"Is that all?" said Maggie.
"All of that story," Meredith answered.
There was a long silence. On hill and rock and river there was a
stillness and peace as if nowhere in the world could blood ever have
flowed, or wrangling been heard, or men been cruel one to another. So
soft and warm the sunlight brooded, and the dry leaves hung still on the
trees and not a breath moved them, and the liquid lap of the water
against the rocks far down below just came to the ear with a murmur of
content. There was nothing else to hear; and the silence was so
exquisite that it laid a sort of spell on everybody's tongue, while the
mild sunlight on the warm, hazy hills seemed to find out everybody's
very heart and spread itself there. A spell of stillness and a spell of
peace. All the party were hushed for a good while; and what broke the
charm at last was a long-drawn breath of little Maggie, which came from
somewhere much deeper then she knew. Mr. Murray looked up at her and
smiled.
"What is it, Maggie?"
"I don't know, Uncle Eden. I think something makes me feel bad."
"Feel bad!" echoed Esther.
"I don't mean feel _bad_ exactly--I can't explain it."
"I suppose she has been thinking, as I have been," said Meredith, "that
it does not seem as if this day and my story could both belong to the
same world."
"Ah!" said Mr. Murray, "this is a little bit of God's part, and the
other is a little bit of man's part in the world; that is all."
"But, Uncle Eden, in those dreadful times it don't seem as if there
could ever have been pleasant days."
"I fancy there were. Don't you think the people of Hermannsburg must
have enjoyed Tiefenthal, sometimes in the early starlight dawn and
sometimes in the fresh sunrise?"
"Uncle Eden, I should always have been afraid the soldiers were coming."
"On the other hand, those people always knew that God was there. And
there is a wonderful sweetness in living in His hands."
"But yet, Uncle Eden, He did let the soldiers come."
"_He_ did not go away, Maggie."
"No; but those must have been dreadful times."
"Well, yes. They were no doubt hard times. And yet, Maggie, it remains
true--'When _He_ giveth quietness, then who can make trouble?' Think of
Paul and Silas, beaten and bleeding, stiff and sore, stretched
uncomfortably in the wooden framework which left them no power to rest
themselves or change their position; in the noisome inner dungeon of a
Roman prison, and yet singing for gladness. People cannot sing when they
are faint-hearted, Maggie. The Lord keeps His promises."
"I wonder how many people would stand Pastor Harms's test?" Meredith
remarked.
"They are not obliged to stand it," Flora rejoined. "There are no
persecutions now; not here, at any rate. People are not called upon to
be martyrs."
"Do you think the terms of service have changed?" said Mr. Murray
looking at her.
"Why, sir, we are _not_ called upon to be martyrs."
"No, but are you not called to have the same spirit the martyrs had?"
"How can we?"
"What is the martyr spirit?"
"I don't know," said Flora. "I suppose it is a wonderful power of
bearing pain, which is given people at such times."
"Given to everybody?" said Meredith.
"Of course, not given to everybody."
"To whom, then?"
"Why, to Christians."
"And what is a Christian?" said Mr. Murray. "Are there two kinds, one
for peace and the other for war?"
"No, I suppose not," said Flora, somewhat mystified.
"'Whosoever shall confess me before men, him will I also confess before
my Father which is in heaven.' So the Lord said. Now in times of
persecution, you know what confessing Christ meant. What does it mean in
these days?"
"I do not think I understand the question, Mr. Murray."
"In the Roman days, for instance, how did people confess Christ?"
"I don't know. They owned that they were Christians."
"How did they own that? They refused to do anything that could be
constructed into paying honour to the gods of the people. They might
have said in word that they were Christians--but nobody would have
meddled with them if they would have hung garlands of flowers upon
Jupiter's altar."
"No," said Flora.
"How is it in these days?"
"What do you mean, sir?"
"I mean, how is Christ to be confessed in these days?"
"I don't know," said Flora; "except by making what is called a
profession of religion,--joining some church, I suppose."
"Does that do it?"
"I do not know how else."
"Why, Uncle Eden," said Maggie, "how can one do it any other way?"
"One cannot do it in that way, my pet."
"_Not?_" said Flora. "How then, Mr. Murray?"
"What do people join the church for, then, Uncle Eden?" Esther inquired.
"Those who enlist in Christ's army must certainly put on His uniform.
But who shall say that the uniform does not cover a traitor?"
