Warlock o' Glenwarlock by George MacDonald (reading women TXT) 📕

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When Cosmo reached his father's room, he found him not yet thinking of getting up, and sat down and told him allto what straits they were reduced; what Grizzie had felt herself compelled to do in his illness; how his mind and heart and conscience had been exercised concerning the castle; how all his life, for so it seemed now, the love of it had held him to the dust; where and on what errand he had been that morning, with the result of his interview with Lord Lick-my-loof. He had fought hard, he said, and through the grace of God had overcome his weaknessso far at least that it should no more influence his action; but now he could go no further without his father. He was equal to no more.

"I would not willingly be left out of your troubles, my son," said the old man, cheerfully. "Leave me alone a little. There is one, you know, who is nearer to each of us than we are to each other: I must talk to himyour father and my father, in whom you and I are brothers."

Cosmo bowed in reverence, and withdrew.

After the space of nearly half an hour, he heard the signal with which his father was in the habit of calling him, and hastened to him.

The laird held out his old hand to him.

"Come, my son," he said, "and let us talk together as two of the heirs of all things. It's unco easy for me to regaird wi' equanimity the loss o' a place I am on the point o' leavin' for the hame o' a' hamesthe dwellin' o' a' the loves, withoot the dim memory or foresicht o' whichI'm thinkin' they maun be aboot the same thingwe could never hae lo'ed this auld place as we du, an' whaur, ance I'm in, a'thing doon here maun dwindle ootworthied by reason o' the glory that excellethI dinna mean the glory o' pearls an' gowd, or even o' licht, but the glory o' love an' trowth. But gien I've ever had onything to ca' an ambition, Cosmo, it has been that my son should be ane o' the wise, wi' faith to believe what his father had learned afore him, an' sae start farther on upo' the narrow way than his father had startit. My ambition has been that my endeavours and my experience should in such measure avail for my boy, as that he should begin to make his own endeavours and gather his own experience a little nearer that perfection o' life efer which oor divine nature groans an' cries, even while unable to know what it wants. Blessed be the voice that tells us we maun forsake all, and take up ovir cross, and follow him, losing our life that we may find it! For whaur wad he hae us follow him but til his ain hame, to the verra bosom o' his God an' oor God, there to be ane wi' the Love essential!"

Such a son as Cosmo could not listen to such a father saying such things, and not drop the world as if it were no better than the burnt out cinder of the moon.

"When men desire great things, then is God ready to hear them," he said; "and so it is, I think, father, that he has granted your desires for me: I desire nothing but to fulfil my calling."

"Then ye can pairt wi' the auld hoose ohn grutten?"

"As easy, father, as wi' a piece whan I wasna hungry. I do not say that another mood may not come, for you know the flesh lusteth against the spirit as well as the spirit against the flesh; but in my present mood of light and peace, I rejoice to part with the house as a victory of the spirit. Shall I go to his lordship at once and accept his offer? I am ready."

"Do, my son. I think I have not long to live, and the money, though little, is large in this, that it will enable me to pay the last of my debts, and die in the knowledge that I leave you a free man. You will easily provide for yourself when I am gone, and I know you will not forget Grizzie. For Jeames Gracie, he maun hae his share o' the siller because o' the croft: we maun calculate it fairly. He'll no want muckle mair i' this warl'. Aggie 'ill be as safe's an angel ony gait. An', Cosmo, whatever God may mean to du wi' you i' this warl', ye'll hae an abundant entrance ministered to ye intil the kingdom' o' oor Lord an' Saviour. Wha daur luik for a better fate nor that o' the Lord himsel'! But there was them 'at by faith obtained kingdoms, as weel as them wha by faith were sawn asunder: they war baith martyrdoms; an' whatever God sen's, we s' tak."

"Then you accept the two hundred for croft and all, father?"

"Dinna ettle at a penny more; he micht gang back upo' 't. Regaird it as his final offer."

Cosmo rose and went, strong-hearted, and without a single thought that pulled back from the sacrifice. There was even a certain pleasure in doing the thing just because in another and lower mood it would have torn his heart: the spirit was rejoicing against the flesh. To be rid of the castle would be to feel, far off, as the young man would have felt had he given all to the poor and followed the master. With the strength of a young giant he strode along.

When he reached the gate, there was my lord leaning over it.

"I thought you would be back soon! I knew the old cock would have more sense than the young one; and I didn't want my gate scrambled over again," he said, but without moving to open it.

"My father will take your lordship's offer," said Cosmo.

"I was on the point of making a fool of myself, and adding another fifty to be certain of getting rid of you; but I came to the conclusion it was a piece of cowardice, and that, as I had so long stood the dirty hovel at my gate because I couldn't help it, I might just as well let you find your own way out of the parish."

"I am sure from your lordship's point of view you were right," said Cosmo. "We shall content ourselves, anyhow, with the two hundred."

"Indeed you will not! Did I not tell you I would not be bound by the offer? I have changed my mind, and mean to wait for the sale."

"I beg your pardon. I did not quite understand your lordship."

"You do now, I trust!"

"Perfectly, my lord," replied Cosmo, and turning away left his lordship grinning over the gate. But he had a curious look, almost as if he were a little ashamed of himselfas if he had only been teasing the young fellow, and thought perhaps he had gone too far. For Cosmo, in such peace was his heart, that he was not even angry with the man.

On his way home, the hope awoke, and began once more to whisper itself, that they might not be able to sell the place at all; that some other way would be provided for their leaving it; and that, when he was an old man, he would be allowed to return to die in it. But up started his conscience, jealously watchful lest hope should undermine submission, or weaken resolve. God MIGHT indeed intend they should not be driven from the old house! but he kept Abraham going from place to place, and never let him own a foot of land, except so much as was needful to bury his dead. And there was our Lord: he had not a place to lay his head, and had to go out of doors to pray to his father in secret! The only things to be anxious about were, that God's will should be done, and that it should not be modified by any want of faith or obedience or submission on his part. Then it would be God's, very own will that was done, and not something composite, in part rendered necessary by his opposition. If God's pure will was done, he must equally rejoice whether that will took or gave the castle!

And so he returned to his father.

When he told him the result of his visit, the laird expressed no surprise.

"He maketh the wrath o' man to praise him," he said. "This will be for our good."

The whole day after, there was not between them another allusion to the matter. Cosmo read to his father a ballad he had just written. The old man was pleased with it; for what most would have counted a great defect in Cosmo's imagination was none to himthis namely, that he never could get room for it in this world; to his way of feeling, the end of things never came here; what end, or seeming end came, was not worth setting before his art as a goal for which to make; in its very nature it was no finis at all, only the merest close of a chapter.

This was the ballad, in great part the result of a certain talk with Mr. Simon.


The miser he lay on his lonely bed,
Life's candle was burning dim,
His heart in his iron chest was hid,
Under heaps of gold and a well locked lid,
And whether it were alive or dead,
It never troubled him.

Slowly out of his body he crept,
Said he, "I am all the same!
Only I want my heart in my breast;
I will go and fetch it out of the chest."
Swift to the place of his gold he stept
He was dead but had no shame!

He opened the lidoh, hell and night!
For a ghost can see no gold;
Empty and sweptnot a coin was there!
His heart lay alone in the chest so bare!
He felt with his hands, but they had no might
To finger or clasp or hold!

At his heart in the bottom he made a clutch
A heart or a puff-ball of sin?
Eaten with moths, and fretted with rust,
He grasped but a handful of dry-rotted dust:
It was a horrible thing to touch,
But he hid it his breast within.

And now there are some that