CHAPTER XLII.
AUD ADAM OLLIVER'S "NUNC DIMITTIS."
"The wise man, said the Bible, walks with God; Surveys, far on, the endless line of life; Values his soul; thinks of eternity; Both worlds considers, and provides for both; With reason's eye his passions guards; abstains From evil; lives on hope--on hope, the fruit Of faith; looks upward; purifies his soul; Expands his wings, and mounts into the sky; Passes the sun, and gains his Father's house; And drinks with angels from the fount of bliss."
_Pollok._
For several years after the stirring events previously narrated, Nestleton Magna had largely reverted to the even tenor of its way. Not that it could ever again be as it was in the olden time. The erection of the chapel proved a very permanent and abiding source of good. The society continued to increase in numbers; Kasper Grove was always the very antipodes of Midden Harbour; the Sunday-school had grown in numbers and in efficiency, until it occupied a position of the highest value and importance, and all the younger generation of Nestletonians were happily subjected to the godly influences there at work.
Waverdale Hall was a centre of blessing, a fountain whose continuous outflow refreshed and purified the region through which it coursed in wise beneficence and Christly love. Still, there was an absence of startling or exciting events, and the quiet peacefulness which generally characterises rural districts brooded over the village undisturbed. At the Hall there was a growing family of attractive little squirelings and more attractive little ladies. Master Ainsley Olliver Fuller, the eldest son and heir of my favourite friends, Philip and Lucy, had two brothers, to wit, Philip Blyth and Theophilus, one little sister, who could be called nothing else than Lucy, and another sister, who was called Beatrice, after the old squire's first and only love, long since gone to heaven.
Old Adam Olliver was even more rich in grandchildren, for around the tables alike of Jake and Pete and Hannah, the olive-branches increased at a surprising rate. Very happily and peacefully did the old man's last years ebb away. Judith was the first to receive the call from that solemn messenger who brings his summons to every door. As she lived, so she died; her departure was more a translation than a death.
She had not been well for some days, and one evening, while loving Hannah was in the act of stroking her silver hair and speaking words of cheer, she said, "Call your father." When the old man appeared, she said, with a radiant smile, "Adam, I'm going home. Jesus calls. I'm going on before, a little while, and the way is very light. A little while, dear, true, good husband, and we shall meet again." And so she slid quietly out of her clay tabernacle, and "took the nearest way to her Father's house."
Old Adam did not long survive her. He had grown very feeble; age and a life of hard labour had bent his frame, and for the last few months of his life he had to be guided across the floor. Mary was a gentle, loving, and unwearying nurse, and fifty times a day did he ask God's blessing on her for her kindly care. A bed had been set up for him on the ground floor, as he was incapable of mounting the stairs, and because he liked to have her near him, while she attended to her household duties. But though the outward man was perishing, was becoming a small, thin, filmy prison-house indeed, the inward man was being renewed, beautified, and ripened day by day.
"Mary," he would say, when he had sat still and silent for a long time, and she had asked him how he felt, "Mary, ah've been i' good cumpany. Judy's been wi' ma' i' spirit, an' ah've seen aingels wi'
breet an' wavin' wings, an' Jesus is allus wi' ma'. He says, 'Ah'll cum ageean an' receeave tha' te myself,' an' ah says, 'Eaven seea, Lord Jesus, cum quickly.' Ah sall be gannin' sum neet, an' when t'
sun's settin' wi' you, it'll be risin' wi' me, an' it'll be mornin'
an' nivver a neet nae mair."
"Oh, Pete, mah lad," he would say, "bud religion _is_ sweet. Thoo's crossed yah sea, an' ah's just aboot te cross anuther, bud it's a varry narro' un', an' there isn't as mitch ov a ripple as wad toss a chip, an' as seean as ivver ah tutch it, it'll splet, an' ah sall gan through dryshod. An' t' other side, Pete! Ah gets a leeak at it noo an' then, an' ah feels as though ah can hear t' music, an' see t'
saints o' God i' their glory, an' hear t' waff o' their wings. Prayse the Lord, deein's nobbut like gannin' oot o' t' kitchen inte t'
parlour, an' 'ah sall dwell i' t' hoose o' the Lord for ivver.'"
The old squire of Waverdale came to see him, during those last failing months, nearly every day. He was a capital listener. Seated by Adam's side, he would hold the old man's hand in his, and listen, with an occasional smile, exclamation or nod, by the hour, while the veteran talked of his religious history, gave his opinion on Scripture passages, or bore witness of the love and grace of God.
"Oh, Maister Fuller," said he one day, "I hev a peeace 'at's aboot parfect. Ah've been thinkin' o' that text wheere the Lord says if His people wad nobbut hae hearkened tiv His commandments, their peeace sud hae floa'd like a river. Why, when fost ah gav' me 'art te God, me peeace floa'd wiv a rush for a while, an' then gat inte t' shallo's.
