace! but now they are hid from thine eyes. For the days
shall come upon thee, that thine enemies shall cast
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a trench about thee, and compass thee round, and keep thee in on every side, and shall lay
thee even with the ground, and thy children within thee; and they shall not leave in thee
one stone upon another! because thou knewest not the time of thy visitation.’ What a
solemn subject for deep thought is this passage! How signally was it fulfilled!
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CHAPTER IX.
LEILA’S LETTER TO HER FATHER CONTINUED.
“Do you ask me what deliverance Jesus wrought out for his friends—for those who
believed on him? Did he not deliver them from those awful calamities and sufferings
which overwhelmed those who crucified him? Most certainly: he promised that he would
do so. Permit me, my dear father, to transcribe the passage. It is in St. Luke’s gospel:
‘And as some spake of the temple, how it was adorned with goodly stones and gifts, he
said, As for these things which ye behold, the days will come, in the which there shall not
be left one stone upon another, that shall not be thrown down. Nation shall rise against
nation, and kingdom against kingdom: and great earthquakes shall be in divers places,
and famines, and pestilences; and fearful sights, and great signs shall there be from
heaven; but there shall not a hair of your head perish. And when ye see Jerusalem
compassed with armies, then know that the desolation thereof is nigh. Then let them
which are in Judea flee to the mountains: and let them which are in the midst of it depart
out; and let not them that are in the countries enter thereinto.’ He promised his disciples
that ‘not a hair of their heads should perish;’ and this promise he fulfilled. He warned
them of the terrible events which were to happen, and that when they saw Jerusalem
compassed with armies, they were
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to flee to the mountains—to depart out of the midst of Judea. The disciples obeyed their
Lord, and were kept amidst the desolating scourge.
“In reading the page of history we find that, in every case, nations are blessed in a ratio
proportioned to their Christianity. Mark England! Christians really rule the world with a
power which is irresistible. All heathen, idolatrous, and unbelieving nations are weak and
helpless. Look at the Jews! they are quite at the exercise of the Christian will. And at the
Mahommetans! they are impotent as their religion is baneful and false. Just so of the
Pagan nations. When no Jew could approach the city of his fathers, a Christian church
was peacefully flourishing in Jerusalem. Here, my dear father, it might not be out of place
if I were to say, that you must not suppose that the spirit of persecution and oppression
which has been so often manifested towards the Jews, is at all sympathized with by the
real Christian. Oh, no! I have found it to be exactly the reverse. I find that the real and
earnest Christians love and honour the Jews, as the nation from which sprang the
Messiah; as the penmen of the Gospel; as the people to whom it was first delivered, and
by whom it was first preached; as those who in the first ages of Christianity formed an
impregnable defence of the Christian religion; as a proof of the Gospel; and, to say no
further, as their brethren in Christ, he being the great centre—the great salvation both of
Jews and Gentiles. O, I always find that a true Christian is ready to acknowledge even
that he is under obligations to the Jews which he can never repay. Father dear, with tears
I beg of you, do not think unkindly of the Christians—
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love the Christians; they very, very ardently love the Jews; and they are such a lovely and
affectionate people, as I could not describe. I have found real and true happiness among
them. Their hearts are knit to each other: the grief of one appears to be the grief of all,
and each is ready to sympathize and soothe. Indeed, I could not have imagined, a short
time ago, that such happiness, such union, and such affection were to be found upon the
earth. It is a reflection, faint certainly, but real, of that feeling which pervades the bosoms
of the spirits in celestial bliss. O, that my dearest father may soon partake of it too! and,
then—but, indeed, I must not think, how happy we shall be.
“But I did not say what kind of Christians they were who persecuted the Jews; well, I
scarcely need, for you could imagine for yourself. They were dead professors of
Christianity, and perhaps not that—for, of the nations called Christian, the great bulk is
composed of men making no profession; and the number who really and genuinely
possess the faith of the Gospel are very few indeed. I pray that they may be increased.
But there is no salvation for an unbelieving, nominal Christian, any more than for a
rejecting Jew.
“But whither am I wandering? I return, and ask, have the Christians had no temporal
blessings conferred upon them through the reception of the Gospel? God has fought for
them against the mightiest powers and brought them off victorious. These blessings are,
however, the minor blessings compared with the others which are showered upon the
subjects of the Saviour’s kingdom.
“Yet Israel is not always to be a servant and a byword
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among the nations. O, no! A brighter day is to dawn upon our ancient people; a day
which, by their conversion to Christianity, shall recover them from their fallen and ruined
condition. This is clearly expressed in Scripture. It is a part of the new covenant into
which God has entered with the seed of Jacob: ‘Behold the days come, saith the Lord,
that I will make a new covenant with the house of Israel, and with the house of Judah: not
according to the covenant that I made with their fathers, in the day that I took them by the
hand to bring them out of the land of Egypt, which my covenant they brake, although I
was a husband to them, saith the Lord: But this shall be the covenant that I will make
with the house of Israel. After those days saith the Lord, I will put my law in their inward
parts; and will be their God, and they shall be my people. And they shall teach no more
every man his neighbour, and every man his brother, saying, Know the Lord; for they
shall all know me, from the least of them unto the greatest of them, saith the Lord; for I
will forgive their iniquity and I will remember their sin no more.’ (Jeremiah xxxi. 31-34.)
And how delightfully majestic is the prophecy of Isaiah, in which he tells in glowing and
animated terms, of the glory of the church in the universal conversion of both Jews and
Gentiles: ‘Arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee.
For, behold, the darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people: but the
Lord shall rise upon thee, and his glory shall be seen upon thee. And the Gentiles shall
come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of thy rising. Lift up thine eyes round about
and see; all they gather themselves together,
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they come to thee; thy sons shall come from far, and thy daughters shall be nursed at thy
side. Then thou shalt see, and flow together, and thine heart shall fear, and be enlarged;
because the abundance of the sea shall be converted unto thee, the forces of the Gentiles
shall come unto thee.’ (Isaiah lx. 1-5.) Turning to the New Testament (bear with me, my
dear father), we find the Apostle Paul, telling us the same glorious truths, and also of
their happy consequences. ‘If the fall of them [the Jews] be the riches of the world, and
the diminishing of them the riches of the Gentiles, how much more their fulness? For if
the casting away of them be the reconciling of the world, what shall the receiving of them
be but life from the dead? For I would not, brethren, that ye should be ignorant of this
mystery, lost ye should be wise in your own conceits, that blindness in part is happened
unto Israel, until the fulness of the Gentiles be come in. And so all Israel shall be saved.’
(Rom. xi. 12, 15, 25, 26.) It is beautiful! Their misery and suffering have been deep and
intense, but proportioned to these shall be the greatness of the mercy exercised, and their
happiness and joy. The blindness is to rest upon Israel, only until the conversion of the
Gentiles, or, as the meaning probably is, all Israel shall be saved—all Israel shall be
grafted in, when the fulness of the conversion of the Gentiles is come in, or is coming in.
And all the nations of the earth shall rejoice in their exaltation. ‘And thou, O tower of the
flock, the stronghold of the daughter of Zion, unto thee shall it come even the first
dominion; the kingdom shall come to the daughter of Jerusalem.’
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‘Thou art my servant, O Israel, in whom I will be glorified.’
“Yet how carnal are the Jewish expectations of a temporal deliverer! Is this the spirit
manifested by Abraham, by Isaac, by Jacob? Did they desire earthly prosperity as their
chief good? Was not the spiritual glory of the Messiah’s kingdom, that upon which they
set their eye of faith? O, my dear father, raise your views from things temporal, to those
which are eternal. Read the sublimely impressive 72d Psalm.
“But why has such gross darkness fallen on the Jewish mind? Why is it that they cannot
recognize the Messiah of the Scriptures? Because they have abandonded the hope and
faith of their pious fathers in the person of the Messiah; because they have wilfully
withdrawn themselves from the light of that blessed volume, by which our ancestors
loved to test the purity of their faith and actions. And why have they forsaken the
Scriptures, and reposed themselves upon the senseless and absurd fables of men? They
have rejected Jesus of Nazareth; if they search the Scripture, it bears incontestable
evidence to the truth that he was the Messiah—the promised Son of God. It is a test by
which their religion cannot stand a trial. Then may God early arise, and by his powerful
Spirit, tear away the veil which blinds our people, and thus, their eyes being opened, may
he grant them the grace of repentance for their guilt and iniquity, and admit them to the
participation of the glorious blessings of his salvation.
“In the Targum* of Onkelos, we find Genesis xlix. 10
* The Targums are translations of the Scriptures frorn the pure Hebrew of the original into a
Chaldaic dialect. After the Babylonish captivity, this dialect became the national tongue. Some
of the Targums are entitled to much more credit than others, because they are more ancient, and
the original sense and signification is more strictly and literally maintained in the translation.
Others are rather commentaries, with which fables are intermingled. The Targum of Onkelos is
held in the greatest estimation, on account of its antiquity and purity.
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—a passage of Scripture to which Christians appeal—rendered thus: ‘There shall not pass
away one exercising dominion from the house of Judah, nor a scribe from his son’s sons
for ever, until Messiah shall come; and his is the kingdom, and to him the people shall
hearken.’ This proves that the Messiah has come, for dominion has passed away from the
house of Judah.
“The rabbis, David Kimchi, Solomon Jarchi, Levi Ben Gersom, Aben Ezra, and others,
among a host of theological works, have written commentaries upon all the books of the
Old Testament. Our late writers, while labourinG to refute the interpretations of
Christians, in favour of the Divinity and Messiahship of Jesus, have contradicted their
predecessors. They themselves have admitted it. David Kimchi wishes to apply the
second Psalm to David merely; but he confesses the words rb wq#n should be
translated, ‘Kiss the Son.’ He further confesses, that our pious forefathers had applied this
Psalm to the Messiah, and goes on to say, ‘If the Psalm be interpreted thus, the meaning
will be clear; though it seems more likely that David composed this Psalm concerning
himself, as we have explained.’
“And now, my clear father, I have to say that the accordance between the prophecies
concerning the Messiah, and the record of the life, acts, sufferings, and
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death of Jesus of Nazareth, as given by the Evangelists, is perfect and complete,
and—which for a moment I had let slip—his resurrection too; for the proofs of the
resurrection of Jesus of Nazareth, and that it took place in accordance with the
prophecies, are clear, conclusive, and beyond rational contradiction. Do you ask me if I
can prove that in him the prophecies are accomplished? I must emphatically answer
‘yes!’ for the coincidences are multiplied, precise, minute.
“In the writings of David and Isaiah, we have a series of predictions which foretel , in the
most emphatic terms, the following events:—That the Messiah was to be a descendant of
David; that his mother was to be a virgin; that he was to be born in Bethlehem; that he
was to be of humble birth, and without external recommendations to public notice; that
he was to reside in Galilee; that his life was to be one of suffering; that he was to be
rejected of his own people (the Jews); that he was to be betrayed by one who professed to
be a friend; that he was to be treated as a malefactor; that he was to be mocked and
insulted; that he was to display lamb-like meekness and patience; that he was to be put to
a violent death, yet with the appearances of justice; that his executioners were to divide
his apparel, casting lots for his vesture; that although put to death as a criminal, he was to
be interred in a rich man’s tomb; that he was to rise from the dead, without his body
having undergone corruption; and that he was to leave the world, and ascend into heaven.
Now, my dear father, all these prophecies are in the book which you honour as divine.
There can be no forgery, for they were written long before the advent of Jesus. It
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is a well authenticated fact, that long before the occurrence of the events described in the
gospel narrative, they were in being, not only in the original Hebrew, but in a Greek
translation also. Will you, my beloved father, take the Old and New Testaments; then
comparing the inspired writings of David and Isaiah with the no less inspired records of
the Evangelists, you will be fully assured that the agreement is exact, precise. This is not
hyperbolical writing—an opinion given upon something I wish to believe; it is but just
and properly true. Do, my dear father, prove it for yourself; read the BOOK, and you will
be fully satisfied, that all the particulars contained in the prophecies which relate to the
advent of the Messiah, are accurately fulfilled in the person of Jesus of Nazareth. At least
then, if you will not do this, let me prevail upon you to read St. Paul’s beautiful Epistle to
the Hebrews. It cannot do you harm; I recommend it as what I hope will do you good;
and you enjoy elegant literature; well, believe me, that even in this low sense it is quite a
rich treat.
“And I am not alone as a Jew bringing against the Jews the awful charge of crucifying the
Lord of glory. Among their own writings I find observations by which they substantiate
the charge. In one of their works, entitled ‘Yoma,’ they ask the question, ‘Why was the
second temple destroyed?’ In the answer to it, among the principal causes given is this,
Mnx t)n# ynpm.* I refer them to the 69th Psalm, one which is admitted by Aben
Ezra to be prophetical of the Messiah. ‘They hated me without a cause,’ is charged by our
Saviour upon his enemies.
* On account of the hatred without cause.
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“Nor is it possible that the Jews can be altogether blind to the curse which has rested
upon our nation through the eighteen hundred years which have elapsed since the
crucifixion of Jesus. ‘What adequate cause can be assigned for our long protracted
chastisement? is one of their solemn questions. ‘What can that crime be, which was
committed by our ancestors, and of which to this day we have not repented? Whatever it
is, it must be some act or deed, of a most atrocious character—an act or deed, in the
approval of which we have steadfastly persisted, and the guilt of which we have
obstinately refused to acknowledge.’
“And if they will seriously reflect, they cannot avoid the conclusion, that there is no one
deed, to which in all ages they have given their adhesion, except the crucifixion of Jesus.
With that event, too (and they cannot avoid observing it), commences the era of their
sufferings and distresses. Here, what is related of Rabbi Solomon Marochan occurs to
me: while reflecting upon the iniquities of the Jews, he said, ‘The prophet Amos
mentions a fourth crime for which we have been in our captivity—of selling the just one
for silver. It manifestly appears to me, that for selling the just one, we are justly punished.
It is now one thousand years and more, and during all this time we have made no good
hand of it among the Gentiles, nor is there any likelihood of our ever any more turning to
good. Oh, my God! I am afraid lest the Jesus, whom the Christians worship, be the just
one whom we sold for silver.”
“In A. M. 5588, the Czar of Russia issued an imperial ukase, which refused to permit the
presence of the religious officers of the Jews in his dominions—a
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decree replete with cruelty and oppression. In consequence of this act an address to the
Jews of all countries was drawn up in London, and, I believe, published there, too.
Doubtless, my dear father, you recollect this address, and the circumstance which called
it forth, perfectly well. I will, however, select from it one solemn paragraph: ‘These
persecutions manifest a prevailing spirit which should alarm the Israelites of all countries
and climes, and incline us to arouse our hitherto too dormant feelings, and to search our
ways, that so, by tracing effects to their causes, we may attempt to find a remedy for the
accumulated evils which have befallen, and still surround us; and that we may
acknowledge the justice of our Creator, even the King of Israel, and own that these as
well as all the other chastisements which have been heaped upon our devoted heads, are,
as it respects the Almighty, merited by the sins of ourselves and our forefathers, as
denounced by our lawgivers and prophets.’ And oh! that Israel may enter into the spirit of
this address—that they may begin that deep and prayerful examination of their hearts,
which it inculcates. Do they inquire why their devoted race has been again and again
visited with the direst calamities? O! let us roll back the page of history, and trace our
sufferings as they rose from the moment of the erection of the cross of the Lord Jesus
Christ upon the hill of Calvary. But, while we are humbled, debased to the dust, by the
guilt of giving our assent to the crucifixion of the Son of God, let us not despair; but, full
of hope believe, and become partakers of the blessings which he died to purchase for us.
So shall that dark cloud which now hangs over our nation, melt before the glorious
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beams of the Sun of Righteousness, and our souls be vivified by the dawning of an
everlasting day. May God help us to this for his Son’s sake. Amen.
“At the commencement of this letter, my dear father, I told you that I had proved in my
own soul, that Jesus is the Messiah. This, to me, would, if it were alone, be quite
sufficient; it is conclusive proof; I could desire no greater, for it is altogether satisfactory.
Through Jesus I am washed from my guilt; through Jesus, I have a joyful looking forward
to a glorious immortality; through Jesus, I rejoice with ‘joy unspeakable and full of
glory.’ I know whom I have believed, and I know that he has purchased and ‘laid up for
me a crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, shall give me at that
day, and not to me only, but unto all them that love his appearing.’
“All my tastes, desires, and pursuits, are opposite to what they once were; old things are
passed away, all things are become new. It is my constant prayer that I may have a heart
purified, even to its most secret thoughts and imaginings.
“Having received so much from Jesus, I prayed for strength to act in obedience to his
command, that I should make a public testimony of my belief in his name. He gave me
this power to confess him before men; therefore, I have been publicly dedicated to his
service by baptism, and by partaking of the memorials of his dying love; I mean, I have
received likewise, the sacrament of the Lord’s supper. Do not be displeased with me, my
dear father, because I did not before tell you of all I have now made known. Could you
but see how my heart palpitates with the deepest
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love towards you, I am quite sure you would not. Perhaps, indeed, I ought to have told
you before—I think my duty to you enjoined that I should; but really, previously to the
present moment, I had not the energy to do so. Forgive me this wrong.
“I now commit this letter to you. I beg of my Saviour to attend it with his smile and
benediction. O, that it may lead my dear father to those streams of bliss, of which his
Leila has already tasted! O, that the angelic choir may have to tune their golden harps,
and praise the Lamb of God, moved by the sight of my much-loved parent, prostrate at
his feet! How happy we should be, my dear father, both journeying to Heaven together!
Both having the sweet assurance, that even death itself could but divide us a few short
years. O do, do begin to serve Jesus. I cannot write any more; my paper is moistened with
tears: they are tears of mingled prayer and praise.
“May God be with you, and keep you, and bless you; and may he guide you, and lift up
the light of his reconciled countenance upon you; yea, may you be very precious in his
sight, is the prayer of,
“My dearest father,
“Your very affectionate and devoted daughter,
LEILA ADA.”
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CHAPTER X.
CONVERSATIONS BETWEEN LEILA AND HER FATHER—LEILA IS SENT
TO HER UNCLE.
THE night on which Leila’s letter was given to her father, was spent by her in earnest
prayer. Of it she remarks; “I experienced much of the Divine presence and support. I felt
a calm assurance that my Saviour would work for me; and that whatever happened to me,
all would be for good.”
Daylight came: and with a body made feverish by watching, and spirits absorbed and
depressed by deep anxiety, she made her morning toilette. Eight o’clock, the time of
meeting her father in the breakfast-parlour, arrived; her spirits sunk to the helplessness of
infancy, in prospect of the dreaded interview. Her father would, perhaps—nay, almost
certainly—speak unkindly; it was more than she could bear. Eight o’clock passed—she
was kneeling, with uplifted hands and streaming eyes, beseeching divine aid to meet the
event: it was given, and she arose strengthened.
Entering the room, she found her father already waiting. Directly she went up to him, and
throwing her arms upon his neck, was about to claim her usual kiss—
“Leila!” ejaculated her father solemnly, at the same moment turning his head from her.
O, my dear, dear papa!” said Leila, weeping, “do
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not refuse to kiss me! Do give me my kiss, and then I will try to bear all you have to say.
But, indeed, I cannot stay if you will refuse me this. I cannot endure so severe a mark of
your displeasure.”
“What have you done, Leila? How can you expect me to kiss you? Can you imagine the
night I have spent? Is it for this I have had you instructed in the law of the God of Israel,
that you should mock at it, and cast it behind your back? Is it for this that I have withheld
no means of knowledge from you, that your learning should become a snare to you? O,
my daughter, perhaps my heart has been too much bound up in you. Now I am scourged;
those hopes I had, that you would soothe my declining years, are blighted. But come, kiss
me,” he continued holding out his hand to Leila, who stood petrified with anguish.
