The rectory of Valehead

Preface

The plan of the little work here presented o the reader, may seem to require some preitory statement. Its subject might have een treated in abstract in a regularly armged dissertation ; but little reflection, how- • *er, is necessary, in order to perceive that formal treatise were but ill suited to its .ture. The best part of the history of me, is made up of a multitude of minute d irregular incidents, which make their impression rather by their accumulation and unceasing action, than by their importance. Of these such a plan could not lay hold, much less turn them to their proper account ; besides, a very large portion of the persons intended to be addressed, require their attention to be engaged by a much more popular mode of appeal. Upon these grounds, a

IV PREFACE.

miscellaneous detail of circumstances appeared preferable. This affords a comprehensive and practical vehicle of instruction, and supplies, at the same time, to the subject all the popularity of which its dignity is capable. On the same grounds, likewise, the intermixture of prose and verse recommended itself to the author, and has been employed according as either dress seemed most adapted to the case in hand, the former best rendering the expression of the more common and regular routine of circumstances, the latter being more suitable to the pointing of those minute and uncontemplated incidents which are continually starting up and rousing our reflection. Miscellaneous as the appearance of his volume may thus be, the author trusts that he has obtained variety, and not violated unity of design ; that all is uniformly directed to one object, and, through that, to the one great end, without which no deed is good, no thought is worthy, no affection is pure.

The subject has long appeared to the author to be too slightly dwelt upon by

PREFACE. V

writers. Amid the crowd of books which are daily issuing forth, directed to individual conduct, how few are they which notice the peculiarity of the Christian Home, essential element though it be of the great body of Christ, and cradle of the Christian's social graces. We, indeed, need to be reminded again and again, that it is a permanent congregation, assembled before God for mutual edification and for his glory, — that nature has done no more than the menial office of throwing its members down as stones in one heap upon earth. The hand of the builder is required to accomplish its high destiny, and put them together for everlasting in the wall of his Zion.

The high cultivation of mind in these days so widely prevalent, has created a very general interest in the beauties of natural scenery. This feeling being one of those which is increased by participation, and in itself of the most soothing and amiable kind, will be most intensely enjoyed in the society of home. It must be observed, however, that while, of all dispositions of mind, it

VI PREFACE.

affords the most pleasing and most frequent channel to the entertainment of spiritual thoughts, yet, if undirected onwards to them, it will but foster a tendency towards natural religion. " The letter killeth, but the spirit giveth life/' The author, therefore, has been led, no less by duty than inclination, to bring it frequently forward, and turn it to its proper account.

What remains to be stated may now be left to the speaker of the following pages, who, in the Introduction and Conclusion, will give further information on the design of the work. It will here suffice to observe that the volume has been the result of short intervals of summer leisure, when the author found it absolutely necessary to throw aside all books, but could not remain quite unoccupied. Thus it is, as it were, a bundle of wild plants, which have sprung up in his fallow. May they have sufficient brightness of hue, and adequate sweetness of fragance, to invite the attention of the passenger !

PREFACE

TO THE THIRD EDITION.

On being called upon for a third edition of this work, the author has been anxious to make such improvements as the time and his leisure would allow. In some places, therefore, he has made corrections, in others, expanded the sense of a passage by additions, and has inserted two new Chapters, which have appeared to him requisite to complete the plan.

With regard to the model of a Christian Home presented in the following pages, he wishes to state that he holds the principle, that a model proposed to moral or religious practice, while it may be approachable in va-

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rious degrees, should also be unattainable in the whole ; otherwise, at some point or other, it will cease both to stimulate and to instruct. He hopes that this will be borne in mind by any one who shall think that the picture here presented can scarcely be realized in the practice of life, at least in these most unpatriarchal of days.

Cambridge, 4% 1831.

Contents

Chapter. Pa S e

I. Introduction .. .. .. .. 1

II. The Constitution of a Christian Family 11

Prologue to the Widow .. .. 216

The Widow 218

CONTENTS.

XI

Chapter.

Page

XVII.

The Pensioners of the Family

SVIII.

The Family Excursion

The Storm

The Ascent . .

The Hill-Top

The Review

The Brook . . . . . •

The Rainbow

XIX

. The Servants of the Family

The Discovery

The Servant

XX.

The Friend of the Family ..

The Only Friend

XXI.

The Library

Meditation in a Library

XXII.

Conclusion

Epitaph

:he

RECTORY OF VALEHEAD.