"A traitor, Mr. Murray?" Flora looked puzzled.
"Yes. There are many traitors. There were even in Paul's time."
"Traitors among the Christians?"
"So he wrote. 'Many walk, of whom I have told you often, and tell you
now again even weeping, that they are _enemies of the cross of Christ_.'
They were professors of His name, nevertheless, Miss Flora; but confess
Him before men, except in word, they did not. So my question stands, you
perceive."
"How to confess Christ nowadays so that there shall be no mistake about
it?" Meredith added. Flora and Esther and Maggie sat looking at Mr.
Murray, as at the propounder of a riddle. Fenton pricked up his ears and
stared at the whole group.
"What did those people do, Mr. Murray?" Flora asked.
"Paul tells. He says of them that their 'glory is in their shame;' they
'mind earthly things.'"
"How can one help minding earthly things, as long as one lives in this
world?"
"One cannot, Miss Flora. But the characteristic of a Christian is, that
he seeks _first_ the kingdom of God."
"How?"
"First, to have the Lord's will done in his own heart; next, to have it
done in other people's hearts."
"But you were talking of doing something to show to the world that you
are certainly a Christian, Mr. Murray?"
"Yes, Miss Flora. Shall I tell you some of the ways in which this may be
accomplished?"
"Yes, if you please. I am completely in a fog."
"I never like to leave anybody in a fog. Now listen, and I will give you
some of the Bible marks of a real Christian.
"'_Whosoever he be of you that forsaketh not all that he hath, he cannot
be my disciple._'"
"But, Mr. Murray!"----
"Yes, that is just it exactly!" said Meredith, delighted.
"How can one forsake all he has? Be a beggar?"
"Not at all. Give it all to Christ, and be His steward."
"Not to please yourself in anything!" cried Flora.
"I did not say so. And the Bible does not mean so. For another Bible
mark of a Christian is, in the Lord's words--
"'_My meat is to do the will of Him that sent me._'"
"But can't one do anything that one wants to do?" cried Flora in dismay.
"Many things. But a Christian has no pleasure in what does not please
God."
"How is one always to know?"
"I am going on to tell you in part. '_Whatsoever ye do, do all to the
glory of God._'"
"That don't tell _me_," said Flora. "How can I tell what will do that?
And how can one do _everything_ so? Little things--and life is very much
made up of little things. Dressing, and studying, and reading, and
playing, and amusing one's self."
"O Flora?" Maggie cried; and "Why, Flora!" Meredith said, looking at
her; but neither added anything more.
"The Bible says, '_Whether ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do_,'" Mr.
Murray answered. "In another place, '_Whatsoever ye do, in word or
deed_.'"
"Well, Mr. Murray, I don't understand it; take eating and drinking--how
can that be done to the glory of God?"
"You can easily see how it can be done _not_ to His glory. Any way that
is not becoming His servant is not to His glory. Therefore, in
excess--of things that do not agree with you and therefore unfit you for
duty--of costly dishes, which take the money that might feed starving
people."
"But I can't feed all the starving people!" said Flora.
"It is something to feed one. But I will give you another Bible mark,
Miss Flora, '_He that saith he abideth in Him_,' that is, in Christ,
'_ought himself also to walk even as He walked.'_ Now remember how
Christ walked. He was here, '_as one that serveth_.' He '_went about
doing good_.' He '_pleased not Himself_.' He '_did always those things
that please' God_."
"But one can't be like _Him_," said Esther.
"That depends entirely upon whether you choose to be like Him."
"O Uncle Eden! He was"----
"Yes, I know, and I know what you are, and I, and all of us. It remains
true,--'God is faithful, by whom ye were called unto the fellowship of
His Son Jesus Christ our Lord;'--'chosen, that we should be holy and
without blame before Him in love.'"
There was a pause of some length. Flora was silenced, but her eyes had
filled, and her face wore a pained and bitter expression. Meredith had
glanced at her and thought it better not to speak. Maggie was in a depth
of meditation. Fenton had gone scrambling down the rocks. Esther looked
somewhat bored.
"Have you got your book there, Meredith?" Mr. Murray asked.
"Yes, sir."
"Read us something more. And after that you may all bring your
questions. We came here on purpose to talk, as I understood."
"There are different sort of things here, sir. Shall I give you a
change?"
