What Dr. Leatrim's feelings were at this
unlooked-for desolation of all his earthly hopes, one can only imagine,
it is impossible to describe. One grave contained the mortal remains of
the mother and son, and the sad story created for the bereaved husband
and father a world-wide sympathy.
'It was some years after the occurrence of this domestic tragedy before
I visited Westcliff. Time had softened the anguish of the wound, but it
was still unclosed, and left the traces of a deep, incurable grief in
my uncle's face. He had become a drooping, white-haired man, but was
still at his post, a faithful and zealous minister of the gospel.
'Sorrow had worn smooth all the harsh angles in his character, and made
him simple and affectionate as a little child. He had borne the cross
and worn the crown of thorns, and, purified by self-denial and
suffering, had found love a more powerful weapon than fear in bringing
souls to Christ. His calamities had endeared him to his people, and he
had become their pastor in the truest sense of the word.
'On the anniversary of the day when George and his mother died, Dr.
Leatrim holds a solemn fast, and excludes himself from every eye,
spending the long day in meditation and prayer.
'One fine summer evening last July, I was strolling through Westcliff
churchyard, and found the dear old man lying on the turf that covered
the remains of his wife and son. He called me to him.
'"This little hillock of green sod," he said, "contains all that was
once dearest to me on earth.
Pages:
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43