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                                   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 letter to them very soon. Excitement
had driven off every regret at parting with him, and one young brother
ran off long before the time, to keep watch at the gate for the coach
coming.

The time for Hubert to go drew near, and his father, infirm from recent
sickness, took his hand as he bade him farewell, and laying the other
upon his head, reminded him once more of lessons long ago taught, and
long ago forgotten; gave him again good counsel concerning his future
life; then pressed him earnestly to his heart, and prayed God to keep
him. Then came his mother; she had already poured out the deep sorrow
she felt at his leaving her, and had endeavoured to school herself to
the parting; without a word she threw her arms round his neck, and bent
her head for some minutes over him. "Oh, Hubert," she at length said,
"when sickness or trouble comes upon you, you will be far from home, and
there will be none of us, who love you so dearly, near to comfort you,
and no one to try and guide you right; but see here, I have a Bible;
take it, treasure it as my last gift, and promise me that you will read
it every day. I care not how little you read, but promise that you will
read some: you will never regret it, and may it teach you the way to
heaven."

"I _will_ read it, mother; I wish I were as good as you are; I know I am
not like the others. Mother dear, don't cry; I will try and do as you
wish; good-bye!" and after kissing her affectionately he hurried from
the house.

The coach was at the gate, round which the children gathered, and for a
few minutes every one seemed busy. The servant-man was there with
Hubert's trunk and a small leather bag; the nurse had come round from
the back garden with the baby; cook followed, and stood a little way
behind the gate with her arms half wrapped up in her apron; and the
housemaid stood at one of the open bed-room windows; while on the steps
of the door were his parents, joining in the farewell to the first-born.
Pilot, the house-dog, seemed to have some notion of the passing event,
for he had come to the gate too, and did not, as was his usual custom,
race and gambol with the children, but sat down amongst them all,
apparently in a thoughtful mood. Hubert kissed his brothers and sisters,
and then took his seat amongst the passengers; then came many a
good-bye, and waving of handkerchiefs, and the coach rolled away.

"He's gone," said his father, as the coach wended its way round the
hill. "Never mind, Mary; it was not for this we trained him, but we've
done our duty, I hope, in letting him go, for he was determined, and
would perhaps soon have taken his own way; poor lad! Perhaps amongst
strangers he will do better than with us; but I would sooner have buried
him--sooner, by far, have laid him in the churchyard--than he should
have taken this course. What is the use of trying to make children good?
Tears, prayers, self-denials, what is the use of them all, if the result
is like this?" So he murmured, and then bowed his head and wept, and his
wife, instead of receiving comfort from him, became the comforter; for,
putting her arm round his neck, she replied,

"Oh, yes, dear, our prayers and tears have brought us many blessings;
see the other children, how good they are; don't murmur. God may yet
bless us in Hubert; it is terrible to part with him in this way; but it
may yet be a blessing to us all: God knows." Then she sat down and wept
with her husband over this first great sorrow; and they _did_ weep; they
and God alone knew the depth of the woe that had come upon them; the
first-born pride of their home and hearts going from them, perhaps for
ever, without one religious impression, or care for the future, was a
sorrow that none around could lighten, and they knelt down and prayed
fervently for that reckless son, and tried to feel a deeper trust in Him
who, though depriving them of one blessing, gave them many.




CHAPTER II.

TOO LATE FOR THE POST-BAG.

    Be wise to-day; 'tis madness to defer;
    Next day the fatal precedent will plead;
    Thus on, till wisdom is pushed out of life.
                       YOUNG.


Meantime, Hubert went on his way, and a feeling of sadness came over him
after he lost sight of his home amongst the trees; for the thought had
come into his mind that perhaps he might never see it again. For a
moment his heart beat quickly, and he gave a deep sigh; then, putting
his hand into the leather bag, he was just going to take out his
mother's present to him, when a man, who sat opposite, said, "I suppose,
young soldier, you are off to join your regiment?"

"Yes," replied Hubert, with a smile; and as he drew his hand from the
bag, he continued, "we are ordered to the East Indies."

"East Indies, eh? you'll soon see a little life, then; they tell me
there's plenty of fighting going on out yonder, though we don't get
much of it in the newspaper. But you are very young?"

"Yes, I'm the youngest cadet in the regiment; I'm just turned fifteen;
but I shall be as brave as any of the others, I dare say: and I mean to
make as good a soldier."

"No doubt of it," replied more than one of the passengers, and the
coachman, who had heard the conversation, cracked his whip, as he chimed
in, "Hear! hear! well done!" Then, as the coach rolled along over many a
mile, they talked of nothing but Hubert and the sphere of his future
existence. It feasted the boy's pride; and every other thought fled
away, and he forgot all about his home and his Bible.

