A Beneficent Spinsterhood
In my large circle of kindred, perhaps twenty families in all, it was an Aunt Phœbe. Paul gave a letter of introduction to one whom he calls “Phœbe, our sister,” as she went up from Cenchrea to Rome, commending her for her kindness and Christian service, and imploring for her all courtesies. I think Aunt Phœbe was named after her. Was there a sickness in any of the households, she was there ready to sit up and count out the drops of medicine. Was there a marriage, she helped deck the bride for the altar. Was there a new soul incarnated, she was there to rejoice at the nativity. Was there a sore bereavement she was there to console. The children, rushed out at her first appearance, crying, “Here comes Aunt Phœbe,” and but for parental interference they would have pulled her down with their caresses—for she was not very strong, and many severe illnesses had given her enough glimpses of the next world to make her heavenly-minded. Her table was loaded up with Baxter’s “Saints’ Rest,” Doddridge’s “Rise and Progress,” and Jay’s “Morning and Evening Exercises,” and John Bunyan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress,” and like books, which have fitted out whole generations for the heaven upon which they have already entered.