TURNED ASIDE.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume IV, Issue 201, 9 February 1877, Page 13

TURNED ASIDE.

" For thou hast spoilt the purpose of my life." As we climb the hill of life, and in climbing have gained that point which, most probably, will prove, at least, to mark the middle of our course, it invariably happens that we are able to look back upon the finished careers of some who started together with us upon the journey. Thej have reached the goal, and their story lies written before us ; but many times — alas ! far too many — we should be hard of heart were it possible for us to read its pages with eyes undimmed by tears. "We saw them joyous boys and girls, and the echo of their mirth, and of their youth's gladness, has hardly as yet died away from our ears. We knew not then, as now we know, that they too were but pilgrims entering on a weary path, and that even then the burdens were gathering, with which each life must be weighted, and beneath which it must make its way, as best it might, to the grave. Amongst those who in our boyhood we remember as being also in the morning of his days, was one who, of all others, seemed to have a straight and level highway extended for his feet to tread upon. Of a gentle nature, kind and incapable of a bitter sentiment, talented, refined in tastes, charming in manner, and of a pleasing appearance, it was impossible that any one could know him wet), and yet refrain from loving him. And he was beloved ; there are few who can count a greater number of friends, truly so-called, than he might with justice have claimed. A brilliant career lay certainly open to him, for he was not only fitted in himself to secure it, but the influence of those who were interested in him was sufficiently powerful to have obtained it for htm, even had he been as wanting in the requisite qualities as he was rich in their possession. We saw him well advanced upon the path he had. chosen, an ornament to his profession, esteemed and honored; and then for a season we lost sight of him, for circumstances removed us from the scenes in which he moved, and the breadth of the wide world lay stretched between us. But now tidings of his death have reached us from a distant land — distant, alike, from this in which we dwell, and from that wherein, a few years ago, we left him prosperous and respected. How was it that he fell away, if only for a time, from the high standard of his former life ? He had entered the ministry of the Anglican Church, placing before his eyes an ideal never possible of attainment in that communion whose foundation lies on sand. He could not content himself in beiDg numbered amongst the clergy of the old school, whose religious duties were, for the most part, confined to reading the " morning and evening service," and delivering a couple of moral essays, ycleped sermons, once a week : nor could he amuse his mind, and fritter away his time in a dilettante playing at sacerdotalism, with the ritualists of to-day. He was earnest and sincere, and set himself in good faith to perform a spiritual work, where spiritual work was incapable of performance. He failed as other men like-minded with him fail — some falling into ill-health, some, though the lesser number, yielding to temptation, and, with the hitter, strong drink overcame him ; hut not for long. It is evident that he had not strayed so far as to have acquired as a habit the degrading fault alluded to ; but the nobility of his mind, and the purity of his life hitherto, induced him to regard himself as indelibly stained by that which others, less conscientious than he, would have regarded as a trifling error, excusable if only fallen into now and then, and harmless so long as it was not made public. There was no question of his transgression elsewhere, and yet, unable to bear the sense of disgrace under which he labored, he sacrificed everything — friends, fortune, and position — and fled to America. Here he must have starved — for how should one like him have roughed it amongst the struggling masses— had not the Anglican Bishop of New York, with an admirable charity that will not be wanting in its reward, Btretched out a helping hand and rescued the wanderer in hi* darkest hour. He was Bent on a mission to the Cheyenne Indians, and his success was marked. The attraction he had ever exercised over those who came within reach of his influence asserted itself once more, and the savages gathered round him with affection. Their love for their teacher was mistaken for love of the barren system which he taught in all sincerity, and he wjvb accredited with the conversion of several of them. But his devotion paved the way for his death. One of the Indians, in whom he had interested himself, for some fault was put in prison, and there swore that he would shoot the first white man he met with on being released. That man was the gentle missionary, and too truly did the savage keep his oath. He, whose sad history wo have sketched, fell bullet-pierced through the brain ; and

it it characteristic of his life, and in keeping with it, that it was he who had, by his earnest intercession, obtained the freedom of his murderer. Has he not well wiped out in his blood the defilement, which he believed to have irredeemably blackened his being? He lies in the far off territory of Dakotah, mourned over by many who are separated from his grave by wide expanses of land and sea, by us likewise who write this brief memorial of him, and none the less deeply that we recognise in his story another proof of the impotence of a false creed to supply the soul with nourishment, or give peace to the heart. Convbbt.