It was the morning of the third day since Hubert started, when, after
many changes and delays, the journey was almost ended, and in less than
an hour they would be in London.

"Do you go to your ship at once?" inquired a gentleman who was seated
beside the coachman, and who had not only come all the journey with
Hubert, but who appeared particularly interested in him.

"I should like to go very much," replied the boy, "because I know no one
in London, though my leave of absence is not up till to-morrow."

"My brother is captain of your vessel," said the stranger; "so, if you
like, we can go together, for I am on the way to say good-bye to him."

Nothing could have suited Hubert better; so, upon leaving the coach,
which reached London as the clocks were striking five, they hurried off
to the street where the mail started for Portsmouth, and after
travelling all day they reached the vessel. How happy was Hubert that
night! what a joyous glow was on his cheek! Several of his old
companions were there, and not one of them appeared to have any sorrow
at leaving friends and home; they greeted each other with light hearts
and buoyant spirits, talked of the varied enjoyments of the past
holiday, and laughed loud and long, as they sat together in the
mess-room.

Here and there, apart from the young ones, in nook and corner, or
leaning over the side of the vessel, an older head resting upon the
hand, told that with some, at least, the pang of parting from home and
dear ones had left its impress upon the heart of the soldier; and there
was one young lad, a stranger, only one month older than Hubert, seated
upon a coil of rope, weeping as though his heart would break. The little
cabin-boy, a child of eleven, tried to soothe him, but the sailors, as
they passed by, said, "Let him alone, boy, and he'll join his messmates
below all the sooner."

Night closed at last, and for a few hours, at least, there was silence:
sleep may not have visited every pillow, but the loud laugh was hushed,
and the stillness of night rested upon the vessel.

It was late the next morning when Hubert left his cabin; all was noise
and confusion; hundreds of soldiers were moving about, and Hubert, to
escape from the turmoil, was preparing to go ashore when a superior
officer touched him on the shoulder and desired him to remain in the
vessel. Hubert was vexed at the order, and sat down gloomily upon a
seat; the time, however, passed quickly by, and at noon, when the bugle
sounded to summon all visitors on deck, that they might be sent on
shore, he had forgotten his anger, and was one of the most cheerful
there.

The friends were gone, all the partings were over, the gangways were
secured, and everything was ready. Wind and tide in favour, time was
precious, and the roll was called: every soldier, to a man, answered to
his name, and they gave three hearty cheers for King George, their
regiment, and Old England.

"The ship will weigh anchor in less than an hour," said a voice close to
Hubert's ear, and, turning round, he saw the gentleman who had
accompanied him from his home.

"Oh, how do you do?" said Hubert, shaking hands with him. "Do you sail
with us?"

"No, only just a mile or so, then I shall return in a boat. Have you a
letter to your parents? if so, I shall be happy to post it for you."

Hubert's face turned red: he had forgotten to write, and he replied, "I
have not a letter."

"Perhaps you have already sent one?"

"Yes," said Hubert; "I mean no; I have not written; the ship sails so
soon, and I have been so engaged that I forgot."

"Forgot?" said the stranger, retaining his hand. "What! forget to write
to those parents you may never see again? Come, my lad, that looks ill
in a soldier; take a friend's advice, and write a letter at once; if I
cannot take it, you will have an opportunity of sending it before many
days pass, and your parents must be anxious about you: try and remember
all the good counsels they gave you before you left, and never forget
them. Good-bye; remember what I say; good-bye."

There was much warmth in the stranger's manner as he shook Hubert's
hand, into whose young heart every good resolution returned, and he
hastened to the cabin which he was to share with three other cadets. He
was silent and thoughtful as he unpacked his chest to find his writing
materials, and there the previous evening he had placed his Bible. As he
raised the lid, his eye fell upon his mother's last gift, and more
earnestly than before he determined upon writing a long letter. The
paper was found, and the writing-desk, which a dear little sister had
given him, was opened, when in rushed the three noisy companions of his
cabin, and made so much disturbance that he found it impossible to
write; so, thinking that he should have plenty of time "to-morrow," he
put his things back again into his chest, and became as noisy as the
others. Another opportunity was lost, another good resolution broken,
for the society of noisy and riotous companions; and it may be that the
many evils and sorrows of his after-life were but the fruits of his
neglecting this first great duty. Had he remembered his parents and
their counsels, and cherished the little germ of goodness that was
springing up in his heart, heavenly dews might have descended upon the
flower, and kept him from the ways of evil.