Introduction

Several years have now passed since I officiated as the Minister of the parish of Valehead ; the latter part particularly of the time which I spent there was, from circumstances which will presently appear, so fraught with instructive conversation, that, after having recurred to it in memory with increasing delight and profit, I am at last induced to commit to writing a register of my impressions, and only wish that I could, as once Xenophon to Socrates, do proper justice to the wisdom of my instructor.

The parish of Valehead is situated just where a wild and mountainous region meets a fertile

B

\l THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD.

champaign country, with which it imperceptibly blends by the gradual opening of its valleys, and sinking of its hills. I have said parish, for village there is none, the houses being situated in the centre of their respective farms, and thus very prettily scattered with their white fronts, and half-screening orchards, over the face of the country. If, however, the term village be insisted upon, then we must apply it to a cluster of some five or six houses situated near the church, and forming those important elements, the residences of the lawyer and of the doctor, the ale-house, the smithy, and the shop. On the north side of the church, and opening into the church-yard by an old-fashioned gateway, whence issues to the chancel-door a narrow path, traversing the green in aristocratic solitude, stands the manor-house, an ancient black and white building, one-half of whose windows are bricked up, and the other presenting a sad unsightly contrast with what you immediately perceive must have been their former state, by having had their fine old mullions cut away, and the ugliest sashes of the manufactory class introduced in their stead. Nevertheless, it still presents a noble appearance, both from the beauty of its general outline, and from many of its worst mutilations being concealed by a grove of venerable walnut-trees, which by some unaccountable good fortune escaped the proscription, or rather conscription, of their race during the late war. The church is sufficiently rude, pierced irregularly with windows of all styles, here with the narrow pointed slit, there with the broad mullioned square, and in its general outline exhibiting, in the usual style of this part of the country, a singular combination of the barn and dove-cote. It, however, often attracts the notice of the stranger as he passes along the great road, by being seen perched upon a green and sunny knoll, contrasting its white walls with the deep indigo of a precipitous mountain seen beyond. It stands in the upper part of a long vale, which a little farther up forks out into three narrow valleys, each bringing down its river. These flow in an united stream under the church-yard, crossed by a handsome bridge, and in the proper season the banks are dotted with anglers, who resort hither from considerable distances. The church-yard has ever been with me a favourite walk, independent of the train of thought which it naturally suggests ; it is warm and sunny, and presents also a great variety of beautiful prospect.

Looking thence down the vale, your eye wanders over a rich and well wooded, though somewhat flat country, along which you trace for many a mile, by a succession of gleaming elbow r s and reaches, the course of the river, and, reaching the horizon, sees it indented by the towers and spires of the metropolis of our district. Looking upwards, your view penetrates into the three valleys before mentioned. One of these is shortly terminated, presenting a lofty waterfall at its upper extremity, which rushes, at one leap, over a bare ledge of slate-rock. The view up the two others is more extensive, but is gradually lost amid jutting promontories. In one, you can just discern the tower of its village church, and the knoll crowned by ancient firtrees, which protect the village from its peculiar wind. In the other, the singular fall of the mountains shews at once the nature of the stream which waters it, the roar of whose waves I often delight in catching at the still of the evening. The whole horizon in this direction, in complete contrast to that in the other, is tossed like a stormy sea into waves of solid rock and mountain, of every variety of form and figure, some most singular and fantastic. On such of them as are near enough you may discern nicks and furrows, denoting an old circular encampment, and sometimes the predominant figure of a turfy sweep is interrupted by a short and momentary swell, the tomb of some ancient warrior. Traces, indeed, every where present themselves of the possession of the country haying been disputed inch by inch. The foreground is a rich combination of wood, meadow, and water, setting off to great advantage, by its lively verdure, the dark and rugged back ground. Accustomed as I have been from my cradle to beautiful scenery, I felt truly thankful to my God for this among other blessings, that he had cast the lot of my ministry in so fair a land.

With my parishioners, too, I had every. reason to be satisfied. All my intercourse with them harmonised with the feelings, and satisfied the imagination, excited by the view of their romantic country. They were a plain, pious, and well-informed race 3 but this character, of course, I do not attribute to the nature of their scenery, though I am confident that this has more effect than moralists are generally inclined to allow ) nor was I long in discovering its principal cause. Every where I found that a master hand in religious reformation had been before me. It was the operation of my last

O THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD.

