A TALK WITH GRANNIE.
Dr.Anderson's body was, according to the fine custom of many of the people of Aberdeen, borne to the grave by twelve stalwart men in black, with broad round bonnets on their heads, the one-half relieving the other--a privilege of the company of shore-porters.
Their exequies are thus freed from the artificial, grotesque, and pagan horror given by obscene mutes, frightful hearse, horses, and feathers.As soon as, in the beautiful phrase of the Old Testament, John Anderson was thus gathered to his fathers, Robert went to pay a visit to his grandmother.
Dressed to a point in the same costume in which he had known her from childhood, he found her little altered in appearance.She was one of those who instead of stooping with age, settle downwards: she was still as erect as ever, though shorter.Her step was feebler, and when she prayed, her voice quavered more.On her face sat the same settled, almost hard repose, as ever; but her behaviour was still more gentle than when he had seen her last.Notwithstanding, however, that time had wrought so little change in her appearance, Robert felt that somehow the mist of a separation between her world and his was gathering; that she was, as it were, fading from his sight and presence, like the moon towards 'her interlunar cave.'
Her face was gradually turning from him towards the land of light.
'I hae buried my best frien' but yersel', grannie,' he said, as he took a chair close by her side, where he used to sit when he read the Bible and Boston to her.
'I trust he's happy.He was a douce and a weel-behaved man; and ye hae rizzon to respec' his memory.Did he dee the deith o' the richteous, think ye, laddie?'
'I do think that, grannie.He loved God and his Saviour.'
'The Lord be praised!' said Mrs.Falconer.'I had guid houps o' 'im in 's latter days.And fowk says he's made a rich man o' ye, Robert?'
'He's left me ilka thing, excep' something till 's servan's--wha hae weel deserved it.'
'Eh, Robert! but it's a terrible snare.Siller 's an awfu' thing.
My puir Anerew never begud to gang the ill gait, till he began to hae ower muckle siller.But it badena lang wi' 'im.'
'But it's no an ill thing itsel', grannie; for God made siller as weel 's ither things.'
'He thinksna muckle o' 't, though, or he wad gie mair o' 't to some fowk.But as ye say, it's his, and gin ye hae grace to use 't aricht, it may be made a great blessin' to yersel' and ither fowk.
But eh, laddie! tak guid tent 'at ye ride upo' the tap o' 't, an'
no lat it rise like a muckle jaw (billow) ower yer heid; for it's an awfu' thing to be droont in riches.'
'Them 'at prays no to be led into temptation hae a chance--haena they, grannie?'
'That hae they, Robert.And to be plain wi' ye, I haena that muckle fear o' ye; for I hae heard the kin' o' life 'at ye hae been leadin'.God's hearkent to my prayers for you; and gin ye gang on as ye hae begun, my prayers, like them o' David the son o' Jesse, are endit.Gang on, my dear lad, gang on to pluck brands frae the burnin'.Haud oot a helpin' han' to ilka son and dauchter o' Adam 'at will tak a grip o' 't.Be a burnin' an' a shinin' licht, that men may praise, no you, for ye're but clay i' the han's o' the potter, but yer Father in heaven.Tak the drunkard frae his whusky, the deboshed frae his debosh, the sweirer frae his aiths, the leear frae his lees; and giena ony o' them ower muckle o' yer siller at ance, for fear 'at they grow fat an' kick an' defy God and you.
That's my advice to ye, Robert.'
'And I houp I'll be able to haud gey and near till 't, grannie, for it's o' the best.But wha tellt ye what I was aboot in Lonnon?'
'Himsel'.'
'Dr.Anderson?'
'Ay, jist himsel'.I hae had letter upo' letter frae 'im aboot you and a' 'at ye was aboot.He keepit me acquant wi' 't a'.'
This fresh proof of his friend's affection touched Robert deeply.
He had himself written often to his grandmother, but he had never entered into any detail of his doings, although the thought of her was ever at hand beside the thought of his father.
'Do ye ken, grannie, what's at the hert o' my houps i' the meesery an' degradation that I see frae mornin' to nicht, and aftener yet frae nicht to mornin' i' the back closes and wynds o' the great city?'
'I trust it's the glory o' God, laddie.'
'I houp that's no a'thegither wantin', grannie.For I love God wi'
a' my hert.But I doobt it's aftener the savin' o' my earthly father nor the glory o' my heavenly ane that I'm thinkin' o'.'
Mrs.Falconer heaved a deep sigh.
'God grant ye success, Robert,' she said.'But that canna be richt.'
'What canna be richt?'
'No to put the glory o' God first and foremost.'
'Weel, grannie; but a body canna rise to the heicht o' grace a' at ance, nor yet in ten, or twenty year.Maybe gin I do richt, I may be able to come to that or a' be dune.An' efter a', I'm sure Ilove God mair nor my father.But I canna help thinkin' this, that gin God heardna ae sang o' glory frae this ill-doin' earth o' his, he wadna be nane the waur; but--'
'Hoo ken ye that?' interrupted his grandmother.
'Because he wad be as gude and great and grand as ever.'
'Ow ay.'
'But what wad come o' my father wantin' his salvation? He can waur want that, remainin' the slave o' iniquity, than God can want his glory.Forby, ye ken there's nae glory to God like the repentin' o'
a sinner, justifeein' God, an' sayin' till him--"Father, ye're a'
richt, an' I'm a' wrang." What greater glory can God hae nor that?'
'It's a' true 'at ye say.But still gin God cares for that same glory, ye oucht to think o' that first, afore even the salvation o'
yer father.'
'Maybe ye're richt, grannie.An' gin it be as ye say--he's promised to lead us into a' trowth, an' he'll lead me into that trowth.But I'm thinkin' it's mair for oor sakes than his ain 'at he cares aboot his glory.I dinna believe 'at he thinks aboot his glory excep' for the sake o' the trowth an' men's herts deein' for want o' 't.'
Mrs.Falconer thought for a moment.
'It may be 'at ye're richt, laddie; but ye hae a way o' sayin'
things 'at 's some fearsome.'