The Sign of the Cross;

OR,

EDAH CHAMPLIN.

BY

LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY

AUTHOR OF "SOPHIE KENNEDY'S EXPERIENCE," ETC., ETC.

—————————————— "IF ANY MAN WILL COME AFTER ME, LET HIM DENY HIMSELF, AND TAKE UP HIS CROSS, AND FOLLOW ME."—ST. MATT. xvi. 24. ——————————————

NEW YORK:

GENERAL PROTESTANT EPISCOPAL S. S. UNION

AND

Church Book Society,

637 BROADWAY.

1856.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————— Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1855, by THE GEN. PROT. EPISCOPAL S. S. UNION and CHURCH BOOK SOCIETY, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New York. ———————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————

R. C. VALENTINE, STEREOTYPER AND ELECTROTYPIST, 17 Dutch-st., cor. Fulton, N. Y.

TO THE

TRUE FRIEND OF MY EARLY DAYS,

THE BELOVED

PRINCIPAL OF THE ROCHESTER FEMALE ACADEMY,

THE FOLLOWING PAGES ARE RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED BY

THE AUTHOR

PREFACE. ————

THE following pages were written with a desire of awakening in the minds of the younger members of our Church, the inquiry, "Am I living up, in any degree, to the promise and vow made in my name at my Baptism? Have not I sometimes been ashamed to confess the faith of Christ crucified, at least in deeds and in my daily life and conversation? How many combats have I ever fought under His banner against sin, the world, and the devil, since the Sign of the Cross was first imprinted upon my forehead in the holy Sacrament?" It is to be feared that too many, even of those who have by their own act ratified and confirmed those solemn promises in the presence of the Bishop and congregation, are living in indifference to them. They acknowledge their obligations indeed in words, but the mainspring of their daily actions is very far from being a principle of self-sacrifice and self-consecration. They offer at the Communion themselves, their souls, and bodies, to be a reasonable, holy, and living sacrifice; but no sooner have they retired from the Holy Table,

nay, sometimes before they are out of sight of it, than they act as though body and soul were their own, and had never been bought with a price, nor offered anew, in both the Sacraments, to Him who bought them. How many are there, especially of young ladies, with whom one might be in habits of familiar intercourse for weeks, without ever suspecting that they had renounced the vain pomp and glory of the world, with all covetous desires of the same! Nay, might not one rather imagine that these very pomps and glories were the very end and aim of their lives? The account of the debut of an eminent concert-singer or tragedian possesses more interest for them than the story of the most triumphant success obtained by the missionaries of the Cross over the darkness and misery of heathenism; and they would rather a dozen western Sunday Schools should go without books, than that they themselves should want the latest fancy of lace or trimming. It is not often that we are called upon to make any great sacrifice to our religious obligations, though perhaps such occasions would

present themselves more frequently if we were more willing to see them; but there is not a day which does not bring with it some opportunity of self-denial and self-sacrifice, or some necessity for an open declaration of our principles either in words or actions. Let us be careful that we do not heedlessly overlook or wilfully shut our eyes to these opportunities as they occur. If faithfully improved, though the plant be thorny to grasp, it will yield golden fruit of discipline and strength; if weakly shunned, or boldly trodden down, the thorns will remain to vex us, long after the occurrence is forgotten. It is often difficult to perform our duty in this respect with a serene and quiet temper; but for this, as for all graces, let us ask of Him who giveth liberally and upbraideth not, and in due time we shall reap, if we faint not. L. E. G. ROCHESTER, Dec. 1855.

CONTENTS. ————

CHAPTER.

I. INTRODUCTORY.

II. CHANGING PLANS.

III. THE NEW HOME.

IV. NEW FRIENDS.

V. THE SHOCK.

VI. THE RESOLUTION.

VII. THE DAY OF SMALL THINGS.

VIII. NEW LABORS AND NEW PLEASURES.

IX. THE CHRISTMAS SERVICE.

X. LETTERS.

XI. "OF SUCH IS THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN."

XII. "ARISE AND BUILD."

XIII. LENTEN SERVICES—BAD NEWS.

XIV. THE JOURNEY.

XV. THE EASTER SERVICE.

The Sign of the Cross

The Sign of the Cross;

CHAPTER I.