“Now, my choicest treasure, tell me who it is that has poisoned you; let me know who it
was made you a proselyte from the faith of your father Abraham. To think that one of my
kindred should have become an apostate—a Christian—and that one, too, my own child!
But come, my dear, speak to me; tell me how your unsuspecting and innocent heart has
been misled. The arms of our religion are as wide open to you as ever, if you will return
now; and I need not tell you that I shall love you better than before.”
“O, my dear father,” faltered Leila, “no one has abused my judgment: indeed, it is God
has of his mercy opened my eyes.”
“God open your eyes to believe in Jesus of Nazareth! It is not possible. Do you not know
that God has specially chosen our nation as the depositary and conservator
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of the only true religion? You are flying from God, my dear child. God chose Israel, and
made it the sanctuary of the true faith. The nations were sunk in error and idolatry; and in
many cases their idolatrous rites and sacrifices were perpetrated under the holy name of
religion. But in order to accomplish his designs of mercy, in the establishment of truth
and righteousness upon the earth, he raised up Israel, and declared himself unto them as
his chosen and peculiar people, calling himself by name JEHOVAH—THE ONE—I AM.
He became our Lawgiver and our King. Read the charge of Moses to the Israelites, given
as he was about to die: ‘Behold, I have taught you statutes and judgments, even as the
Lord my God commanded me, that ye should do so in the land whither ye go to possess
it. Keep, therefore, and do them; for this is your wisdom and your understanding in the
sight of the nations which shall hear all these statutes, and say, Surely this great nation is
a wise and understanding people. For what nation is there so great, that hath statutes and
judgments so righteous as all this law, which I set before you this day? Take heed to
yourselves lest ye forget the covenant of the Lord your God which he made with you: for
the Lord thy God, is a consuming fire, even a jealous God.’ O, beware of what you are
doing! I tremble, my child, for you; I cannot express my agony for you. Although in the
many ages which have passed since the giving of the law, the traditions of men may have
become mixed with it, yet this will not affect the faithful soul; our religion is still pure
and holy, and still of God; man cannot or deteriorate it.”
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“But, my dear papa, God has entered into a new and better covenant with his people, and
Christ Jesus is the Mediator of that covenant. His is the blood of sprinkling that speaketh
better things than that of Abel. The law as given to Moses was typical, and it was
imperfect and, therefore, it continually reminded the Jews of their need of a perfect and
full atonement, which should sanctify and purge their conscience from dead works, to
serve the living God. And this new covenant has abolished all the forms, observances,
and ceremonies of the old covenant, for these were only imposed as a figure until its
fulfilment and perfection in the Lord Jesus Christ. These stood in outward ordinances but
the new covenant in Christ Jesus has opened to us a new and more excellent way: ‘This
shall be the covenant I will make with the house of Israel after those days, saith the Lord,
I will put my law in their inward parts, and write it in their hearts, and will be their God,
and they shall be my people.’ Permit me, my dear father, to read to you from this book,”
continued Leila, as she drew a small New Testament from her pocket: “‘For ye are not
come unto the mount that might be touched. But ye are come unto mount Zion, and unto
the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to an innumerable company of
angels, to the general assembly and church of the first-born, which are written in heaven,
and to God the judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect, and to Jesus the
mediator of the new covenant, and to the blood of sprinkling which speaketh better things
than that of Abel.’ ‘But Christ being come an high priest of good things to come, by a
greater and more
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perfect tabernacle, not made with hands,” “by his own blood entered once into the holy
place, having obtained eternal redemption for us.” Christ was once offered to bear the sin
of many. And for this cause he is the mediator of the New Testament, that by means of
death, for the redemption of transgressions that were under the first testament, they which
are called might receive the promise of eternal inheritance.’ ‘Sacrifice and offering, and
burnt-offering, and offering for sin, thou wouldst not, neither hadst pleasure therein;
which are offered by the law. Then, said he, [Christ, my dear father,] Lo, I come to do thy
will, O God. He taketh away the first that he may establish the second. By the which will
we are sanctified through the offering of the body of Jesus Christ once for all. Having,
therefore, brethren, boldness to enter into the holiest by the blood of Jesus by a new and
living way which he hath consecrated for us, through the veil, that is to say, his flesh; and
having an high priest over the house of God; let us draw near with a true heart, in full
assurance of faith, having our hearts sprinkled from an evil conscience, and our bodies
washed with pure water; for he is faithful that promised.’ And through faith in this perfect
covenant, my dear father, I am made happy, having received remission of my sins. I love
Jesus; I feel very certain that he loves me. I am striving for that crown of glory which he
has purchased for me. I seek a city out of sight, even the heavenly Jerusalem. I seek a
tabernacle not made with hands—eternal in the heavens. For all my help I look to my
Lord Jesus Christ, who is the Author and Finisher of my faith. And O, my dear father,
that you would increase
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my joy, in seeing you thus happy too; in seeing you serve your Saviour too. Do begin to
study the New Testament, will you? there is a dear, good papa; do read the beautiful
Epistle from which I have just cited; it is St. Paul’s to the Hebrews.”
“O my precious child! you have thrown me into great distress; I am much straitened;
what will become of you? An anathema will be pronounced against you: your name will
be blotted from among our people. What will become of you, if you waywardly persist?
Why do you think of setting yourself against the belief of the wise and pious men of our
nation? I am much affected and really can speak to you no longer, my dear. But I feel,
that, as I am commanded, I must discharge my duty to your spiritual welfare. You may sit
with me to breakfast; after that you must enter my presence no more until a week has
expired. Then I will see you again. If you persist in your apostasy, my dear child, I must
do what I cannot bear to think upon—what it will almost kill me to do—part from you,
that you may receive attention and instruction from abler hands than mine.”
“Leila’s loving bosom swelled with the yearning of its deep and hidden tenderness. This
was a new, and yet untasted, and wholly unexpected trial. Her feeling heart was too full
for words to relieve. She sought where she might give scope to the tearful springs now
swelling in her soul. Convulsively kissing her father, she entered into her own room and
wept there. From such a separation as he contemplated, the whole of her affectionate
nature shrunk. Yet through the nobleness of Christian heroism, she was enabled to look
upon
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it without wavering. The first conflict of her filial devotion being past, her faith derived
fresh vigour from the conviction—”I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth
me.” A stream of heavenly light and peace flowed into her soul. With renewed dedication
of all she was to God, she bowed herself before the throne of grace, and richly
experienced the tranquilizing and hallowing influences of prayer. She was enabled to feel
happy, even joyful, that she was counted worthy to suffer for the sake of Christ. In a letter
which in the midst of this week she wrote to her dearest female friend, she says, while
referring to these minutes,
“‘He knoweth the way that I take: when he hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold.’ I
know, my beloved Emily, your heart will mingle its rejoicings with mine, when I assure
you that I am able to say, I have no anxiety. I think I am seldom cast down except from
purely physical causes. At first I wept with mighty anguish. Leave my precious parent!
Oh! could I bear that! But when I had, on my knees, surrendered myself afresh to God, I
ceased to inquire, and with every faculty of my soul I could say, ‘What thou wilt, my
Jesus, what thou wilt. I dare not breathe the slightest wish.’ O, my lovely friend, help me
to praise our glorious Redeemer. How abundant is his salvation. Why did I so long
continue ignorant of his love—the only source of rest and calm repose. Is he not fitly
called Immanuel—God with us? I prove it every moment.”
* * * * *
Not less beautifully does she depicture herself in her diary.
“I have this day had delightful and intimate communion
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with my God. I felt the sacred fire of divine love. My desires after entire conformity to
the will and mind of God have been intense: my whole soul was engaged. I am truly
athirst after the righteousness which my Saviour has promised and so delights to bestow.
O, my Jesus, satisfy my ardent longings for the indwelling of thyself. What then is all the
tribulation of the world, if the God of love has taken possession of my soul? O, may I be
enabled to lean simply on Omnipotence, and more than ever feel that things present are a
shadow unworthy of a serious thought. One smile from thee, my Redeemer, is more than
adequate for years on years of toil and sorrow. It is my grief that I cannot habitually feel
this; that I do not find a more intense disdain for the miserable offerings of this vain
world. Lord, enlighten my understanding, let my views of thee be yet more and more
enlarged. So my soul, restored to thy image, shall begin here that bliss which will attain
to its perfection in the abodes of eternal joy and felicity.
“How thankful I ought to be that the Holy Spirit still continues to visit me with his
gracious influences!”
“There is no precept or command in the blessed, Gospel, for the performance of which
God is not ready and willing to communicate divine strength. The Saviour never gave
orders without furnishing the arms to fulfil them. I can therefore look to Heaven, and
with confidence expect those blessings which I so peculiarly need at this time.”
“O Lord, my heavenly Father, I beseech thee, endue me with power and courage from on
high, adequate to whatever thou art pleased to lay upon me. Enable me
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to lay aside this carefulness which now engrosses my spirit. Lord, help me: increase my
faith, confirm my hope, and let my love for thee glow with more and more ardency than
ever.
“I am impressed with awe; I hardly dare to hope; I am determined that God shall be my
guide, that I will follow him in whatever path he shall mark out for me. To the glory of
divine grace I have to record that I enjoy seasons of sweet serenity and calmness. May I
become more diligent in the use of every means of grace which God has prescribed. May
I be enabled to press forward, till I have seized on every privilege which is mine as a
child of God, as a believer in Christ Jesus. Amen.”
“The more I drink of the fountain of living waters, the more I feel my thirst abate for
earth-born joys. I am in possession of a peace which passeth understanding; I am happy
in the love of God.
“When that dark veil which naturally covers our hearts is thrown aside, we discover a
Father of infinite love, who tries us here, that we may be fitted for the hallowed
enjoyment of himself in heaven.
“In the presence of the great luminary the stars withdraw themselves. Last evening I saw
them most distinctly; now they are lost amid the brightness of the day, and I cannot catch
the slightest glimpse of their sparkling orbs. But as night advances, and draws her veil
before the sunbeams, they again emerge from their obscurity and shine with lustre
undiminished. Emblem of the trials of the Christian! When these have cast a shade over
the vanity of our hearts, and thrown a gloom over the brightness of our earthly views,
how plainly
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then can we perceive our inward depravity—what revelations of indwelling sins are made
to us, and of a kind, too, whose existence we little suspected! While we were surrounded
by everything calculated to insure our ease and comfort, they were undiscovered; but let
the clouds of trial and adversity darken the zenith of our worldly happiness, and coming
forth from their obscurity they show their palpable existence. These are the seasons when
the world is compelled to confess itself nothing but vanity and deceit, and when the soul
is fitted to wing its flight far beyond the things which are seen, to those which are not
seen, even the joys of celestial bliss.
“No matter how heavy, how impenetrable, the cloud may appear, the glorious star of
Jacob pierces the thickening shadows, and shows himself our unchanging guide—our
morning-star. The more weightily our affliction presses upon our spirits, the more
valuable and lovely do we feel religion to be, the more do we find its adaptation to our
every want. Then it is she stands out in bold relief, and shows herself clad in robes of
immortality and eternal life.
“Let such considerations as these induce me to take joyfully my appointed share of trial.
Let me lose sight of the world—of all things earthly, and seek after an increasing
resemblance to my Redeemer, that I may be a lucid gem in his crown for ever. He shall
be my pattern and my guide. I bless God; I love him; I love his service; I love religion
better than ever. O, what a bitter draught is life without God, and so without hope!
“Most fervently do I pray that through divine grace I may walk worthy of the Lord unto
all pleasing, and
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increase in the knowledge of God. May I be enabled to ‘forget those things which are
behind, and reach forth unto those things which are before, pressing toward the mark, for
the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.’
“To-morrow I am permitted to again see and speak to my dear parent. My love for him
glows with more intensity than ever. What will be the consequence? I cannot tell; I have
given the event to God. My path is clear—to maintain simply and obediently my belief in
the Lord Jesus, as far as seems necessary to make his goodness to me known, to avow my
intention to cleave to my religion; that course will I strictly follow, whatever be the
consequence. Most earnestly do I entreat of God that I may have a complete mastery over
myself. O, my Jesus! save me from bringing any contempt upon religion; but O, that I
may adorn by my life and conversation, that lovely cause in which all my soul is
engaged. I bless God, I record it to the praise of his holy name, that he does not permit
me to be harassed by a single doubt of the truth of the religion I profess and believe in,
not a single doubt that Jesus is the Messiah; on the contrary, each day finds my
convictions deepened, my faith strengthened, my love confirmed. Glory be to God for
what he hath done for my soul.”
“Now, my darling, my precious child!” exclaimed her father, with deep feeling, as she
obeyed the permission to see him again, which he had given her, “come to the bosom of
your inconsolable father, and tell him you have abjured all your sinful opinions and
belief.”
“O, my dear papa,” sobbed Leila, “indeed I cannot; my belief is firmer, stronger than
ever.”
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“Then, my child, it is my duty—you must leave me as I said. To-day I will write to my
brother at—; while you are there I shall have no direct communication with you; all that
is necessary will be made known to me by your uncle. Till he answers my letter, I shall
see you no more.”
“O, it is cruel, very cruel, papa, to put me away from you, when you are the only being in
the world I love, and with whom I can be happy. O, how happy we have been together!
Indeed, I could not have supposed that you would do this; and you know that my uncle
will certainly treat me unkindly now that I am a Christian. It will kill me, my dear father!
you have always been so very and so delicately kind to me, that I cannot now bear the
very least unkindness or neglect. But I have never murmured against your will, and I trust
to be saved now.”
“My dear daughter feels it much less than her father. What do you think it is I have to
endure, while I see my choicest treasure removed from my dwelling; my child in whom
my every hope was centered! The struggle is deep and severe, and nothing but a stern
sense of duty supports me through it. Now, my dear, leave me; I am ill.”
Retiring to her chamber Leila gave vent to her overwrought feelings in an agony of tears.
Thus relieved, she became more composed, and able to prepare prayerfully to meet the
future.
The morning which had been assigned for her departure arrived. Upon this morning we
find the following brief, but expressive entry in her diary.
“Dearest, loveliest, and the best of all, my Jesus!”
And then came the last fond lingering moment—the
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last tender embrace—the last adieu from her swimming eyes. Graphically as every
circumstance of the parting of this affectionate daughter from her only parent has been
depicted to us, we must draw a veil over its further description. Such scenes in life are far
too sacred to be committed to aught but private remembrance. It was a deeply affecting
one. She went, not knowing whether she should ever return; but the victory was hers
through divine grace.
The domestics (themselves of the seed of Abraham) shed abundance of tears. “O, my
dear young mistress,” said one, her utterance choked with grief, “do come back again
soon.” “When God sees fit; pray for me,” enjoined Leila; and with a bursting heart, she
threw herself into the carriage which was waiting at the door.
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CHAPTER XI.
TREATMENT OF LEILA BY HER UNCLE—HER TRIALS—CHARACTER OF
LEILA’S COUSIN.
WE have remarked of Leila’s father, that although his belief in the Jewish religion was
firm and persistent, yet he was not strenuous in the observances enjoined by their ritual.
But his brother was much more strict. He was very regular in his attendance at the
synagogue, and he was generally regarded as a pious and devout Jew. To his care Leila
was confided, with a desire that he would exert all the knowledge he himself possessed,
and likewise introduce her to conversations with other wise and pious Jews, with the
view of shaking her belief. He was also instructed to guard carefully against her obtaining
possession of any religious works except those which belonged to the Jews; and further,
she was never to be permitted to attend a place of Christian worship. That this, and the
purchase of any Christian books might be effectually prevented, she was never to go out
but in the company of another.
Her zealous uncle began his work immediately. Closeting himself with her the very first
hour after her arrival, he began: “My dear child, what dreadful tidings are these, that you
have apostatized from the religion of your father Abraham?”
She replied, “Abraham believed God: I do the same, Abraham’s faith was counted unto
him for righteousness:
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mine is so too. Abraham’s salvation is the same Saviour as mine; his faith in the bloody
and imperfect sacrifices of the old covenant always referred beyond those types to the
Saviour whom God had promised; mine refers to the fulfilment of the old and the
establishment of the new, by the one perfect sacrifice of Christ, who is the Mediator of
the new covenant into which God hath entered with his people. I have not committed
apostasy. I wish, my dear uncle, I had a New Testament.
“I would not listen; I would not have such a book in my house. What it contains is
blasphemous, and has been again and again refuted; and you, Leila, ought to know all
this. Alas! all that my dear brother said was too true. What! do you think that I, and your
dear father, and all your nation, are wrong, and you are right?—”
“Uncle!” interposed Leila, “from experience I know that neither you, nor any of our
nation, have any solid joy, or hope, or peace, or even comfort, in your religion. You reject
Christ Jesus, the Saviour; what will you do for an atonement? You have none. Do not
yourselves confess it?”
“An atonement! are you ignorant of the Jewish confessions? I mean those which are
appointed to be said by a person in prospect of death. What say they?—and it is even so:
‘My death must be an atonement for my sins?’“
“Oh! that is a terrible delusion: indeed, it is religious insanity. What death do you mean
will be an atonement for your sins? Are your notions of sin, and its origin and its nature,
so crude, that you do not know that ‘in the day thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely
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die,’ refers not to temporal death merely, but to eternal death also? This eternal death of
the sinner, or an atonement, God’s justice must have. No bodily death, no purgatorial
pains, not even the most excessive torments of hell, could satisfy God’s offended
majesty. The sinner must either endure eternal misery—eternal death, or be ransomed in
such a way that God can still be just, although he justifies and restores him to his favour.
If the words you have quoted mean only the sullen calmness of despair, I can understand
them; they are desperate madness, if they mean anything else. You said, too, that the
accounts in the New Testament have been again and again refuted. In this respect, my
dear uncle, you are mistaken; they are capable of the most triumphant proof. The
Sanhedrim could not avoid admitting that our Saviour performed the miracles imputed to
him.”
“My dear, I really must not go into this. I have listened to you with great patience, and I
shall seek to manifest the deepest kindness towards you; but, be careful of this, that not a
word of your principles is uttered in my family. I love you yet, as well as ever I did, and I
should be very sorry to suppose that you should ever cause me to love you less. I will
fulfil my promise—I will do all in my power to save your soul, but I will not have Jesus
of Nazareth preached in my house.”
“As far, sir, as my duty to God will permit me, I promise I will make no observation;
beyond this, I dare say nothing, even if the forfeiture shall be my life.”
Leila’s aunt was a leader of the fashion, as it is
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phrased; and now, therefore, she was placed in the midst of a giddy whirl of dinner and
evening parties, balls, reunions, &c. This, considered by itself, was to her pure, and quiet,
and retiring spirit, an inexpressible trial. It was her uncle’s desire that, as far as possible,
her being a Christian should be kept secret, for, said he, “I should feel ashamed to have it
known that my niece is a believer in Jesus of Nazareth. My pride, too, would be humbled
were our people aware that such a person is living with me.”
Her personal appearance was singularly beautiful. Her manners and address were
characterized by that elegance, refinement, and ease, which inseparably attend good sense
and good breeding; and, withal, by a winning softness and innocence which at once
fascinated. This was remarked by more than one. Among her relatives it was often
observed, “If Miss T—’s arguments fail to convince, her insinuating tenderness and
innocence of manner will: in any case, she has the victory.” Of her intellectual power, we
have before us precious evidence. It cannot surprise, therefore, that she quickly became a
chief favourite in this family circle. And, as she appeared at the first “quiet dinner and
evening party,” (it was at her uncle’s house,) clad in a robe of simple white muslin, her
aunt could not avoid a feeling of pride in her niece. Playfully patting her cheek with her
glove, she exclaimed, “Oh! Leila dear, if you were not in such a dreadful delusion, how I
could enjoy you.”
