



Produced by Chris Curnow, Griff Evans, Lindy Walsh and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net









                                   THE
                               TORN BIBLE
                                   OR
                         _HUBERT'S BEST FRIEND_

                                   BY
                             ALICE SOMERTON
                      AUTHOR OF "LAYTON CROFT" ETC.


                                 LONDON
                         FREDERICK WARNE AND CO.
                              AND NEW YORK




                             TO GLANVILLE
                                  AND
                       HIS EIGHT SCHOOLFELLOWS.


Perhaps, dear boys, you wonder why I should have dedicated this little
book to you: it is that you may feel a deeper interest in it, and
imbibe, from reading it, an earnest love and reverence for your Bible,
which, like a good angel, can guide you safely through the world as
long as you live. Like Hubert's mother, I ask you to read a portion
every day; and, whatever be the battle of life you may have to fight,
may God's blessing attend you, making you humble towards Him, dutiful
to your parents, and a blessing to mankind.


                               Believe me,
                                     Yours affectionately,
                                               ALICE SOMERTON.




                            THE TORN BIBLE.




CHAPTER I.

HUBERT'S DEPARTURE FROM HOME.

                   May thy goodness
    Share with thy birthright! * * * *
    * * * What heaven more will
    That these may furnish and my prayers pluck down,
    Fall on thy head! Farewell.--SHAKESPEARE.


The rural and picturesque village of Hulney, in the north of England,
is a charming place; it is almost surrounded with well-wooded hills,
and the little rivulets, which ever murmur down their sides, run into
the limpid stream along the banks of which most of the cottages are
built.

At the north end of the village, on the <DW72> of a hill, is the church,
so thickly covered with ivy that the only portions of the stonework
visible are part of the ancient tower and the chancel window.

Legend and historic fact hang their mantle round this old church.
History tells us that the brave, yet often cruel, Margaret, wife of
Henry VI., fled there after a defeat in one of her battles; and it is
also recorded that one hundred of the heroes of Flodden Field rested
there on their return from the victory. Modern times have added to the
interest which clings to this old place, and one thing especially which
draws attention will form the subject of this story.

In that old churchyard, where the children of many generations lie side
by side, there is many a touching or interesting record; but the
stranger ever lingers the longest near seven white grave-stones, all
bearing the name of Goodwin. Upon the one which has the most recent
date is the following inscription:--"Sacred to the Memory of Hubert
Goodwin, aged seventy years;" and below this a book, partly destroyed,
with several of the loose leaves, is carved upon the stone: and though,
perhaps, this description of it may not be striking, the exquisite
carving of that destroyed book is such that people ask its meaning, and
they are told that it is a "torn Bible."

Hubert Goodwin, the tenant of that grave, was the eldest of six
children, blessed with pious and affectionate parents, well to do in
the world, and descended from a family of some distinction.

Great pains were bestowed upon Hubert's education, as he grew up to
youth; but from his birth he was of such a passionate turn, and at
times so ungovernable, that he was the source of all the sorrow that
for many years fell to the lot of his parents: he was different to their
other children, and many a time when reproof had been necessary, and the
little wayward one, after a troubled day, had retired to rest, his
mother's heart, still heavy, led her softly to the bed where he lay
sleeping, and there, kneeling down, she would commend him again, with
perhaps a deeper earnestness, to that One who knew all her trouble, and
whom she knew could alone help her. Once the boy awoke as his mother
knelt beside him, and, as though in answer to her prayer that his heart
might be changed, he burst into tears, and, throwing his arms round her
neck, expressed deep sorrow at having grieved her, and promised to try
and do better. Poor mother! her joy was brief; in a very short time he
was as undutiful and rebellious as ever, and so he continued until he
reached the age of twelve years, when, as he had determined upon being
a soldier, his parents, much against their wish, sent him to a military
school, to be educated for the army.

A year rolled away, and all the accounts that came from the master of
Hubert's school informed his parents that he was a bold, unruly boy--a
great deal of trouble to his teachers--but he would probably tame down
a little in time, and do very well for the profession he had chosen.
Many and many a time these parents wept over the letters which spoke
thus of their son: they wished him to be a good soldier--one fearing
and serving God--and they oftentimes repeated their tale of sorrow to
their good pastor, in whom they were wont to confide; but his meed of
comfort was ever the same. What other could he offer? Good man, he
knelt with them, directed them to the source of true comfort, the Lord
Jesus Christ, and tried to lighten their hearts' burden by drawing them
nearer to the hand that afflicted them.

When Hubert had been three years at school, he obtained, through the
influence of friends, a cadetship in one of the regiments belonging to
the East India Company; he was still only a boy, and his parents had
rather he had not gone entirely away from them so soon, for they felt,
and with some truth, that while he was at school he was at least under
their protection, if not their guidance. Hubert, however, came home to
them a fine noble-looking youth, delighted at the prospect before him,
and as proud and vain as possible at being at last really a soldier. How
much his parents loved him, and how they tried to persuade themselves
that the vivacity and recklessness he showed arose more from the
hilarity of a heart buoyant with youthful spirits, than from an evil
nature! but when, on the first Sabbath after his return home, he scoffed
at the manner in which they observed that holy day, another arrow
pierced their bosoms, another bitter drop fell into their cup of sorrow.

During the three years Hubert had been at school, his parents had
gradually observed that, though he did perhaps attend to most of their
wishes, there was a careless sort of indifference about him; and though
they were always glad to see him in his vacations, they were as glad to
see him go back to school, because their home was more peaceful, and
every one was happier when he was not there. Think of this, boys,
whoever you may be, that are reading this story, and when you spend a
short time with those kind parents who love you so much, let them see,
by your kindness and willing obedience, that you wish to love them as
much as they love you; and never let them have to say that their home is
happier when you are not there: no, rather let them rejoice at your
coming home, welcome you, and think of you as the bright light that
cheers every one in their dwelling; and if they can do that, be assured
that God will bless you.

Only a fortnight's leave of absence had been granted to Hubert, and one
week had gone. The way in which he had spoken of sacred things, and of
the manner in which they had observed the Sabbath, roused his mother;
and though her reproof was gentle, she was earnest, and tried all she
could to influence him to better thoughts. She told him of the many
snares and dangers he would have to encounter, and the many temptations
that ever lurk along the path of youth; of the strange country to which
he was going; and of the doubly incurred danger of going forth in his
own strength. He listened as she talked to him; but along that way which
she so dreaded, all his hope and young imagination were centred, and he
grew restless and impatient to be gone.

They were busy in Hubert's home; brothers and sisters all helped to
forward the things necessary for their eldest brother's future comfort,
and they sat later than usual round the fire the last night of his stay
with them; for everything was ready, and the mail-coach would take him
from them early on the morrow. The ship which was to convey Hubert to
India was to sail from Portsmouth, and as his father was in ill-health,
there was some concern in the family circle about his having to take the
journey alone; he promised, however, to write immediately he reached the
vessel, and so, with many a kiss and many a prayer, the family separated
for the night.

It was a lovely autumn morning in the year 1792; everything round
Hubert's home looked beautiful, and his brothers and sisters, as they
clustered around him, and gave him their last kisses, each extorted a
promise that he would write a long