"What you will--
"'O day most calm, most bright,
The fruit of this, the next world's bud--
Th' indorsement of supreme delight,
Writ by a friend, and with his blood;
The couch of time; cares balm and bay;
The week were dark but for thy light;
Thy torch doth show the way.'"
"That's better than anything I have got, sir," said Meredith.
"No. But it is good. And just here and to-day the Sabbath seems dressed
in royal robes. I could not but think of those lines."
"I confess, Mr. Murray, Sunday is nothing like that to me," said Flora.
"You are honest, Miss Flora. That gives me some hope of you. No,
naturally the Sabbath does not seem like that to you yet.--Well,
Meredith?"
"Is there more of it, sir?" Meredith's sister asked.
"More than you would care for, Miss Flora.--
"'Sundays the pillars are
On which heav'n's palace arched lies;
The other days fill up the spare
And hollow room with vanities.--'"
"And yet that need not be true, either. Go on, Meredith. What will you
give us?"
"Two stories, sir, on the words, 'Hold that fast which thou hast, that
no man take thy crown.'"
"'On the twenty-fifth of June 1530, therefore three hundred and forty
years ago, as is well known, our Lutheran Confession of Faith was
delivered before the diet at Augsburg. There was the powerful emperor
Charles V., and his brother, King Ferdinand, besides a number of
electoral princes, dukes and bishops. Before this crowd of some three or
four hundred nobles, stood a little company of seven princes and two
represented cities; that is, the Elector John the Constant and his son
John Frederick of Saxony, Margrave George of Brandenburg, Duke Ernst the
Confessor and his brother Francis of Lueneburg, Landgrave Philip of
Hesse, Prince Wolfgang of Anhalt, and the two burgermasters of Nuernberg
and Reutlingen. These nine stood forth with the spirit of heroes, and
confessed, under signature of their names, that in this faith they would
live and die, and that no power of earth or hell should make them turn
from it. For the Lutherans were wickedly slandered, as men who no longer
believed in anything, and who therefore deserved no other than to be
rooted out from the earth. That was why the Lutheran princes had
requested that it might be granted them to declare their faith publicly
before the Diet; to the end that everybody might know how their belief
rested upon the Scriptures and stood in harmony with the universal
ancient Christian Church; and indeed had flung away only the false human
teachings which had found their way into the Church. For this purpose
the twenty-fifth of June was fixed. The electoral chancellor Beyer
stepped into the middle of the hall with the written Confession of Faith
in his hand. The evangelical princes rose and stood listening while it
was read, and testified that this was the faith they held, to which by
God's help they would stand unmoved. Then did all that were present hear
what the faith of the Lutherans was; there stood the doctrine of the
triune God, of original sin, of the eternal Godhead of Jesus Christ; of
justification before God through grace alone by faith in Jesus Christ,
&c., though I hope I do not need to tell you any more about it; I think
you all know the Augsburg Confession and have read it, for surely you
are all of you Lutheran Christians, and all Lutheran Christians know the
Augsburg Confession. But if there be one among you who does not yet know
this act of confession, let him be ashamed of himself, and get a copy
with all speed, and read it, and read it again. When it was read aloud
at Augsburg, the impression it made was very great; people saw that the
Lutherans had been shamefully slandered. Duke William of Bavaria
reproached De Eck with having represented the Lutheran doctrine to him
in entirely false colours. The doctor answered, he would undertake to
refute this writing from the Christian fathers, but not from the
Scripture. Then the duke returned, "So, if I hear aright, the Lutherans
are _in_ the Scriptures, and we near by!"
"'There did the steadfast Lutherans keep that saying in their
hearts--"Hold that fast which thou hast, that no man take thy crown."
Ay, when before the beginning of the Diet the Lutheran ministers
earnestly besought the Elector of Saxony that he would not for their
sakes run into danger, but graciously permit them to appear alone and
give in their declaration before the emperor, the undaunted prince made
them answer--"God forbid that I should be shut out from your company; I
will confess my Lord Jesus Christ with you."
"'This is one story about those words; now I will give you another--'"
"Stop one minute, Ditto. Uncle Eden, I do not exactly understand all
that?"
"What do you not understand?"
"Who were all those people?"
"The Catholic nobles of the German empire, with Charles the Fifth, a
very powerful emperor, at their head, and the chief Catholic church
doctors and dignitaries,--all that on one side; representing the powers
of this world. On the other side, a little handful of men whom Luther's
teaching had awakened out of the darkness of the Middle Ages, confessing
Christ before men; representing the feeble flock of His followers."
