THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
It is a troublesome fact that, even when people are very much
interested, and very eager over important themes, commonplace and
comparatively trivial duties, will intrude, and insist upon being done
at that moment. For instance, our girls were obliged to spend the whole
of Monday morning in packing their trunks and satchels, returning their
furniture, settling for their tents, and the like; in short, breaking up
housekeeping and getting ready to go back to the civilized world. Flossy
and Ruth dispatched their part at the hotel promptly and came over to
the grounds to help the others. They discussed the meeting while they
worked.
"If we hadn't been idiots," Marion said, "we should have attended that
normal class and been graduating, this morning, instead of being down
here, at work at our trunks and unknown to fame."
"Well, you wouldn't go," Ruth answered. "Don't you know you declared
that was too much like work, and you hadn't an idea of learning
anything?"
"Oh, yes," said Marion. "I remember a great many things I have said,
that I would quite as soon forget."
By dint of eager bustling from one point to another, the work was
accomplished by noon, and all the girls were ready for the afternoon
service, which all seemed equally eager to attend. When they reached the
stand they looked about them in surprise and dismay.
"Everybody is gone!" said Flossy, "only look! There are ever so many
unoccupied seats!"
Marion laughed.
"And ever so many that are occupied," she said. "My child, you have
been so used to counting audiences by the thousands, that sixteen or
seventeen hundred people look rather commonplace to you. However, there
are more than that number here, I think."
It soon became a matter of small importance, whether there were few or
many, so long as they had the good fortune to be there themselves, and
to have the company of Dr. Eben Tourjée.
Now it so happened that among these four girls there were two to whom
God had given special gifts: though neither of them had ever considered
that there were such things as gifts from God, which they were bound to
use in his service.
There was Ruth Erskine, who had capabilities for music in the ends of
her fingers, that would have almost entranced the angels. What did she
do with her talent? Almost nothing. She hated the sickly
sentimentalities which, set to music, find their way into fashionable
parlors by the score. She was not in the society that knew of, or
craved, the higher, grander kind of music; and because she did, and did
not know it, she simply palled of the kind within her reach and let her
gift lie waste.
Then there was Marion, whose voice was simply grand, both in power and
tone. What had she done with her voice? Sung by the hour to the old
father whose tender memory lingered with her to-day; less than nothing
with it since; no one knew she could sing; she hated singing in school,
she never went anywhere else; so only occasionally could the four walls
of her upper back room have testified that there was a talent buried
there.
Did Dr. Tourjée travel from Boston to Chautauqua for the purpose of
inspiring and educating these two girls. I don't suppose he knew of
their existence, but that makes no difference, they are working out his
lecture all the same; in fact it is nearly a year since these Chautauqua
girls came home, and if you have any sort of desire to know what
Chautauqua theories develop into, when put to the test, please keep a
sharp lookout for "_The Chautauqua Girls at Home_."
As the familiar talk on music went on, Ruth, with her eyes aglow, began
to plan in her own heart, first what she _might_ do, and presently what
she _would_ do. And Marion, at the other end of the seat, went through
the same process neither imagining that these same 'doings' would bring
them together, and lead to endless other doings. But that is just the
way in which life is going on every where, who imagined that what you
did yesterday, would lead your neighbor to do what he _has_ done to-day?
"Luther said: 'Next to theology, I place sacred music.'" This was the
sentence that started a train of thought for Ruth. After that, she
listened in order that she might work.
"Never use an interlude in church, I pray God that I may be forgiven for
the fiddle-faddle that I have strummed on organs, in the name of
interludes."
This, delighted Marion, she hated interludes. She hated quartette
choirs. She had steadily refused to be beguiled into one, by the few who
knew that she could sing, so, when Dr. Tourjée said: "Think of the grand
old hymn, 'From all that dwell below the skies, let the Creator's praise
arise,' being warbled by one voice, a grand chorus of four coming in on
the third line!"
Marion was entirely in sympathy with him, and eager for work in the way
in which he pointed out. It was an enjoyable afternoon in every respect.