Invitation after invitation poured in upon her, and it was not left to her own choice
whether they should be accepted or not. Soon, however, one was sent for
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a grand reunion and ball. This, she felt she must not accept. The evil was too mighty to
permit of any course but one—a stern refusal. “My father,” she writes, “bade me obey my
uncle as I would himself. I feel I have already done this too much: I will do so no more.
My obedience affects my soul, and, therefore, cannot be given. Although I have striven
hard to keep my thoughts in heaven, while I have been in the midst of these gay circles,
yet I fear it has, in some measure, deadened my soul; indeed, it cannot be otherwise,
because the music, and singing, and animation are to me temptations; then I cannot avoid
a taint. O, my Jesus, forgive me what I have done! I never, till to-day, saw the evil
clearly. I have sought temporal peace and composure at the risk of my spiritual life; but,
now, by thy help, I am determined to do so no more. My body trembles and is ill at what
I know is to come—what I know will be the result of my conduct—but thou, my Saviour,
canst give me all necessary strength; and thou wilt if I have faith in thee. I entreat thee,
fire my soul with thy love! Enable me to break down every obstacle which shall hinder
me in my progress toward heaven: O perfect thy strength in my weakness! I am full of
sweet confidence that thou wilt: I have an assurance that in the hour of trial the Saviour
will appear for me. Then, welcome whatever he appoints. I am voyaging to eternity: no
matter if mine is to be a stormy passage; I shall better enjoy the peaceful haven of
celestial rest. My hopes of heaven will glow more vividly; my faith in Jesus be in more
mighty exercise. He will save me: I believe it. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not
how much
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he hath done for thee! Fear not trials, Jesus will be with thee; the Lord of hosts is his
name. Whom shall I fear? The Lord is my rock and my tower; the God of Jacob is my
refuge!
“O, that Christ Jesus may but dwell in my heart by faith, and then, rooted and grounded
in love, I shall be enabled to overcome every adversary, and to comprehend with all
saints what is the length, and breadth, and depth, and height, of the love of God—that
love which passeth knowledge and understanding. I shall even be filled with all the
fulness of God. With the glorious prospect of my heavenly inheritance continually before
me, I shall rejoice with a joy unspeakable and full of glory. Finally, being brought off
more than conqueror, I shall rise to the mansion of rest which Jesus has prepared for my
eternal home.”
From this revelation of the workings of her heart, we may perceive that Leila had some
time previously begun to suspect that the fulfilment of her uncle’s request, by abstaining
from distinctly confessing her attachment to Christianity, was nothing less than putting
her light under a bushel. And therefore she gave herself to reflection upon how far her
peculiar circumstances, and that obedience to her father which the Scriptures enjoined,
justified her in what she now believed to be an infringement of the law of Christ. For the
sake of that affection with which we cherish the memory of our dear friend, we feel it
necessary to record the assurance which we have had from her own lips, that she never
made the shadow of an attempt to hide the fact of her being a Christian.
From the very first she resolved, that she could yield
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obedience to her uncle only so far as not to seek for an occasion which would require her
to repudiate Judaism; if that occasion came without any effort of her own, she fully
determined that not for one moment would she compromise the truth by which she was
saved. She felt that beyond doubt the time for her to confess Jesus had now arrived. From
the extract just given she appears to think that it had arrived before; but she was quite
assured that her position compelled her to disobey her parent now, and that she might
righteously do so. But what a flood-gate of persecution would be opened upon her, if she
transgressed her uncle’s word, and made it known that he, a strict Jew, had allowed a
devoted Christian Jewess, to be introduced into Jewish circles, and yet had spoken of her
as though she were a believer in the faith of her fathers! Leila thought on all this and on
much more than this, and that she should have to endure sufferings which could only be
imagined by one who was like herself, a Jew. But she wavered not. Her help was laid on
“One that is mighty,” and with a calm assurance, and trusting confidence she took her
pen to decline the before-mentioned invitation, and declare her joyful belief in Jesus as
the Messiah. The letter was written in her own sweet spirit; full of a yearning tenderness
for the soul of the person to whom it was addressed; and noble and undaunted in her
recognition of the divinity of the Gospel of Christ. She wrote without first making her
uncle acquainted with her intention. To such a task she felt unequal; and therefore left to
her Heavenly Father’s direction, the way in which it should be made known to him.
With this act a course of severely increased trial
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commenced. This, as we have said, she had anticipated. To the present moment, her uncle
and aunt and their family had been solicitously kind. It is true that they sometimes took
occasion to scold her for displaying, what in their estimation of obedience, they
considered too much of the “Nazarene doctrine” as they called it; but in general, all their
efforts to reclaim her to Judaism had been characterized not only by affection, but that
tenderness to which her ardent and refined spirit rendered her so peculiarly susceptible.
Even the restrictions of her father they had many times transgressed. She had often been
permitted to go out alone (except on the Christian sabbath), and she had availed herself of
these occasions to purchase the Bible, and several of her favourite books. But now sour
looks and dogged silence took the place of approving smiles and bland conversation; she
was dunned on every hand with questionings and expressions upon her spiritual state. “I
could bear,” she says, “my endless catechizing if the persons possessed sound judgment
and competent knowledge; but to be compelled to give a composed attention to the
puerile reasonings and empty observations of those who know just as little of their own
religion as they do of the Christian religion, is quite painful.” Compared with her trying
situation these reflections were exceedingly mild; yet a review of them startled their
meek writer, for she continues, “But are not these expressions impatient, and, therefore,
sinful? Lord Jesus, save me from all disposition to murmur! It is thou who hast laid it all
upon me. O, then, enable me to cheerfully endure it all! I am, perhaps, not well, for
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to-day I have had to encounter more severe trials than usual.”
Each day her position became more trying. Insults became increasingly common; so that
we find her writing, “If my father knew the intense cruelty of my position, he surely
would not leave me here; it is trying me almost beyond my powers of endurance. My
spirits sometimes sink very low. Lord, save me! Many of those who come near me hold
in their clothes lest I should touch them, and as they pass me avert their faces, their lips
curling with a most offensive expression of scorn, I am not permitted to have any meals
with my uncle and aunt, nor any of their family. All of them but one, and even the
servants, insult me. Last evening I entered a room in which two of the servants were
working: ‘Eudice,’ said one, ‘let’s turn our coats, and go and pray to the Carpenter’s son
to come down and save us.’
“‘Oh! don’t talk to me. I hate him, and everybody as likes him; and I shouldn’t think he
very well likes a hypocritical apostate.’
“‘Oh, yes, he does; both he and his people are very fond of proselytes. They’ll promise
them anything; and, as to heaven, they’ll warrant them getting in there if they have to
carry them in a basket.’
“‘Well, say what they will, they shall never point at me as a turncoat Jew; I would rather
be a dog.’
“Here followed a torrent of vulgar abuse and blasphemy, which I could not write. O, my
Saviour, forgive them! I would pray with Stephen, ‘Lord Jesus, lay not this sin to their
charge.’
But in her aunt’s family there was one who had always
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behaved to her with uniform and delicate kindness. This was her eldest cousin, a young
man whose mind, destitute of those unreasonable prejudices possessed by too many of his
nation, was always on the stretch to obtain increased light, or to communicate it. His
influence prevented Leila from being subjected to many an intended slight or insult. He
very often conversed with her about the New Testament, and the prophecies, and the
proofs that the Messiah had come. In the midst of these conversations, he confessed that
he had long felt an absence of confidence in the religion of his people. This feeling arose
through reading the Old Testament, and comparing it with the Talmud; but he feared to
trust his judgment, lest he should commit the error of reasoning himself into deistical
principles, or even worse, perhaps, than these. He had noticed the character of several
Christians, and it claimed his admiration; but one thing he thought very wrong—even if
Jesus should be verily the Messiah—it was the changing of the sabbath. He thought this a
flagrant offence against the majesty and command of God, and wondered that Leila could
think of observing this “sabbath of man’s creation.” But one by one his scruples were
removed, and his opinions changed; and Leila had the satisfaction of seeing him
increasingly incline to become an “apostate” too.
He was far from being a person of timid and ever-shifting principle. Before adopting any
opinion as his own he accustomed himself to examine it well on every side; at the same
time condensing all the light he could obtain, and throwing it upon it. When at last his
judgment was decided in favour of a principle, he was
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prepared to vindicate and sustain it to the uttermost. At each successive conversation with
Leila, his conviction that she was right and his parents were wrong, struck deeper into his
soul, and his exertions on her behalf became more strenuous and earnest. This hastened
things to a crisis. From his conduct it was “quite clear that he was infected with her
blasphemous opinions.” Indeed, it was a fact that he made no attempt to disguise. His
parents were enraged—not against him, but Leila; and something must be done at once.
Perhaps part of their resolve was taken with the view of following up the “salutary
impression” which Leila’s aunt supposed her sufferings would make upon the family: but
we also believe that with it was coupled an honest intention to make one final effort, that
if possible her poor soul might be saved from the perdition which threatened it. Her father
was written to. He was told that she had been exerting every means in her power to
convert the family to her abominable doctrines, and had nearly succeeded in poisoning
that member of it to whom we have referred.
But in the midst of these painful circumstances, her confidence in God’s mercy and love
towards her was unchanged. This is sweetly proved by her diary:—
“Eternal Father, infinite is thy goodness; unbounded thy love! In the contemplation of it I
am lost in wondering adoration. What am I, O God, that I should be so highly favoured?
Where shall I, who am but dust and ashes, begin to glorify my gracious Parent and
Preserver? or where shall I find a point at which my strain of praise may cease? By thy
mercy it is, that from a soul-felt experience I am enabled to celebrate
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thy love. Whatever I have been, whatever I now am, whatever in a blissful eternity I may
become, is thy precious gift, my Redeemer. To thee let the tribute of my gratitude be
unceasingly offered. To praise thee with all my faculties, with all my energies, is the wish
of my soul.
“Glorious Emmanuel! I love thee. And now, when perhaps thy visitations may seem most
trying, I rejoice in the sweet conviction that goodness and mercy preside over the
infliction. With humble confidence I approach thee, O God, as my Father; and so I
believe that thou wilt pitifully weigh whatever chastisements thou seest fit to exercise me
with. Is it for me to complain of the trivial cares and slight annoyances which I feel, when
I recollect what Christ suffered, and suffered with unconquerable love and unshaken
patience, that I might inherit eternal life? If I am oppressed with anguish, my faith may
still derive fresh courage from the reflection that the time is coming when God shall wipe
away all tears from the sorrowing eye. At those seasons when my soul shrinks with a
disgraceful fear, let it look to the bright example set by my Redeemer, and be thus
assisted, strengthened, and consoled. It may be that fearful is the trial and life-long the
conflicts which I am decreed to know, but, with Jesus as my guide, I may still say, ‘none
of these things move me.’ My constancy shall never be overcome. And then, what mighty
joys hath he laid up for me in reversion! With what glad songs of triumph shall I mount
above the skies, to dwell in the presence of my Saviour for evermore! Accept my
thanksgivings, gracious Father; thine—only thine I am; and thine through eternity
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do I desire to remain. How sweet the thought! With what faith and love does the
anticipation of heaven inspire my soul!
———’O, how Omnipotence
Is lost in love! Thou great Philanthropist!
Father of angels! but the Friend of man!
Like Jacob, fondest of the younger born,
Thou who didst save him, snatch the smoking brand
From out the flames, and quench it in thy blood!
How art thou pleased, by bounty to distress!
To make us groan beneath our gratitude,
Too big to utter! to favour, and confound;
To challenge, and to distance all return!
Of lavish love stupendous heights to soar,
And leave praise panting in the distant vale!
Thy right, too great, defrauds thee of thy due;
And sacrilegious our sublimest song.’“
“‘Hitherto hath the Lord helped me.’ It is privilege to repeat moment by moment the
exulting words. And while through them I express the rejoicings of a heart grateful for
past mercies, they convey also the cheering conviction, that as he has hitherto assisted, so
will he in mercy continue to support, even to the end. The consolations of the Christian
are too rich—too solacing to be given up, because sometimes clouds may intervene
between the soul and the beams of the Sun of righteousness. To speak thus seems to the
worldly the height of foolishness. Let it be so. The Christian can well afford to be
counted weak and ignorant. The things of Christ can only be spiritually discerned; and to
his faithful servants this confident dependence upon him seems to approach the
perfection of wisdom. It is ever a source of love, and hope, and
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peace, and joy. O! then, let me exult in the favour of my protecting God. Heaven is in my
view, and in comparison with that, all the sorrows of earth fade into insignificance. It is
mine to know that through the merits of my Redeemer I am reconciled to the Deity, and
am made an heir of everlasting glory.
“Such are now my feelings, but how often are my spiritual senses dulled! how often do I
find cause to deplore my coldness and insensibility to eternal things! This bosom, which
has been so often filled with a joy unspeakable, and which should constantly beat with
exultation and gratitude, why is it that it ever remains unmoved? How very sinful is this
indifference! How deficient in dignity and reason, as a creature destined to immortality,
must I be, if I can ever neglect such wonderous love.
“Do I start when I contemplate the gloom of the doubtful future? Away with such
desponding and unworthy thoughts. I have nothing at all to do with the events of my life,
but submit myself to them, sustained by the positive assurance that all things shall work
together for my good. God chastens those whom he loves: and I must kiss his correcting
hand. Oh! then, my Jesus, let me calmly leave all I am with thee. Help me to confide
peacefully in thy protecting care, and repose in thy perfect wisdom. May my soul now
rise above this cheerless world and turn to thee—the Mighty Jehovah—the Eternal! So
shall I find peace, and love, and joy, for ever and ever.”
“How deep is this stillness! broken only by the solemn ticking of my watch at my side.
Tremendous monitor! How mighty is the silent eloquence with which thou
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tellest me it is now just midnight. This minute separates the day which has closed from
that which now opens upon me. An all-pervading awe surrounds my spirit. The day—the
future—eternity—is beginning. Let me dedicate these solemn moments in a grateful act
of worship to my God.
“Great and adorable Creator! with unaffected reverence and humility I bend before thy
awful throne, and worship and adore thee as the purchaser of my glorious immortality.
By thy grace I have been safely brought through the sorrows and difficulties of another
day. Grant that my soul may have a proper sense of thy mercy, and justly value the love
which thou hast displayed towards it, in the day that has now for ever fled into eternity.
Lord, I am thankful; and before I sleep, I desire to feel that thou hast accepted the tribute
of my gratitude. Pardon all my offences against thee, whether they have proceeded from
weakness or a more blamable source. Amidst thought and distraction did I forget thee, O
my indulgent Father? Have I earnestly coveted to be like my Saviour, loving and holy,
meek and humble, gentle and affectionate, patient and resigned, disinterested and
unwearied in my efforts to do all the good which my present circumstances admit? Alas!
how defective is my deportment before mankind and thee. May my gracious God look
down in loving compassion upon his erring child. I long for a complete devotion to my
Saviour. Oh! teach me more and more of thyself, my Jesus; and more and more fit me for
immortality. Help me to abhor what is evil, and eagerly pursue everything that is good.
To this end let all my thoughts, and hopes, and aims be
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directed. If in thy wisdom it is determined that this day shall introduce me to the eternal
world, O! help, sustain me still; and grant that with unshaken faith in my Redeemer, I
may tranquilly pass from earth into that state of being, in which all sublunary sorrows and
anxieties are dismissed for ever; and where to perfectly know, and love, and adore thee
will be the consummation of blessedness. Amen.”
“A constant sense of the Omnipresence of God would be the most prevailing incentive to
a devotional holy frame of mind. All my words, thoughts, and actions are known to him.
Every pure aspiration, every inward struggle, every victory gained over sin, is observed
by the Deity. How should my worn spirit be cheered by such a conviction! My secret
anguish is not unknown to thee, my Heavenly Father, and thou wilt not pass over it with
cold indifference. At an age when I could least bear it, I have been violently torn from the
parental bosom, in which I have so loved to nestle and be cherished. But it is enough, my
Saviour, that thou seest it, and hast willed it should be so. Satisfied that thou lovest me
too well to be unkind, may I repose upon the assurance, that, no matter what are my
difficulties, they shall tend to my eternal benefit. It is true my way may be obscured by
clouds and gloom, but the conviction that thou art watching over me, and counting all my
tears, shall make me rejoice.
“Never did I feel more than I do at this time the importance and beauty of religion. I love
my Saviour; I am o’er-canopied by his wings; and I am happy. I have seen a glimpse of
his glory whom my soul loveth; and I long—I pant most ardently to be lost in God.
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‘O could I lose myself in thee,
Thy depth of mercy prove,
Then vast unfathomable sea
Of unexhausted love!’
I am athirst for a state of everlasting happiness; for those immortal joys which live in the
presence of my Saviour for ever. A holy, solemn calm flows o’er my heart—yes, I have a
sweet impression that I soon shall join the spirit-music of the skies. Do I deceive myself?
A little time will answer me.”
In proportion as sorrows thickened around her, so did her faith increase, constantly
pointing her to the mansions of everlasting peace—to the “flood of celestial light.” These
ardent aspirations after the love and rest which remain for the children of God, were ever
breathing within her soul. In one of her reflections, written while she was with her uncle,
after beautifully expressing her deep trust and repose on the arm of her Redeemer, she
dilates in glowing terms upon her intense expectation of the peacefulness of heaven; and
concludes by animating her soul in the beautiful language of one of her own verses:
”Beyond the gulf of death,
Go seek the realms of love’s immortal rest
Where the black storm ne’er spreads its threatening crest,
Where sorrow sends no breath.”
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CHAPTER XII.
THE FINAL EFFORT TO RECLAIM HER—CUT OFF FROM HER
NATION—HER ACQUAINTANCE WITH MISS H—, RETURNS TO SEE HER
FATHER—”HOW SOON WE FADE.”
ONE afternoon, Leila’s aunt expressed a desire that on that occasion she would dine with
the family. It was a pleasing surprise; and her mind was filled with imaginings of the
probable cause. She thought—perhaps her uncle and aunt seeing her constancy, were
about to change their conduct, and permit her to return home; perhaps her father had sent
for her; perhaps he was that evening expected; perhaps he had become favourable to
Christianity; perhaps the hatred of her uncle and aunt towards it was partially removed;
yet, no! that could not be, for they had not been any kinder to her; their enraged dislike
appeared as great as ever. Well, then, it was almost certain that she was going home; her
father had either sent for her or was coming for her; and if he were averse as ever to
Christianity, and if he would not permit her in his presence, it was a delightful thought
that she would be under the same roof with him; she would at least be exempted from
contumely and insult. Oh! how happy she felt on that afternoon. She went to her Bible,
and read its promises, and thought how richly in her experience they had been fulfilled,
and were still fulfilling; how abundantly God had been with her, and supported her to that
moment—the extremity of her trial, for in her father’s
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house she would suffer nothing equal to what she was then enduring.
“All this afternoon,” she writes, “I have read my Bible through tears of pure and
exceeding joy. God has been eminently with me: I never felt such a weight of glory. The
manifestations of his presence have been overpowering, so that I was compelled to
exclaim, ‘Lord, enlarge, enlarge the vessel, or my clay tenement must sink beneath this
mighty revelation of thy love!’ Oh! what must be the bliss of heaven! I long for heaven! I
thirst for heaven! If I can enjoy so much on earth, what must be the ecstatic raptures of
the spirits in glory; their faculties no longer clouded by the body—no more shackled by
sense! Glory be to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, for this glorious foretaste of celestial
joys! I have drunk deeply of those vivifying streams which flow from before the throne
of God and the Lamb for ever. O, the love of God—the boundless, unfathomable love of
God! I am Christ’s; and I can constantly live upon him in my heart by faith. Bless the
Lord, O my soul! and to all eternity remember the blessings which thou hast this day
received.”
