Chapter IX

IN the 28th, Frank wrote to his father, who
was away from home:

‘^ Darling Father:

“It seems very strange to think of thee away out at San Francisco. What a comfort it is to know that one’s dearest friends are in the Lord’s keeping. It never occurs to me to be afraid for thee, because I know our Father will not let anything happen that is not perfectly right and according to His will. I am very much obliged for ‘The Victory of the Vanquished.’ It is very interesting and stirring, and brings Christ’s life somehow very near to one. I liked it very much, indeed. How differently Christ’s love reveals itself- to different people. To me it comes wonderfully and sweetly through nature; each proof of His Almighty power seems to me but a new proof of His Almighty love in two ways. First, in giving us richly ’ all things to enjoy; ’ and, second, in showing how great the condescension and love must have been to descend to us.

“Oh, father, since reading this book, Christ has revealed himself to me so wonderfully as being the ideal of perfection, I have always had, embodied. And that ideal dwelling in me, — to think of it, — ignorant, weak, failing me! That I, who have displeased Him so all my life, should now have Christ living in me, guiding my every-day actions, no matter how small and insignificant, does seem too wonderful almost to be true.

*’ I have something for which I want thee to pray for me. I have an original oration before the Lo-. ganian Society the evening before Commencement. Please pray that I may be helped to write it, so as to glorify God in it.

“It is not worth while to ask thee whether thee is prospering, because I pray for it every night, and know the prayer is answered.

“Very lovingly, thy son,

“Frank.”

On the 31st he wrote to his Aunt E.:
*’ My very dear Auntie:

“I would have written to thee three days ago, but I was attacked with an aggravated form of * spring fever,’ and it was so hot, that I absolutely could not do anything but go out of doors and lie in my hammock. Besides, I was deep in the * Victory of the Vanquished,’ by the author of the * Schonberg Cotta Family. ‘Has thee read it? It brings a part of Christ’s life most beautifully before one, I think. vSomehow it seemed to bring the reality of His sufferings for us, and His love towards us, very near to me. And I have realized in a more full sense than evei before what Christ was, or I should rather say, is o me. It does seem so wonderful that Christ, who is perfect holiness and strength, and all, embodied, dwells within us continually, as long as we only trust Him. And that His indwelling does not make us sombre or morose, but entirely the opposite; in fact, making our Very countenances beam with joy.”

On the 29th, Frank wrote in his Diary:

“G. P. was up in our Bible-class, and gave us a few encouraging words to- keep on in the ’ good fight.* Our privileges, and therefore responsibilities, are very great. The fellows went on a ’ row ’ to-night, singing down the turnpike, and all around. Well, I tell you I was tempted to go, but was enabled to be kept from it.”

On the 7th of June he wrote:

“At home with weak eyes. Caulked boat. Began Essay. Kind of lazy work, lounging around home. Plenty of cherries and strawberries. Had a splendid talk with mother, by which 1 was convinced I was not allowing myself enough happiness in my Christian life.”

After his return to College, he wrote to me:

‘* I tell thee, mother, thy talk to me that night did me heaps of good. I ‘m not afraid to be happy now, as I was before. And Christ seems so much nearer to me than ever before; right with me, somehow. I like to regard Christ with the same kind of love I imagine I should have if I were in love with a young lady, only ten thousand times greater. What would I not do for her sake? And far more, therefore, what won’t I do for Christ’s sake? The highest ambition I have now is to work for my Saviour. It seems to rne that I have a revelation of His love, such as no one ever had before. Of course it is not so, because I am no more favored than any one else; only it seems so. But I cannot put my feelings on paper somehow. It is because they are too deep for expression.”

In answer to this, I wrote to Frank:

*’ Thy experience, my precious boy, is very blessed. I thank the Lord with all my heart for His great mercies to thee. This revelation of the love of Christ which has been granted to thee, gives thee a little foretaste of what it will be to pass an eternity with Jesus; and it has also taught thee how it is possible to be in ourselves poor sinners and nothing at all, but to find Him to be our all in all. It is a blessed thing to have such revelations of Christ; it is infinitely more glorious than any amount of telling about it by another! Does thee not find that thee knows now what before thee only imagined, or rather imagined could not be? But do not expect, dear boy, ever to find thy old nature any better or any nearer thy ideal; for thee never, never will. Thee thyself, that is, thy old nature, will always be utterly vile, and ignorant, and corrupt; but Jesus is thy life now. It is with thee, ’ no more I,’ but Christ who liveth in thee. And is not this glorious — to lose thy own life, and find Christ’s divine life put in its place? To cease to be of the race of the first Adam, and to become one of the race of the second Adam, the Lord from heaven! It is far more glorious than it would be for an animal to cease to be an animal and to be transformed into a man. Never look into thy own heart then for any sort of satisfaction or comfort. Thee will never find any goodness there, — no stocks of virtue laid up to draw upon. But thy goodness is all in Christ, and thee must draw it from Him moment by moment as thee needs it. Andrew Longacre says that some Christians are so thrifty, that they do not like to live * from hand to mouth,’ as the saying is, but want to have a stock of goodness laid up ahead, and a stock of wisdom, and of patience, and of all the other graces. But he says God’s plan for us is different. He has laid it all up for us in Christ, and we have to draw it each moment as we need it. If thee feels thyself then to be in thyself mean, and foolish, and altogether vile, just look at Christ, and say to thyself, ‘Never mind, all I need is there ready for me, whenever I have occasion to use it; and having Christ, I have all things.’ Our view of our own vileness, therefore, need not discourage us. Of course, we are vile, but our life is in Christ, — He is our life! I can, with untold joy, thank God for thee, my own precious boy.

“This is such a simple and child -like way of living, that many Christians overlook it altogether, and weary themselves out in trying to reach up to some great height when what they really need is to sink down into Christ. Some old writer says that ‘God’s will is a pillow to rest on, and not a load to carry; ’ but this is only true to the soul that is altogether given up to Him.”

On the 1 6th, Frank wrote to his father:

‘’Dear darling Father:

‘’I have not written to thee for ever so long, and the only excuse I have is because I was at home with weak eyes. It was not because I do not love thee, for there is not an hour passes hardly, but I think of and pray for thee. Oh, how often I pray that God will give me the power thee has in speaking to people! There is nothing I covet so much, no earthly accomplishment or acquirement. Only let me work for my Master, and see His marks of approval on my work, as thee does, and I ask no more. But I remember for the present that I must not expect too much, as I am so young, and even Jesus did not preach till He was thirty. I really believe I am ready to do any work for Him though, that He may call me to at present.

*’ Well, father, I never had any idea of the blessedness of a consecrated life before I tried it. The peace, the rest, and the joy I have whenever I think of whose I am, and of how entirely I am His, is absolutely beyond the power of my pen to express. I never enjoyed the innocent pleasures of this life half so much; and, to tell the whole truth, I never had anything like so great liberty in doing what I please, simply because I have no desire to do anything my precious, precious Saviour would not like. Fellows come to me and ask me to do wrong things that used to be very attracitive to me, but now absolutely I do not care for them. Such freedom from bondage never appeared possible to me before; and yet I don’t mean to say 1 have no temptations, because I have; but the Lord gives me a surety of victory, and I meet them with joy, in the certainty of another conquest. However, thee knows this life better than I do, and I suppose it is nothing new; but it seems to me that no one could ever have realized it as I do.

‘’And, oh, father! I never loved thee and mother nearly so much as I do now. It seems to add a new zest to my love, and to make a bond unspeakably precious between us. I said in one of my letters that I was not where I wanted to be; and I have since found out that the true reason was because I was afraid to be happy. But mother got me out of that at home, and now I realize that Christ means me to be just as happy as I can possibly be; and that not only religiously, although that is the most blessed part, but temporally also, here with the pleasures of this earth. All that will give me true happiness and leave no sting behind. He will grant me.

“How I have to thank the Lord for such parents

as I have. Where would I be, if I was ’s son,

for instance? But, father dear, as it is Private Review now, and hard studying, I shall have to close this dear little talk with thee.

“Very lovingly, thy consecrated son,

“Frank.”

In reply to this, Frank’s father wrote:

‘*Dear Freshman:

“Thy letter is most welcome. We sent off a box of grapes by to-day’s Express, which be careful not to leave unopened too long.

“I am so glad to hear that thee is trusting fully in the Lord. It is such a restful, solid position, and has before it the untold treasuries of grace all open. Let us, dear son, be millionaires in grace — accepting, without measure, the gifts of God.

‘’I hope much from thee, not only in open confession among thy fellow-students, but also from the undesigned hourly influence of thy character, which, it is a solemn fact, tells more on those around us than even our preaching. So that our aim should be primarily to be, rather than to act, and then let the acting come out spontaneously. See to it that thy character is Christ living in thee, and all will fall into harmony.

“I believe that in days of prosperity and joy there is an especial sweetness in such a full surrender to and trust in Jesus. Oh, how lovely to do this as a thank-offering in the joyfulness of prosperity — not to have to be led to it through sorrow!