But to "our girls" it was much more than that, it was an education.
Every one of them got ideas which they were eager to put in practice;
and they saw their ways clear to practise them to some purpose. When the
service was over, and the audience moved away, a sense of sadness and
lonliness began to creep over many, snatches of remark could be heard on
all sides.
"Where is Dr. Fowler?"
"Gone: went this morning."
"Where is the Miller party?"
"Oh, they went some time ago."
"When did the president leave?"
"It's all about 'go,'" Eurie said: "Look! How they are crowding down to
the boat; and only a stray one now and then coming up from there. Who
would have supposed it could make us feel so forlorn? I am glad we are
not to be at the morning meeting. I am not sure but I should cry of
homesickness. I say, girls, let's go to Palestine."
Which suggestion was greeted with delight, and they immediately went. A
great many were of the same mind. Mr. Vanlennep in full Turkish dress,
was leading the way, and giving his familiar lecture on the--to
him--familiar spots. The girls stood near him by the sea of Galilee, and
heard his tender farewell words, and his hope that they would all meet
on the other side of Jordon. It was hard to keep back the quiet tears
from falling.
They climbed Mount Hermon in silence, and looked over at Mount Lebanon,
they came back by the way of Cesarea, and turned aside to take a last
look at Joppa, down by the sea. In almost total silence this walk back
was accomplished. What was the matter with them all?
Mr. Roberts had joined them, and he and Flossy walked on ahead. But
their voices were subdued and their subject--to judge from their faces,
_quieting_, to say the least. Then they all went to take their last
supper at Chautauqua. Not one of them grumbled over anything. Indeed,
they all agreed that the board had certainly improved very much during
the last few days, and that it was really remarkable that such a throng
of people could have been served so promptly and courteously, and on
the whole, so well, as had been done there. Still, it was strange to
have plenty of elbow room, and to see the waiters moving leisurely up
and down the long halls; no one in haste, no one kept waiting.
As they rose from table, a gentleman passed through; they had passed
each other every day for a week; they had no idea what his name was, and
I suppose he knew as little about them. But he paused before them:
"Good-bye," he said. And held out his hand, "I hope we shall all meet at
the assembly up there!"
"Good-bye," they answered, and they shook hands. None of them smiled,
none of them thought it strange; though they had never been introduced!
It was the Chautauqua brotherhood of feeling. But after two weeks of
experience and much practice in that line, it was impossible to rid
onesself of the feeling that one must hurry down to the stand in order
to secure seats; so they hurried, and had a new experience; they were
among the first twenty on the ground.
"The audience will be utterly lost to-night in this immense array of
seats;" Flossy said in dismay. "Doesn't it feel forlorn?" But they took
their seats, and presently came Miss Ryder and seated herself at the
piano in the twilight, and the tunes she played were soft and tender and
weird.
"Every note says 'goodbye,'" said Ruth, and she gave a little sigh.
Presently, the calcium lights began to glow, as usual, and meantime
though everybody was supposed to have left; still, the people came from
somewhere; and at last, dismayed voices began to say:
"Why! Did you ever see the like! I thought we should surely get good
seats to-night? Where _do_ all the people come from."
"Look! Marion," said Eurie. "What would Dr. Harris think of such a
congregation as this! They could not get into our church, could they?"
But just then the hymn claimed attention:
"My days are gliding swiftly by."
How swiftly these days had glided away. How full they had been! During
the prayer that followed, all heads bowed, and the silence that fell
upon them made it seem that all hearts joined. Dr. Vincent was the
first speaker. His manner and voice had changed. Both were subdued; he
looked like a man who had been lifted up for a great mental strain and
was gradually letting down again to earth.
"We are coming toward the close," he said. "We are more quiet than we
have been here before. Familiar faces and forms that have moved in and
out among these trees, for two weeks past, have gone. Only a few hours
and we are going; only a few hours and utter silence will fall upon
Chautauqua."
"Oh dear!" murmured Eurie, "why _will_ he be so forlorn! I don't see why
I need care so much! Who would have supposed I could!"