Then it met fost a temptation, an' then a trubble, an' then a bit o'
neglect o' prayer, an' t' streeam was owt bud eeather smooth or full; it went like a shallo' beck, wiv a lot o' steeanes, an' twists, an'
bendin's in it, cheeafin', an' splutterin', an' bickerin'; frothin' up ageean this corner, an' bubblin' ower that, bud noo that it gets nigh te t' sea, it gans deeper an' stiddier, an' floas sae smooth 'at ah can scaycely tell it's movin' at all. That's just hoo ah feel te-day.
Ah's near t' sea; t' aushun ov infanite luv an' glory oppens oot afoore ma', and ah's slitherin' on an' slippin' away, still, an'
quiet, an' 'appy; an' ah sall seean gan inte t' sea." Here the old man waved his arms as "one who spreadeth forth his hands to swim." "Oh, what a sea! t' luv o' Jesus, all on it. Prayse the Lord, ah've knoan summut aboot it; ah've drunken it, an' ah've dipped in it, an' it's shed abroad i' me 'art. Bud ah's gannin te swim iv it, an' te knoa Him as ah is knoan. T' Revalation talks aboot a sea o' glass mingled wi'
fire. What it meeans ah deean't knoa, bud ah think it meeans parfect peeace glowin' wi' t' glory o' parfect luv. Halleluia! ah sall--
'Plunge inte t' Godheead's deepest sea, Lost i' luv's immensaty.'"
Is there anything on earth more beautiful than a scene like this? The hoary head is indeed a crown of glory if it be found in the way of righteousness. Age invests many things with a certain attractiveness.
An aged oak for instance, gnarled, widespread, stalwart and stately; an ancient castle, weather-worn, storm-swept and furrowed with the tooth of Time; an old church, moss-clad and ivy-covered; but of all attractive pictures that Old Time can draw, nothing is more beautiful than the silver locks and radiant features of a godly and joyous old age. See this grand old saint, seated in "the old arm-chair," looking placidly back upon the line of trodden years, looking hopefully forward across the borders of the Beulah land, while the light of heaven gilds his hoary hair. "The beauty," says Solomon, "of old men is the grey head." That is a glorious picture which John Bunyan paints, of the last stage of the Christian pilgrimage--the land of Beulah, a land of glorious beauty, a place of broad rivers and streams, spanned with heaven's undimmed blue, swept by breezes from the hills of God, which bear on their fragrant wing the echoes of the heavenly chimes, the foretaste of immortal joys. The Methodist societies have ever been rich in a wealth of such experiences. A careful perusal of the obituaries in the Methodist and Arminian Magazines is quite sufficient evidence of the power of godliness over pain, weakness and death to thrill the heart of the despiser, and strike the sceptic dumb.
At length, it became evident that Old Adam Quiver's hours were numbered. As he felt his end approaching, he sent for friend and neighbour, and bade them, one by one, a loving good-bye, mingling ever a blessing with his parting words. His sons and daughters and his grandchildren gathered round his bed, and, like Jacob, he blessed them all by name.
When Nathan Blyth came to take a last farewell, the old man said, with a smile, as he noted Nathan's tears,--
"Nay, nay, and friend! That'll nivver deea. You owt to be Blithe Natty noo, if ivver yo' wer' i' yer life. Ah's Blithe Adam, hooiver. It's all sunshine, Natty,--
'Nut a clood doth arise, Te darken mi' skies, Or te hide for a moment my Lord fre' mi' eyes.'
'Roond aboot an' underneeath ma' are the ivverlastin' airms,' an' iv 'em ah sail swing inte heaven, as Mary tosses 'er bairn till it fair screeams wi' joy. God bless yo', dear and friend. Ah sail seean sing as weel as you, an' when you've waited a lahtle bit langer, we'll sing tegither the prayses o' wer Greeat Redeemer. Deean't yo' remember yer aun sang,--
An' when ah'm landed on Canaan's breet shore, Befoore aingels an' saints will ah shoot it!
Give Glory te Jesus the King ivvermair The King 'at ah tell'd all aboot it!"
On the day of his death, Squire Fuller, Philip, Lucy and the little children, gathered round his bed to receive his parting blessing.
Philip had rightly said, "Old Adam's benediction on the children will prove a richer heritage than houses or land."
On one and all the patriarch placed his feeble hands, the while he breathed a silent prayer, and said aloud, "O Lord, mah God an'
Sayviour! bless the bairn!" The children were dismissed, the elders remained, and were joined by Adam's sons and daughters, who gathered round to see a golden sunset such as was never equalled by any gorgeous glory of the western sky. The old man lay propped with pillows, his scant white hair smoothed from his brow, and his thin brown hands laid on the spotlessly white coverlet of his bed. The shadows of evening had not yet fallen, but the sun was fast declining, and its slanting beams fell upon his pillow, and lit up his features with their glow Mary partially drew down the blind to shade his eyes.
"Nay, nay, mah lassie," said Adam, "draw t' cottain up; 'It's a pleeasant thing for t' ees te behold the sun.' It weean't ho't ma'; mah poor and ees iz gettin' a cottain drawn ower them, bud that only 'elps 'em te see t' leet o' t' glory 'at's jost dawnin' upo' ma'. Will yan o' ye read t' ninety-fost Psalm?"