predecessor but one, who had become a proverb in the mouths of the inhabitants, and was familiarly termed the good Rector. Though he had now been dead full twenty years, his works still remained, and his conversation had left a blessed fragrance behind. Among the usual effects produced by a pious Pastor, I found one very general, which I believe most difficult to establish, a habit of family prayer, and in most houses I saw still in constant use a short liturgy, with occasional prayers to be used under various circumstances, which had been composed by him. The elderly persons were proud to be able to mention any act of kindness which they had received from him, as if it had imparted a sort of holiness to them; and to have been baptized by the good Rector, conferred a dignity of character similar to that which formerly attended the pilgrim on his return from Palestine. He had, of course, the usual reputation of a great scholar, and, in this instance, if I may judge from the little which he has left, it was for once well founded. As far as I can make out, he appears to have formed an agreeable mean between the old school of divines of the Stuart period and the very modern. He seems to have had all the weight of learning

THE RECTORY OF VALEHEAD. J

of the former conjoined with the ministerial activity of the latter. And though his sermons have too much of the old methodical hair-splitting divisions of firstly, secondly, and so on, they are far removed from more serious defects of that school 3 they are never barren essays, or vain speculative disquisitions, but lucid explanations of points of doctrine, enforced by most earnest exhortation.

A school-house and other buildings are more obvious, though far less precious, testimonies of his zeal. Among these is one which is always duly pointed out to strangers by the sexton, who is the more proud of it, because it shews his late beloved master, he thinks, in a new character, that of a poet. It is a stone seat near the chancel door, so situated that the person sitting there sees a distant waterfall just over the sun-dial. He used to be much delighted in contemplating this quaint coincidence of two most expressive emblems of our fleeting existence, and on the stone has carved these lines, which the sexton, for fear you should not be able to spell, always reads to you with his fingers in the letters, and for fear of your having a short memory, always repeats twice over.

" Sit down awhile, this scene survey, 'Twill help thee in my church to pray.'*

His residence was the manor-house before described, which was his family property, as lay-Rector of the parish, the living being only a vicarage.

It was on Sunday, August 14th, 1825, (I love to note the very day to which 1 owe so much,) that I was surprised at seeing a perfect stranger pass up the aisle, and enter, as one well accustomed to the place, the pew in the chancel appropriated to the Manor-house. He gazed for a few moments, with an earnest look on the monuments which covered the wall above, in every variety of style, from the kneeling alabaster figures and cushions of Elizabeth and James, down to the plain marble tablet of George III. He seemed upon the verge of seventy, and his face possessed that peculiar look of mild resignation, which sorrow, turned to good account, ever produces. His voice too^ when I afterwards spoke with him, came with that softness, which leads one to imagine, that sorrow has physically no less than morally softened the heart, and relaxed all the rigidities of the passages from the breast to the lips* He turned out to be the sole surviving child of the

THE RECTORY OF VALEKEAD. 9

good Rector ; and, contrary to the advice of his friends, who thought his feelings scarcely adequate to the trial, had returned, after fifty years, to spend the summer months at his native place, where, by removing some rubbish of the farmer's, and opening some windows long blocked up, he had fitted up two or three rooms very comfortably. He told me that the greatest shock which he had experienced, was on that morning at church. On opening the pew-door he involuntarily started at its emptiness, and, in the corner, where his mother always sate, he found her prayer-book lying still, though tattered and mouldering. He spent with me the remainder of that day ; and I afterwards saw very much of him, nor did I ever leave his company without the consciousness of increased information. The fruits of my intercourse with him I now offer to the public 5 and regret that the office of registering example and advice so excellent, should have fallen into hands so inadequate.

Before concluding, I ought to say something of the poetical pieces interspersed in this volume. Many of them are, of course, component parts of the family liturgy, and proceeded chiefly, if not altogether, from the hand of the Rector - 3 others from different hands of the family ; and, among these, some from him of whom I have a moment ago been speaking. He gave me this account of them : " Their composition was not altogether the whiling away of, an idle hour; it served me for something of a higher nature than mere amusement, since the constraint of verse obliged me to turn the leading idea, and view it in every possible light, to pursue it into all its bearings. Thus I arrived, as from the porch to the sanctuary, at thoughts and objects of meditation, which had otherwise never presented themselves, and the less so in proportion to the holiness and loftiness of their nature ; and, besides, I found that I thus concentrated, and called home to their due service, a crowd of ideas, which had else floated about loose and unemployed, and served rather to perplex me than to inform. I consider, therefore, each of these little pieces as the clinging and twining of my mind round some subject, which it would fain not dismiss until it had attained the angel's blessing ! — May it have so attained ! They are now precious to me as the tokens and sensible relics of past and blessed moments 3 — may they be precious to you as the results of a fellow- creature's experience."