INTRODUCTORY.

"THE Bishop of this Diocese will hold a Confirmation service in this church on Sunday morning, the twelfth of May. Any persons intending to come forward at that time will please give their names to the Rector as soon as possible. A course of lectures preparatory to the rite will commence on Wednesday evening of this week."

Such was the notice read by the Rev. Mr. Wardwell one Sunday morning before sermon, at the same time that he gave notice of the Communion, and other matters to be published. There had not been a Confirmation in the parish for more than three years, during which time it had been without a settled Rector, and in the course of these three years a number of young persons of both sexes had come to years of discretion to answer for themselves. There was, moreover, a large boarding-school in the village, kept by a lady who was a member of the Episcopal Church, and it might reasonably be expected that some of its members would be among the number who should present themselves at this time.

Mr. Wardwell had occupied his present station about six months and he had found things upon his arrival in rather a dilapidated state, as might be expected in a flock having no shepherd for so long a time. The number of regular communicants was very small; the Sunday School was scattered, and the books lost; the church itself was out of repair, and the people were rather unwilling to do any thing towards putting it in better condition. Mr. Wardwell was a wise man, and knew very well that it was not desirable to undertake too much at once, so he said nothing at first about church repairs, but visited his people vigorously, preached fervently, and prayed earnestly, and by and by things began to look up. A new library was obtained, and the Sunday School started. People began to come to church and to the Communion who had never been seen there before. Many children and some grown persons were baptized, and a general feeling of seriousness was apparent in the congregation. All this was very encouraging: the faithful minister's heart sang for

joy; and when the Bishop informed him of his intention to visit the parish at no very distant period, Mr. Wardwell had a confident hope of being able to present a goodly number to receive the holy ordinance of the laying on of hands.

When church was out, and the congregation was on their way homewards, there might be heard from different groups various conjectures as to who would come forward and who ought to come forward, while several might be observed walking silently and with serious faces, as if thinking deeply on some subject of importance. Among these last were two girls (perhaps they should be called young ladies) belonging to Miss Anderson's school. They were both rather remarkably well-dressed, and both very pretty—the elder being perhaps about eighteen, and the other a year younger.

They walked at least half the way down the long street without exchanging a word, when the younger said, in a half-sportive tone, "How sociable we are! A penny for your thoughts, Edah!"

"I was thinking of the notice Mr. Wardwell gave about the Bishop," said Edah; and then added, rather abruptly, after another moment's silence, "I suppose you mean to be confirmed this time, don't you?"

"Not that I know of," replied Milly, "at least I have not thought any thing about it. Why did you think I meant to be confirmed?"

"Why, because—you are old enough, and I know you never have been, so I thought it natural enough that you should take this opportunity, as you will so soon be going into society."

"What of that?" asked Milly. "Cannot one go into society without being confirmed? I have known many people very much in society who never troubled their heads about the matter."

"But I suppose you think every one ought to be confirmed, some time, don't you?" asked Edah. And as her companion did not reply, she went on urging various reasons in favor of the rite.

Millicent listened in silence, and when Edah paused, she said, abruptly—

"After all, Edah, what is the difference?"

"The difference!" said Edah. "I don't know what you mean, Milly."

"I mean, what difference does it make whether a person is confirmed or not? Take ourselves, for instance. You have been confirmed, and I have not, and what is the great difference between us? We are both good scholars, and tolerably obedient and tractable. We should either of us be ashamed to engage in any such foolish cabals and pranks as some of the girls do. If there is any difference, I think I am rather more careful in keeping rules than you are. But in other respects I do not see any thing to choose. You are as fond of dress and company, and every thing of the sort, as any girl in school, and spend as much time upon them. I always thought that religious people were fond of the Bible, and loved prayer; but we have roomed together for more than three years, and I cannot see that you care any more for such things than myself. To be sure you could go to the Communion if you chose, but then you never do choose, and, as I said, what is the difference after all?"

