THE PATHFINDER, A JOURNAL OF PURE THEISM AND RELIGIOUS FREETHOUGHT, THE ORGAN OF INDEPENDENT RELIGIOUS REFORM. OR, AN ENGLISH RECTOR IN SEARCH OF A CREED. CHAPTER II. THE CHAMBER OF DEATH. THE chamber in which Mrs. Lester lay was a commodious one, but it could not be inspected without filling the beholder with surprise; it looked more like a museum than a lady's sleeping apartment. On its walls were hung, in strange confusion, a variety of objects of all ages, countries, and qualities. There were the wreathed horns of the antelope, tusks of the wild boar, the skin of a Bengal tiger, ostrich eggs, the dorsal fin of a shark, the horns of a bison, and fine geological specimens of the foot-prints of the earliest Saurians. There were curious pictures from China, silken cords from the banks of the Ganges, feather work of the ancient Mexicans, and fragments of hieratic papyri collected from Egyptian tombs. Between the parts of this incongruous collection, might be seen various specimens of tropical birds, whose plumage was as richly tinted as their tiny bodies were gracefully moulded. Above, below, and around, there hung or rested upon light brackets a still more miscellaneous assortment of curiosities, geological, artistic, archæological, or classical; all of which had been collected by Colonel Lester, when, either in the service of the State as a soldier, commissioner or secret agent, or seeking his own pleasure, he had been travelling in distant lands. It was his rule never to quit any remarkable place without obtaining something both portable and enduring which could be preserved as a memorial of his visit. And it seemed to have been viewed as a matter of trifling consequence what he carried away; nothing came amiss, whether statuary, porcelain, fragments of a rock, or only leaves from a tree; and he was as proud of one object as of another. Thus, there were Burmese ivory and clay images of Gaudama; miniature seals from the rock-cut temples of Western India; a coin from Phoenicia; stamped bricks from the Birs-i-Nimrud; a stone ear ruthlessly chipped off a piece of sculpture at Persepolis; a fragment of pottery from Memphis; a small cedar branch from the Lebanon; water in a bottle from the Jordan; a marble Z VOL. V. NEW SERIES. VOL. Í. finger from the Acropolis; a spear head from Mount Tageytus; a bronze fragment from the Campania, with many other warlike and artistic remains from Classic, Sacred, and Barbarian lands. Nor were the countries of Europe omitted, for Celtic and Saxon fragments found a place on the walls of this strangely furnished sleeping apartment. But what added to the oddity of the scene was the fact, that the various objects were distributed not with a view to their effect as a whole, but in the order of their collection. Beginning at the door, they were arranged round the room in the order of the Colonel's travels; and thus, as he was in the habit of boasting to his friends, the entire story of his life and its incidents hung upon the walls of his bedroom. Yet, when the first feeling of surprise had been conquered, there was something pleasing in the general impression produced by this medley; for accident, or the necessity of avoiding bulky objects, had so favoured the collection as to exclude everything likely, either by its form or proportions, to offend the laws of taste. To those who were now assembled within the room, all the objects had a peculiar value not estimable in the open market; and had some dealer in curiosities been called in to appraise their value, the owners would have been astonished at the low price he would have put upon them. The bedstead and its furniture were Anglo-Indian, and the rich damask curtains, now drawn back and festooned, served to throw out into bolder relief the still beautiful form of the dying mother. There was no anxious or fear-wrought expression upon her fine open countenance; neither had disease destroyed the rounded fulness of her face, which was one of those peculiar to the true English stock of mothers and daughters. She wore that sort of expression which indicates calmness and resignation; it was strong but humble; affectionate and full of tenderness. The brow was neither broad nor lofty, nor did it furnish those which the phrenologist speaks of as "indications of great intellectual power," yet it was impossible to look upon the entire face without feeling that urbanity and a noble sympathy, good sound sense, and great firmness of purpose were well combined in the character of its owner. The Doctor and Lester had entered the room very quietly, but in an instant the mother's eyes filled with tears as they alighted upon her son; she exhibited, however, no stronger signs of emotion. Raising the one arm she could still use (the other was hopelessly paralysed), she enfolded his neck as he bent over to kiss her. Several minutes passed, during which nor sound nor motion broke through the prevailing stillness; then she relaxed her hold, pushed him a little back, so that once more, with the light from a lamp falling full upon his face, she could see all its features, and smiled a content she was incapable of otherwise expressing. Lester sank upon his knees beside the bed, and in an instant her hand was laid upon his head. As in other days, she ran her fingers through his rich black hair, and while the strong feeling of pride was in her heart, the silence was broken by her saying, "Just like my dear departed Lester, when first we met upon the Welsh mountains." Pleasant memories of departed days came trooping back to her mind, shedding their air of love and tenderness over her