COMING AND GOING.
Frank was much surprised one day to receive a visit from Ben Drake.
"Is it you, Ben?" he exclaimed, as he met him at the door.
"I believe it is," said Ben, "though I hope I am a different Ben from
what I was five years ago," evidently retaining some recollection of
Trip's death.
"I should not have known you," said Frank, "if I had passed you in the
street. How you have grown!"
Frank had really no better opinion of Ben now than he had when Trip was
tumbled down Prospect Hill, and he was sorry to see him coming up to his
father's door. Still, he was so much improved in his appearance, and he
met Frank so much more gentlemanly than he ever did before, that the
latter could not but give him a cordial welcome.
"You have changed as much as I have, I think," added Ben, "though, in
one respect, there was not so much room for a change in your case as
there was in mine." But this allusion Frank did not comprehend.
"Come in, come in," said Frank, and he ushered him into the house, where
he met the family, who were rather surprised to see him. Mrs. Martin
made inquiries after the family, to which Ben responded in a manner that
evidenced great improvement.
"Where do you live?" she asked.
"I am now at school in Andover."
"Ah! you have better advantages than the rest of the boys."
"And I hope I improve them better than I used to," said Ben. "I was a
pretty wild boy when I lived here, and it has caused me many regrets."
"How long are you going to school?" inquired Mrs. Martin.
"I expect to prepare for college there."
"You do? Then you are going to have a liberal education? What are you
going to be,--a lawyer?"
"No; I hope to do more good than I could to be a lawyer. I expect to be
a minister."
Frank and his mother were both surprised at this announcement, and the
latter asked,
"Then you are a Christian?"
"I trust I am. Nothing but becoming a Christian could have saved me from
my wicked ways."
"How long since you became a Christian?"
"It is eight or ten months."
Other inquiries elicited the fact, that his brother Sam was no better
than when he left town, and that much of the time his parents knew
nothing of his whereabouts.
As the evening drew on (Frank had invited Ben to stay with him), Ben
inquired if there was a prayer-meeting on that evening, to which he
received an affirmative answer.
"Will you go?" he asked, addressing himself to Frank.
"Yes; if you wish to have me. It will soon be time to go."
They went to the prayer-meeting, and entered the room just as the
exercises commenced. A good number were present, some of whose faces Ben
recognized, though scarcely any one at first knew him. In the course of
the evening he arose and spoke in a feeling way of his own experience,
referred to his former recklessness in that village, and disclosed his
purpose to become a minister of Christ. Before he sat down, most of
those present recognized the once bad boy, and they were both surprised
and delighted. Frank could hardly believe what he saw and heard. He
never expected that Ben Drake would take such a stand as this; and he
thought much, but said little.
Early the next morning, Frank ran over to inform Nat of the arrival of
Ben, and the fact that he was going to make a minister.
"Going to be a minister!" exclaimed Nat. "I should like to know what can
be found in him to make a minister of."
"Well, he is certainly in the school at Andover, preparing for
college,--if he tells the truth,--and you have no idea how much improved
he is."
"He is deceiving you, Frank. I have no confidence in the fellow. He
always was bad, and he always will be."
"No; he is pious now. I went to the prayer-meeting with him last night,
and he spoke. He spoke well, too, and alluded to his evil ways when he
lived here, and expressed much regret at his course."
"I can scarcely believe it," replied Nat, "though I used to think that
Ben would not be so bad if Sam was out of the way. What has become of
Sam? There is not much danger of his becoming pious, I take it."
"Ben is not inclined to talk very freely about him, but from what we
have learned, the family don't know where he is much of the time."
"How long is it since Ben reformed?"
"Only eight or ten months. Mother says he appears well now, but she
would rather wait to see how he holds out. She is afraid that his early
vicious habits will be too strong for his present good purpose."
"Where is he now?" inquired Nat, becoming intensely interested in the
case. "Is he not coming around to see us?"
"Yes; he will go about some to-day, and go home to-morrow."
Ben called upon many of his old acquaintances that day, so that they had
an opportunity of seeing him, and all were as much surprised as Frank at
the change in his appearance. His visit created quite a sensation in a
circle of families, where he was particularly known in his early
boyhood, and he was the occasion of many remarks after his departure.
Hereafter we shall see what kind of a man he made.
Before the young people had fairly recovered from the surprise
occasioned by Ben's visit, news came that Daniel Webster was to speak in
Faneuil Hall, Boston, on a certain evening.
"I shall go to hear him," said Nat, as soon as he heard of it. "Will you
go, Charlie?"
"How will you go?" asked Charlie.
"With my own team, of course," answered Nat, jestingly.
"And walk home after the address?"