The vessel at last set sail, and order was restored. Hubert was upon
deck, and as he looked over the side of the ship, and saw the white
cliffs of his country fading from his view, he for once felt
lonely--felt he was leaving all he loved, and he wished he had written
home.

"Just a line: I might do it now," he said to himself. He found, however,
upon turning to go below, that he would be required to perform one of
his military duties almost immediately, so that he could not write then;
and he felt such a mixture of sorrow and vexation, that the feelings of
the boy mocked, as it were, the dress he wore; and, leaning his head
over the side of the ship, more than one large tear mingled with the
waters of the deep.

Their first night at sea came on: how calm and beautiful it was! there
was scarcely a ripple upon the ocean; the bright stars in the high vault
of heaven looked down like so many gentle friends upon the eyes that
gazed up at them, and the pale moonbeams lighted up the pathway for
those wanderers on the waters. Hubert was not happy; many, many times he
fancied he could hear his mother speaking to him, and he would have
given much if he had only written to her. It was then he again
remembered his Bible, and the promise to read it, which promise he now
determined to perform, and as soon as he could conveniently go to his
cabin, he did so, opened his chest, and took out the book, intending to
read.

"How small it is," he thought, "and how pretty!" Then he turned over
leaf by leaf; he knew not where to begin: he could remember nothing at
all about it, and it ended in his putting it back in his chest and going
to his bed. Sleep soon silenced every thought, no letter was written
home, not a word of the Bible was read, promise and resolutions had
passed away with his sorrow, and Hubert little thought, as he silenced
the monitor within, how hard it would be to return to the duty he was
neglecting.

The ship had now been a fortnight at sea; it had passed through the Bay
of Biscay, and was off the coast of Portugal, when the soldiers were
informed that in about an hour a vessel would pass very near to them;
and, as the sea was calm, a boat would leave in forty minutes to carry
letters for England to the passing ship.

"Forty minutes," said Hubert aloud, and apparently pleased, for he
hurried off, as many more did, to avail themselves of the opportunity of
writing home. Forty minutes, however, was too long a time for Hubert,
and he returned again to the deck, to seek a companion and inquire what
he intended to do, before he sat down to write himself. Thoughts of
neglected duty and unkindness to his parents had frequently disturbed
Hubert's mind; try as he would to sweep every remembrance of his
disobedience away, the thought would come that he had not done right;
but, instead of sorrowing and making an effort to repair the ill he had
done, he tried to persuade himself that he was cowardly in giving way to
his feelings; so he endeavoured to smother the rising affection that
stole upon him during the first few days he was upon the sea, and the
result was that he became more reckless than ever.

"Letters ready?" all at once startled Hubert, as he stood talking to his
companion upon the deck: there was the man with the bag collecting them,
and his was not written. The bag was sealed, the boat was pushed off,
the last chance, probably for months, was gone, and, as he began to hum
a tune, he walked away to the other end of the ship. He looked over the
side, and a momentary feeling of vexation came over him as he saw the
little boat carrying its treasure, its bag of home letters; but he was
learning now to defy his conscience, and sang louder the snatch of song
that rushed to his aid, and seemed to be all he wanted to throw back the
better feelings of his heart.

Many weeks had passed since that noble vessel left England; its white
sails were still spread in the breeze, and it was wafted on over the
sea. Hubert had tried very hard to forget all about his home; the
recollections of it were not pleasant, they were too accusing for him to
indulge in; there was a holiness about it which ill-accorded with the
life he was leading, and the effort he continually made to suppress
every thought of it frequently caused him to fall deeper into sin.

One night, when in the height of glee in the mess-room, when songs were
being sung, and the giddy laugh rang out upon the silent waters, and
Hubert was joining fully in the mirth of his comrades, he suddenly
remembered that he had in his chest a book of sea-songs, and hastened
away to get it. He knew pretty well where to put his hand upon it; so,
when he reached his cabin, he never thought of lighting his little lamp,
but knelt down beside his chest in the dark. It was scarcely the work of
a minute; his chest was re-locked, and he skipped away back to the
mess-room; his hand was upon the door, when all at once his eye fell
upon the book he had brought; it was not the one he had intended to
bring--it was not the song-book, but the Bible. He started when he saw
what he had; and how was it that a sudden chill sped like lightning
over him? How was it that on that sultry night he felt so cold? His hand
trembled, his heart beat quickly, but the tempter was by his side, and
he gave utterance to many an evil thought as he turned back to change
that unwelcome treasure.

The Bible was exchanged for the song-book, and Hubert was again with his
comrades, where he became more riotous than before, and was nearly the
last to retire to rest.

