DOUBLE DILIGENCE.
Mrs. Elizabeth Arnold was a very busy woman. During the forty-two years of
her mature active life she could almost be said to have accomplished double
work. Both her conscience and her nature seemed to be all alive to the
rules of our Discipline: "Never be unemployed;" "Never be triflingly
employed." Her large size, large brain, and preponderance of bilious
temperament seemed to call for much sleep and moderate motion. But her
motions were quick and efficient, and her sleep could not have averaged
over six hours in twenty-four. But eighteen hours a day could not satisfy
her longing for "the improvement of her precious time." So she managed,
when alone or not engaged in reading or conversation, to keep up what at
a little distance might be taken for mere humming, but what was really
intelligent singing, simultaneous with the most active work of her hands.
It might begin with a hymn, but would glide on beyond into her own words of
praise or prayer in impromptu music. This free, original singing was the
settled habit of her most driving business hours, and was not annoying to
others. But how those black eyes would sparkle and those florid cheeks glow
with heavenly light as her whole soul seemed absorbed in this spontaneous
singing, while the work of her hands went briskly on, leaving in speed or
finish no mark of absence of mind or false motion.
But this was not her only method of doubling her diligence. Her experience
and wisdom brought her many inquirers after the truth, and demands upon her
conversational powers were many and imperative. Yet those busy, provident
hands, long acquainted with needles, seemed to make them fly and click in
about even race, with the mind and the tongue, "Diligence in business,"
"singing with grace in the heart," and "conversation seasoned with grace"
mingled in her methods of "redeeming the time."
PART III.
_RETIREMENT_.
* * * * *
CHAPTER I.
HOMES OF EARLY METHODISTS.
From the earthly point of observation how sad is the breaking up of
Christian homes! The genuinely hospitable homes of the early Methodists
were peculiar. There were elements in their hospitality which do not quite
find their equal in our day. The old circuit system set everything in
motion. Not only were the "circuit riders" circulating everywhere, but
quarterly meetings, "two days' meetings," and even regular circuit
preaching, whether on a week day or Sunday, stirred up the people. And
as they were scattered in residence, and traveling was slow, every
comfortable, hospitable Methodist residence became not only a free stopping
place, but a house of entertainment, where both soul and body found
refreshment, and the one just as free and cordial as the other. The guest
did not embarrass the host or hostess, for nothing but plain fare was
expected; and as to spiritual refreshment, he left a blessing behind him,
and with rekindled joy went on his way rejoicing. So also it was when his
turn came to entertain.
The homes of the early Methodists, especially in the country and in the
rural villages, were much more permanent than in this day--not rented,
but mostly owned by their occupants--and every year seemed to add to the
sacredness of these hospitable old abodes. The trees, the watering
trough, the well sweep, the plain old buildings, the very ground, seemed
consecrated to God and his cause.
But the kind host and hostess "have finished their course" and been called
up higher. The honored old place is honorable no longer. The tenants or new
owners, or, worse still, ungodly children, have desecrated everything. The
old-time guests pass it with a sigh. The hill, the brook are there, but the
aged horse looks in vain for the welcome open gate and watering place, and,
drooping his head, walks slowly by in sadness. Ministers and church people
tread that yard no more. The very ground seems backslidden. Sabbaths have
fled. Prayers and praises are no longer echoed. That light is put out, and
"how great is that darkness!"
The time came for Joshua and Elizabeth to yield to infirmity, and retire
from active life. The hard work of the new country told seriously upon even
strong constitutions. Some of the members of their society older, and some
even younger, than themselves had yielded and gone.
For long, happy years they had kept up an establishment of an unusually
hospitable order for even a cordial church and a free, social age. They had
been more able, more willing, more zealous, and had more "faculty" for it.
But old age came on then earlier than now. The "threescore years" of which
they had so long sung had already gone by. Their younger sons were away
in the itinerant ministry. The old farm was too broad for their age and
infirmities, and they found the order given to Daniel, "Go thou thy way:
... for thou shalt rest, and stand in thy lot at the end of the days" (Dan.
xii, 13), appropriate to their condition, and allowed an elder son to
remove them to town, under his care, and near church. In this retirement
they enjoyed choice church privileges. Several of their old-time friends
had collected in and near the place, among whom were a few of their old
Massachusetts classmates and, above all, the aged and excellent local
preacher[1] who was praying for Miss Elizabeth Ward in Pittsfield when she
was converted, and who had for so many years lived near the family and had
preached in their house nearly or quite as much as all other ministers. He
and his venerable companion had retired there, too, with one of their sons.
[Footnote 1: Rev. Thomas Hubbard.]
But besides these retired neighbors, their retreat being but five miles
from their old farm and whilom cottage chapel, several of the village
residents had long been camp meeting and quarterly meeting associates.
So, with a dutiful son and near-by church, this superannuated couple,
surrounded by congenial society, surrendered their beloved public life and
sought an evening of rest, in which to ripen for heaven.