Dinner-time approached, still she was left unnoticed and alone. She heard a servant
remark, “The dear rabbis have just come.” There was to be company then. A bell hung
upon the staircase above the room which she generally occupied. The servants had named
it the “Christian’s bell” because it was usual to call Leila by it, whenever her attendance
was required. The Christian’s bell was rung, and with deeply wounded sensibilities, Leila
obediently prepared to obey the summons. As she was descending the stairs, she was met
by her
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cousin—his eyes flashing, and his lips firmly compressed with subdued indignation.
“Leila, “he cried, “this is abominable. I did not know till this moment that they intended
to be so gracious as to let you sit with us; else you should not have been used as you
have. “
“Do not mind me,” replied Leila, and leaning upon his arm, she entered the dining room.
Here she found two rabbis, and several elders, and other Jews, whom she had seen
before, with one or two whom, to the present time, she had never seen. They rose to
receive her with apparent affection, and throughout the dinner-time, maintained towards
her a kind solicitude. All this conspired to give an assurance that another trial awaited
her; and she prayed that if it were so, God would be with and support her.
Dinner was ended; and accompanied by her uncle and aunt, the guests adjourned to
another room. It was intimated that Leila was to follow. Her only friend first called her
aside—”Leila,” said he, “I know what awaits you; but be firm, and seek to keep yourself
composed. God will be with you; I know he will. We are commanded to abstain from
entering the room, but they should not have kept me out, only I dare not trust myself. I
am sensitive, and I know not what consequences might follow if they treated you
uncourteously. I am proud; you are meek and humble, and I believe will do best alone.”
That none of the conversation might be overheard, the door of the room which lay
beyond that one in which they now were, was fastened. Upon the table before them, a
number of the principal books of Jewish
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learning and theology were arranged. Among these were the Talmud, the Targums,
Commentaries, Moreh,* the Hagiographa, &c. Leila had only the Bible, and this she had
not by permission (for they did not know she possessed one), but because she always
carried it with her. Indeed, as soon as they saw her draw it forth on this occasion, it
became a matter of discussion whether it should not be taken from her; and from their
manner it was evident, that had they not intended to first ply her with blandness and
seeming affection, she would not have been allowed to retain it.
* “Moreh,” or “Guide to the Perplexed,” the most celebrated work of Rabbi Moses Ben
Maimon.
One of the rabbis commenced with a long address, setting forth their love for her and her
father; their intense solicitude for her soul; her breach of the commandments by grieving
and disobeying her parent and relatives, &c. He concluded thus: “It is only this feeling of
earnestness for your eternal welfare, which calls us here to-night. We wish, by dispensing
to you our light, to free you from that fatal delusion and snare which is thrown around
you. To this end we proceed orderly: we will patiently listen to all your answers to our
questions, and to every remark you may interject.”
Through a disquisition of seven hours, Leila modestly, but firmly, maintained her
position. How delightful it is to contemplate this youthful Christian (for she was now but
just entered on the twentieth year of her age), reasoning with these eight of her nation
through so many hours; all of them, too, well-skilled in Jewish learning. There she sat,
calm and composed—no friend
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but God and her Bible, no help but her memory—attempting to prove and disprove, as far
as they gave her the opportunity.
Their promised patience and kindness were early exhausted. Each repeated essay to prove
that Jesus is the Messiah, was met by the most intemperate refusals to listen. Most of the
time was occupied in putting to her questions quite irrelevant; in harangues from the
elders and rabbis; and in reading large quotations from their books.
Finding, at length, that her religion was not to be shaken by anything they could say or
do, and confounded by her references to their own Scriptures, the smouldering fires of
their ill-concealed rage burst forth. “God hath done with thee,” exclaimed a rabbi; “He
hath spoken to thee, blaspheming apostate, by the mouth of us his servants for the last
time.”
Leila quoted I Cor. i. 21-24, and then inquired, “Will you, (I will ask no more than
this)—will you permit me to demonstrate to you the fact of Christ’s resurrection from the
dead?”
“I tell you,” said the rabbi, “we have proved to you from our writings, that Jesus of
Nazareth was an impostor and seducer: that the Messiah has not yet come. You have
hardened your heart; we will hear no more.”
“Sir, it is too much to say you have proved it. For the honour of my Divine Master, I must
declare the truth—you have not done so; yourselves know it. You have said nothing
really convincing; you have brought forward no sound evidence: this you must surely
feel, unless you have forgotten the nature of what you have said. My weak self could,
with the help of God, have refuted
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all I have heard to-night against the Messiahship of Jesus.”
“Wilt thou then deny it, young incorrigible? Wilt thou put all present to the lie? Then, on
God’s behalf, I smite thee;” and he struck her upon the cheek.
The other rabbi rose: “Miss T—, I ask you once more, and it is the last time, will you still
believe in Jesus of Nazareth as your Messiah?”
“I do—I will—I ever shall; and I hope soon to be in Heaven with him.”
“Ha!” sneered an elder, and the,same moment he spat in her face. Leila buried it in her
handkerchief.
“Then,” said the rabbi, “I pronounce that your name is cut off from your nation; that it is
blotted from under heaven. Thou hast wilfully forsaken God, and would not hearken to
his reproof, and now he hath forsaken thee; thou art an offence in his sight. I pronounce
thee excommunicated: and every Jew who shall hereafter keep thy company, I pronounce
against him the anathema of Jehovah, our Lawgiver and our King.”
An elder now began to read to her. Leila was terrified—terrified not because she feared
any of the anathemas which related to herself merely, but because some of them
separated her from her father and all her relatives. The following is the substance,—
“Hear thou the curses of the Lord upon all those who break the commands which he gave
to us, his chosen people; and against all those who are disobedient to his law, as
promulgated by our lawgivers and prophets.
“‘Thus saith the Lord, if thou wilt not hearken unto the voice of the Lord thy God, nor to
the voice of his people, to do all the commandments, and tread in all
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the statutes which I have given to thee this day, then all these curses shall come upon thee
and overtake thee.
“‘Cursed shall be all thy substance.
“‘Cursed shall be thy dwelling-place.
“‘Cursed shall be thy going out and thy coming in.
“‘Cursed shall be the fruit of thy body.
“‘The Lord shall smite thee with drought, and fever, and consumption. Thine enemies
shall reign over thee. Thy food shall not satisfy.
“‘All these things, saith the Lord, shall come upon thee, because of the wickedness of thy
doings, whereby thou hast forsaken me.’
“These are the curses of the Lord, even the King of Israel. That they may be averted and
not fall upon thee, we will offer our earnest prayers.
“Further, we pronounce our anathema against thy father, or any of our nation, who shall
come near thee, or have ought to do with thee whatever. To us thou art as though thou
wert never born among us.
“Lastly, we beg of thee, turn and repent. Bewail thy sins, if it be that thou mayst have
pardon for thy manifold wickedness.”
Thus was this affectionate child to be for ever separated from her only parent—that
parent who was her very life-spring. The shock was too severe, and she wept heartily and
convulsively.
“Dost thou repent?” harshly inquired a rabbi.
“Oh, no, no, no! Do not speak to me; your kindness is cruelty.”
A paper was directly set before her to which she was compelled to affix her signature. In
her own artless manner she says: “I was full of terror when they
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forced the pen into my hand, I could scarcely guide it, my hand trembled so much. They
told me to write my name. I do not know how I wrote it; I suppose it was legible, for they
appeared contented. What it was I signed I never knew.”
This done, she was ordered to leave the room. Her uncle spoke to a rabbi in a low,
earnest tone; the rabbi immediately said, “You are permitted, Miss T—, to remain here
three days longer. That time being expired no Jew may receive you into his house. You
must be prevented all opportunity of preaching your views among us; therefore,
according to the command of God, we have cut you off from his people. Do not reflect
upon us; you have placed yourself in this sorrowful position. Your dear father will be
immediately acquainted with our proceedings; and I earnestly hope that yet your eyes
may see the error of your ways.”
It was long past midnight when Leila retired; but it was not to sleep. Closing the door of
her chamber, she bent her knees in prayer for resignation to the divine will; and now as,
perhaps, the dearest ties of consanguinity were severed, that God would be her Father, as
he had promised. Then, being determined that she would not remain at her uncle’s house
another day, she arranged for her departure.
And thus was this last effort of her uncle and the rabbis a signal failure. The cutting-off of
every Jew who forsakes the national faith, is of course nothing more than a proper
fulfilment of Jewish law and usage. But very confidently was it believed that the idea of
being separated from her father and kindred would terrify Leila into a denial of
Christianity. They admitted
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it. They told her father so. Full of this expectation they came together that afternoon; full
of it they began the efforts of the evening. And yet all their laboriously prepared
arguments had been swept away like chaff before the whirlwind, as long as they could
agree to listen. Everything they said was met, and refuted, with the unshaken firmness
and heroic constancy of deep and solemn conviction. And this by a mere child—a child
who had not received a moment’s notice of the ordeal through which she was to pass.
They were enraged. Amidst their insults she had conducted herself with a calm and
majestic dignity. She had heard the law read which separated her from her parent and her
people. Yet she did not exhibit the slightest sign of a wavering intention. On the contrary
she professed her fixed resolution, even in the very extremity of her agony. They were
confounded. They could scarcely believe it.
During this interview Leila was favoured with the especial blessing of her Heavenly
Parent. We have often heard her declare, that she never felt such power and quickness of
thought, either before or after it. It was always her conviction that her tongue was
directed and influenced by the Spirit of God; for the language was not her own, and
appeared to flow without toil or effort. Nor was she for a moment at a loss. Doubtless this
fact, connected with her extreme youthfulness, had much to do with the disgusting
behaviour she experienced from certain of her irritated opposers. In the midst of a
correspondence with Mr. Isaac T— (her cousin before referred to,) we received in May
last, a letter designed to throw additional light on this view of the feeling of her
questioners, and also to exhibit
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Leila’s constancy and decision in the extreme moment of her anguish. He thought we
might make the information available for a new edition. Not clearly seeing how it could
very well be done, we requested, and obtained permission to publish an extract. And here
it is:—
“I cannot tell when I am to bring this awfully long letter to a close, for I have now to tell
you of two incidents, which to the present moment I had never thought of as being
important for you to know, and which I think I should not have remembered now, only
when I came to this part of my beloved cousin’s memoir, it struck me that if you had
known them you would perhaps have taken occasion to introduce them. I waited up that
night until the rabbis, &c., came out of the room. After talking and fasting for so many
hours they seemed both hungry and thirsty, and while zealously employed in appeasing
their appetites they also found time for some very edifying conversation. Being in a very
ugly temper, I pleaded illness, and did not join them at the table; but I took notice of all
they said, and a few sentences I still remember. ‘Well,’ said somebody, ‘of all the bold
and determined opposers of even first principles of religious truth, I never knew one to
equal her to-night. How glibly her tongue runs when she gets into that Nazarene
doctrine.’ ‘Ah!’ answered one of the rabbis, ‘I told you you would not find it so easy to
overturn her. You have not had my experience among the wicked. When the seductions
of that Nazarene doctrine have laid hold upon the mind of the young, it is almost
impossible to recover them. I never knew an instance yet. Ah! the men who propagate
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it little think of the curse which clings to them, and which is yet to take effect. How many
hundreds of our noblest brethren have been sucked down its accursed vortex!’ ‘To hear
such a girl speak so confidently and bear down everything before her, put me out of
patience,’ said another. ‘A good beating would have done her more good than reasoning
with her, and I should like to have given it her.’ ‘Hush!’ said father. It was just in time to
save me from saying something worse, and so bringing myself into trouble.
“The other thing might help to show how decided Leila was to the last. I was conversing
with her on the morning of her departure from our house, and in the midst of it I took
occasion to inquire tenderly how she had resolved, and if her intentions were of such a
kind that she could allow me the delight of assisting her in any way. ‘Well,’ she replied,
‘I think, my dear Isaac, there is nothing now that you can do to assist me. I do not profess
that I have no anxiety. Indeed, I have much anxiety. But I think I can say, that my trust is
simply in Jesus; and that if my beloved father [here her emotion overcame her and for
some time she was silent] should never speak to me again, and, even if he should make
me no allowance of money, (this I do not believe,) I shall not hesitate a moment. Should
my present circumstances result in both these, I shall seek a situation as resident
governess or servant of some kind. And to compensate for my ignorance, I will be
content to have no salary. I have sufficient clothing to last me a very long while—as long
I think, as in that case I shall want any; and I have some money too.…and that, you
know, is a
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large sum, considering the care with which I shall use it.’“
She had determined to leave her uncle’s house, and that at once, but in what a trying strait
she was involved. She had been cast out from among her nation, she had been cut off
from her kindred by the rabbis, but would her father really be guided by their decision?
The many happy years gone by, the sweet and numberless proofs of the high place she
possessed in his affections, all seemed to declare loudly that it was impossible. Whatever
dislike he felt to her profession of Christianity, he would never be able to deny her living
with him. She fixed, however, that she would for the present reside with a Christian
family, who, since her conversion, had been most affectionately intimate with her. They
lived at about two miles from her home. Their eldest daughter, an exceedingly pious
young lady, had ever since the commencement of her acquaintance with Leila been her
confidential friend and correspondent.
Their meeting was affecting to both. “She threw herself upon my neck,” says Miss H—,
“exclaiming, ‘They have dared my dear father to permit me to return home.’ She wept;
and—can it surprise?—I rejoiced to weep too.”
In about a month from the time of her leaving home, symptoms of declining health
became visible. Her constitution, never strong, had, doubtless, received a severe shock
from the accumulated sorrow and anxiety which she had undergone, through separation
from her father and her home. Add to this the coercive regimen and unkindness to which
she was subjected in her uncle’s
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family. But she had become a comparatively unnoticed being; and she was not of a
disposition to complain.
These symptoms increased; and at the time she quitted her uncle’s family, the decay in
her health was very apparent. “I saw,” continues her friend, “that she was quite ill;
indeed, I thought very ill, although, she did not appear to be fully aware of it. I observed
it to her. ‘Well,’ she replied, ‘I am not well, but I should be if I were with my father; it is
absence from him unnerves and depresses me.’“
Having communicated with her father, she received a most affectionate answer. Among
other things he expressed intense indignation at her usage; a noble contempt for the
curses of the rabbis; and desired her to come home to him directly!
This letter produced a sudden revulsion of her whole life’s current, which for a moment
was painfully overpowering. It filled her again with the most brilliant hopes. Evidently
her father had almost—oh! might he not have quite?—burst asunder the trammels of
rabbinical authority. She was scarcely recovered when a carriage, with himself in it, drew
up to the door. He had followed the bearer of the letter. How sweet that moment to both!
But their meeting must be sacred.
And Leila was reinstated in her sweet home—her father kinder than ever—all her books
returned to her—permission to attend her chapel at any time she pleased cheerfully
accorded. She was happy!
Under the tender lavishment of paternal affection, her spirits appeared to recover their
wonted vigour, and a fresh glow of health to course through her veins and
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suffuse her cheek. But it was only the stimulus of old and dearly-cherished enjoyments
which produced this effect. She had begun to droop. Her spirit was ripening for the
everlasting joys of heaven. Soft and peaceful was her decline, for it was soothed by the
presence of her Redeemer.
The first steps of the insidious disease were more than usually guileful. And when at
length it had assumed its undoubted characteristics, her fond father grew restless and
impatient if ever any reference were made to it. “A slight cough—and this was so very
slight—was a thing to which she had always been subject: and the shortness of breath,
and the bright hectic flush upon her cheek, he had noticed before. She would soon be
quite as well as ever she was. However, if it would please the other members of the
family, he would certainly call in the physician. But he himself was quite satisfied that
his services were not required.” The physician said that there was no present cause for
serious apprehension, and he tried to bind up the breaking threads of her life. But all,
except her parent, could see her unworldly thoughtfulness, and her gradually wasting
strength. And then there was a deceitful change, and Leila again walked in the garden and
tended her flowers. She could even sit down to the piano and sing some favourite
movement—but it was always soft and solemn. Her father rejoiced, for they said she
would soon be well again. But on Leila’s own heart there rested a sweet assurance, that
she was going to the bosom of her Redeemer.
It was a calm golden evening—one of those lovely sunsets toward the close of summer
when earth and sky
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seem to mingle into one blaze of glory, and all nature is hushed in profound adoration. In
a bower formed of jessamines and bright roses sat Leila gazing into the profound depths
of the fiery splendours, her heart throbbing with impulsive delight. Her thoughts were
afar, and she seemed to have forgotten that any one beside herself was present. She began
slowly and calmly, and in tones so soft and deep as made it seem an inspiration—
“I saw no temple therein, for the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb are the temple of it.
The city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon to shine in it; for the glory of God
did lighten it, and the Lamb is the light thereof.”
And then a soft brightness passed across her face like a shadow from the wing of an
angelic spirit; and she continued, “I am going to behold that glory.”
It was strange. For she seemed to be regaining her strength, and to be progressing
towards health. But the words fell on the heart of one who sat near her with all the
certainty of a prophesy. Accepted by her father, he loved Leila, and was beloved in
return. And he looked at her white bands and noticed that they were getting longer and
thinner, and that her skin was becoming more and more clear and transparent. The
shadowy veil of time which hung between her sight and her Saviour was fast dissolving;
and even now, that thoughtful eye appeared lit up with an immortal fire. Why did he not
observe all this before?
That young saint was passing away in the midst of all the brightness which a promised
future of love and peace could bestow. But she felt no regret for all she
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was leaving—nothing except an absorbing desire to see the salvation of her parent and
relatives. She knew—the feeling was an all pervading reality—that she was going to a
better home, where every love and beauty is enjoyed in perfection and for ever. And she
longed to fly away and be there.
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CHAPTER XIII.
EVANISHINGS.
”She pleads,
With angel tongue and mild beseeching eye.
Her heart
Rejoiced to die, for happy visions blessed
Her voyage’s last days, and hovering round,
Alighted on her soul, giving presage
That heaven was nigh. Oh, what a burst
Of rapture from her lips! what tears of joy
Her heavenward eye suffused!”
IT is a sweet employment to honour the memory of those once dear to us in this life, but
whose face we can now behold no more. To trace the bright track which marks their
earthly course: to view them in the chamber of death, see their last triumphant smile, and
hear their latest prayer; and when at last the final victory is completed, to watch their
flight to those realms of blessedness where no sigh can ever breathe, to interrupt the
harmony of the skies, no pain disturb the repose of the inhabitants.
Thrice hallowed be the memory of the friends who are dead, thrice hallowed be the
fondly cherished image of departed love. Come to us, ye gentle daughters, who mourn
the loss of a tender father, or a fond, devoted mother;—come to us, thou heart-stricken
husband, who weepest the loss of a beloved wife; and come, too, thou inconsolable
mother, whose dearest offspring has
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drooped away in the cold embrace of death; oh! come and join us, and our tears shall
mingle in holy affection for the absent ones, and in spirit we will seek the consecrated
remembrances in which these beloved objects repose.
We are not separated eternally. They may not return to us, but we shall go to them. What
consolation in the thought! What a holy calm does it diffuse over the spirit! What bliss
will it be to rejoin them in “the better land,” full of the joy-inspiring conviction that we
shall part no more!
Even so, beloved spirits! early have ye left us to be for ever with the Lord. But we shall
follow you into his blessed home. We will not weep for you as lost. Your forms are often
shadowed to us, and we hear you singing sweetly in our dreams. Resting with a firm
reliance on the merits of our Redeemer, Jesus, we know we shall soon awake to rejoin
you. Even now you seem to invite us to share with you the society of angels, while you
breathe in soft whisperings that we are hastening to you again.
Eternal Father! Fountain of goodness! we praise and adore the love with which thou doest
all things. We cease our dishonourable sorrow: “The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken
away, blessed be the name of the Lord.” “Praise the Lord, let us praise the Lord, and
speak good of his name.” With tender affection we will recall scenes passed with those
who have been called away—scenes which can return no more. Our tears, the simple
offerings of unaffected love, shall testify the emotion of our hearts. And, is it even so,
that they who were so dear to us are asleep in the tomb?
