BEECH STREET WORSHIPPERS.
As we neared the Beech Street Church, we found a crowd of persons
hurrying in the same direction. Mrs. Flaxman expressed her astonishment;
since she supposed Mr. Lathrop's flock to be small in number, and humble
in its class of adherents. When we reached the door, a glance inside
revealed the fact that it was already comfortably filled, and where all
the approaching throng were to be bestowed was a mystery. Daniel Blake
was one of the ushers. His face brightened at sight of us. Nodding
respectfully to Mr. Winthrop, he led us to one of the best seats in the
house. I glanced around at the large congregation, and was impressed by
the solemn hush pervading the place, and the expectant look on the faces
of the worshippers. Mr. Bowen was sitting near and I wanted Mr. Winthrop
to see and know him; so I took out my pencil and wrote on the leaf of my
hymn book directing his attention to my friend. He looked keenly at the
pale, rapt face, and then with a scarce perceptible smile turned to me.
The church kept filling; and while yet the people were streaming in, the
minister arose, and after a brief, but exceedingly solemn invocation,
gave out the hymn. In an alcove just behind the preacher's stand was a
cabinet organ, and some half dozen singers, male and female; but once the
singing had got well under way, organ and choir were as though they were
not; nearly every one in the house was singing save myself and Mr.
Winthrop. I kept silent the more keenly to enjoy the heavy volume of
sound which impressed me as more reverent praise than any church music
I had ever heard. I turned to Mr. Winthrop. He too was looking over the
dense mass of humanity with a curious intentness, as if here were some
entirely new experience. When the hymn was ended there was a moment's
hush after the congregation had bowed in reverent act of worship and then
the preacher's voice rose in earnest pleading. I noticed it was better
modulated than at Mrs. Blake's funeral, possibly the effort to make
himself heard by the scattered groups on that occasion caused the
difference. My eyes filled with tears, and a strange trembling seized me
as the petitions grew more earnest; the prayer was short, yet so much was
comprehended in it. The Scripture lesson was read in very natural, but
also solemn manner, without any attempt at rhetorical display, yet
bringing out the subtle meanings of the passage in a peculiarly realistic
way. The sermon was delivered in much the same manner; but in every word
and gesture there seemed a reserve power and dignity, while the thoughts
were strong and original; and better than all, they made one wish to be
purer, more unselfish, in fact Christ-like.
The place seemed pervaded by some mysterious influence never experienced
by me before in any church. The sermon was ended at last; the Judgment
Day was the theme; all the old horror that used haunt me in childhood,
when I thought upon this awful period in my soul's future, came back to
me as the preacher with a power scarce short of inspiration pictured that
day. I could hear Mrs. Flaxman's subdued weeping while in every part of
the house, tears and low sobs added to the solemnity of the scene. Mr.
Winthrop sat with folded arms and set stern face, apparently unmoved; but
the intent watchfulness of his face as he followed the preacher assured
me that the sermon was making an impression. A hymn was sung when the
sermon was ended, and then all who wished to remain to the after-meeting
were assured of a welcome, no matter to what church they belonged, or if
aliens from all.
I scarce dared lift my eyes to Mr. Winthrop lest he might be preparing to
leave; but to my relief he sat calmly down along with nearly the entire
congregation, and then the other meeting began first with a number of
prayers, afterward with speaking by men and women all over the house.
When Mr. Bowen prayed, there was a solemn hush as if the people were
almost holding their breath lest some word might be missed. I could not
wonder that men's hearts were melted by the power and tenderness of his
utterances. Strange that God should hide such gifts away for years when
the world was in such need of workers. Along through the meeting there
were occasional snatches of song, deep, resonant melody that uplifted
the heart as it welled up from glad, thankful souls. Men and women rose,
for the most part with modest calmness, and told what God had done for
them, and what they still expected from our Father as loving as He is
rich. I listened spellbound. Some of them had a story to tell so like
my own that my heart was thrilled at times. I wanted to tell what God had
done for me, but before that crowded house, and worse than all, in
presence of Mr. Winthrop, I found it impossible; but just at the close
the minister, with a kindly thoughtfulness for which I blessed him said:
"There may be some one here who loves Christ but has not courage to tell
us so. If they are willing to witness for Him we extend them the
privilege of doing this by merely rising to their feet."