Edah was silent, and Milly thought she was angry at the freedom with which she had spoken. She hastened to say, "Do not be angry with me, Edah. I don't say this by way of finding any fault with you, of course, but only because—because I want to understand you. You know we always say just what we think to each other."

"I am not angry, my dear Milly," said Edah, forcing herself to speak; "I was only thinking of what you have been saying, and I am afraid it is too true."

"It has never seemed to me," continued Millicent, "that I should wish to be confirmed in that way, as if it were a mere ceremony, which was in some way necessary to one's being grown-up. It appears to me to be a much more solemn thing than that. I never heard much about it at home, for my friends are not what you would call religious people, as you know very well. Father is busy in his office from morning till night, and almost from night till morning, and Aunt Maria cares for nothing but society. But I used sometimes to hear old Dr. Shelly speak on the subject, and from him I got what few ideas I have. It never seemed to me that I should be willing to take such solemn vows upon myself, unless I were sure of keeping them, and I am quite certain that I should have to be something very different from what I am now to do that."

"What vows?" asked Edah.

"Why, the baptismal vows, to be sure. I believe, after all, I know more about it than you do. But here we are at home: how slowly we have walked! I do not mean to say," she added, "that I shall not think of Confirmation, and I mean to attend the lectures, at any rate, if Miss Anderson will give me leave."

"I should like to stay at home this afternoon, Miss Anderson," said Edah, with some hesitation, as the bells sounded for afternoon service.

Miss Anderson looked surprised.

"How is that, my dear? Are you not well?"

"My head aches a little, but that is not the reason I wish to stay at home. I feel as if I should like to be alone a little while."

"Well, Edah," said Miss Anderson, "I think I may venture to give you permission, though I would not do so for every one. But I know very well that I may depend upon you—that you will not spend the time improperly."

Edah was glad to be so trusted, and she was still more glad to have the time to herself. Millicent's remarks had awakened a new train of thought in her mind, which she felt in a manner obliged to follow out.

Edah had been rather peculiarly situated. Her mother died when she was very young, and her father had married again very soon. She had inherited some property from a distant relation, who, by his will, had placed her under the care of another relative, a rich and childless man, with whom she had resided almost entirely when she was not in school.

She had once or twice made very short visits to her father's house, now filled with a young family, but she had never found these visits very pleasant. Mrs. Champlin was kind to her, but she was not very refined in manners or conversation, and her children were perfectly ungoverned and unruly. Her father had never seemed the same since his first wife's death. He was now careless in his dress and manners, indifferent to business, and Edah feared he sometimes drank. She had stayed a week, and then departed, without much regret on either side, for Mrs. Champlin felt herself rather constrained in the presence of her really refined and fashionable stepdaughter; and Edah thought the children perfect little barbarians, as it must be confessed they were.

Edah had received very little religious instruction. Miss Anderson contented herself with seeing that her young ladies were all provided with Bibles and Prayer-Books; that they went to church regularly, and behaved well while there; and the younger ones were required to recite the Church Catechism every Saturday morning, sometimes to a teacher, but more frequently to some of the older girls, who were not very particular as to the sense, provided the tongue was able to rattle off the words glibly.

At one time when she was at home, several of her most intimate companions had been confirmed, and she had joined them, with the consent of her guardian, who thought it a matter of little consequence one way or the other. She had made some good resolutions at the time, but the duties of school, and the gaieties of home, soon effaced them from her mind, and she stood just where she did before, except that she had learned to feel a kind of dependence on her Confirmation, as if that alone insured her salvation. She had now and then a feeling as if she were not living exactly as she ought; she felt that the things of another world were very seldom in her thoughts, and had no influence upon her life and conversation. But these impressions had never yet been deep enough to produce any lasting change in her conduct.