Chapter II. The Constitution Of A Christian Family

I had not long enjoyed the acquaintance of my venerable friend, when he began to unfold the habits and opinions in which he had beenbrought up. I had been observing to him the method and regularity which distinguished the older families of the parish, attributing it, where I believe it was entirely due, to the exertions of his father. "My father," he said, " was thought to entertain peculiar notions on the subject by most of his neighbours. But my experience has convinced me that they were not only sound in doctrine, but replete with benefit in practice. The turf here is soft and dry, and we have a delicious prospect to amuse our eyes. Let us sit down for a short time, and I will detail to you some of the doctrines and traditions of our little church, for so my father delighted to term his domestic circle."

He maintained that society in general, as established on the principles of our nature, and still more the church, as based upon the feelings superinduced by the Gospel, was like those perfect bodies in unorganized nature, which, however you divide them, and however far you carry your division, still present, though on a lessening scale, parts similar to each other, and to the whole. Thus, as in one case, we divide kingdom into provinces, province into districts, district into families, each under their respective heads of king, governor, lieutenant, father, and each a model of the preceding -, so, too, may we divide the universal church into national churches, national church into dioceses, diocese into congregations, congregation into families, each an epitome of the preceding, and collected under its proper head, as under Christ, under chief bishop, under bishop, under minister, under father. And as the subject maintains connexion with his king through the links of society above mentioned, so the individual with Christ through the corresponding bonds of the church. He cannot for a moment consider himself isolated and independent of the next link above him, his family, nor that family deem itself unconnected with the next superior bond, the congregation. From this view of the case he shewed what an important element a family was in both societies, natural and spiritual, and if in the former system it was reckoned by the heathen a portion so significant that he assigned to it peculiar deities and peculiar rites, what ought we to think of its value in the latter } In both cases it is the concentrated spot of those motives, the place where that bias and impulse is given, the cradle of those affections and principles which, from their intensity here, proceed beyond the threshold, arrive in proper vigour at the wider circles of public life, and there, uniting with the corresponding energies of other families, bind together the mass of society, so as to become solid as the congealed surface which originates from a number of centres, shooting forth their raying needles, and interlacing till they form one uniform surface. God has himself determined its importance in his church. For as in that he has declared his sense of its dignity and holiness, by appearing in it amid signs and wonders, with the blazing mountain, the host of Angels, the voice of the trumpet, and the sound of words, unendurable, from the terror which it inspired 5 so in this, in this lesser Zion, he has assured us of its sanctity, by manifesting his presence in it with a softening of his glory in beautiful accordance with the calmness of domestic life. Who has not felt his bosom burn within him when he reads of his abode in the house of Lazarus, and finds him weeping with those that weep, comforting the afflicted, and dismissing the penitent in forgiveness ?

It is truly delightful at times to take off the eyes from the direct view of the painful splendour of the universal church, and to contemplate it through this soft and attempering medium : the perception is then accompanied with those vigorous and elementary feelings of love and warmth of heart, which are too apt to become vague in attempting to comprehend the vast proportions of the other. Let us for a moment indulge in the contemplation.

In the venerable head of the family we acknowledge its bishop, its centre of unity, source of faith, object of obedience. Of him the flock is both naturally and spiritually born, and fed with the necessaries of this life,, and of the next. He is to them the conservator of the oracles of God he is the entrusted minister of Christ.

His blessing confers the good of the world being, and of the world to be, and his cursing is a condemnation both now and hereafter. He is ever in his diocese, every day, yea, every hour, visiting and inspecting his flock, encouraging the obedient, chastising the froward, feeding the hungry, healing the sick, comforting the mourner, instructing the ignorant, interceding in prayer. He has, too, his priesthood in the elder members of his family, who assist and relieve his labours by their attention to the younger, who surround, as faithful stewards and ministers^ his chair in his administration, and his altar in his devotions. Oh ! high indeed is his claim, lofty his privilege, and tremendous his responsibility to the church of God.

It has likewise its appropriate liturgy, expressive of its peculiar circumstances 3 holds its appointed days of fast and festival, commemorative of the various events with which God has been pleased to visit it- and has its canons, which, though not reduced to writing, are thoroughly understood and cheerfully obeyed.

Nor wants this little church its catalogue of saints : such, perhaps, is some gentle, affectionate member, possessed of the blessed privilege of winning all hearts, whose modest talents were unweariedly exerted in healing the sores of domestic contention, into whose ear was poured the secret of the grieved and burdened heart, and from whose lips were expected and received the words of advice and of comfort, to whose piety they seemed to feel indebted for the blessings which visited them, in whose existence all appeared enwrapt as in their joy, their prop, and their stay, the bitter example of whose calmness and resignation they were doomed to witness through long and protracted sufferings, whom at last they laid in the grave, premature in years, but mature in godliness, whose existence among them seems now as the visit of an angel whom they had been entertaining unawares, whom they cannot persuade themselves even now to suppose that they have utterly lost, but conceive to hover about the once beloved abode, and shed a hallowing protection upon its inmates.