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Yet by them our sighs are not unheard; nor do our tears fall unheeded.
The illusive hopes of Leila’s lengthened stay on earth were passing away. During the
buoyancy of these treacherous weeks, she occupied much of her time in writing. Her
heart yearned with a sad and thoughtful tenderness towards her nation. The guilt they
were contracting, and the happiness they were losing, while denying their Messiah, lay
like an icy weight upon her soul; and she cherished fervent longings to do something for
them. Most of all was she concerned for her father and her kindred. And as she felt the
film of life grow thinner and thinner, the deep workings of her spirit on their behalf
became more and more powerful still. Warm-hearted and thoughtful she had always
been, but there was a strange loveliness and maturity about her now. Often would she
seek her parent, and with her head resting on his bosom, and her arms entwining his neck,
whisper to him of the unutterable joys she felt in the love of Jesus, and the bright home to
which she knew she was going. It pained him excessively; for his child seemed all that he
possessed. He had cherished her with all a tender parent’s lavish fondness: and she had
repaid his affection by expanding into life very beautifully and with ever-increasing
loveliness. He felt it impossible that he could consent to her passing away. He shuddered
to hear her speak of dying. And while in tones full of deep paternal feeling he begged her
not to say anything about leaving him, he would answer evasively respecting his belief in
Jesus.
The afternoon had declined into the golden brilliance
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of sunset: and this again was decaying into the soft shadows of twilight. Leila had been
conversing with her parent on themes connected with Christianity, while her eyes,
unnaturally bright with the slow fever that was burning in her veins, gave a wondrous fire
and energy to all that she was saying.
“Papa, dear!” and laying her burning hand on his, she tenderly kissed his pale cheek, “I
do love you so—oh! inexpressibly. I think about you a great deal; for you are always in
my heart. God is going to take me to heaven: I wish I could take you with me. But you
will soon follow me. Yes, dear papa, and I will come to meet you!
Perhaps—perhaps—papa,—Jesus will allow me to wait by your bedside as you are dying.
He may—and I will kiss you—and comfort you—and—papa—” Leila’s voice wandered
dreamily. It was plain that her thoughts had fled far from earth, and joined the hymning
circles of bright spirits in heaven.
“Leila, my darling child, I cannot hear you talk in that way—do cease!” said her father,
in a dry, hard cadence.
“O, papa,” said Leila, “it pains me more than I can express to hear you speak so. Why
cannot you be happy and trusting like me? Why do you not give yourself up to God, and
come to heaven with me? Mortality is the lot of man. Nothing is more usual, nothing
more common on earth than separation. I know it is very severe for you to give me up to
die. I feel immeasurably on this account, and sometimes it almost tempts me to wish to
remain with you; for it makes me very sad when I think on what you are suffering. I used
to imagine how dreadful it would be if you
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were to die and leave me behind; but then, papa, you know, I was young, and might have
thought that, perhaps, I should live many years. Now, you are sure you will not be long
separated from me. The hour may indeed be very near when your earthly existence must
close. Excessive grief, while it may displease God, will render your life wretched, and
unfit you to serve him as he commands you: and it cannot keep me with you, nor yet
recall me when I am dead. Jesus is sorry to see you so unhappy at losing me, but I am his,
papa; and he must take me. Don’t sorrow any more for me; this is one of those things
which he left his Father’s house to conquer. He would comfort you and make you quite
happy, if you would allow him. He waits, he expresses his wish to cheer you graciously
in your affliction, and bring us again to meet in himself at last, and to share with each
other the joys of his kingdom. Will you not open your heart to him? You are so noble, so
loving, so excellent in everything, papa, that I am sure you are not far from the kingdom
of God. Jesus loves you: do, dear, come to him, pray to him, and you will soon feel that
he loves you.”
Her father’s earnest eye, and tightly pressed lips, seemed to speak of a mighty effort to
subdue emotions that were passing in his mind. His countenance relaxed, and he said, in a
mingled but melancholy voice, “If I could only have your simple and realizing
confidence in God—it’s of no use to think of it—I cannot be resigned.”
“Papa,” answered Leila, “it grieves me, it makes me sad—very sad. It is the omnipotence
which Jesus exercises on my behalf, that reconciles me to the thought
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of leaving you, papa; and if you would only ask him, he is ready to give you the same
peaceful, happy trust. Then will a sweet serenity come over your soul, and you will have
an experimental assurance that all he does is in love. He will always give you what is best
for your temporal peace, and eternal happiness. I have often found, papa, on examining
my heart, when it seemed to me I had cause to be sorrowful, that the real evil was my
being weakly, perhaps sinfully disposed, and therefore I had no just cause to repine.…O,
my dear papa, come to Jesus—now, will you? I am dying. I shall not be here to talk to
you of him much longer; let us kneel together before him. He is God—indeed, indeed he
is: I feel it every moment. His Spirit will sanctify, and bless, and save you, and crown
your head with everlasting joys.”
“Leila, I shall see you again. Pray that I may take comfort from that thought.”
“Then, papa, you are a Christian?”
“Are there none besides Christians in heaven?”
“No, sweet papa, none but those who come to God through Jesus, and who love him
better than all else, can be admitted into heaven.”
“But, my dear, I love God with all my heart, I hope—at least I try to.”
“And he loves you for that, papa. But he cannot receive you into heaven if you do not
also love the Son whom he hath sent. He cannot pardon you, if you deny Jesus. It is to
Christ that we owe the blessing of calling Jehovah our Father, and of seeking from his
unutterable love, the blissful recompense for earthly sorrow in a joyous immortality. Oh,
papa, do love
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Jesus and come to heaven. All is so happy in heaven. All is so
peaceful,—loving,—beautiful, in heaven. I long to be there.” And Leila spoke in a voice
of still assurance which she often used unconsciously—a voice as though the veil which
separates the present from eternity, were drawn aside, and her eyes were looking upon its
glory.
There was a solemn silence; and Leila’s father drew her fragile form still closer to his
bosom.
“Papa,” said Leila, after a while, “you have no confidonce in Judaism, I think I may be
certain of that. Have you now?”
“I have none in its present forms of presenting worship to Jehovah. We have got wrong
somehow.”
“Well, now?” said Leila, in a tone which expressed that she wanted to know what he did
confide in.
“God, my dear, is a Being all love and mercy. He ‘willeth not the death of a sinner.’ And
seeing that, perhaps, none of us have learned his appointed way of worship, I believe that
in the overflowings of his love and mercy, he will pardon us. I am more charitable, Leila,
than I was when you got me to investigate the Jewish belief. I think that every pious Jew
who clings to his Bible and that only, and who loves God with all his heart, and every
pious Christian who does likewise may thus be saved.”
“O, papa,” said Leila, in a voice of deep concern, “I would rather hear you say that you
are still as ever, a strict believer in the religion of our people. This is really a very
dangerous view which you take. It quite alarms me; for it may lull your soul into a false
peace. God hath said, ‘The soul that sinneth it shall die.’
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What gift can you bring to purchase your forfeited life, papa? It is impossible to do away
with the necessity of an atonement. God is love. But he would cease to be God, if he
allowed himself to forgive sin, in the way you have supposed; for we cannot imagine a
perfect being who is not inflexibly just. This the Scriptures everywhere assure us God is.
Therefore, though of his love and merey, he might earnestly desire to pardon the
transgressor, he cannot do so unless there are some means of satisfying his justice. And,
papa, I don’t want you to tell me, for I know that you believe, you are not able to do this
for yourself. But God the Son has performed the work which you could never have done.
Oh! dear papa, is he not altogether lovely? can you help loving him? He loved you, and
took upon himself the awful task of satisfying his Father’s justice, therefore his name
shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince
of Peace. There is no salvation, no joy on earth, no heaven, except through his mediation.
Oh, papa, if—if I could only hear you say that you believed this precious truth—”
That loving voice was silent. Leila, wearied and oppressed, leaned on her father’s bosom,
like a tired dove nestling in the parent’s breast. The deep cloud-shadows enshrouded the
apartment with a solemn hue.
Leila’s appeal sunk into the depths of her father’s heart. He spoke of it after she was
dead. He saw no more the bright imploring eyes, but the yearning voice still sounded in
his soul like a spirit-echo,—”The soul that sinneth, it shall die.” That he was a sinner he
knew; and with a vividness which made him shudder,
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he saw himself a naked spirit standing before a just and holy God. He had no conviction
of his favour, such as his beloved child possessed. He acknowledged to himself, that
though he strove to love him he could find little comfort in his service. And then he
thought of the seraphic happiness and love which his daughter enjoyed, and from his
heart gushed a passionate wish that in everything he could be like her.
A conflict of passion followed. “God is just,” he thought. “The soul that sinneth it shall
die.” Between this sentence and salvation he saw an awful gulf fixed. How was it to be
passed? He did not look to Jesus, for then it would have vanished. “She is right,” he again
thought, “I feel she must be right. Can all this beautiful faith and this yearning love be a
fiction—an empty imagination? Can this deep, prophetic certainty of immortal happiness
be after all a bubble? It is impossible that anything so lasting and equal should not depend
on some source more powerful than the excitement of mere human feeling. Such an
influence could never result from a foolish belief in the divine power of a mere man. But
how is the truth to be found out? Who can be sure of anything, where everything is so
uncertain? He was lost in a wilderness of conjecture and unbelief, and consequent
unhappiness.
“Papa!” said Leila in a tremulous voice, and she began to weep: “kiss me, dear.”
“Never mind, Leila. Don’t distress yourself. I am not worth half so much anxiety as I
cause you. I am sorry you think of me so much. Think less about me: it will all be right at
last.”
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“But, papa, you are not a Christian. O, papa, think—suppose now—suppose—” for a
moment her emotion overpowered her—”suppose you should die not being a Christian.
O! it is dreadful to think of! The thought, papa, that there is indeed a possibility that I am
about to leave you for ever, is too horrible for me to bear.”
“Well, my dear, we shall see. I will talk to you another time: I fear the effect of this
excitement upon you. Do allow yourself to repose.”
“Papa, I shall be with you only a little time longer. I want to talk to you about Jesus. No
excitement hurts me so much as your present state; and all this afternoon you have been
so wishful to listen to me. It is indeed very kind of you, dear papa: and I thank you. But
there is one thing which you always excuse me from doing—I mean, reading to you from
his word. Do be willing I should read the New Testament now.”
“I will gladly hear you read anything you desire. But I had rather you would wait for
some other opportunity. You are very tired. Be quiet now. You shall read to me, my love,
to-morrow.”
“Indeed, I am not too tired to read of the precious love of our Redeemer, my dearest
father,” answered Leila, with so high, so sublime an expression of joy upon her
countenance as could never be depicted in language. And she proceeded to open her
Bible: it was ever at hand.
With the fineness of soul and tender sensibility of an ardent lover of the pure and
beautiful, and a quick poetic fancy, she was one of the most touching readers of Scripture
whom we ever heard. Her faith so vividly apprehended whatever she was reading, that it
seemed to
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become a reality; and this, joined to her sweet pathos and her tenderness of feeling, gave
a strange influence and attractiveness to her diction. And beside this, the nearness to
eternity, which now was her always present feeling, surrounded every thing she said and
did with an ever-increasing loveliness. She read first the 53d of Isaiah. Then turning to
the Gospel by St. John she read the 14th, 15th, as far as the 16th verse, and the 17th.
These finished, she turned to the account of the Redeemer’s wondrous love and agony as
recorded by St. Luke. She opened the 22d chapter, read first the 37th verse, then from the
39th verse to the end; and on to the 48th verse of chapter 23d. It was a hallowed exercise.
According to the condition of her emotion, she addressed comments, &c., to her father,
who sat evidently deeply affected. He was very uneasy; constantly shaded his eyes with
his hand; and strove earnestly to wrestle down whatever it was he felt.
“O my dear, dear papa,” said Leila, earnestly, and with swimming eyes, as soon as she
had finished, “can you now resist such infinite love as Jesus has displayed any longer?”
Her father made no reply.
“Papa, do believe me, there is no happiness so great, so pure as that which flows from an
experimental acquaintance with the love of Christ. Will you pray to him—now, papa?”
“What’s the use, my beloved child, if I can’t believe upon him?”
“Well, sweet papa, kneel with me; and we will pray to him till he gives you faith. He will
hear you and answer you, if you can only address to him the language,
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‘Lord, I believe; help thou my unbelief.’ O! he is so good—so lovely. Will you, papa?”
and taking his hand, she tenderly kissed him.
“Speak to me another time, Leila. Don’t say any more now.” And he seated himself
before the piano—a very useless mode of trying to drown the voice of an awakened
conscience.
With a silent prayer that God would deepen the impression evidently made, Leila listened
to him as he played one of her favourite pieces,
“There’s a land where those who loved when here,
Shall meet to love again.”—Song of the Troubadour.
As Leila’s father has been so often brought before our readers, and will be yet again, we
are inclined to suppose they would like a brief introduction to him.
Imagine a dignified, delicate-looking man, in appearance of about fifty years of age, with
a high clear forehead, pensive eyes, and hair which time has here and there lightly
streaked with silvery gray. His features are exceedingly mild and prepossessing; it is
scarcely possible for the dullest and most careless to look upon them without an emotion
of pleasure, for they seem at once to gain our confidence that he has a kind and feeling
heart. All his movements partake of the calmness and peace which reign everywhere
within his bosom.
He was one of a family of three—two brothers and a sister. His sister and he, being very
similar in taste, disposition, &c., became much more deeply attached than is at all usual,
even in such a relation; but before she had attained eighteen years of age his fondly
cherished companion was separated from him by death.
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This, added to the complete mental unlikeness between himself and his brother, greatly
contributed to form that disposition to tender pensiveness which ever after was a
distinguishing feature in his character.
From his mother he had inherited a delicate constitution, and a certain fineness of nature,
which seemed rather to belong to the softer organization of woman, than the usual
coarseness of man. His intellectual capacities were of a superior order, his taste refined,
and there was always about him a yearning after the ideal, which resulted as it commonly
does, in a supreme dislike for all the matter-of-fact occupations of life. In business, he
thought he never could, and, as it was not necessary, he never did engage.
Nothing could be more opposite than his brother. Masculine and energetic, there was an
aspect of rocky decision in everything he said and did. Yet he was kind, even tender; but
inexorable in what he thought a duty, there was a sort of grimness, an unmistakable want
of right feeling in many of his results. A powerful thinker within certain limits, he was
just fitted to be what we have seen him, stern and unbending in his religious opinions. He
had been taught that Judaism was right; he had no doubt that it was right; indeed he felt it
must be; and that was enough.
When about twenty-five years of age, Leila’s father married from among his own people
a lady two years his junior. This lady was a woman of great purity and sweetness of
character; “a very, very woman,” says he, who was best qualified to judge—her husband.
As the marriage contract was in both based upon the highest esteem and deepest
affection, he entered into its spirit
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with all the ardour of his sensitive nature, and their home was the centre of “far more than
the ordinary amount of conjugal happiness.” And when in three years after their union his
wife became the mother of a lovely daughter, it seemed as if their domestic joys could
not possibly be increased.
But these structures so fair and beautiful seldom last. They are too bright, too spiritual to
exist amidst these cold and stormy scenes of earth. In two years from the birth of his
daughter, he was called to the bed-side of the wife of his bosom, to receive her last
embrace, hear her last sigh, and then to find her gone for ever!* Alas, poor heart-stricken,
consoled by no bright certainty of a meeting in the “better land,” for his religion gave but
fragile hope that he should see her again hereafter. To be sure he felt a sort of hope, but it
brought little comfort. There was no undisturbed confidence, no sweet assurance, such as
the Christian possesses: nothing but an indistinct and shadowy trust that the divine mercy
would be extended to him, although he knew not why.
* Leila had great hope in her mother’s death. We know this from some beautiful
reflections among her papers: we have also heard her express it in her conversation. A
woman of sound understanding, and great strength of mind, the Bible was her constant
study and delight. From the prophecies of Jacob, Moses, David, and Isaiah, she moulded
her belief in the Messiah whom she expected—a belief so exactly agreeing with the
office of the real Messiah, that had she read the New Testament, she would doubtless
have become a Christian. The only difference which existed between her religion and
Christianity was simply that she still continued to look forward for the establishment of
the new covenant; while we as Christians of course believe that it has already bees
established in the person of Jesus of Nazareth.
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O hard religion! Unlike—how unlike—that generous, loving trust which the Lord of
Glory delights to receive from his creatures—that blessed relationship into which he
waits to enter with all those who believe upon him, as he has revealed himself in his
written word. Sons of Abraham! Our friends and brethren! Our hearts yearn toward you,
our spirits are troubled for you, when we reflect upon the doubtings, the chilling
misgivings, the substantial unhappiness, which your religion must always entail upon
you. Will you not bring your worn and anguished souls to Jesus, that he may fill them
with everlasting peace and joy, out of the riches of his self-denying, suffering love? Raise
your weeping eyes to the Man of sorrows, in whose loving breast is borne the grief and
sadness of a world.
A deep melancholy now settled around Mr. T. He saw nothing, felt nothing, cared for
nothing: He wished that himself and his infant might die. But as the fair and flowerlike
nature of his daughter began to expand itself, and put forth its buds so full of loveliness
and promise, he felt once more awakened to tenderness. He had called her Leila
Ada—her mother’s name—and as she began to unfold herself in her mother’s image, and
to exhibit all the fanciful graces and sweet beauty of childhood, she imperceptibly filled
up the great chasm which had been made in his heart. Sometimes past things would
present themselves vividly before him, and fill his soul with sadness; but he ever found
the company of his child an effective diversion. Hours on hours would he amuse himself
in pelting her with flowers among the garden walks, and twining wreaths
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of rose and jessamine in her hair; or sometimes he guided her fragile fingers along the
keys of the piano, and taught her to play and sing some simple piece which, in long gone
times, he had so loved to hear performed by her mother. Rich was the solace of these
chosen moments. Perhaps the bereaved parent whose eye is now bent upon this page, can
feel how sweet their blessing—they seemed to bring him near to her, his loved one,
called away.
Leila grew up with exceeding sweetness; and soon her earnest and loving nature threw
out its tendrils and completely entwined itself around her parent. Leila thought only of
him; he was her world; and she was constantly engaged in devising new plans to increase
his pleasures.
Never perhaps were the parental and filial relations more affectionately sustained than
between Leila and her father. All his interests, all his hopes, all his joys, had
unconsciously entwined themselves with those of his child. For her he lived; with
reference to her benefit he had always managed his property; to advance her happiness, in
the largest possible degree, was the height of his ambition, and the expected result of all
his plans.
But we think we hear our young reader whisper, “Ah, then, why did he so obstinately
persist in sending her away, when she became a Christian?” We are obliged to own, that
in this matter he was painfully at fault. It was an act which, at the time, he felt to be a
terrible sacrifice; and which afterwards cost him many repentant tears. Yet we must
remind our readers that though his commands respecting Leila were certainly
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unkind, and greatly to be wondered at, yet he had no idea that she was subjected to
neglect and insult, in addition to these. When he knew this, there was a sort of grandeur
in the turn his conduct took, and the indignation he expressed. He immediately avowed to
the parties concerned, that in the insults which Leila had endured, he felt himself to be
more deeply dishonoured than the child; and afterwards, when they had offered the best
explanation they could give, he warmly, and in a tone of bitter sarcasm, expressed a wish
that they would pronounce the same anathema against himself, for he would never enter a
synagogue, nor have a Jew (excepting his own family) in his house again.