Millicent Amory was about her own age, and there were a good many points of resemblance between them. They were both pretty and intelligent, fond of study and reading, self-respecting, and somewhat proud. Miss Anderson always felt that she could trust them without any particular surveillance, and apply to them in any case of difficulty; and they were oracles among the younger girls, who always appealed to the one or the other in any perplexity or trouble.

Thus far they were alike, but in many things there was an essential difference. Edah was warm, hasty, and quick-tempered. Millicent, on the contrary, was never known to be angry, and only under the strongest pressure of emotion did she ever manifest any signs of mental disturbance. Edah was fond of undertaking new and difficult studies, at which she worked very hard for a time, and then became discouraged; while Milly, cautious in regard to new undertakings, was never known to give way to any difficulty short of an absolute impossibility. Edah was very particular in regard to her dress and personal appointments, and was always anxious to have every thing, from a bonnet to a shoe-tie, in the latest and most elegant fashion; while Milly, though essentially neat, and always appearing well-dressed, was somewhat indifferent as to minor matters, and sometimes distressed her friend by wearing collars and mantles out of date, and declining the trouble of having her dresses altered to suit the present mode.

Their worldly circumstances were somewhat similar, for both were motherless, and had spent nearly all their lives at school. They were both very liberally supplied with money, so liberally, indeed, that Miss Anderson sometimes said such allowances would be ruinous to any other girls. It had long been decided that as soon as they left school, Edah was to spend a year with her friend, and the girls were anticipating a great deal of pleasure from going into company together. Mr. Liston, Edah's guardian, expected soon to make a voyage to India, and remain there a year or two, and he was pleased to have his ward so well provided for in his absence.

When the girls had departed, and Edah was left alone in her room, she took her Prayer-Book, and sat down to read over the Confirmation Service, with which she was not at all familiar. The Preface was the first thing that attracted her attention, and she read that, and the Bishop's address, several times over.

"I knew the Church Catechism, from beginning to end, long before I was confirmed," she said to herself, "so, as far as that goes, I am well enough prepared; but this renewing of the baptismal vows—I am afraid I did not think much about them. I know I made some good resolutions, but I am sure I have never kept one of them. The address of the Bishop seemed very solemn, and so did all the circumstances—the standing up before all the people, and kneeling at the Chancel; and I remember how I trembled when the Bishop's hands were laid on my head; but after all, I did not realize what I was doing. And these baptismal vows—I hardly know at this moment what they are."

She turned over and read them, and as she did so, the grace of God enabled her to understand and feel their solemn meaning.

"Dost thou renounce the devil and all his works, the vain pomp and glory of the world, and all covetous desires of the same, with all sinful desires of the flesh, so that thou wilt not follow, nor be led by them?"

"Dost thou believe all the Articles of the Christian faith, as contained in the Apostles' Creed?"

"Wilt thou then obediently keep God's holy will and commandment; and walk in the same all the days of thy life?"

Edah dropped the book in a kind of terror—she had never so much as thought of keeping any of these promises. She could not but see that she thought more of the vain pomp and glory of the world—of her dress and appearance in company—of the pleasures of society, and being looked up to and admired, than of any thing else. Her studies and accomplishments were all means to the same end, and her liberal allowance was disposed of for almost no other purpose. One of her greatest pleasures consisted in anticipating the time when she should leave school, and be placed at the head of a fine establishment in her guardian's house, able to dress as magnificently as she pleased, and to indulge to their fullest extent all those elegant tastes which she was conscious of possessing. True, she had never committed any gross sins, because she had never been exposed to them, but she could not build much upon that, as long as she had yielded to almost every temptation that came in her way.

As to walking by the rule of God's commandments, she had hardly thought of such a thing: she reviewed the events of the past week, and could not discover that once during that time she had so much as considered whether what she was about to do would be pleasing to Him or not. The more she thought upon the subject, the more she became aware that she had never confessed the faith of Christ crucified; nay, had she not absolutely denied that faith, by turning her back upon the Table of the Lord time after time? She had never fought one single combat under His banner in all her life.