last hours, even as the descending sun flashes back upon the mountains beams of light after he has long sunk below the horizon. Lester still knelt, and the loving fingers continued to be twined among the glossy curls; but after a long pause her voice again broke the silence. "The evening has come," she said, "but much sooner than I expected it. I have prayed for it, and now that I am called I must go to rejoin him who was the pride of my heart. I have seen him in my dreams, and last night I heard him call Ella, dear Ella!' as clearly as ever he called. I am going, not to the dark pit, but to the real world of life. Years ago I feared death very much, but I don't fear it now; it used to seem to me as if it must be cold and terrible, now I feel it to be warm and glorious. Your dear father often told me that our earthly existence is but a dream, out of which we awaken in the hour of death; and I never understood how it could be so, but now I feel and know that it is true. I have lain here and seen all my life through as in a minute, and yet every part was clearer to me than it had been before; so it is with the future, for I feel to know all about its sensations, and am sure that it will be grander and nobler than anything here below." Doctor Moule had been so frequently present at closing scenes, that he was not surprised to hear the dying woman speak again with all her original power; the others, when her voice rang out with its old strength, and nearly all its musical power, flattered themselves that she would recover; but he knew too well the nature of the symptoms to be at all deceived by this, as they were. Yes," said she, "I shall leave you here below, and I am glad to go to him, although I should be glad to stay with you. But do not grieve when I am gone; and remember, that we shall all meet again in the great Hereafter. I shall go away, but my love will not leave me; it will grow all the stronger for the separation. Death cannot sunder our spirits, and it is powerless to weaken our affection. Think of me when I am gone, and if I can I will watch your footsteps as I used to do. Heaven will be far more blessed to me if I can bend in spirit down upon my dear orphaned children. You will be left alone, but my heart tells me that you will still love one another. Study to be innocent, my children, and the good God will bring us all together again. Be true and upright, and endeavour to come to us with clean hands and upright hearts, and then blessedness, like a radiant angel, will come with you. The tone in which this was uttered had something of the supernatural about it; and when the voice ceased, the listeners felt as they do who, when the stars are out, and the bustle of life is buried in the nightly calm of nature, have heard soft strains wafted o'er the water, which ceased as suddenly as they began to stir the senses. But the succeeding silence was of brief duration, for presently she spake again. George," said she, "before I go I wish you would promise me that you will enter the Church and become a minister." Unconsciously, and before the whole of these words had been uttered, he rose from his kneeling attitude, and started like one astonished, but still he spake not. Moved by his silence, she continued- "For years past, although this never escaped my lips, the idea has been in my mind, and I hoped that while you were at college you would make choice of the ministry. Now that I am dying, I cannot any longer be silent about my wishes. Promise me, my child, that you will enter the Church, and I shall die in peace.” Lester had always been an obedient son-his mother's request had always stood as an absolute law; yet now, and when it was to have been least expected, he hesitated and held his peace. Evidently he did so, because of feeling the vast importance of the answer. He stood looking upon the face of his mother, waiting to hear other words, and looking like one who feared to answer "Yes," but who equally feared to answer "No." His wishes had never run in that direction; and had they done so, it is probable that, being strictly conscientious, what he had heard and seen at Oxford would have operated strongly to wean them away. He had, however, no aversion to the Church; on the contrary, he had never doubted its sacred character; still he had no desire to enter the ministry. The fact is, that, as yet, he had not decided upon his profession. If any idea of the future had ever held possession of his mind, it had been in favour of some calling which would have involved foreign travel; and around the room the objects were ranged which had operated upon him to create that desire. Still he had no definite idea of the capacity in which he should seek to gratify his wishes, unless as a tutor; and now that entrance into the Church was forced upon him, he felt equally desirous of giving and of refusing the solicited promise. Almost instinctively Mrs. Lester perceived his reluctance, though, from a foregone conclusion of her own, she interpreted it wrongly. This, however, operated to render her all the more anxious to obtain his promise. An expression of alarm gathered upon her countenance, which speedily gave way to that of a steady determination to achieve her purpose; for, speaking with a degree of startling energy, she said, "It is the last request of a fond mother to her dearly beloved child, and that child will not, dare not, refuse the prayer of the petition." Still Lester spoke not, but, looking full of grief, appeared as if anxious to hear all she would say before venturing upon uttering a word for himself. "Through long