"Yes," said Maggie thoughtfully. "Was there danger?"
"There was great danger to whoever got into the power of the Catholic
lords."
"Do you think the world is always against the truth, Mr. Murray?" Flora
asked.
Mr. Murray answered in the words of the psalm--"'Why do the heathen
rage, and the people imagine a vain thing? The kings of the earth set
themselves, and their rulers take counsel together, against the Lord and
against His Anointed, saying, Let us break their bands asunder, and cast
away their cords from us.'"
"But all times are not like those times of the Reformation?"
"Not just. The world power strives against the Church in a variety of
ways, sometimes with force and sometimes with guile. The beast in the
vision, who has his power from the devil, sometimes makes war with the
saints; and sometimes 'he causeth all, both small and great, rich and
poor, free and bond, to receive a mark in their right hand or in their
foreheads; and that no man might buy or sell save he that has the
mark.'--Miss Flora, I believe the war times are the less evil and
dangerous. Well, Meredith, you bear interruptions philosophically. Go on
with your new story."
"This new story 'happened more than two hundred years ago, at a place
called Galgenberg' (that is Gallowshill, Maggie), 'in the neighbourhood
of Hermannsburg. In old times a gallows used to stand there, on which
thieves and oath-breakers were hung.'"
"Oath-breakers!" said Mr. Murray. "It seems the Saxons kept their hatred
of untruth. But I beg your pardon, Meredith."
"It's half the fun, to stop and talk, sir. 'At that time the criminal
jurisdiction was located in Hermannsburg; and four times in the year, at
quarter-day, court was held here and the judgment carried into effect as
soon as delivered. To this end the justiciaries of Hermannsburg, Bergen,
and Fallingbostel came together here and held the court, after they had
first attended the weekly service in the church at Hermannsburg to
prepare them for their vocation; for quarter-day always fell upon a
Wednesday. However in those days perjury and theft were so rare, that
once it happened that twenty years passed away, with court held every
quarter-day, and nobody was sentenced. The justice of Hermannsburg had
two staves, one all white, and one parti-coloured. If he found no one
guilty, he broke the coloured staff; if, however, anybody was convicted,
then he broke the white staff, with the words,
"The staff is broken,
The judgment is spoken,
Man, thou must hang."
"'And then, after the pastor had prayed with the criminal, the sentence
was executed.'"
"Fearful times, sir," said Meredith pausing.
"Horrible!" echoed Flora.
"Two sides to the question," said Mr. Murray. "I am musing over the
novelty of the combination. Twenty years without one man convicted of
theft or a false oath! Think of that, and you will comprehend the horror
of the crime which made such sudden work with the criminal."
"I will go on," said Meredith.--"'Some old people are yet living who
have seen the gallows which stood on the Galgenberg. Now I will tell you
my story about the words, "Hold that fast which thou hast, that no man
take thy crown." It was in the Thirty Years' War, which from 1618 to
1648 raged between the Catholics and the Protestants. Through all this
miserable time the parish of Hermannsburg enjoyed the rare good fortune
of having a faithful shepherd over it; his name was Andreas Kruse; he
became pastor in 1617, and died in 1652. His successor, Paulus
Boccatius, gives him this testimony in the church register--"True as
gold, pure as silver. Ah, thou faithful and good servant, thou hast been
faithful over a few things; I will make thee ruler over many things."
For years at a time the church at Hermannsburg was closed to him. At
those times he went with his people into the wilds and held divine
service there. Furthermore, the whole of the neighbouring pastors were
either dead of the plague, or killed, or driven away; so that he took
care of all their parishes beside his own; and this he did for
twenty-five years. One good supporter he had in a bailiff called Andreas
Schlueter, who died in the year 1643, and lies buried in the churchyard
at Hermannsburg; a man after God's heart, who faithfully stood by his
pastor and often hid him away in his house for weeks at a time. The
pastor did not merely celebrate divine service; he had also preserved
the silver church vessels from the plundering hands of the enemy. These
silver vessels were used in the service of the Lord's supper; and after
it was over, the sacristan or clerk set tin ones in their place upon the
altar. They did not mean to act any lie by this means, however, for the
tin vessels were not made for the purposes of deception, but had been
there beforetime. Things went on in this way until the year 1633. At
that time Duke George assembled an army and marched against the imperial
forces His men were burning with an eagerness for the fight, which
delighted the duke. The enemy were stationed at Nienburg and Hameln.