Then let it be also remembered that Mr. T. was at heart a Jew. Though he could not at all
prevail upon himself to believe in the use of a great many of the observances appointed
by the Judaic ritual, his spirit was essentially Jewish. He saw that the national religion
was surrounded by great inconsistencies, and that, to a thoughtful mind, there were
difficulties connected with it which seemed almost insurmountable; but after all, he
believed it was the right one, and that there was no other by which men could be saved.
Therefore, to use his own language, “The thought of my daughter’s forsaking it, filled
me, from my very love for her, with a perfect horror.”
And now he saw his cherished offspring, in whose life his own was bound up, gradually
pining away. It made him feverish, restless, even peevish. There was a deep
thoughtfulness too about him; for he saw his child’s happiness and love, and felt no doubt
that she was going to eternal bliss. Sometimes he found it impossible
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to resist the soothing influences of her unruffled serenity and peace; and then a deep
calmness was spread over him, hushing his tumultuous spirit into sweet repose. Not that
he was any more resigned to give Leila up to die—that he never could be—it was a
strange comfort that insensibly filled up his heart.
* * * * * *
Her strength was fading away—slowly and beautifully as the last lingering flowers droop
amidst the softened breathings of autumn. There could no longer be any doubt of the
result: hope forsook all—even her father. Sometimes she could almost indulge a wish to
live, that if possible she might do something to bless her nation, and make them feel
rightly; for their melancholy condition had sunk into the depths of her earnest heart. She
laboured with her pen in their behalf, up to the latest moment that her strength would
permit. She sent long, and fervent, and affectionate letters to all her near
relatives—writing out, and addressing a separate one to each member of their respective
families. Some of these pure breathings of a soul already very nearly passed within the
veil of eternity, we have now upon our table. One of them (it is nearly the last letter
which she ever wrote), we cannot read without being touched even more deeply than by
any of the others. The language is exquisitely beautiful. It is the earnest expression of a
soul all love, conscious that it was soon to pass away into its immortal rest. On the day
upon which the closing passages were added to it, she seemed very capable of the effort
of writing, and therefore she continued it much longer than was at all usual with her now.
At last, quite tired, she reclined
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herself upon the sofa. She had given her whole heart to what she had been writing, and
the enthusiasm of her spirit had kindled her countenance, till it was radiant with feeling,
and her eyes glistened bright through her tears.
“I am writing to cousin Mary,” she said to a friend who was present, “I have most
sanguine hope of that dear girl. She is generally impressed in favour of the Christian
religion; indeed, I am inclined to suppose that she quite believes that Jesus is the Holy
One of God; yet she does not decide. Her resolution is, I think, much weaker than her
judgment. I have urged her as well as I am able. It overcomes me to think that this will
probably be the last letter I shall ever write to her. Come and see what I have said; and
help me to persuade her.”
The letter was finished; she laid down her pen from directing it, and then, clasping her
hands, said:—
“O, my poor suffering people! They weigh so heavily on my heart. I love them. Could I
only make them understand the love and peace which the servant of Jesus feels, they
would come to Christ—I am sure of it. It is dreadful to think how they harden their hearts
against him. If I had lived, I was resolved to devote everything I had, to trying to do them
good. My Saviour can do without me; and so he takes me away. But you will continue to
love them for me, will you not?” she added with a sweet simplicity.
A domestic.. was called. “Grace dear,” said Leila, “let me depend upon you to see that
this letter is posted in good time; may I?”
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She had left the room. “That sweet girl is a Christian!” said Leila, her pure face radiant
with delight.
“A Jewess by birth, is she not?”
“Yes: I am so thankful. I was conversing with her two days ago, and she told me that she
loved the Lord Jesus with all her heart; and that she was always praying to him for more
strength and peace; and also that if she died at any moment she was sure he would
receive her soul. May the Lord Jehovah preserve her, and give her the strength for which
she prays,” continued Leila with deep feeling. And for a few moments she was silent, and
leaned her head in her hand. She was doubtless engaged in prayer.
“The dear creature was willing to be baptized if I had lived, she said. Should she do so,
her parents, and brothers, and sisters would see her face no more. She has been rather
seriously seized with paralysis once; and she always thinks she will be a second time. I
spoke to papa about her; and he told me that as long as he lives, she shall have a home
with him, and that in the event of his dying, he will do something to keep her in comfort.
I gladly told her this; and, if she would come now, while I have strength enough, I offered
to arrange for her baptism, and accompany her myself: but she shrinks from the
consequences which may happen to her. O! that Jesus may help her to burst the
difficulties, and put her unwavering trust in him.”
Leila closed her desk, and went to repose on the lounge. It was by a window, from which
she could look down upon the long garden. The summer was declining now: but the
flowers of the season were still blooming
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in all their gorgeous beauty. Leila bent her eyes upon the lovely scene. An enthusiastic
admirer of the beautiful and good she had always been, but she looked now with the
thoughtful, understanding gaze of a soul which felt the first impulsive throbbings of its
ininiortality.
“Immortality is dawning upon me,” she said, smiling brightly. “God is going to take me
to that home for which I have long panted. I am happy—very, very happy. It is, indeed,
sweet to die when we know that we are accepted and loved by Jesus. I often meditate on
that beautiful and majestic truth, ‘God is love,’ till I seem almost to realize the
employments of the spirits in celestial bliss. Do you not find it a precious happiness, to
think that we are to be the inhabitants of a world in which there is nothing—oh! nothing
but LOVE? I shall soon be in that sweet place for ever and ever. My Redeemer assures
me every moment that he loves me, that I am altogether his, and that he is going to take
me to himself.”
“You are so peaceful and happy, and have so much of holy joy, that it makes us feel quite
in love with dying if we might feel like you.”
She smiled sweetly. “It is Jesus makes me happy. He is present with me as he promised
to be. He fills me with love; I have no sort of doubt or fear, and he will soon come for
you too. Oh! you love him and that is a great joy to me. Try to love him more, much
more. Be patient a very little longer. Oh! how immense is the rapidity with which time
flies. Heaven is very near—constantly look for it. Always aspire after enlarged holiness.
Constantly struggle to be
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great in the knowledge of God. Sit perfectly loose to earthly things. Then you will be
always ready. It may not be long before the messenger will come to release you.”
I asked, “Do you ever feel any shrinking at the thought of dying? Though to ask such a
question is very formal after what you have so often said; for I am almost sure you never
do.”
“I have no care about it,” she replied, “I never think of it except as a joyful event, which
will loose my soul from earthly bonds. Often, when I contemplate the certainty of its near
approach I feel—oh! enraptured—beyond what language can express.
“Continue to visit papa often. He is very nearly decided to be a Christian. Neither forget
dear Grace. Impress upon her the necessity of avowing Christ before every one. You
know,” she added, in an easy, cheerful voice, “our commands are to preach the Gospel to
the Jew first. You have a fine opportunity here.
“How earnestly the Jews are looking for the coming of the Messiah. They sink into my
heart. Poor, dear people, almost exhausted with longing expectation, heaven is offering
them happiness, but they refuse to accept it…In order to the success of all Christian
efforts made among us, it is quite necessary that there be a considerable share of the
heavenly essence, love, mixed with the argument; and the more there is of it, the more
probable it is that the end contemplated will be attained. A Jew cannot often be gained by
a mere cold controversy. Perhaps this is a strange kind of fact—but it is one, nevertheless.
Nothing is so effectual with us as Christian solicitude and love.
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“When I was at uncle’s I prevailed upon cousin Isaac to take me one sabbath-day to a
Christian place of worship. I knew that in heart he was then a disciple of Jesus. Gay and
mirthful as is his disposition, I didn’t think he intended when he got there, to advertise
himself as a Jew. He drew forth his Hebrew Bible, laid a part of the synagogue service
conspicuously on the ledge before us, and refused to accept a side of my hymnbook.
Some excellent friend noticed it, and conveyed the information to the minister. After the
service he came to us, and kindly inquired if we would oblige him by a little conversation
in the vestry. This was just what Isaac wanted; and we went. You can easily suppose
what the minister’s object was. He had not said much before we observed his impression
that in myself he was addressing a disaffected Jewess, in cousin a perverse Jew. He said a
few very affectionate words to me, and then he turned all his force upon Isaac, who had
already desired me to say nothing which would prevent things from taking their course,
for he wanted the argument. An exceedingly valuable discussion followed; one which did
us both much good. Yet I thought, there was a sad omission. There was so very little of
that winning tenderness which always excites high and noble sympathy. The kind
minister seemed almost as quiet and unimpassioned as though he were about to
demonstrate a problem of Euclid. Very little of a melting or subduing character was
expressed. Instead of using solvents to the rock, he took up the hammer to crush it in
pieces.…The Jewish heart is very peculiar soil, and needs therefore peculiar treatment, if
it is to be productive of good fruit.
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How dignified, how exalted is the Christian, even in this world. His eyes fixed on
immortality, he seems, like Enoch, to walk with God, and calmly smiles at all the shocks
of time. But never does religion appear with such dazzling majesty as in the closing hours
of the Christian’s life. Then its glorious beauty is indeed sublime.
The moments, the hours were flying quickly away. A sad and solemn stillness reigned
everywhere within the house, and mute sorrow was depicted on every countenance; for
Leila was declining rapidly. Her cheek daily became brighter: seldom and more seldom
was her light step heard among the rooms, and oftener was she found reposing on the
sofa with her Bible open before her—her thin fingers separating the leaves. Or sometimes
she would for a long time he with her head resting on her hand, her eyes looking into the
cerulean skies. But her thoughts were not among them: they had taken wing far above the
earthly prison-house, and were wandering on the peaceful shores of the paradise of God.
Happy smiles passed across her face like a sunbeam glancing amidst summer leaves: and
sometimes on that countenance there rested an expression so unearthly, as to make it
seem like the beamings of immortal light.
O death! where is thy sting? O grave! where is thy victory? Leila’s fading away was calm
and very beautiful. If this were death, why was he ever dreaded by the child of God?
Leila rejoiced to see him. She smiled on him lovingly, and hailed him as a friend for
whose coming she had long yearned. Nor was it death.
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It was merely “the shadow of death.” The substance had been endured for Leila by her
Saviour. She knew it, and her soul blessed him for the victory.
It was a mild, golden afternoon. She was getting very near the immortal rest now, and
was reclining, with her little Bible open in her hand at the closing chapters of the
Revelations.
“I never before felt the wondrous sublimity of this imagery and language as I have this
afternoon,” and she read in a slow and gentle tone:
“And he showed me a pure river of water of life, clear as crystal, proceeding out of the
throne of God and of the Lamb. In the midst of the street of it, and on either side of the
river, was there the tree of life, which bare twelve manner of fruits, and yielded her fruit
every month; and the leaves of the tree were for the healing of the nations. And there
shall be no more curse: but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in it; and his
servants shall serve him. And they shall see his face, and his name shall be in their
foreheads. And there shall be no night there; and they need no candle, neither light of the
sun; for the Lord God giveth them light; and they shall reign for ever and ever. And he
said unto me, These sayings are faithful and true; and the Lord God of the holy prophets
sent his angel to show unto his servants the things which must shortly be done. Behold I
come quickly; blessed is he that keepeth the sayings of the prophesy of this book.”
She stopped, and seemed absorbed in her own thoughts. She was going to that glory—she
stood on
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its verge. Oh, what a glorious hope is ours!” she said to her friend who was present.
“Come, let us pray once more together. O, for immortal powers to exalt the name of
Jesus!” And Leila prayed. It was a moment which seemed to bring heaven very near to
earth.
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CHAPTER XIV.
“WE ALL DO FADE AS A LEAF.”
“The path of the just is as the shining light, which shineth more and more unto the perfect
day.”—Prov. iv. 18.
OUR readers will expect a detailed account of Leila’s illness and dying hours. We have
already adverted to the close union which subsisted between her and Miss H—. At
Leila’s request this young lady went to reside with her during the whole of her illness. It
was a beautiful companionship: and was to both an abundant source of the purest
enjoyment. Nor were they separated long. For in a few months after Leila’s death her
lovely friend joined her in the praises of the skies.
As Miss H— was constantly with Leila, we thought an account written by her would be
much more lucid and acceptable than a fragmentary one by ourselves. She readily
acceded to the desire we expressed; and by the aid of the copious entries which she had
made in her journal, furnished us with the following touching portraiture of the closing
weeks of Leila’s life.
“For some weeks previous to the death of my dear friend, the late Miss T—, her piety
assumed a rich maturity and mellowness. She was evidently ripening for glory. All her
reflections were made subservient to her spiritual prosperity; and to all eternity I shall
have reason to bless God, that it was my privilege to listen to her deeply pious and
sensible remarks.
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“One evening we were seated beneath the shadow of a large chestnut tree, which grew
upon the lawn. in the midst of a very interesting conversation she remarked, ‘I have often
sat upon this seat and watched the long shadows of evening quietly descending upon the
trees, and fields, and flowers. And as the shades have deepened in the blue air, I have
watched the beautiful stars, as one by one they pushed aside their veils. This I have
continued, until dewy night has completely spread her rich mantle, in imagination
looking as though it were thickly studded with intense but soft brilliants, diamonds, and
pearls, and gold. At such seasons the profound beauty and the solemn stillness have
found their way to my inmost soul, and my spirit, surrounded as it was by a darkness
greater than that of night, yearned for the food by which alone it could be sustained. But
since the glorious beams of the Sun of Righteousness have vivified my soul, what
happiness have I here experienced! Then, when I could view the starry hosts as the
creation of my Father’s hand—when I thought on their amazing distances, and velocities,
and their numbers, which not even the first archangel can count—when I reflected on the
love of their Creator, my Saviour, so great that he could lay aside his majesty and his
grandeur, and suffer for me the cruel death of the cross—then, I have felt sublimely
happy. These, my dear Emily, have been very delicious seasons of my existence.’ She
mused for a few moments: ‘Look, my dear, at yonder sun. This morning he arose dim and
murky, surrounded by a thick gloom; yet see how brilliantly, how calmly, how
majestically he sinks to his repose. O, that this may be the
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happy emblem of my course! It began amid mists, and tears, and doubts, and
apprehensions. I shall die soon—I know I shall—and O, that like him, I may go to my
rest, peaceful, tranquil, without a cloud!”
“I said, ‘You have no fear to die; neither any anxiety to live.’ ‘No, no,’ she repeated, ‘I
have no fear of death; it is all removed. I have long accustomed my mind to be familiar
with that certain, solemn event, which will open to me the gate of heaven. These are by
no means gloomy thoughts. There have been seasons when my soul has soared far
beyond all sublunary things, and held free converse with its Maker. All earthly thoughts
were intrusive on the aspirations of my spirit. I bless God for the measure I have felt and
do feel, of holy peace and joy. There is but one desire in life that I have: it is that I may
witness the conversion of my dear father. I should then die without having a single regret
to leave behind me.’ She then, with an earnestness and simplicity peculiarly her own,
prayed, ‘O my Jesus, do of thine abundant mercy irresistibly affect my father’s heart; do
save him. I have besought thee for him, and I can rely upon thy promise to hear my
prayer. If it be thy gracious will, answer me speedily; but I will abide thy time with
patience. O, my dear Emily,’ she continued, embracing me, ‘this always makes me
happy; I have an unshaken confidence that God will save my dear father!’
“I cannot recollect all she said; but this will assist to show the general tenor of her mind.
Never before did I feel half so much of the loveliness of religion as during my association
with this young, yet mature saint. Never, until I witnessed it in her life and conduct, did
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I see half its blessed efficacy in purifying the feelings, exalting the motives, and
sanctifying the affections. She was a pattern of love, meekness, gentleness, goodness, and
faith. When I reflected on the vastly increased opportunities of serving God which I had
had in comparison with her, I was powerfully convinced of my stunted growth as a
Christian: I was humbled and abased.
“The united skill of several physicians was inadequate to the preservation of her life. Her
strength gradually decreased. The last public work and labour of love in which she
engaged was to visit her ‘dear old woman.’ I rode in the landau with her. It was a
memorable afternoon. I never felt so in love with death as at that season. A hallowed
influence pervaded both our spirits; a solemn, holy awe, such as is seldom experienced in
time, as with tearful eyes, and faltering accents, she commended each to God. She prayed
with a fervour and a solemnity of feeling as though she knew it would be the last time
they should meet on earth: and so it proved. Oh! the loveliness of religion! God be
praised for a holier, a happier, an everlasting life—a life in which friends separated by
death shall see and enjoy each other, for ever and ever.
“As we were returning home, she said to me, ‘I am very weak now. I think, Emily, that
perhaps this afternoon’s work may have been rather too much for me. But God has given
me strength to fulfil it, and I am thankful. I should like to die working for him who has
done so much for me; but I think that my work on earth is almost finished. Oh, my dear
Emily, I am very happy! I have an inward peace and joy which is
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unspeakable; it is full of glory. Jesus is precious; he is heaven; I shall soon be with him;
he blesses me every moment; Oh, his boundless love to me!’
“Afterwards, she said, ‘I have been thinking of my dear father a great deal; I am sure that
God is powerfully working upon his heart. He often converses with me upon my religion,
and upon Jesus; and I can plainly perceive that his prejudices have given way, and that he
is inclined to regard the Christian religion as the true religion after all. O, that God may
continue this delightful work till the glories of Heaven shall crown what grace hath
begun.’
“One very fine afternoon, a short time before she was almost completely confined to her
room, she said to me, ‘Come with me for one walk around the lawn: it will be the last we
shall ever have together.’ I acquiesced immediately, and we proceeded; she leaning upon
my arm for support. It was deeply affecting to see her stoop to touch the flowers which
her own hand had so delighted to culture; to see her look upon the trees, and fields, and
the sweet river, while a deep conviction occupied her mind that she was looking and
admiring for the last time. As we were slowly returning she several times stopped to
throw a lingering look upon those lovely scenes which she had so often beheld with
rapture. On ascending the steps of her residence, she exclaimed, ‘Emily, I shall ascend
these steps no more!’
“Thus calmly and tranquilly did she look upon the certain approach of death. No doubts
nor harassing apprehensions afflicted her; in her own language, ‘All is well with me. For
me to live is Christ, and to die
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is gain. I have a desire to depart and be with Christ, which is far better than to live.’
“On a morning not long before her death, she said, ‘This is my birthday. I am twenty
years of age today; and, in some measure on this account, I should very much wish both
your sisters to come here this afternoon. Will you make this request known both to them
and papa?’ I at once promised. In the afternoon she remarked, ‘I think I have quite
strength enough to sit up with you, and I should like to look upon the fields and flowers
once more.’ Being placed as she desired, she smiled upon her attendant, saying, ‘Thank
you; your kindness in bearing with my fancies, is very great.’ After looking awhile, she
said, ‘What a beautiful world! but beautiful as it is, it bears no comparison with that to
which I am going. There are amaranthine bowers and crystal streams, and ever-verdant
fields, and ambrosial fruits; but, above all, there I shall eternally be in the visible presence
of my gracious Redeemer, and there I shall be able to love and serve him perfectly. That
is my enrapturing thought. O, the joys of immortality! I rejoice in my immortality; I am
going to live with my Redeemer, and with the saints in light.’ She mused, ‘O, my dear
father, if I could only rejoice in your salvation before I am summoned from earth; but I
am enabled to give you up into the hands of God. He has always been faithful to his
promises: this I have ever proved—and never more than at the present moment. Blessing
and praise to his holy name!’
