The week that followed my first visit to the hospital was full of painful excitement to us all. Blurdon lay for some days, and was at intervals able to converse. All the gloomy ferocity, the savage harshness of his tone, look and manner, which before so repelled and frightened me, had now given place to a subdued, contrite voice and expression, such as could not but strengthen my hope that his heart was changed. I need not dwell on those closing scenes. He gradually sank, and his last words were a petition for forgiveness.

Before his death the repentant man confided his history to Uncle Rossiter. He was the son of a pious mother, against whose counsel his restless spirit had early rebelled. "I am dying now," he said, "because I have all along chosen to live without God in the world. I set off and followed my own way, against the warnings and guidings of as good a mother as ever son was blessed with; against the teachings of the best and wisest book that ever was written, the Bible; against a right good education; and lastly against the rein of that conscience which would often have held me in."

I can well remember how we all sat with a great sadness on our hearts and listened while uncle told the story.

"I cared for none of these things," said Blurdon to him—"that is, I came to care for none of them, for at first I did, but soon I didn't. And I came to think, or chose to think, that I knew better than the great, all-knowing God what things and ways were good for my happiness. That it was neither good nor necessary to be so particular as the Lord required was the first notion I took up, and after that the devil himself could not have wished me to go ahead faster. It was throwing the reins on the neck of a wild horse. Folks talk of the downward road being bright and easy, but, to my shame, I know every mile of it only too well, and can testify that after a bit there is no road so rough and none so dark."

Uncle told us much more which I need not now repeat. "Poor fellow!" he added; "it was the downward road that led him over that precipice and brought him to his death. Children, take this lesson to heart: the downward hill to perdition is covered with paths, so to speak, some broad, some narrow, some straight, some winding, some smooth, some rough; but, varied though they all are, both in appearance and in apparent course, they every one lead to destruction. How many are tempted to set off down this great widespreading hill, each in pursuit of his particular employment or pleasure! and how many are thus hurried into danger and ruined for ever! It is a blessed thing to choose from the first the right path. Wisdom's ways are ways of pleasantness and all her paths are paths of peace."

My sister Charlotte had once gone with uncle to the hospital, and, tired of waiting in the carriage, thoughtlessly begged leave to follow him into the ward, but as she entered a faintness and horror seized her, and she realized the scene in a manner that had otherwise been impossible to her light-hearted nature. It was days before she could shake off the impression, and it seemed to create quite a deep feeling in her, making her unusually grave and sad. The tears filled her eyes now while Uncle Rossiter was speaking, and she told me afterward that then old Susan's words had come back to her with a new force, and she saw a resemblance in her own life and the same evil self-will at work as in Blurdon's early days. "Do you remember," she asked, "my once saying that everything pleasant seemed wrong, and everything wrong seemed pleasant? What was that but choosing the wrong path?" Dear Lotty! that day was a memorable one to her, for, by God's grace, it became the turning-point of her life.

Three years came and went after the foregoing visit to Rathfelder's Hotel and the consequent events I have recorded. Painful as the nature of those events was, I then saw that they were blessings productive of eternal good to Charlotte and me. To our great joy and comfort, dear Aunt Rossiter's health continued slowly to improve, but the feelings awakened in my heart and soul when first I learned how perilously in the midst of life she was in death never passed away. And good for me it was they did not—good in every way, as regarded this world and the next, making me more thoughtful, considerate and excusing toward those whom I loved, for, ah me! had I not learned that we know not what shall be on the morrow? "For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away." And as for dear Charlotte, the death of Blurdon and all the circumstances attending it had left so deep an impression on her mind that even time was powerless to efface it. This influence cannot but be regarded as a divine interposition in her favour; for she confessed to me that at that period her soul was in a dangerously rebellious state against the all-wise, all-merciful Creator. When the truth suddenly flashed upon her soul she was terrified exceedingly, she said, and began from that hour to think as she had never thought before, and to resolve—yes, to resolve to live a new life.

"You see, Mechie," she added, "it was not of course that I thought I could live such a life as that poor creature did, or come to such an awful end, but there are few things which vary more than the ways of sin, or are more skilfully and amiably accommodating to every style of character; and therefore, while Blurdon took his course as it were down the hill of perdition, running, jumping, rolling, tumbling headforemost, I more slowly, less desperately, but equally surely, might even now have been pursuing one of its many flower-decked paths to ruin—quite as certainly in my way as that unhappy man in his."