Hardly could aged people be happier or more quiet and free from worldly
care. The storms of life were past; the crowd of business, the rush of
labor, the study of complicated lines of duty--all these have gone by like
a storm, and left a great calm. Still they find some little to do with what
little strength they can command and the limited income left them.
CHAPTER II.
JOSHUA ARNOLD.
No life experience of Elizabeth would seem at all complete without a
chapter giving a somewhat connected view of her _companion_, near a half
century by her side, in her toils, liberality, and church work. Did she,
when driven by persecution from her father's house, take up, under stress
of calamity, an inferior associate for life? Let us see. If, as many claim,
the wisest matches are founded on contrast, this must have been _par
excellence_. For if we except their large size and mutual endowment
of sound common sense, there was very little natural similarity. In
Connecticut the farms of the Arnolds and the Wards joined, and yet they
were not intimate as families, for there was, for that day, too great
disparity in property and style. Both were moral and intelligent, but the
large Arnold family on the hill, though in comfortable circumstances, did
not train in the same "set" with the elegant establishment at the Cove.
Of the numerous family (of almost giant size) of Ebenezer and Anna Miller
Arnold there were only two sons. Ebenezer, among the eldest, had the
ancestral name, took to a mariner's life, was a few years a sea captain,
and lies at the bottom of the ocean. Joshua was the youngest of the family,
the almost idol of his parents, and of a house full of lusty sisters, who
vied with one another which should teach him most and secure most of
his confidence. So he lived on until nearly thirty a bachelor. Such
opportunities as were afforded the common farmers' boys of New England in
the eighteenth century young Joshua diligently improved, and became a close
student, and well qualified as a teacher of common schools of his day. His
specialties were mathematics, penmanship, bookkeeping, business science
and forms, and navigation. And he continued to do more or less in this
profession until fifty years of age. He was converted among the first
fruits of Methodist labors in that part of New England.
Then, every Methodist studied closely into her doctrines, and this young
man became qualified to state clearly, and ably defend, all that was
peculiar to that Church. The cast of his mind was logical, candid,
patient--he was never inclined to hasty conclusions. He loved to dig
deep, collect strong evidence, and wait till conclusions were sound and
inevitable.
His brethren soon marked him for the ministry, and so advised; but, with
his great modesty and high opinions of a divine call, he was not then, and
never was, satisfied that he had such an essential individual commission.
Without a full consciousness of duty in the line of that awful
responsibility, this pious young man refused to look in that direction. He,
however, cherished a high sense of the honor involved in the confidence
of the Church, and felt impelled to lay himself out to do his best as a
private member.
Under the ministry of such able Methodist preachers as Asbury, Jesse
Lee, and George Roberts, young Joshua had imbibed the main doctrines of
theology, and set out in earnest to "search the Scriptures," both "for
correction" if wrong, and for confirmation in the truth he had received and
experienced. Thus fairly started on the King's highway of truth, he became
profoundly interested in Bible study; and continued both the study and the
intense love of it through life. He dug in this mine more than a third of a
century without any human commentary, and found, to his great joy, that
the poet had struck it: "God is his own interpreter, and He will make it
plain." So diligently did he search for the "interpretation of Scripture by
Scripture," that he largely learned the doctrinal Scriptures by heart,
and also book, chapter, and verse; and to family and friends he was "both
concordance and commentary."
Near the middle of his experience and biblical research Mr. Arnold was
urged, almost driven, to take license to exhort, and more publicly divulge
some of the treasures of his years of study. He had thus "improved in
public" (as exhorting was then called) but a year or two when his brethren,
finding more of the expository than hortatory in his discourses, urged that
his proper office was that of a local preacher. But to this he had two
objections: lack of a distinct call, and a settled fear that the Church was
growing too numerous a secular ministry; so he utterly refused.
For the balance of his active life, as health and opportunity permitted, he
"preached many things to the people in his exhortations," always laying
for them a solid doctrinal foundation, and plentifully using Scripture
language, both accurately quoted and wisely applied, and book and chapter
usually given. His appointments for exhortation never lacked attendants or
interest; and when called, as he often was, to "supply the appointment" of
a circuit preacher, the substitute was not met with wry faces nor spoken of
in frowns. Yet his highest apparent successes in speaking, if estimated by
the excitement, were his brief speeches in love feast, not boisterous, but
invariably stirring the deep of the heart of the meeting.
Joshua Arnold's singing was no way superior in kind and had no marked
defect, unless it was that time sometimes yielded to sentiment. But the
amount of psalm singing done in a half century by this peaceful man was
certainly marvelous. The leading of most of the hymns in the social
meetings was a very small proportion of it. Whenever he found a psalm,
a hymn, or a chorus that struck a chord in his devout heart he laid it
carefully away in his retentive memory, and it was instantly called up when
he wanted to sing it.
But what was most noteworthy in his singing was that his happy heart, and
soft, sweet voice, and abundant store of pious psalmody kept him singing
wherever and whenever he could with propriety.