“We were all seated round her, and at times she maintained an animated conversation,
though painfully
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interrupted by difficulty of breathing, &c. ‘Come sing with me!’ she exclaimed, ‘and sing
that beautiful hymn—
“Come, let us join our friends above,
That have obtained the prize.’“
“WE immediately complied. A deep feeling Of the solemnity of our position—our dear
friend and sister with us now, but just escaping to bliss, already breathing the atmosphere
of heaven—and the additional effect which this gave to the impressively beautiful words
we were singing, filled our eyes with tears. Leila sat in silent delight. A heavenly smile
illumined her countenance, indicating that she was drinking of the river, the streams
whereof make glad the city of God. In the midst of the exercise tears chased each other
down her cheek. We inquired the cause. ‘Oh!’ she exclaimed, ‘I thought, if your earthly
notes were so beautiful, what must be the impression created by the songs of the
redeemed in heaven; and I was so affected that I could not help weeping with excessive
joy. The words too are so beautiful—but, O, how inadequately does such solemn
language impress us. Do think less of this world, and more of eternity than you ever did.
When, like me, you come to die, then will you practically feel what vanity of vanities is
everything earthly. O, how happy—how very happy—I am! It is all over. Death! oh,
death! where is thy sting? I am victorious through my Lord Jesus Christ!’
“When we had finished the last verse of the hymn, she remained for a few moments in
silent thought as though revolving its sublime exclamations of triumph
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in her mind. She then said, ‘What beauty! what grandeur! and I can use it as my own
language. I know whom I have believed. Glory be to my Saviour! He is with me now;
and, though my flesh and my heart fail, yet he is the strength of my heart, and my portion
for ever.’“
“Although, sometimes, she suffered severe pain, yet not one look of peevishness, even
for a moment, sat upon her countenance; nor did a word of murmuring, or fretfulness,
ever escape her lips. Tears of gratitude would fill her eyes, and she would exclaim,
‘Thank you, thank you; you are very kind!’ at the very slightest marks of regard or
attention manifested either by her friends or attendants. Hers was a lovely Christianity!
My petition is, that her mantle may descend upon me.
“The closing scene drew on apace; for, it was evident to all that she must soon die;
indeed, she knew it herself; and, therefore, she began to give final directions respecting
the disposal of certain matters. This was three days before her death. After sending some
substantial mementoes of her love and regard to those families on her visiting list, she
turned her attention to her family and personal friends. Having expressed most of her
desires concerning these, she requested that her writing-desk might be placed near her. It
was done. Unlocking it, she took out of it a number of elegant Bibles. ‘Precious books!’
she exclaimed, as she clasped them to her throbbing bosom. ‘O, precious books! would I
had read you more!’ Presenting one to her maternal aunt, who was present, she said, ‘Do
accept this token of my love for you, and this letter,
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which some time ago I wrote for you; and, as you read it, may the Spirit of God lead your
heart to those blissful fountains of repose which have made me so happy. You believe,
my dear aunt, that I am quite happy—that I have no fear of death—that I am going to
heaven—do you not?”
“‘I cannot doubt it.’
“‘Well, then, it is all through the merits of my Lord Jesus Christ. His death atoned for my
sins. I shall soon be with him for ever. Then, my dear aunt, will you promise me that my
dying request, that you will read these Scriptures of the Old and New Testament, shall be
granted?’ Her aunt assented. ‘Thank you; you make me very happy; and I pray that the
God whom I serve, will of his mercy, enlighten your understanding, so that you may
perceive the truth. I am tired now; I must rest a little.’
“In the eye which is lighted up by the fever of consumption, there is an expression which
those who have seen it can never forget, and which those who have not seen it can never
imagine.
“How beautiful she looked as she peacefully reposed upon the white pillow! Her bright
eyes, that were wont to glow with the very soul of animation, inclosed within their snowy
lids, and their long lashes shading her marble countenance, which beamed with innocence
and love. I felt in love with the beautiful clay, and almost wished that my own summons
from mortality to immortality were as near.
“Reviving, she said, ‘I can say but little more.’ Then, putting aside several Bibles for as
many of her relatives, and a letter with each; ‘Let these be given,
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with my dying love, to those to whom they are directed, Say, too, I most earnestly beg of
each to read them, and pray over them, and to obtain all possible help to a knowledge of
the Christian religion. And tell them, that with my latest breath, I testified, Christ is
precious; that he was with me—pre-eminently with me—while passing through the
valley of the shadow of death, and that through faith in Christ, I was victorious over death
and the grave, and died in full, perfect assurance of eternal bliss. But be sure of this, tell
them plainly, that it was all through the death of my Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. Now
I must repose. ‘Tis almost finished!’ Her articulation of these precious sentences was
painfully interrupted, so that, to say them all, occupied her some minutes.
“The following day she requested that pen and ink might be brought to her.
Affectionately clasping her Bible, she looked once more upon those parts which she had
marked as having given her special encouragement and enjoyment; then, being
supported, she took the pen in her dying hand, and tremulously and disjointedly traced
upon the fly-leaf the last words she ever wrote: ‘Christ is heaven!’“
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CHAPTER XV.
LEILA’S DYING HOURS—THE CLOSING SCENE.
“O death! where is thy sting? O grave! where is thy victory?”
ON the morning of the day on which Leila died, she said, ‘It will soon be finished. Tell
my dear father to come here.’ He was called, but was so painfully affected, that for some
minutes he could not speak to her! What a scene! Friends weeping—the youthful
Christian, in heavenly composure, awaiting the solemn moment of separation from the
body. Surely it was the spontaneous outburst of every heart, ‘Is this death? Can all this
holy joy and peace be death? Oh! then, let me die the death of the righteous, and let my
last end be like hers! As I looked upon her placid countenance, I exclaimed exultingly, ‘O
death! where is thy sting? O grave! where is thy victory?’ Gushing sobs broke upon the
awful stillness. Oh, the luxury of such tears!—tears flowing from the most sacred
emotions of the soul. Let me attempt no remark upon these heavenly breathings.
“Voltaire laughed at Christianity—he mocked at the ‘madness of believing in the gospel.’
Did he ever see a Christian die? Did he ever witness this tangible evidence of the value of
religion in the most awful moment of life? Oh, never! never! The chamber of the dying
saint is a shrine at which the boldest blasphemer must bow in homage to the religion of
Jesus.
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“Her father was weeping. ‘Do not grieve for me, my dear papa,’ she said, soothingly. ‘If
you are faithful to God, you will soon be happy again with me in heaven.’
“‘Then, my precious treasure, you are not deceived! You feel that your religion fully
supports you in death?’
“‘O yes! O yes! Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no
evil—his rod—and—his—’ she could proceed no further. Her father, bending with grief,
retained her hand in his.
“In a little while she gathered strength: ‘Father,’ she continued, ‘you love me dearly, do
you not?’ My child do not speak so to me; you know you are the very soul of my
existence.’
“‘Will you grant me one request—a dying request?’
“‘What is it? You know I will not deny you!’
“‘It is this—that you will never again doubt Jesus my Saviour; but that you will begin to
love and serve him. O, think, my dear father, what he has done for me! Read the New
Testament,’ and she looked inquiringly.
“‘My dear, I have begun to read it. I have seen that your religion must be true. I never
expected to witness a death like yours, my daughter. I have begun to pray; you pray too,
that God will help me to follow you to heaven. I believe, my dear—I confess to you and
all present that I believe—in Jesus.’
“The sudden revolution of feeling was too great for her weak frame. She was just able to
articulate, ‘Blessing—praise—’ and then lay exhausted.
“On recovering, she slowly reached her Bible, and in faltering accents said, ‘My dear
papa, I am dying—you
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have—. We shall soon meet again. Here is the Bible which has been—so truly blessed to
my soul. Let it now be yours. You have all my books of a religious character. They are
choice—learn them well. Praise the Lord—I am dying; but I am rejoicing.’
“She lay for some minutes with her eyes closed. Occasionally her lips moved as though
in prayer. It is more than probable that her petitions were then ascending to the throne of
grace, that her father might be enabled to rejoice in the liberty of God’s children. They
have been answered!
“Again she unclosed her eyes, and looking upon her father with a smile of indescribable
pleasure—’Blessing, honour, praise, and glory to Jesus. Kiss me, dear papa.’
“In a little while—’Glorious hope! immortality ! eternal life! What an eternity! an
eternity of perfect love.’
“She then, with considerable intervals, gave directions for her funeral. ‘You have said,
papa, that you will have my mother removed, and that we shall all three lie together in
one tomb. I am glad of that. At my funeral make no show. Do not have me embalmed. I
wish my body to be clothed in linen and white muslin only . . . . . When you have my
name put upon our tomb, be sure you put this, “Thanks be unto God who giveth us the
victory, through our Lord Jesus Christ.”’
“‘I hear the voice, “The Master is come, and calleth for thee.” My whole soul responds,
“Even so, come, Lord Jesus.” I am full of glory.’
“Although perfectly sensible, she said but very little after this. She appeared to be looking
into eternity.
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Its glorious realities were unfolding to her vision, and feasting her soul with ravishing
contemplations.
“About two hours before she died, she suddenly awoke from a gentle slumber, and
exclaimed, ‘Dear Emily! are you here?’ I took her hand. ‘Give me a farewell kiss, my
love. Thank you;’ and then pressing my hand with all her remaining strength, ‘We shall
be united again soon, Emily, and then you will never have to separate from me. Love
Jesus: it will not be long.’
“A little after she ejaculated, ‘Victory! victory!’ and raised her dying arm. After a few
moments—’Heaven is—heaven is—’ the rest was lost.
“She lay quietly for about an hour; then gently putting out her hand, she said, ‘Farewell,
my dear papa. I am going to glory. Serve Jesus—you will soon be there.’
“These were the last words she uttered. Her eyelids closed. For a few minutes she
breathed softly and slowly, and then—the solemn stillness of death! My friend was a
disembodied saint in glory! Her spirit had taken its rapturous flight to that blissful rest
which she had so long anticipated; and in preparation for which, she had kept her soul
with all diligence. Again, through gushing tears, I prayed, ‘Let me die the death of the
righteous.’
“She died November 27th, 18—, at a quarter past eight o’clock in the evening, aged
twenty years and eighteen days.
“Of such a character as hers I need say nothing more by way of eulogy or description: her
death was an epitome of her life.
“EMILY L. F. H—.”
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Leila has since been joined by her father. He rapidly sunk beneath the sorrow produced
by her death, and in eleven months was laid beside her in the tomb. He died peacefully,
and with unshaken reliance upon his Redeemer.
“The hour is coming in which all that are in the graves shall hear my voice, and shall
come forth; they that have done good to the resurrection of life.”
Amen. Even so, come, Lord Jesus.
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CHAPTER XVI.
LEILA’S POETICAL AND PROSE COMPOSITIONS.
To prevent an undue criticism, we remind the reader that not one of the Poems which we
give, any more than any part of her other writings, was ever written with the least
expectation that it would meet the eye of the world. So far from this being the fact, we
may remark that no one while she lived, had the slightest idea that she ever essayed to
make poetic compositions.
Intellectual pleasure and improvement were the only objects at which she aimed. These
attained, the artistic character of her performance was to her consideration of little
moment.
We have taken the following papers quite at random. The first poem we give, bears date
when she was sixteen years of age. Let us just observe also, that we can scarcely find a
single piece of versification written after she had attained nineteen years of age.
SONG OF THE SPIRIT OF JOY.
I AM not to be found where the miser is telling
His weight and his measure of gold’s sordid dust;
I breathe not the air of impurity’s dwelling;
I fly from the soul sunk in baseness and lust.
I am not in the press, whence blooming and beauty
At dawning return with a pale and wan cheek;
I never am found from the path of fixed duty;
I enter no heart which oppresses the weak.
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In vain your white bosoms with diamonds may glisten
Your temple be circled with emperor’s crown;
These have no inducement, I’ve no ear to listen
To prayers for my presence their sorrow to drown,
I am not in the pomp of greatness or glory;
I have nothing to do with the conqueror’s fame;
I never yet breathed in the trumpeted story
Of deeds which from motives of selfishness came.
I live in those hearts which to virtue are given;
My palace I fix in the yellow-thatched cot;
I sport on those lips which with smiling are riven
Round the peasant’s bright hearth—my most belov’d spot.
I dance o’er the meadows, the rose-buds just blooming,
I frolic with nature throughout her domain;
I live midst sweet bells, in their bosoms entombing
Myself with their petals, so lovely in stain.
I live in the skies among beings cherubic;
I live in each flower, each tiniest blade;
Nature gives them their paint, I give them the music,
Which breathes in the soul ‘mid the gloomiest shade.
Oh! seek not in vain among streams of pollution,
You widen our distance, compel us to part;
Come, think not of loss, I’ll make retribution,
My realm is unbounded, my home is the heart.
THE RECLUSE OF THE ALPS.
ON a warm afternoon, I left the pretty village, on the borders of the Lake Leman, in
which we were making a temporary stay. My purpose was to enjoy a solitary walk among
the romantic and beautiful scenery of the mountains which rise from the shores of the
Lake.
To the man of reflective and imaginative mind perhaps
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there is no country presenting a succession of more charming scenes than Switzerland
during the months of summer. Those who have ever spent this season there, cannot fail to
have the lovely magnificence of many of its prospects impressed in vivid and never-
fading characters upon their recollection. How often have they again in imagination felt
that inexpressible awe and sublimity which they experienced while threading the
tremendous abysms of its mountains, or stealthily looking over the unprotected marge of
its terrible precipices. How often have they over again felt in their heart that same thrill of
warm gratitude and love to the great Being, whose omnipotence was seen in the
magnificence and majesty before them. How often have they again experienced the giddy
surprise with which they were struck on first opening their eyes on such and such a
prospect, from this or that eminence. It is such scenes as these—such contemplations as
these—which elevate the soul to that world where every beauty is lasting and perfect.
It was in the summer season when I took the walk which is the subject of my present
sketch. For a considerable distance my path lay up a rather steep acclivity. Having gained
the eminence I turned to look upon the smiling Lake. Here and there a white sail glittered
like a young swan upon its blue bosom. Other boats, rowed both by men and women,
were slowly moving over its smooth surface. At intervals the song of the Swiss maidens
was wafted towards me on the wings of the gentle zephyrs, as in the valley below they
drove the cows to the milking shed. Nature was exceedingly lovely, and the soft murmurs
of a distant
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mountain stream added much to the delicious dreaminess of the effect, seeming to invite
to contemplation and repose.
Turning, I entered a deep and narrow gorge, and for some distance walked beside a
foaming stream, which rushed past me with the rapidity of an arrow. Soon the defile
began to contract, which warned me I was walking in the part called the “Haunt of
Death.” It is thus named from the circumstance of two lovers falling over the top of the
dreadful precipice, having missed the plank which crosses the abyss; and traditionary
gossip says that, at certain seasons, sighs and wails are to be heard near the spot on which
they were dashed to pieces.
But it is a fearful place. An awful precipice rises on either hand, with a separation at the
bottom very little more than wide enough to admit of the passage of a rapid stream,
which courses along dark and threatening, and whirling in gurgling and deep eddies.
Along the side of this stream is a little path. All around was solitary; the savage torrent
dashed on with impetuous pride; the shaggy tops of the precipices scowled over the
abyss.
Emerging from this chasm, a sweet but small valley was stretched before me. I descended
a path, in which, when I had wandered some time, I found another leading to a neat white
cottage. It was the only one I could see. Its plaintive solitude interested me. In the front
was a small tastefully arranged garden; at the back a rich orchard. Being determined to
invoke the hospitality, for the cheerfulness of which the Swiss are as remarkable as any
people, I walked up and gently
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tapped at the door. It was softly opened by a reverend looking man. The snows of winter
were fast settling upon his head, and time and care had ploughed deep furrows in his
prepossessing and affectionate countenance. He received me with a parental kindness of
look; a calm but melancholy smile for a moment illumined his features. It could not tarry,
but was immediately absorbed in the shadows of a hardly suppressed grief. He was
evidently suffering unwonted sorrow; and on looking within I was immediately informed
of the cause. There lay the remains of a beautiful girl, about seventeen years of age. I
looked at the resigned and peaceful countenance of the father, then at the angelic
daughter. Tears suffused my eyes; for a moment I could not speak.
“Pardon me; I wished to have a peep at your sweet paradise, but I will not intrude upon
you sacred grief.”
“You will not intrude, my dear madame; come within, if you can feel comfortable in such
an humble cot.”
I walked within, and stooped to gaze upon the lovely corpse. Innocence and peace had
stamped the impress of heaven upon it. I never felt such an inexpressible commingling of
sublimity, and awe, and deep delight, as when I looked at that beautiful form. Could I
weep? No. A zephyr laden with the perfumes of celestial bowers fanned my spirit. In
imagination I could hear the enraptured songs of the soul which had just fled to the
realms of bliss, and the responsive harpings of the angelic choir. It was a delicious
moment. With my eyes still fixed upon the beautiful clay I sunk into a chair near its side.
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All this time I had been so engrossed that I had taken no notice of the venerable man, to
whom I had before spoken. He stood, his eyes fixed upward, as though every tie which
bound him to earth were now broken, and he would gladly hear the summons which
called him to rejoin the departed spirit.
“My daughter, my only child, the joy of my eyes is taken from me. O Adeline! I thought
thy gentle hands would sustain and support me, and close my eyes in death. But why do I
lament my darling’s happiness? She was the Lord’s; I devoted her to him; he has claimed
her, and taken her to himself. But what shall I do with out my child, to cheer the
remainder of my weary pilgrimage? Lord, make me thankful that thou gavest me and so
long permittedst me to enjoy such a daughter. My aged heart will not beat much longer; I
shall soon be with her again.” I inquired the particulars of her death. For a moment he
buried his face in his hands; but his grief was too deep to obtain responsive tears. On the
morning of the previous day she had left home, blooming in youth, and health, and
beauty, to visit a sick person, residing upon the opposite side of the Lake. A young lady
accompanied her. Having prolonged their errand of benevolence till the day began to
decline, the shadows of evening encompassed them, while yet a considerable distance
from the shore. Their little bark proceeded in safety, however, until they had approached
very nearly to the land. Suddenly they heard a shrill “Look out,” from the intoxicated
crew of another and larger boat. It was too late. The next moment, a part of the rigging of
the strange vessel caught their sail. They were immediately overset and
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both precipitated into the Lake. Adeline uttered a shriek as the chill waters encircled her
in their dark bosom. A few faint struggles, and then she gently sank to rise no more.
Some dizzy circles ruffling the surface of the water—a few breaking bubbles—informed
those who came to save, that human assistance, if it were to avail, must be quickly
rendered. Some minutes elapsed before the body was recovered. Every effort to
resuscitate it was energetically made; all was in vain; the spirit had fled; she had sunk
into the fathomless depths of eternity.
The young lady, her companion, clung to the inverted boat, until picked up by the
revellers, whose incapacity to act had caused the fatal collision.
That same evening the body of Adeline was borne slowly home, followed by a crowd of
sympathizing villagers, to whom she was known, and by whom she was beloved, for her
ever-ready kindness and benevolence. The way behind the corpse was watered by the
tears of unstifled grief. The youth and children poured out the feelings of their
overfraught hearts, in audible cries and sobs.
Just as the venerable parent had concluded his narration, a soft knocking was heard at the
door. Leaning upon his cane he rose to open it. It was made by an interesting little girl
about nine years old. She was a scholar in a class which Adeline had convened in the
village, for the purpose of studying the Scriptures, and instructing them in reading,
writing, arithmetic, &c. Directly she obtained admission, she rushed to the bedside, and
hysterically kissing the faded lips, cried, “O my dear governess—my dear mademoiselle
Adeline!
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do speak to me once more; do, my dear mademoiselle, kiss me as you used;—oh! never
again!” and she sat upon the ground, and rocking her body to and fro, relieved herself by
a flood of tears. Responsive drops coursed down the father’s face, as he sat her upon his
knee. It was a luxury: and I wept too.
“Don’t cry, Therese,” said he, “you must dry your tears, for Adeline is very happy—more
happy than you can think; and you would not wish her to leave so much happiness to
come back, would you?”
“Oh, what shall I do! what shall I do, without my dear governess?” sobbed the child
convulsively.