And oh what an improved being darling Lotty has become! Old Susan used to say that heartfelt holiness made people a deal comelier, and I am sure it was so with Lotty when she put on that most adorning of all robes, the compassionate, self-sacrificing, humble religion of the merciful Redeemer. Instead of living solely to please herself and looking as though she did—a look which no device, no assumed good-nature can conceal or change the character of—she now endeavoured earnestly to obey the divine injunction: "In lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than himself," and, "Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others." The result was she seemed daily to become more and more all that is really beautiful and admirable in woman, and her handsome face, no longer marred by its former expression of selfishness and thoughtless levity, wore now a sweet, kindly gravity and care for the happiness and welfare of her fellow-creatures.

"What a very engaging-looking girl that eldest Miss Marlow has become!" a gentleman observed to another, one evening, when Charlotte and I were at a party in a friend's house. "I didn't think much of her a couple of years ago, but latterly she has bloomed out wonderfully. Her whole expression is altered. There used to be a vacancy, a want of something rather than the positive presence of anything defective in her countenance and manner, but that is quite gone now, and she looks sensible, thoughtful, and, it strikes me, in some way much more amiable."

"Yes, decidedly," rejoined his companion. "And now let me tell you, Hedding, that in your observations you have unwittingly admitted more in favour of the power of Christianity than you supposed."

"In favour of Christianity? What has that to do with Miss Marlow's improved looks?" exclaimed the other, scornfully.

"All—everything," was the unhesitating answer. "I am, as you know, an old and intimate friend of the Rossiters, and have known the two Marlow girls since first they came to the Cape. There do not exist in the wide world more truly worthy, kind-hearted people than the Rossiters, but I could not help sometimes thinking that their management of the eldest girl was a mistaken one. She was to the last degree self-willed, pleasure-loving, and intensely selfish. Now, instead of enforcing a different line of conduct, they employed persuasion only, founded on good instruction—a mode of treatment which, while perfectly successful with the more pliable nature of the younger child, quite failed, so it seemed to me, in the case of the elder. Yet possibly they were right. Other circumstances have since occurred which have laid fast hold of her mind and heart, and the good seed they have sown has sprung up in an abundant harvest." Then followed a brief account of what I have related.

"But how do I know, or how can you be sure, that the change I see is the result of what you describe?" objected Mr. Hedding in a cynical tone. He was a man of infidel principles, and, for that reason, not an intimate visitor at Fern Bank.

"I am myself a case of 'proof positive,'" replied Mr. Frere, with his usual imperturbable good humour. "More than two years ago, as you know," he continued, his voice failing, "I lost one to whom I was deeply attached—my wife. While under the influence of this heavy affliction my society, although every friend pitied me, was but little desired or sought after. I was only a cloud on their pleasures and naturally shunned by them as such, or, if not absolutely shunned, at least neglected or set aside for the time being as quite a useless member of society. But not so by the Rossiters—no. The very reason that rendered me unacceptable to the world made those truly Christian people take me at once to their hearts, and I may say to their home, for from that time, for nearly six months, I dined with them and spent almost every evening at their house. Now, see the difference between the two sisters, Charlotte and Maria Marlow. Mechie, who is a counterpart of her amiable benefactors, eagerly and warmly seconded their kind endeavours to draw me out of myself, and in her gentle way led me to submit more patiently to my sudden great sorrow. Charlotte, on the contrary, although she without doubt compassionated my case, evidently regarded my frequent presence in the house as oppressive and disagreeable, and avoided my society as much as she could. She generally kept apart with some young friend, of whom she had many, and often I only saw her at the meal-times. At last came the change in her feelings which, acting upon her whole nature, has by degrees wrought that marked effect in her appearance which excites your admiration so much, and then neither Mrs. Rossiter nor sweet Mechie was kinder or more thoughtful and considerate to me and others than she became. No longer seeking only her own gratification, she would remain with us of an evening, adding greatly to our cheerfulness by her pleasant conversation—for Charlotte is naturally endowed with very good sense and with a vein of quaint humour—and often lightened the time by reading aloud, an accomplishment this piquant talent makes her perfect in.