Lucy read it, and as soon as she began, he said, with infinite tenderness,--
"God bless yo', mah dear; ah've heeard yer pratty voice ivver sin yo'
had yan, an' it's sweeter noo then ivver. Oh, Maister Philip! bud you _are_ rich! Some fooaks get a treasure _wiv_ a wife, bud you've gotten a treasure _iv_ a wife. Bless 'em, Lord, ten thoosandfoad wi' Thi' luv an' fayvour."
When the Psalm was ended he turned to the old squire.
"Gi'e ma' hod o' yer 'and," said he; "the Lord's dealt boontifully wi'
yo', Maister Fuller, an' noo, prayse the Lord! that psalm belangs te you as weel as me. 'He that dwells i' t' seeacret pleeace o' the Meeast High,' that's iv His luv i' Jesus Christ, 'sall abide under t'
shado' ov t' Almighty.' _Abide!_ hey, for ivver an' ivver an' ivver!
'He sall cuver thee wiv 'is feathers.' Halleluia! Warm ageean His 'art, an' oot o' t' reeach o' 'arm. Ah's there! nestlin' an' cuddlin'
an' seeafe. 'Thoo sall nut be aflaid for t' terror be neet.' Flaid!
No: what is there te be freetened on? Jesus ez killed all that, because He's slayn t' enmaty, an' God an' uz iz yan. He sall give His aingels chayge ower tha'. Glory be te God! they're here! Ah can 'ear t' rustlin' o' th'ir wings. They're waitin' fo' ma'!
'Aingels beckons ma' away, An' Jesus bids ma' cum.'
Bud that last vess caps ivverything! 'Ah'll show 'im me' salvaytion!'
Ah've seen a good deal, an' felt a good deal mair, bud it's nowt cumpared te what's cumin'. Ah've seen it through a glass darkly, an'
ah've felt it through a gluv. Noo ah sail see Him feeace te feeace, an' tutch Him as Thomas did, till me' sowl is ravished wi' glory an'
delight Moses saw t' Promised Land, bud he was a lang way oft, and t'
river rowlled atween. Ah sall be on t' spot, an' be a citizen o' that cuntry. St. John saw it i' Patmos, bud it was a vision an' a dreeam.
Ah sail see t' real thing an' be payt on it, an' hev it for t' lot o'
me' inheritance. St. Paul saw it, bud he 'ad te cum doon ageean te be pricked wi' thorns an' buffeted wi' trubbles. Ah sall gan oot nae mair for ivver! Maister Fuller! Ah'll be riddy fo' yo' when yo' cum, an'
we'll gan tegither te t' King, an' as Nathan Blyth says, we'll shoot and sing till we mak' heaven ring wi' prayse!"
It is not to be supposed that this and much other joyous and triumphant speech was said without break and pause. Now and again he was utterly spent with excess of joy, and the feeble tongue refused to follow the spirit's eager flight, and failed to syllable the rapture of his exulting soul. About eight o'clock in the evening the messenger came. The old man seemed to be asleep, but he suddenly opened his eyes, and, looking upward, lifted his hand towards heaven; a strange soft light and a beaming smile broke upon his face. "Heaven's oppen!"
said he; "Ah see Jesus Christ standin' at t' right 'and o' God. He hez a star in His 'and. Beautiful! Beautiful!" The light upon his face deepened; it seemed to be haloed with a glory. "He's cumin'," said he, "cumin' for me. No, it isn't a star; it's a croon. Oh, mah Sayviour, cum quickly. A croon o' glory!" Lifting up both hands, he half sprang from the bed, crying, "It's mahne, prayse the Lord, it's mahne!" He fell back upon his pillow, with a triumphant smile upon his face, and Adam Olliver's glorified spirit went to heaven to wear it--that crown of righteousness which the Lord, the righteous Judge, had laid up for him against that day.
So died Adam Olliver, and thus a life of singularly winning and beautiful piety was fitly crowned by a singularly beautiful and exultant end.
The old man was buried in the grounds around the chapel which his faith and prayer had chiefly reared. The whole of the societies in the Kesterton Circuit were represented at his burial, and the large concourse which assembled to pay this final tribute of respect agreed in this, that though he was but an old and illiterate hedger, his holiness, his integrity, his wondrous power with God, had made him royal, and that "a prince and a great man had fallen in Israel."
Squire Fuller asked and received permission to erect a marble tablet to his memory in Nestleton Chapel. There it continues to this day, and every tourist passing through Waverdale, may turn aside and read for himself the inscription thereon engraven. Beneath the record of his name, age, and death, and a brief reference to his noble life are inscribed the following texts of Scripture. Those who have read these brief chronicles of village life will justify their choice.
"THE EFFECTUAL, FERVENT PRAYER OF A RIGHTEOUS MAN AVAILETH MUCH."
"A MAN FULL OF FAITH AND OF THE HOLY GHOST."