There was silence once more in the ship, for it was midnight, and all
except the few who kept the night-watch were sleeping. Hubert had
perhaps fallen asleep as soon as any of his companions, but his rest was
short, for he started up in alarm. He tried to remember what it was that
had disturbed him, but could not. He looked around to see if either of
his comrades were moving, but their deep, heavy breathing told him they
slept; and then he lay down again in his own berth. There, in that still
hour, as he listened to the soft wind passing through the rigging, and
the slow measured tread of the sentinels on deck, he all at once thought
of his English home, thought of his broken faith with his mother,
thought of his Bible.

"It is no use," he said aloud, "I cannot alter it now; how I wish I had
but just written home! fool that I was not to do so; and that book, how
I wish she had never given it to me; it will make me a coward: in fact
it does; I never go to my chest, but there it is; I'll burn it--I'll
throw it away; how I wish I had never had it!" and he struck the side of
his berth with his clenched fist as he spoke.

There was no voice in that little cabin to answer or direct Hubert in
his outburst of passionate feeling; and, as he looked around at his
sleeping comrades, he crept softly from his berth, and went and knelt
down by his chest. The moon shone brightly through the tiny cabin
window, and as he knelt by his chest he could see very well everything
around him. He took out his Bible, and gazed wildly at it for a moment,
scarce knowing what next to do; then rising as if a sudden thought had
struck him, he tried to open the window that he might throw it into the
sea: it was, however, too secure to open at his will, and, turning away
after a fruitless effort, he sought a place to hide it. "Where shall I
hide it?" he said, as he walked round and round his cabin; there was no
nook or corner into which he could thrust it so that it should never
meet his eye again. What could he do with it? He must wait for another
opportunity; so, taking out nearly everything in his chest, he thrust it
down into the farthest corner, heaped all his things upon it, made them
secure, and then returned to his bed. The excitement of the moment was
over, yet Hubert could not rest, and, as he turned himself upon his
uneasy bed, he never once regretted the wicked thought that had led him
to try and throw away his Bible; but the determination to dispose of it
grew stronger.

Some weeks after this little event, the regiment arrived in India, and
was ordered far up the country: the long, toilsome march which Hubert
now had to undergo, initiated him into some of the realities of a
soldier's life, and it was not long before he found that the career he
had chosen was not so full of enjoyment as he had anticipated. He very
often felt weary; the heat of the country depressed his spirits; and he
often sighed deeply as he remembered the pleasant hills and valleys of
his own land. The regiment had no sooner located itself in the new
station, than Hubert and many others were struck down with fever. Death
was busy amongst them, but the young prodigal was spared. Many a time he
had wished to die; sick and amongst strangers, his mother's words had
come home to him with double power, and he felt the bitter truth that
there was indeed none who loved him, none to comfort him; it was a
wonder he lived, for the fever was malignant, and the care bestowed upon
the sick very little indeed. Poor Hubert! how was it he could not die?
Young as he was, this illness taught him the sad lesson that where there
is no love or interest there is an inhumanity in man; and as he grew
better his heart became more hardened, for he began to cherish a hatred
towards every one around him.




CHAPTER III

THE BIBLE TORN.

    Within this awful volume lies
    The mystery of mysteries;
    And better he had ne'er been born
    Who reads to doubt or reads to scorn.--SCOTT.


We must pass over a few years. Hubert had overcome the effects of the
climate, and the many dangers to which he had been exposed, helped, as
they ever will, the heart, uninfluenced by religion, to make him more
reckless and daring. Away from his sight, at the bottom of his chest,
undisturbed, lay his Bible; beside it, too, lay his sister's desk, and
the writing materials his mother had carefully packed for him: he seldom
thought of the fond ones who had given him those things; but far away in
England they ever thought of him, and watched and wept for a letter.

Hubert's regiment had seen a great deal of service, and it had not been
his lot to escape the dangers of war. On one occasion he had been
overcome and taken prisoner by some natives, and was only saved from
being put to death in a cruel manner by an unexpected attack being made
upon these Hindoos by a neighbouring chief, to repulse which they left
Hubert and two of his companions in the care of some women, from whom
they were rescued by a company of his regiment who had come out to
search for him. In a few hours the attempt to save Hubert would have
been in vain, for the Hindoos, hating the English, seldom allowed much
time to elapse between the capture and the sacrifice. Many a narrow
escape besides this, and many a wound--some slight and some
severe--dotted the pathway of Hubert's life; and the seventh year of his
residence in India was drawing to a close. The hot season had been
unusually oppressive; nearly every disease which flesh is heir to had
made fearful ravages amongst the soldiers, and Hubert was a second time
struck down with fever. Mercy