“You must love and serve God, and then you will be more happy with her in heaven, than
ever you were upon earth. Do you recollect what she has often told you?”
“Oh, yes! I remember, I remember; she told me that God loves good little children, and
that when they die they go to live in heaven among the angels; and that there, they are
more happy than she could tell me. And then she used to say, ‘Therese, I shall be in
heaven; mind you meet me there.’ Oh! and now she has gone there: I am sure she has
gone there. She used to make me kneel down by her side, and tell me to pray, and tell me
what to say. Oh, I will go to heaven, too, and see her again! I’ll be good: I’ll kneel down
and pray as she taught me.”
And, leaping from her seat, she fell upon her knees.
“Perhaps you will join our petitions,” he was, doubtless, about to say; but I was already in
a kneeling posture, for I, too, was a servant of the God of Jacob.
After a few moments of solemn silence the venerable
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recluse ejaculated, “Now, Therese, my dear, we will pray.”
And never shall I forget the eloquence, the pathos, the fervour of that child’s prayer; I
was powerfully affected.
And then the solemn tones of the father ascended like sweet incense to the throne of the
Eternal. It was a day which will ever live in the sanctuary of my remembrance.
With chastened feelings I rose to return home. The little girl was my companion to the
village, which now reposed in the sober shades of evening.
I afterwards visited the tomb of Adeline. She reposes with her mother, and, perhaps ere
now, the father has rejoined them. “Lovely in their lives, in death they were not divided.”
A modest stone marks the spot—the brief memorial of the lovely Adeline.
THE BERNESE COTTAGE.
IF we would look upon Christianity, smiling in all its irresistible, and most winning
loveliness; if we would see it displaying its sweetest beauty, we must seek it in the
abodes of humble life; or (that being a term I do not like) I would rather say, amongst
those who are not encumbered with this world’s riches. Among these I have witnessed
the sublimity of its philosophy; the grandeur of its sanctified intellect; the eloquence and
pathos of its poetry; the purity and fascination of its exalted patriotism; the unquenchable
fire of its love and benevolence. Ah, if we would see the pure, the soul-felt religion of the
Saviour, we must look at it, as it appears when unfettered by the trammels of fashionable
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society; not upon that sickly, stunted Christianity, which is reared in the pernicious
atmosphere of the world. It is too late to say that it is the great panacea for all the ills of
mortality—that it is the only thing which can make the severest lot contented and
happy—this, all who know anything of its power, believe. But, while we say this, we
might declare further, that if we would see, and be acquainted with Christianity, pure and
happy as the Bible ordains it to be, we must obtain our knowledge and perceptions among
the dwellings of the poor. As a proof of its power to make a seemingly hopeless, forlorn,
and wretched condition, a comfortable and happy one, I give the following simple, and
perhaps, unremarkable incident. However, I reflect that to a well-balanced mind, nothing
can be so trivial as neither to teach nor give delight.
As late in the afternoon I was returning from a ramble among the mountains of the
Bernese Oberland, the sky became thickly overcast with masses of dense clouds, and I
very soon found that I was in the midst of a severe storm of thunder and rain. No shelter
was in sight. Awful precipices, and steep mountains, rearing their white summits till they
touched the skies, were on each side of me. Hastening on, I most unexpectedly came in
view of a small cot. From its dilapidated condition, and its melancholy desolation, my
first impression was that it could not be inhabited. But I was speedily convinced of the
contrary, by perceiving light columns of smoke ascending from various parts of the roof.
I walked up, and knocking at the door desired permission to stay until the pelting storm
had ceased. Without any ceremony, but an honest, unsophisticated
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welcome, I was desired to enter. My wet things were taken off with the greatest assiduity,
by the kind young woman who had opened the door, and hung to dry around a cheerful
fire which was blazing upon the hearth. And within its genial influence I myself was in a
few moments seated.
This little mansion contained but one room. Its inhabitants were the pretty, modest young
person I before adverted to, and a little merry girl of about five years old. All the
furniture consisted of a bed, four worn-out chairs, the ruins of a small round table, and a
stool. On the side, too, there was a book-shelf, on which seven books—one, a large
Bible—were carefully arranged.
The only light which was admitted into the cottage, was through the numerous crevices in
the roof, and two small, carelessly formed holes, over which was stretched a piece of thin
stuff. But, although everything wore an aspect of deep poverty, yet all was remarkably
neat and clean; scarcely a particle of dust rested anywhere. The young woman was
dressed in the usual costume of the Swiss mountaineers, and wore an apron white as the
newly fallen snow.
I had been seated but a few minutes when a considerable stream of water began to pour in
upon us from the roof. The young woman meekly and contentedly placed a large pan to
catch it. I wondered that in a situation, which seemed so comfortless, she could look
resigned, and even happy. I suppose my countenance might have betrayed the workings
of my mind, for, as she fixed the pan, she said to me, “Ah, mademoiselle, I am still better
off than my divine Master was while he sojourned on earth. He had not where to lay his
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head; I have it home, very poor certainly, but much better than I deserve. And often I
think,” she pursued, her voice trembling with deep emotion—”often I think, as the heavy
blasts sweep over my dwelling, how good and kind is my Heavenly Father, who has
provided me a shelter in the midst of the storm. My room looks dreary, but here I enjoy a
happiness which I would not forsake if I might wear a crown. Humble and forlorn as it is,
I often feel in the presence of the King of kings. I often enjoy seasons of the most
delightful intercourse with the Father of spirits, and experience sweet foretastes of the
better and happier inheritance I shall have in heaven.”
She now began to prepare supper for herself and the little girl. It consisted of milk and
coarse bread. Placing the loaf and a morsel of butter near me, she with a sensitive and
delicate reserve invited me to join them. I saw that anything but a frank acceptance on my
part, would wound her sensibilities, and therefore, I immediately drew towards the table.
The good young woman asked a blessing, and I made a meal, which for deep and pure
enjoyment I never exceeded. I felt the calm influences of the peace and contentment
which pervaded every corner of this little cot.
The storm was hushed; the lightnings and rain had ceased; and I rose to proceed. My
things were completely dried. With a heart throbbing with love and gratitude, I took an
eternal leave of the mountain cottage; but of this I am sure, I shall meet its inmate among
that blessed company of blood-bought spirits, who evermore surround the Saviour’s
throne, and sing the praises of his redeeming love.
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THUNDER-STORM IN THE PASSAGE OF THE SIMPLON.
SUBLIMELY terrible! each rocky cave
Is crashing with loud thunder: quick lightnings
Rush past hissing: how they whirl and wave,
And gleam with horrid beauty! Now brightening
Each murky glen, a sea of firs they lave
The darkling gorge—its blackness heightening.
The heavy hailstones crush, and torrents hiss
While headlong tumbling down the dark abyss.
Blacker and blacker grows the dusky air,
’Tis night, except as through the rending cloud
Leap the huge fires, the echoing rocks to tear,
A moment rolling back the gloomy shroud,
And lighting every peak with mighty glare!
Flash calls to flash, in thunders long and loud;
The black lake shines: a meteoric sea
Of bubbles dancing joyously and free.
Hearken! ‘tis like a mighty earthquake’s crash,
The echoes shout with rapturous delight;
The mountains quiver, as the fitful flash
Hurls the huge pine adown the giddy height
To the dark pool: one loud, convulsive splash—
One bound—and all is vanished like the light
Which lit them hither. Who has sure defence
But he whose safety is Omnipotence?
Crevola, June, 18—.
HYMN TO THOUGHT.
TAKE wing, my thoughts! away!
Dash off the cumbrous chains of earthly care.
On, on, ye free! outstrip the winds which bear
Wild ocean’s snowy spray.
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On! where the sunny streams
Burst from deep fountains in the diamond’s cell
Where lotus-cups and quivering rushes tell
Of old heroic themes.
On! where the forest trees
Lift high their heads amid the liquid skies,
And eastern spice-woods grow, and orient flies
Dance in the scented breeze.
On! to Hesperian climes,
Where palm-boughs shadow in the classic streams,
Where mystic spirits haunt, and starry gleams
Show shrines of olden times.
On! on! oh, stop ye not!
On, where loud laughter rings the antique walls;
Mix with the revels in the hearth-lit halls
Of ages long forgot.
Farther, and loftier yet!
Soar high above the purple mists of night,
To the bright regions filled with holy light
Of suns which never set.
Beyond the gulf of death!
Go, seek the realms of love’s immortal rest;
Where the black storm ne’er spreads its threatening crest.
Where sorrow sends no breath.
In flights still more sublime,
Mount, mount! ye wing’d! o’ersweep time’s deep abyss;
Rise, where pure spirits reign in holy bliss,
Eternal and divine.
Duomo d’Ossola, 18—.
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SUNSET
ENSHROUDING the valley, empurpling the mountain
The iris-like colours of evening now float;
The last brilliant showers from light’s golden fountain
Are laving in beauty the verdure remote.
And soft to the ear is the mild zephyr telling,
Its whisper of gladness and joy from afar;
The birds’ homeward song to their wild forest dwelling,
Illumed by the rays of the bright evening star.
From out their deep prisons, the waves’ careless music
In richly-hushed murmurs, lull nature’s repose,
And tell in soft breathings, symphonious, cherubic,
What infinite joy in their bright bosom glows.
The stars, one by one, purple night is unveiling;
Creation is joining in vespers of praise;
How soothing this hour—solemn silence prevailing,
And sinking to sleep are the last bedimmed rays.
Thus calm may I be as my earth’s day is closing;
Thus smiling with joy may I sink to my rest;
Fall softly to sleep, on my Jesus reposing,
With him to awake in the realms of the blest.
‘Twas for this my Redeemer to Heaven ascended,
For this he now makes intercession on high;
Oh, hope full of bliss!—life’s journey being ended
Thy dawn, Immortality, breaks on the sky.
A FRAGMENT.
IN the dry land, where water was not yet,
Wells forth a sweet refreshing rivulet.
The thirsty soil with verdure now is drest,
With peace and plenty crowned, the scene is blest.
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Sharon with roses glows, and round the tomb
Of man’s pollution flowers of promise bloom.
How beautiful the feet of those who preach
Glad tidings of salvation, and who teach T
he people holiness! how lovely they
Who fill the dark holes of the earth with day;
Mighty in faith, renewed in second birth,
Who break the idols and subdue the earth!
While suffering the close and cruel confinement of her uncle’s house, and enduring
separation from her much-loved home, Leila penned an interesting series of papers.
Although they were found separate from her other “Reflections,” yet they bear the same
title, and are of a like character. We have only space to make a short extract:—
How fearful was that retribution which fell upon our nation, for the rejection and
crucifixion of Jesus; and which caused him to weep as he viewed Jerusalem, and foresaw
her fearful doom. Why our people are so utterly incapable of discerning the hand of God
in their dispersion and oppression from that moment; and so, of repenting them of the
sins which led to their punishment, I can account for on no other ground, but that of
judicial blindness.
The imagination cannot conceive a more agonizing spectacle than that presented at the
destruction of Jerusalem. Its details are written in blood; and so full of horror that the
mind transfixed with alarm, refuses to dwell upon them. Death appeared to gloat amidst
agony, demoniacal insanity, and intense desolation. The air, laden with the poisonous
effluvia of the unburied
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dead, spread pestilence among the living. Maddened by hunger, the mother, who in other
circumstances would have interposed her own white bosom between her infant and the
sword of the assassin, bore herself the knife, and then sat down to the horribly unnatural
meal! At length came the awful, profound quietude of despair—the sullen hopelessness
of complete desolation. So horrid was the catastrophe, that when Titus entered the city,
“he turned away weeping and cursing the wretches who had forced him to produce such
misery.” Thus fell Jerusalem; a fearful memento of the retributive justice of the
Almighty.
But the downfall of Jerusalem was but the “beginning of sorrows,”—it was but the first
shock of that tremendous earthquake which should shake Judea to her very foundations;
its mighty throes compelling the Jew to flee in terror for his life. The Roman power drove
the ploughshare of ruin over the Holy City.
Decrees, exiling the Jew from his father-land, sent him forth homeless, hopeless—a sport
for the storm.
Feelings of indignation and revenge burned in his heart as he gazed upon Mount Tabor,
reposing upon the richly-watered plains of Sharon and Esdraelon, which lay placidly
smiling in all their sunny beauty. There lay Galilee, spread out in its brilliant and ideal
loveliness. Who can describe his emotions, while thus an exile looking upon the land
which was given to his ancestors, and from which he had been driven with mingled
cruelty and scorn? Summoning all their remaining powers, at the command of an
impostor, the Jews made an unfortunate effort to regain possession of their country. It
was a lamentable attempt; it increased
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the fury of their oppressors, and aroused their bitterest feelings of hostility. In it, 580,000
Jews perished. From that period to the present they have never been a compact nation,
but one scattered in fragments to all corners of the earth; for there is no country in which
they are not found. They have been again and again the objects of the most cruel
oppression, and the most agonizing and terrible and cruel massacres, But, as I cannot bear
to dwell upon their punishment, I would rather take up a more pleasing theme—their
conversion to Christianity—an event which is explicitly predicted in the Scriptures of
both the Old and New Testaments.
Christianity was originally founded, professed, and propagated by Jews; and it would be
well if the attention of our people were more positively drawn to this fact. After the
crucifixion of Jesus, a number of creditable and upright Jews, who were acquainted with
his life, miracles, death, and resurrection, boldly challenged their contemporaries to come
forward and contradict their assertions respecting him. Far from accepting this challenge,
the Sanhedrim made an acknowledgment that the miracles wrought by our Saviour, and
by his apostles could not be called in question. By this act they subscribed their belief in
his divinity. A consequence of it was, that many thousands of the Jewish people, and also
many of the priests believed. On leaving Judea the Jewish converts carried the Gospel
with them, and preached it to the inhabitants of the countries into which they entered. By
these also it was embraced.
Even the very idiom—the very structure of the
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Gospel language, is insuperable proof of its Hebrew origin. But, although the great mass
of the Jewish nation have rejected him in whom their brethren believed, yet the
preservation of their sacred books, and their calamitous experience in consequence of
their unbelief, has been to Christianity a munition and defence, which has resisted the
fiercest assaults from without.
For their perversity, the Jews carry with them the marks of the divine indignation and
retribution. But, alas, for their deplorable condition! they know nothing of the sanctifying
and exalting influences which should attend his afflicting hand. Persecution and trial
refine and elevate the Christian; but no such results are witnessed in the Jewish character.
And why? Because they are not suffering for truth. We therefore find, that in proportion
as they have endured, in that proportion has the Jew become hardened and impervious to
the invitations of the glorious Gospel of Christ. Thus their lives are earthly and sensual,
and they have no well-grounded, no lawful hope of the world to come.
But, melancholy as this picture is, it is not without its redeeming point. The eternal
purpose of God has determined that the Jewish nation shall be brought within the
enclosure of the church of Christ; they shall be “born again;” they shall be a holy people,
trees of righteousness bringing forth fruit to the praise and glory of God.
The signs of the times are already encouraging; thousands of Jews are giving themselves
to the study of the Scriptures of the New Testament. Of this I am
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quite sure—the wall of partition, which through so many centuries prevented all Christian
access to them, is being broken down; and they are not only beginning to listen to the
Gospel with candid attention, but really court conversation upon Christian topics. Among
them may be seen an earnest desire to know the truth. Christians, too, are awaking to
their responsibility to the Jewish nation, and are bringing their instrumentality to bear
upon them in the most energetic forms. I cannot now take such low ground as only to
speak of individual instances of success, for there are strong and particular reasons for
supposing that the glorious ingathering of the house of Abraham into the Church of
Christ is at no great distance. In fact, the work is begun; and, to a great extent, is already
done. Old prejudices are speedily giving way; mutual dislike is vanishing; a spirit of
inquiry is aroused; almost everywhere an easy access to the Jewish mind may be
obtained; the interdicts and countenance of the rabbis are daily decreasing in value and
effect;—all conspire to excite the most lively hopes.
I do not know that I should be too bold—I am not sure I should exaggerate the truth—if I
said that were it not for fear of their brethren, for fear of those hundred little things which
they must suffer; for instance, perhaps, to be separated from their kindred both in life and
in death; and were it not that distrust of the Christians is not altogether uprooted—were it
not for these, I think there are thousands who are ready to come and avow their change of
mind. Oh! if the Christians will earnestly labour for our poor nation! One of the first
efforts should be to disabuse their minds of all prejudice
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which they may have imbibed, through witnessing the conduct of nominal disciples of
Jesus. An effort should be made to convince them that the real Christians are not parties
to their oppression, and sufferings and degradation; that they have no sympathy with
those who load them with opprobrium and scorn; that whatever feelings the unconverted
Gentiles may entertain towards the Jews, those of the Christian Gentiles towards them are
pure and holy, and benevolent.
It were well to be frank with them, and disclaim all sympathy with the Christianity of a
majority of professors, and to tell them, that for this mere general profession of
Christianity there is no more salvation, than for the perverse Jew who wilfully rejects the
Messiah; but, above all, always and at once assume that Jesus of Nazareth is the true
Messiah, bringing the whole current of recorded proofs and prophecies to bear upon the
momentuous question. Fearlessly and boldly assert this doctrine; let it be the rock on
which you rear your superstructure; take no sinuous course; go direct to the very vitals of
your belief. This, from the constitution of the Jewish mind, will have the weightiest
effect. Thus being girt with the armour of truth, and having in your hands the sword of
the Spirit—even the blessed word of God—your efforts cannot be in vain.
As far as possible, too, I would say (unless the objecting Israelite would not permit it),
avoid generality and minor details. Keep to the great theme—the divinity and office of
our Lord Jesus Christ—and, perhaps, nothing could be more effectual than the fact of his
resurrection, ably and clearly demonstrated: this must silence the boldest blasphemer.
Compel them to yield
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here, and they are for ever subdued to the faith of the “Crucified One.” To convince them
that the “Carpenter’s Son” is the “Holy One of God,” should always be the burthen of our
message. This gained, and the rock of their impenitence is broken.
But God has reserved to himself the Spirit by whose influence this great work is to be
effected. Therefore, strong, eneretic, agonizing prayer must be poured out in behalf of the
“lost sheep of the house of Israel.” Our system may be ever so in accordance with the
divine will, but, of itself, it will never be sufficient to “turn away ungodliness from
Jacob.” It is God who will do it. “I will pour upon the house of David, and upon the
inhabitants of Jerusalem, the Spirit of grace and supplication, and they shall look upon
him whom they have pierced, and they shall mourn for him as one mourneth for his only
son, and shall be in bitterness for him as one that is in bitterness for his first-born.”
Therefore, all you, whose “heart’s desire and prayer to God for Israel is, that they might
be saved,” remember that God has made the outpouring of his Spirit indispensable, and
for it must our earnest prayers ascend on high.
DEATH OF AN INFANT.
I GAZED upon that infant as it slept:—
That sleep was strangely beautiful, and seemed
An ectasy immortal. The curtaining lids
Had dropped their silken fringes o’er the soul,
And shut out all except the beams of Heaven.
A sacred glory rested on her brow,
And mantled o’er her cheek; a lovely smile
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Sat like a cherub on her faded lips:
A solemn rapture was that dying scene;
Celestial spirits fanned it with their wings—
It breathed the air of heaven. She oped her eyes—
Those bright blue eyes still looked as they were wont,
The very soul of tenderness and joy.
They sought her mother’s face, again to feast
Upon its beauty! forth from them spoke a rest,
Such only as the innocent may feel.
The Angel of the Covenant had come
To wing her home. At his august command,
Death quick unbound his shaft, and touched her heart,
Curdling her hot life’s blood. With ruthless haste
He closed her snowy lids, and bound her brow
With ice. His spoils were done! He seized her breath,
The roses on her cheeks; but left that pure
And holy smile. He did not dare steal that;
For it belonged to Heaven.
THE END.
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