Mr. Arnold was the opposite of a business sharper. He was a moderate,
patient toiler, but traded no more than he was obliged to, and always with
frank, honest words, and very few words. He hated extortion, avoided debt,
and threw nothing away in interest or in lawsuits, and was both careful and
skillful in maintaining a good influence. Like his wife, he was economical
and liberal; and the Christian liberality of their home knew no bounds but
the limit of their means; nor was that limit dreaded, nor often, if ever,
found, when it embarrassed the case on hand.
As Joshua Arnold was no ordinary man, so his _personnel_ was rather
peculiar: nearly six feet in height; large, but not fat; wore a shoe of
size number twelve, and hat size seven and a half. His eye was blue, large,
and mild; forehead broad and high; nose long and straight; lips long and
thin; mouth and chin small and delicate; hair brown, fine, straight, and
complexion florid. His motions were moderate, and temper very steady and
mild.
CHAPTER III.
SEPARATION.
But this aged couple were to share their joys and sorrows in their
retirement but a few years. Joshua was the first called away. He died in
his seventy-seventh year, in peace with God and all men. Just before
his speech failed one of his sons inquired how long he had been in the
Methodist Episcopal Church. His answer came slowly but firmly: "Fifty-two
years ago I said to this people, 'Whither thou goest, I will go; and where
thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my
God: where thou diest, will I die, and there will I be buried.'
'The word hath passed my lips, and I
Shall with thy people live and die.'"
And the good man had the desire of his heart.
Elizabeth was now a widow, and had nearly reached her "threescore and ten
years." She was not much bent with age, though "compassed with infirmity."
She still found some little to do among the sick, the poor, and the
perishing, and was not gloomy or desponding in her loneliness. She wrote
much to her scattered children, who were too distant to be seen often, and
her letters breathed the spirit of heaven.
When possible to attend the preaching of the word she was "not a forgetful
hearer," but kept up her old method of prayerful abstraction. She had
during her whole religious life followed it. She would early enter the
meeting as if she saw no one and go solemnly to her seat, and either kneel
or cover her face for a time, and thence on until the voice of the opening
service aroused her would be absorbed in devotion. As long as able to
attend, her voice was heard in prayer and class meetings; and many came to
her room for counsel and help in their experience.
It was marvelous to see what a change retirement and its quiet had wrought
in the spirit and manner of this woman. The drive and hum of busy life were
over; a heavenly calm had ensued--solemn, serene, peaceful--no agony of
prayer, no ecstasy of spirit, no shouts of transport, no fiery trials. Her
infirmities accumulate, but still she rejoices in sacred, hallowed peace.
She becomes a cripple, almost confined to her bed, and continues so for
years; but her mind retains its strength and serenity, and her whole heart
rejoices in God, her immovable Rock.
The last decade or more of her life was marked as a continual feast upon
the holy word of God. She learned what her blessed Saviour meant when he
quoted and sanctioned that Scripture, "Man shall not live by bread alone,
but by every word that proceedeth out of the mouth of God," and also, his
promise that the Holy Comforter should quote to the faithful such passages
of the word they had studied as their circumstances might require.
So every day, and usually oftener, the Lord would give her a "passage to
feed upon," "day by day her daily bread." On the last day that she could
speak her pastor's wife inquired after her "passage for that day," and she
instantly quoted Josh. i. 5, and Heb. xiii, 5, "I will never leave thee,
nor forsake thee."
Just before her speech failed her she called to her a daughter-in-law and
gave her a minute account of her graveclothes, which had been ready for
several years, and she found everything as she had described them. Thus, as
"a shock of corn fully ripe," she was at length gathered home. She died in
Fulton, Oswego County, N. Y., in August, 1865, in the eighty-eighth year
of her age, and in the seventieth year of her religious experience, and
is buried by the side of her husband in Mount Adna Cemetery, where they
together await the resurrection of the just.
CHAPTER IV.
CONCLUSION.
The "disinherited" Elizabeth was never restored to her rights and heirship
as a daughter. As old age came upon that rigid father he partially relented
and doled out a few hundreds to her where his other children had their
thousands.
He even sent to Massachusetts for her to visit him on his deathbed and
counsel him concerning salvation, and pray with him; and he indulged some
hope under her prayers; but he made no confession of his wrongs to her, nor
amends for his injustice.
Her two brothers and three sisters all credited their religious experience
to God's blessing upon Elizabeth's prayers, counsels, and life; but only
one of them ever undertook to restore what the father had taken from
Elizabeth's right and given to her, and she did not do it until she was
about to die without issue. With one voice they freely condemned her
disinheritance and the persecutions she had had to suffer. But when, their
souls being "ill at ease" under the remembrance of her wrongs, they spoke
to her on the subject (for she would not introduce it), they would simply
repeat, "Father so willed it, and you know, dear sister, that no one could
ever turn him."
All became church members, and so lived and died, but all in Calvinian
communions; while all of Elizabeth's children became Methodists, and two of
her sons, as we have seen, itinerant ministers. She and her pious husband,
as before stated, were industrious, economical, and liberal, and Agar's
prayer, "Give me neither poverty nor riches," was their prayer, and with
its answer they walked happily and usefully through life, "serving their
generation by the will of God," and passing in peace to their reward.
THE END.