years," she resumed, "years of sickness and trouble, I watched over you, and George, my child, you have had too many proofs of my love to want me now to show that I have good cause for what I ask. . . . I have strong reasons, stronger than you can ever know. . . . I know that your only hope of safety, both here and hereafter, lies in granting and fulfilling my request." And here, as if moved by some deep emotion of soul, she solemnly added, "I wish to meet you again, with all my dear ones, I wish to give you back to your father.. It is my love compels me to ask your consent." None who were present could understand how it was that Lester allowed her to speak so much before giving any mark of his assenting to her proposal, neither could he understand it. He said afterwards that he felt as if all power of utterance was gone; and that, although before she began her second appeal he had resolved upon consenting, he was unable to express his intentions. But when the last touching appeal closed he was free again to speak as a faithful son. "Yes, mother, I shall do what you request. I know you wish wisely, I know your affectionate care, and if it will make you happy, then I solemnly promise to do my best to become a clergyman; and if I should succeed I will labour my utmost honourably, and to their farthest limits, to perform the duties of my station." The words were hardly spoken before their effect was visible upon Mrs. Lester, a glow of heartfelt satisfaction was diffused over her countenance, pleasure was in every feature, and what many would term a supernatural charm was lent to her appearance. For some minutes it appeared as if amid the tumult of sudden joy her spirit had taken its flight, but after a short time a tinge of colour came back to her cheek, and she endeavoured to make her son comprehend why she had so anxiously pressed this point. From the broken narrative, frequently interrupted as it was by her inability to complete her sentences, it appeared that, while yet a mere child, Lester had exhibited a degree of curiosity which was considered unusual. This made him to be a very troublesome child, for he would never sit quiet on the stool, but was eternally prying into matters with which he had nothing to do, and asking questions about subjects which he could not and should not understand. His curiosity, however, was not of the idle, but of the practical kind; and -when he wished to have any subject explained, he persisted in his enquiries until he was reasonably satisfied. To tell him that the matter about which he enquired was one which he could not comprehend, was merely to give an edge to his appetite, and to sharpen his desire for information; peace was utterly out of the question until he had been answered. And what was particularly remarkable about him was the fact that he never said "Yes! yes! I see," unless he really did understand what was said. If he was taken through a factory or over any large works, he would stand for an hour "hail fellow well met! with the dirtiest engine boy on the establishment, in order to get the explanation he desired about the action of some part of the machinery. This intense curiosity, as his mother called it, had alarmed her, and she concluded that, when grown to be a man, through desiring to learn all about the nature and cause of things, he would become a sceptic, or even, as she phrased it, a disbeliever in all subjects connected with the Scripture religion." "Through the closeness of his enquiries, and his restlessness to discover the truth," said she, "your dear father was led to deny Here an involuntary shudder, as of some painful associations, ran through her frame, and suspended her speech. Doctor Moule, who seemed thoroughly to divine the cause, gently laid his hand upon her arm saying, Not now! not now! Touch not the old wounds; they have all been healed, and must not be made to bleed afresh." Both George and Ella looked surprised, but Mrs. Lester thanked him for the kindly warning, and then fell back into herself, as if feeling that he had wisely exercised his prohibitory authority. When she again spake it was to say, "It is best as it is; best unmentioned, for God has given him perfect rest. . . . But, my son, it was my fears for your eternal safety which made me so earnest; once in the Church, I knew you would be safe; and now that you have promised me that, I shall die in peace. Here a slight rustle drew her attention to the opposite side of the bed, and, knowing who was standing there, she gently said, "Come, my child, Mary, come round.” Mary came round and stood beside George. For a few moments Mrs. Lester lay silently contemplating the youthful couple. At length she said, "You know what I wish about your future course. Let it be as you have both promised, and may God from heaven bless you both. But, Mary, remember your solemn promise, and keep it." The young girl crimsoned when George took her hand, and said, “Your lightest wish, dear mother, is our mutual blessing;" but evidently that which was suggested, both by word and act, was in perfect harmony with what Mary herself desired. Jane here moistened the lips of Mrs. Lester, and whispered into her ear, They will be my children now, and I shall never leave them. Till I die, I shall be where Master George and Miss Ella are, I must." The coming of death destroys all distinctions, and the proudest monarch would be pleased to hear the oath of loyal fealty to his son taken by the poorest peasant. The dying woman was gratified beyond expression; yet, had Jane remained silent, her mistress would have been quite as certain about |