"Very soon she opened her whole heart to me—young people are always willing to confess—acknowledging her previous utter want of religion, which made her, she said, the selfish, heartless, unamiable girl she was, and concluded by begging me to forgive her for all the unfeeling neglect—so she termed it—and want of kind consideration toward me which she had shown during my deep distress. She spoke with a gentle, blushing contrition of manner very unlike her usual self-satisfied style, and which to those who love and care for her was infinitely gratifying to witness. Nor have that winsome tone and mien passed away. In her case the seed had not fallen by the wayside, nor on stony places, nor amongst thorns, but on good ground, where it still grows and flourishes, abundant in blossoms and fruit and promise of rich future harvest."

"Hum!" ejaculated Mr. Hedding, apparently not very ready with an answer. "I don't see, myself," he went on, after a pause, "that a girl properly brought up and taught to be polite and kind to her friends needs any other style of instruction, nor do I think she would. It's bad bringing up—that's the fact of it."

"Everybody can tell you—she can tell you herself," said Mr. Frere—"that, as far as advice, warning, instruction and the most perfect human example can go, Charlotte Marlow was, and that far beyond your limited meaning, properly brought up and taught to be kind and polite to every one. But it too often happens that the true significance and value of what we hear and see and receive every day is not recognized until some unlooked-for circumstance occurs which opens our eyes and makes us feel. Now such was Charlotte Marlow's case; and thus it comes about, doubt the truth as you like, that from having been an off-hand, unpleasing, selfish young creature, living entirely for her own gratification—as unpleasing at least as so handsome and not really heartless a girl could be—she has become a generous, amiable, sympathizing woman, herself, instead of holding as before always the first place in her thoughts, now occupying the second."

"Well," objected the other, but in a less confident tone, "I feel certain I could bring up a girl to be as kind and polite to every one without the least help from religion as any Christian of them all, and more so, for the matter of that."

"Yes, you might educate them to be perfect in politeness while the world's approving or condemning eye marks their conduct, but when position shuts that out, or time or circumstance renders it uncared for, what remains then to influence their feelings and behaviour the right way?"

"Habit," replied Mr. Hedding.

"Habit?" repeated Mr. Frere, laughing incredulously. "If you ever have met or ever do meet with a single young person, man or woman, who from habit only, when unseen by others, is amiable and polite in opposition to temper, interest or inclination, you will certainly be the first man who has witnessed stability on a 'foundationless practice,' for that is all, in truth, which a habit formed on such principles as yours would or could be. Why, I have heard you yourself argue that no harm existed in any evil unless it was found out; and I know that that sentiment is entertained and practiced by many of your way of thinking—a sentiment which you must excuse my saying in plain, honest words is but the lowest quality of caution, and would ultimately degrade the immortal souls of men to a level with the mere instinct of beasts. Now you must be well aware that according to your own express opinions so you would educate a child, and, alter the deteriorating nature of things, so that child would unchecked become even worse than yourself. Is it likely, therefore, that habit of any kind, when interfering in any degree with pleasure or comfort, would have power to control a spirit under no rule but the world's opinion?"

At that instant other friends joined the two speakers, and it was from them that I afterward heard what had passed.

And now I must lay down, my pen, having completed as far as necessary the little account of our visit to Rathfelder's Hotel.

It is now many years ago. I do not know if Rathfelder's Hotel still remains, or what changes may have taken place in that region, but there must be some of the older residents of Cape Town who remember the incidents of the latter part of the narrative. This record of former days I give in the sincere hope that it may in the perusal prove of some benefit to those young readers who, as Lotty and I were, are living in any way without proper thought of God or of their earthly benefactors, be they parents, relatives or Christian friends. They are blessings—the greatest blessings heaven can bestow—and as such should be regarded. In no slight degree do Charlotte and myself thus consider dear old nurse Susan, who still continues, in as high force as heretofore, our friend and servant. Nor does she with advancing years hate an iota of that authority which her long established rule over us has given her, and which authority seems to increase in its influence, instead of lessening. Good, excellent old body! may God's blessing ever be with her!