“I hope to see thee Friday of next week on my way home, and hope to find thee happier than ever in the Lord; and in the sense of His favor enjoying all the innocent pleasures around thee. Above all I trust I shall find thee happy in the consciousness of walking * in the will of God,’ and not outside of it. “Thy loving and praying father,

“R. P. S.’*

On the 2 2(5 of June, he wrote to one of his cousins as follows:

‘’Dear B:

*’ Is thee coming in to see the graduating class dt C. M. S.’s School next week? ‘Charlie and I are going to send three bouquets to the three young ladies. But would it not be a joke, if I should not get any invitation?

‘*I had quite an adventure yesterday. It happened thuswise: There were five of us Freshmen over swimming at the Schuylkill, where it is about a quarter of a mile wide; we had all swum across, and A. and I., having swum back again, had got out and were partly dressed; we were talking quietly on the bank, and watching the other fellows swimming back, when suddenly from the middle of the river came the cry, * Cramp, I ‘ve got the cramp! ‘I looked, and there was C, with his head just above water, calling for help. I called to the fellows who had just got in shore to go out for him, but they were too tired; and then came the cry again, ‘Quick, Frank, I ‘ve got the cramp! ‘Well, in less time than I can tell it, I had my clothes off, and jumping right into the water, I swam for him as hard as I could. There he was in the middle of the river, as quiet as he could be, every now and then going under above his mouth and nose, and I saw he could not hold out much longer. So I just prayed that I might be helped to save him, and I felt sure of an answer. Then I swam with all my might, and I believe I never swam so fast in my life; and I got there just as he was about to give up. He put his hand on my shoulder, and I got him half-way in, when the other fellows met us with a log. But I tell thee, he was near under; his face was getting blue a little, and he says in about five seconds more he would have gone under. My! but I was thankful to my Heavenly Father for helping me, because without His help I might not have done it; C. might have got frightened, and pulled me under, for instance. But it is all right now.

“And here I have written a letter exclusively about myself. Please answer in a similar strain.

“Thy loving cousin, Frank.”

Except to this cousin, our dear boy scarcely spoke of the adventure — as he calls it — related above. To us it seems like an act of real Christian heroism; but to him it seemed something so simple and natural as to be worth very little thought, and even his father did not know of it until after his death.

His last letter to his father from Haverford was written on the 25th of June. In it he says:

“As to my experience, I think thee knows it all. Almost the same. An unclouded brightness and blessing of love as long as I look at Christ; but whenever I look away, no matter for how short a time, utter misery. It is joy to me to read the Bible, and to think of Christ all the time; but sometimes when I forget it, or rather feel too lazy, which I am sorry to say sometimes happens, I get so extremely wretched, that I not only lose all interest in the things of Heaven, but even in the fun going on around me, until I return. As far as I know, I am

Christ’s completely, and have no wish but to follow Him.”

On the 9th of July he wrote to his Aunt E.: ‘’Dearest Auntie:

*’ We have been examined in five out of our six books, and the last one I do not feel much afraid of, so I have a little time to write to thee. I sent thee one of the programmes for next Third-day, with a request that thee would not come. Please don’t. Thee knows I should like to see thee very much, but I do not feel proud enough of my production to want thee to hear it. I enclose a programme of the next day, however, and I will let thee come then.

*’Our little meetings became so dead and cold, that we thought it best to stop them; and Charlie feeling the need of something in their place, asked me to meet with him just to read a chapter every morning. We began to meet, and pretty soon some one else came; then another, and another, and now there are five of us. It seems as if the Lord must have sent them, for we did not ask them. We have really nice times up there, no formality about it. Sometimes we pray after reading, and sometimes not — just as we feel.

“How we can carry Christ into every;hing, can’t we? Yesterday 1 was being examined in Geometry, and I found there was one question that I could not answer. So I prayed that it might be shown to me, and then left it, and went on answering the others. iVhen I had finished them, I came back, and studied ovei that question, and just fifteen minutes before the

^tal l6.] THE RECORD OF A HAPPY LIFE. 1 27

time for handing in the answers, I found out how to do it. Without help I do not think I could have done it.”

On the 3d of July he wrote in his Diary:

“Yesterday, Professor Hartshorne gave us a farewell address, in which he showed forcibly the power and influence for good that one upright moral man might have in a community. Oh! if by my manliness I could have such an influence in my class! I have prayed for help to do exactly as I should here, so as to bring the most glory to God, and I am trusting for an answer. Next year I shall be a Soph, and the temptations to disobey all rules, and do just as I please, will be very great! I shall want to * rush,* and all that; and yet I know it is not right; so may the Lord give me help to stand up for Him, and not to do anything next year, nor this either, that will dishonor Him at all.”