"Certainly; there is no other way for we poor fellows to do. I never
heard Daniel Webster speak, and I shall hear him if it is a possible
thing. Will you go?"
"Yes, I will," answered Charlie. "You are not to have all the glory of
walking to Boston. I will try it for once."
"_I_ expect to try it a good many times," said Nat. "I want to hear some
of the orators of whom so much is said. There is much to be learned in
watching a speaker, and listening to him. His manners teach as well as
his thoughts. I intend to hear Edward Everett the first time he speaks
within ten or fifteen miles of here."
"I see what you are after," said Charlie. "You mean to discover the
secret of their power, if possible, and I hope you will."
On the evening of Webster's speech, Nat and Charlie were on their way to
Boston in good season, and arrived at Faneuil Hall before the hour for
the meeting. They hurried in to find eligible seats before the hall was
crowded. Many were already there, and many more were constantly coming
in. Nat found that he could see the speaker better to stand directly in
front of the platform, where many were already awaiting the arrival of
the great orator. So there he took his place, with Charlie by his side,
forgetting that his limbs were weary with the ten miles' walk, and a
day's hard toil in the machine-shop.
Hearty cheers announced the arrival of the orator, whom Nat had not seen
before, and still another round of applause went up when he arose to
speak. It was a great treat for Nat to listen to the man whose fame made
his name familiar to every school-boy. He drank in every word of his
speech, closely observed every gesture and modulation of voice, and
would have sat entranced till morning, "taking no note of time," if the
gifted orator had continued to pour forth his eloquence.
"Could any thing be grander than that?" said Nat, as they were leaving
the house. "I would walk twice as far to hear another speech like it."
"It was very fine indeed," answered Charlie. "It far exceeded my
expectations, high as my hopes were raised."
"What power there is in the human voice to control men!" said Nat. "How
still it was in the hall! You could almost hear a pin drop, they were so
chained by his eloquence. What else could hold them so long in such
silence!"
"Nothing," replied Charlie. "It has given me a new idea of eloquence
altogether. His voice alone, without a thought, is enough to command
attention."
"I could but notice his choice of language," added Nat; "every word
seemed to be the most expressive one he could find, and some of his
gestures appeared to make his words mean much more than they really do."
Nat had always been a close observer of public speakers from his
boyhood, and lost no opportunity to hear lecturers who came to his
native village. At the time he heard Webster, his desire to listen to
the leading orators of the day had developed almost into a passion. The
Debating Society had probably sharpened his taste for such intellectual
treats, and he was fully resolved to hear all the speakers he could. He
seldom left his book in the evening, except to hear some public speaker
at home and abroad, or to debate a question in the club. Many times he
walked into Boston to listen to some distinguished orator, returning,
often alone, after the treat was enjoyed. This was the pains he took to
hear Edward Everett several times, who became his favorite. He admired
him for the elegance of his diction, and the beauty with which all of
his addresses were invested. He saw more power in Webster, and more
elegance in Everett.
He frequently walked into neighboring towns to hear lectures and
political speeches. A good speaker announced anywhere in the vicinity
was sure to call him out, whether the speech was upon education or
politics. One great object with him seemed to be, to learn the art of
oratory by actual observation. It is probably true, that he acquired
more knowledge of the English language by listening to gifted speakers
than he ever did from books, and more of the true art of using it
himself to sway an audience. It is said that Robert Bloomfield, when a
poor boy, having only a newspaper and an old English dictionary with
which to gratify his thirst for information, acquired a very good
knowledge of pronunciation by listening to the clerical orator, Mr.
Fawcet. Drawn by the speaker's popularity, he went to hear him one
Sabbath evening, and he was so impressed with his choice and enunciation
of words, that he continued to attend his preaching in order to perfect
himself in the proper use of language--not a very high object for which
to hear preaching, but illustrative of what may be learned by close
observation. In this way Nat, like Bloomfield and Patrick Henry, studied
"men and things," in connection with books, during the eventful years of
his apprenticeship.
Nat's admiration of the power of the human voice was not all a youthful
hallucination. What is there like it? From the nursery to the Senate it
controls and sways the heart of man. From the mother's voice at the
fireside, to the eloquence of a Webster in the "cradle of liberty," it
soothes, arouses, elevates, or depresses, at its pleasure. Listen to the
gifted orator, as the flowing periods come burning from his soul on
fire, riveting the attention of his hearers in breathless silence for an
hour, almost causing them to feel what he feels, and to believe what he
believes, and bearing them upward by the witchery of his lofty eloquence
until they scarcely know whether they are in the flesh or not, and say
if there is aught of earth to compare with the power of the human
voice.