Christian fiction; Neighborhoods -- Scotland -- Fiction
It soon became evident to me that that room was like a new and more
sacred heart to the house. At first it radiated gloom to the remotest
corners; but soon rays of light began to appear mingling with the gloom.
I could see that bits of news were carried from it to the servants
in the kitchen, in the garden, in the stable, and over the way to the
home-farm. Even in the village, and everywhere over the parish, I was
received more kindly, and listened to more willingly, because of the
trouble I and my family were in; while in the house, although we had
never been anything else than a loving family, it was easy to discover
that we all drew more closely together in consequence of our common
anxiety. Previous to this, it had been no unusual thing to see Wynnie
and Dora impatient with each other; for Dora was none the less a wild,
somewhat lawless child, that she was a profoundly affectionate one. She
rather resembled her cousin Judy, in fact--whom she called Aunt Judy,
and with whom she was naturally a great favourite. Wynnie, on the other
hand, was sedate, and rather severe--more severe, I must in justice say,
with herself than with anyone else. I had sometimes wished, it is true,
that her mother, in regard to the younger children, were more like her;
but there I was wrong. For one of the great goods that come of having
two parents, is that the one balances and rectifies the motions of the
other. No one is good but God. No one holds the truth, or can hold it,
in one and the same thought, but God. Our human life is often, at best,
but an oscillation between the extremes which together make the truth;
and it is not a bad thing in a family, that the pendulums of father and
mother should differ in movement so far, that when the one is at one
extremity of the swing, the other should be at the other, so that
they meet only in the point of _indifference_, in the middle; that the
predominant tendency of the one should not be the predominant tendency
of the other. I was a very strict disciplinarian--too much so, perhaps,
sometimes: Ethelwyn, on the other hand, was too much inclined, I
thought, to excuse everything. I was law, she was grace. But grace often
yielded to law, and law sometimes yielded to grace. Yet she represented
the higher; for in the ultimate triumph of grace, in the glad
performance of the command from love of what is commanded, the law is
fulfilled: the law is a schoolmaster to bring us to Christ. I must say
this for myself, however, that, although obedience was the one thing
I enforced, believing it the one thing upon which all family economy
primarily depends, yet my object always was to set my children free from
my law as soon as possible; in a word, to help them to become, as soon
as it might be, a law unto themselves. Then they would need no more of
mine. Then I would go entirely over to the mother’s higher side, and
become to them, as much as in me lay, no longer law and truth, but grace
and truth.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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