On the nth he wrote.

“Spouting night! I feel, I feel, I feel, I feel just like a whale! Got through tolerably; M. was delighted with the old thing, which rather discourages me. Subject — ‘The fear of Peculiarity.’”

On the 12th, Frank came home for the summer vacation, to the unqualified joy of the whole colony at ‘’The Cedars,” and of his especial friends M., W., and B., in particular. Although such a wonderful change had taken place in his Christian experience, since last they had met in this happy summer home.

yet dear Frank had not been spoiled by it for the old accustomed days of fun and adventure. With a greater zest than ever, because with a heart at peace with God, he could throw himself into all the innocent pleasures of which these summers at “The Cedars” were so full; and we mothers lived our young lives over again, as we sympathized, and cautioned, and helped in the daily sports and adventures. Very few records are left of this summer vacation, except the bright memories of a light-hearted, happy, manly boy, drinking in to the full the cup of youthful joys. On the 3d of August Frank went to Newport, where he spent about three weeks, meeting there most of the “Hestonville party,” and having a good merry time. From there he wrote to me:

‘’ My dearest Mother:

‘’ I ought to have written before, I expect, but it is very hard to write here. I began several letters, but as soon as I would get under good headway, in would come somebody and say, ‘Come on, let’s take a sail.’ So off I would go, and resolutely make up my mind to write when I came back. But then it would be: ‘Let ’s go rowing; ’ or, ‘Let ’s take a walk; ’ or, * We are going to see the girls, won’t you come?’ or something of that kind. So I have been just on the go all the time. Charlie and I sleep together, and the other two in an opening room, and it is a perfectly jolly crowd. There is something going on all the time with us, either sailing, rowing, walking, or being with the girls. So I am having as elegant a time as is possible, and would not have missed it for anything.

“The order of exercises generally amounts to this. From seven till eight waking up by pillow-fights, and dressing. From eight to nine breakfast, and afterwards reading the Bible, — we four together. From nine to two, either a good long sail, or else waiting on the girls; and in the afternoon and evening ditto. We had a sail yesterday by ourselves to the Light-ship, about four miles out in the ocean. It was very rough, and the spray dashed all over us, so we came home soaked. But it was splendid, I tell thee, managing the boat all ourselves, out in an unusually rough sea, and quite a high wind.”

One of the Hestonville party, a young lady, who was at Newport at this time, among other reminiscences of dear Frank, writes:

^’He conducted our last prayer-meeting at Newport, in the summer of 187 1. It was the day he took the sail up to Rocky Point, and he came in tired; but led the meeting, I remember, with great power and earnestness. He chose the last chapter of Revelation, and spoke especially of the seventeenth verse, ‘And let him that heareth, say come,’ and he brought it out very impressively. How fully he lived up to it in his own daily life! His conversation seemed so much in heaven. In connection with this verse in Revelation, and the subject of inviting others to the Saviour, and confessing Him before men, he quoted Matt. v. 16, very beautifully. He said, ‘Let your light shine, — let, not make. God has given us the light, now we must let it shine.’ It was a very solemn meeting, and after it was over, we three sat on our doorstep for a long time, talking, especially of trust, I think, and of the work which lay before all of us; of the many temptations we all had, and the responsibilities which rested upon us as men and women, — the many points of temptation for men, and their opportunities for service, and woman’s work in preparing them for it. And as trust was talked of, I remember so well how we all felt, that whatever was before us, we need not fear, but trusting in God, we might be sure it would all be right.”

So sweetly and naturally were the innocent pleasures and religious interests of our boy’s life intermingled, that each seemed to grow spontaneously out of the other; and while his Christian faith never lessened his enjoyment of all the good things belonging to his youth, but rather strengthened it, neither did participation in these weaken his earnest pursuit after heavenly things, nor dim the sweet sense of his Saviour’s love. Eminently natural in his whole Christian experience, he seemed to have lived long enough to taste largely of earth’s joys when sanctified by grace, that he might exemplify the wonderful adaptability of the religion of Jesus to our human nature in all its stages, arid to show that it was intended to make us happy in every right sense of that word. Then, this mission being fulfilled, our son was to be taken home to eternal happiness in Heaven, just as he had reached an age when the cares and trials of life must almost inevitably have come upon him, and from which our fondest love could not have shielded him; and it has seemed to us sometimes that his Lord permitted a life of such unusual purity and happiness to end thus early, in order that in the company around the Throne his voice may sound a different tone from that of the multitude of those who have “come through great tribulation,” to swell the grand chorus of praise.