My heart beat painfully and my head swam, but forgetful of my guardian's
displeasure, and the concentrated gaze of some hundreds of eyes, I stood
up. I heard a heartfelt "praise God," from the direction of Mr. Bowen's
pew, and then there was a gentle rustle in every part of the house, and
scores stood up, Mrs. Flaxman among the rest. The meeting closed quietly,
and in the same solemn hush the people departed.
Mr. Winthrop stood, waiting for the crowd to leave, not seeing the many
curious glances bent our way. Presently the minister was passing our
pew; he paused uncertainly, wishing to speak, I knew from the expression
of his face, but waiting for Mr. Winthrop first to make some sign of
recognition. I stood near enough to reach my hand; my act speedily
followed by Mrs. Flaxman; and then with rare grace and courtesy Mr.
Winthrop extended his hand, saying: "I have to thank you for your very
faithful sermon. I did not know the present generation of preachers dared
talk so plainly to their hearers."
"Perhaps you do not go in the way of hearing them; the race of heroes is
not yet extinct. Not that I reckon myself a hero," he added, with an
amused smile at the slip of tongue.
"The rack and flames are not necessary to prove one a hero or martyr. I
dare say many who do not choose to live for their religion would die for
it if it came in their way to do so."
"Yourself among the number, I believe, Mr. Winthrop," the minister said,
with a penetrating look, that Mr. Winthrop returned in kind.
"I would take it as a favor if you would dine with us some day soon, and
give me an evening of your society. We might have some topics in common
to discuss," Mr. Winthrop said, to the surprise of each of us, Mr.
Lathrop included. "Possibly you do not make such engagements on the
Sabbath. Pardon me, I had forgotten you were a conscientious man," he
said, after a short pause, seeing Mr. Lathrop hesitate.
"It is not my usual custom, but nevertheless, I accept your invitation
with pleasure."
Mr. Bowen was waiting to speak with his minister, it may be hoping to
exchange greeting with us as well. I whispered softly to Mr. Winthrop:
"Would you like to speak to Mr. Bowen?"
"If it is your desire, I will do so."
"I would like you to speak with him very much."
I made my way quickly to Mr. Bowen's side. He was standing a little way
down the aisle from us. The grasp of his hand and glance of his eye were
like a benediction.
"I was glad to see you here," he said, in his quiet way, which meant more
than extravagant protestations from others. "There was bread for you, I
think."
"Yes, and wine; better far than human lips ever quaffed."
"The new wine of our Father's Kingdom," he said, softly, with such a glad
light in his eyes reminding me of some spiritual illumination the flesh
could not wholly conceal.
Mr. Winthrop soon joined us, and never did I feel more grateful to my
guardian than when I watched his gracious bearing towards my friend. If
he had been some noted literary gentleman, he could not have been more
genial and polite.
"My ward has talked so much about you that, out of pure curiosity, I came
to see and hear you to-night," he said, as they walked side by side
towards the door. A faint flush passed over Mr. Bowen's face, but he made
no reply. I was much better pleased than if he had exclaimed against his
own poor abilities, as some would have done, or rhapsodized over his
indebtedness to me. I knew from the expression of Mr. Winthrop's face
that he was pleased with him, and on our way home, he said: "You are like
a magnet, Medoline. You draw the best types of humanity to you as the
lodestone does the steel."
"You like Mr. Bowen, then?"
"I do not know him well enough yet for that; but he has genius. Da Vinci
would have taken him for a model for the beloved disciple if he had lived
in his day. I never saw a more spiritual face in any human being."
"He is like the disciple whom Jesus loved in one thing--he loves the
Christ best of all."
"Was not that a wonderful meeting, Mr. Winthrop?" Mrs. Flaxman asked,
after we had seated ourselves cosily by the bright fire in the
drawing-room.
"I do not profess to be a judge in such matters."
"I think a heathen would have felt some before unknown spiritual
influence there to-night, if he had understood our language," I
exclaimed.
"Heathen and Christian alike are not so susceptible to spiritual
influences as you, Medoline; so in harmony with the unseen and unknowable
as you are getting to be."
"Religion cannot be classed with the unknowable. God only leaves us in
uncertainty when we wilfully close our eyes to his teachings."
"You place no restrictions, then, on the benevolence of your Creator."
"I shall not make myself a different and narrower creed than the Bible
provides."
"Men read the Bible and formulate creeds as opposite as the poles. The
pendulum of their belief takes in not merely an arc, but the entire
circle."
"I think they are wisest who leave creeds; I mean the non-essentials, to
those who try to penetrate mysteries which, maybe, even the angels look
upon as too sacred for them to explore, and just take what is necessary
to make us Christ-like."