"Hush!" said Marion, and she surreptitiously wiped away a tear. "A love
feast," Dr. Vincent said they were going to have, for that last evening;
it was very much like that. The farewell from Canada came next; the
speaker said he had been "thawed out," meant to have America annexed to
Canada! Indeed they had already been annexed; in heart and soul! "Who's
who?" said he, and "what's what? Who knows?" There was just enough of
the comical mixed with the pathetic in this address to steady many a
tremulous heart.
Dr. Presbry followed in much the same strain, closing, though, with such
a tender tribute to some who had been at the assembly the year before,
and had since gone to join the assembly that never breaks up, that the
tears came to the surface again. But those blessed Tennesseeans just at
that point made the grounds ring with the chorus, "Oh jubilee! jubilee!
the Christian religion is jubilee!" and followed it with: "I've been a
long time in the house of God, and I ain't got weary yet."
By that time our girls looked at each other with faces on which tears
and smiles struggled for the mastery.
"Shall we laugh, or cry?" whispered Eurie, and then they giggled
outright. But they sobered instantly and sat upright, ready to listen,
for the next one who appeared on the platform was Dr. Deems.
He, too, commenced as if the spell of the parting was upon him. "He was
too tired," he said, "to make a short speech. Some one asked Walter
Scott why he didn't put a certain book of his into one volume instead
of five. And he said he hadn't time. It took five weeks to prepare a
speech three minutes long. And then he warmed, and grew with his subject
until the beautiful thoughts fell around them like pearls. Not only
beautiful, but searching.
"No man," said he, "_dares_ to make a careless speech at Chautauqua,
there are too many to treasure it up, to plant it again." Of course he
knew nothing about those girls, and how much seed they were gathering
which they meant to plant; but they gathered it, all the same. He
dropped his seeds with lavish hand. This was one that took root in
Marion's brain and heart:
"There are so many side influences that are unconscious, that the only
safe way for one to do is to let no part of himself ravel, but to keep
himself round and thorough, and healthy to the core."
After that, Marion's pencil, on which I have to depend for my notes,
gave up in despair. "I _couldn't_ keep track of that man!" she said,
when I complained. "There was no more use to try than there would be to
count these apple blossoms," for it was this spring, and we were
standing in an apple orchard, and a perfect shower of the white,
sweet-smelling things came fluttering round our heads. But after he
'calmed down a little,' as she called it, she tried to write again; and
I copy this:
"Brethren: This meeting will convert some of the most thoughtful people
of this generation: men who come here not knowing by personal experience
the power of this thing, men who walk thoughtfully up and down these
aisles, looking on, will say: 'There are scholars here, there are men of
genius, of great brain power, there are men and women here of every
variety of temperament, and attainment, held together for fourteen days
by one common bond,' and the perseverance, the solemnity, the hilarity,
the freedom, the naturalness, the earnestness of this meeting will so
impress them that they will know that there is a miracle holding us, a
supernatural strength.
"May I give you to-night one word more of gospel invitation? Come, go
with us, you who do not understand this matter for yourselves, go with
us, and we _will_ do you good. Will you go to your rooms to-night and
make the resolve that shall write your names in God's book of life? The
recording angel has a trembling hand this minute, waiting for your
answer. Weary one, _so_ young and yet so tired, come, come, come now."
Marion, with cheeks burning, and eyes very bright and earnest, looked
around her: Eurie sat next to her, she seemed unmoved, there was no sign
of tears to her bright eyes, but she was looking steadily at the
speaker.
"Never mind!" Marion said within herself, and there came to her an eager
desire to begin her practice, to do something; what if it were utter
failure, would the fault be hers?
Following the sudden leading that she had learned no better than to call
'impulse' she said in a quick low whisper: "Eurie, _won't you_?" And she
held her breath for the answer, and could distinctly feel the beating of
her own heart. Eurie turned great gray astonished eyes on her friend,
and said in a firm quiet voice: "I have. I settled that matter on
Saturday. Have you?"
And then those two girls, each with the wonderful surprise ringing music
in her heart, were willing to have that meeting over.