Nor, alas ! is wanting its catalogue of martyrs, of those who spent with unwearied toil, and wrung at heart by being continually foiled by some whom they love most dearly, in their unceasing endeavours to keep together their little community, and maintain it against the inroads of a pitiless and profligate world, and gallantly bearing up to the last, bound, as it were, to the stake, fell at length, and sank into an untimely grave, rejoicing and blessing their crucified Master in that he had imparted to them strength and courage for the combat, and confident in hope of what to men seemed hopeless, namely, that he would in his own good time put the finishing crown to what, under his assistance, they had begun.

Nor is it exempt from the failings of its great model, for it comprehends the bad with the good, the hypocrite with the faithful, and it too has its schismatics and heretics ; it too has those who despise its salutary control, spurn its paternal restrictions, and assert their liberty by fomenting dissentions within, and, finally, drawing off a party in open revolt from beneath the fatherly roof, set up a separate and rival household, and bring the whole family into disrepute before a cruel and unthinking world.

Holding these opinions on the constitution of a Christian Family, the good Rector was accustomed to express himself with feelings of exceeding awe upon his double responsibility as father and minister, and w T ould repeat again and again, as continually lying upon his mind, the passage of St. Paul, where he observes that the

c person who is inefficient in the management of his own household, is also unfit for government in God's church. He was unceasing in urging upon others the sanctity of home, the sin of undervaluing that which has more than once comprised the whole church of God, and such as undervalued he asserted to be as incapable of understanding the nature of that church as the person ignorant of syllables is of reading its records. He would, therefore, pray and entreat of fathers of families to take heed to themselves how their behaviour affects the church of the Christ and God : for that they too are masons in that glorious fabric, and however inferior, yet of vital importance • and if their part of the wall be loose and uncemented, how dare they arraign a superior mason, whose functions, embracing this part in a still more extensive range of duty, have been hindered by his neglect. And he called upon each member of a family to reflect upon the exceeding guilt of family dissention ; for that it was not only a violation of natural affection, not only a breach of Christian charity, but also a rent in the glorious vest of the church of God, and that, if in a lower degree of effect yet not of guilt, they were schismatics. He told them that a family thus divided, was incapable of real union with the church 3 for how could they be united without, who were disunited within 5 how could they lay their gift upon the altar who were unreconciled with their brother 3 how could they in public prayer arrive at any holy conclusion, whose unholiness interrupted their domestic devotions. No ! be assured, he would say, that in this case you are virtually cut off from the church of God 3 you are stones which have rolled out of the wall of the spiritual Zion 3 you are branches which the sap from the main trunk of the vine refuses to visit 3 you are sheep to whom the shepherd will not open the door of his fold.

Oh ! great, unspeakable, is the blessedness of a godly home. Here is the cradle of the Christian 3 hence he sallies forth for encounter with the world, armed at all points, disciplined in all the means of resistance, and full of hope of victory under his heavenly leader. Hither he ever afterwards turns a dutiful and affectionate look, regarding it as the type and pledge of another home 3 hither, too, when sore wounded in that conflict, he resorts to repair his drooping vigour 3 here, when abandoned by the selfish sons of this world, he finds, as in a sanctuary, the children of God ready with open arms to receive him 5 and here the returning prodigal, enfolded in the embrace of those who know not, dream not, of the impurities of the world with which he has been mixing, feels all at once his heart burst with shame and repentance. Merciful God, what a city of refuge hast thou ordained in the Christian home !

A truly Christian home can scarcely be said to die : it may disappear from the eyes of flesh, but its better parts, those which alone are truly valuable, belong also to our everlasting home, It has but to throw off the elements of flesh, and it becomes at once that spiritual home to which eternal bliss is appended. All its occupations are preparations for another life, all its actions converge to that point • its society is a lively figure of that in heaven, and its bonds of union, though originating in the flesh, have long ago been advanced and established in the spirit. Its inmates regard each other as companions of the life to come, and deride the power of any separation which this world can effect. They look with contemptuous pity upon the miserable expedient for union after death to which w r orldlings resort, the laying up their bones in a costly vault 3 thus making a mockery of home by a disgusting assemblage of mouldering skeletons. Being one in spirit, whether in the same grave, or with half the world between, they are still in union.