"My dear child, that is taking at a single bound faith's highest peak."
"I suppose the way-faring man, of whom the Bible speaks, does that. God
may have different patents of nobility from us. I do not mean in the
mere matter of birth, but of what, even to our dim vision, is vastly
higher--the intellectual dower."
"Medoline tries very hard to assure herself that her Mill Road favorites
are royalties in exile," Mr. Winthrop said, with a smile, turning to Mrs.
Flaxman.
"I cannot say if she goes quite that far, but she certainly thinks that
she has found among them some diamonds of the first water, though she
cannot but acknowledge they lack the polishing touches to bring out more
effectually their sparkle and brilliancy."
"I do not know if the best among them have suffered anything from the
lack of the human lapidary's skill. He often, at the best, is a mere
bungler, and while he makes sure to bring out the brilliancy, laps off
other finer qualities the lack of which no spark or brilliancy can
compensate," I replied, by no means convinced, and thinking all the time
of Mrs. Le Grande who had certainly received plenty of polishing touches,
but sadly lacked higher mental and moral qualities.
"A woman convinced against her will is of the same opinion still," Mr.
Winthrop quoted, although addressing no one in particular.
"The author's real words are, 'A man convinced against his will,'" I
retorted.
"In this case it is a woman, and a very determined, insistent little
woman she is too," he replied.
I rose, and standing before my guardian, said, "I am not such a little
woman, Mr. Winthrop, as you would make me believe. Actually I can look
over Mrs. Flaxman's head."
"A perfect giantess, especially in defending the character of the poor
and bereaved."
"If you had studied poor, hard-working people more, and books less,
you would have found some of the rarest specimens of patience, and
self-forgetfulness and fortitude, and oh, so many other beautiful
characteristics, that you would long to strip off your proud ancestry
and wealth, and become like them. They find it so much easier to be
Christians--they are not bewildered by the pride of life and vanities
that pall while they allure, and the perplexity of riches, and other ills
the higher born are heir to."
"I sincerely hope you will not begin a new crusade, Medoline."
"Why, Mr. Winthrop, what do you mean?" I asked, surprised at the sudden
turn of the conversation.
"What do I mean? You have begun it already. I only stipulate that you
carry this crusade no farther."
"But I do not understand you. How then can I promise to obey your will?"
"The fashion is rapidly gaining ground for women to have some pet scheme
of reform. A few of them have such ambition for publicity they take their
pet scheme, and the platform, and go trailing over the land like comets.
Now I do not wish you to join this motley crowd, though your heart does
burn over the unacknowledged perfections of the poor."
"Surely, Mr. Winthrop, you do not insinuate there is the remotest
possibility of such a thing, that I will go to lecturing," I said, with
rising color.
"Have you not already begun the work? But I shall be very glad to have
your promise that you will not seek a larger audience to listen to you
than your present one."
"Are you in earnest?"
"I am certainly in earnest when I assure you it is my desire that you
will not take up lecturing, or develop into a woman with a career."
I looked at him closely, and turning away, said, "Some day I hope to get
wise enough to know when you are in earnest and when you are merely
bantering me."
"I think your faculties in that respect are rapidly developing. You
discovered before I did that it was merely badinage on Mr. Winthrop's
part," Mrs. Flaxman said, genially.
"But, Mr. Winthrop," I said, turning to him once more, "is it right for
you to judge those women so harshly who seize any honest way to get a
hearing? I believe the majority of them are as much in earnest about
their work as you are in any of your most cherished undertakings. Women
more than men have an instinct to sacrifice themselves on the first
genuine altar they meet with. One human being, especially, if he is apt
to be cynical, can scarcely judge another justly."
"Are you not a little severe on me? but possibly you are correct," he
said, with perfect good humor.
"I hope you will forgive me that unkind remark," I pleaded. "I am afraid,
after all, it is no use for me to try to be good thoroughly and wholly. I
can only be so in places."
"You must not despair yet. Much worse persons than you have developed
into saints ultimately, if we can trust the calendar."
I smiled, although discomfited. "I wish you would try to be good with me.
I am sure I would find it easier."
"Goodness too easily acquired is not apt to be of a very high quality.
Better fight your own battles and gain your victories all by yourself,"
he said, with a smile as he left us for his study. My head was aching so
severely that I concluded to try the effect of rest and sleep, to bring
back my usual freedom from pain.