Seeing that the duke was approaching them they drew back to Oldendorf in
the Hesse country, and there the duke got hold of them in the month of
June 1633. When his faithful followers asked him, "What shall the battle
cry be?"--"God with us!" answered the duke; and therewith they went at
the enemy bravely. And soon the foe were so fearfully beaten that they
scattered and fled in every direction--fifty imperial standards and
twenty cannon remaining in the duke's hands.
"'Among the fugitives were the two imperial generals Merode and
Gronsfeld. The former was wounded to death and died at Nienburg.
Gronsfeld fled in such haste, that he lost his sword and plumed hat. The
duke kept these for himself, to be his share of the spoils. In their
flight the imperialists came through the Lueneburg country, with the most
frightful outrages which they committed by the way. Among these, the
record tells of a lieutenant captain, named Altringer, who came to the
village of Hermannsburg and plundered the inhabitants; he pushed his way
even into the parsonage, and asked the pastor "what he had to give him?"
"I am a poor man," the latter replied; "you may open all my boxes." They
did so, and--ten shillings was all they found. In a rage at this, they
beat the doors and windows to pieces, and summoned him--"You must have
some church furniture too--here, out with it!" The pastor answered,
"Have you been in the church yet?" "Those are tin vessels," said the
enemy; "you are bound to have silver ones as well. Where are they? give
them up." "No," said the faithful pastor, "that is what I will not do."
"Where have you hidden them?" "You are not going to find out."
"'Upon this they condemned the brave man to the "Swedish drink." This
frightful punishment consisted in the following: The victim was brought
to the dung-pit, his mouth was forced open, a gag put between his teeth,
and then dung water poured down his throat; after which men stamped
with, their feet upon his bloated body, until either he confessed or
gave up the ghost. Now they had already brought Pastor Kruse to the
dung-pit. There, before they began, he prayed with a loud voice, "Lord
Jesus, have mercy on me." The lieutenant captain was moved with pity.
"No," he said, "this man shall not die by the 'Swedish drink.' To the
gallows with him! he shall hang." Arrived at the gallows he was there
asked again, "Where is the church service?" He answered, "I shall not
tell you where." Thereupon order was given to execute the sentence. But
in the first place he kneeled down and prayed for his enemies also, that
God would not lay this sin to their charge, but give them grace to
repent. Then he mounted the ladder, and the noose was already round his
neck; meanwhile a tall man coming from Celle stepped up behind a tree,
where, himself unseen, he could observe everything. At the same instant
people were seen on the other side coming from Hermannsburg, and making
signals with a white cloth to signify that they had got the church
vessels. Where had they found them? They considered that surely the
pastor would have buried them in the deepest part of his house, that is
in the cellar. But in what spot? This they discovered in the following
manner. They poured five or six pailfuls of water on the cellar floor.
At first for a while, it stood there; then all of a sudden it began to
run together towards one place and there sink in. "Ha, ha," said they;
"here is a hole in the ground; the things must be buried there." So they
dug it up and found the church vessels. When the pastor saw the
communion service in the hands of the enemy, then the tears rose to his
eyes. But as for the effect those people had hoped for, that is, that
his life might be saved, they found it would not do; the hard lieutenant
captain would not change his order; the man must hang.
"'Then stepped out yonder tall man from behind the tree--it was General
Gronsfeld; and he spoke. "Will you put to death this man who in dying
prays for his enemies, and who weeps for his church service and not for
his own life? Set him at liberty!" The pastor stretched out his hands
to the general and implored, "Ah, my lord general, the church vessels!"
But he answered, "I cannot give you those back--they are the booty of my
soldiers; but your life is granted you."
"'The parish people of Hermannsburg used the tin service for a long
while after that, till towards the end of the war silver vessels were
again provided. Kruse remained pastor here until 1652. He too kept that
saying in his heart--"Hold that fast which thou hast, that no man take
thy crown."'"
"What awful times!" was Flora's comment when Meredith stopped reading.
"The world has moved a little since then," Mr. Murray observed. "Let us
be thankful such barbarous cruelties are no longer practised by the
civilised part of the world; and civilisation is spreading."
"But I don't think much of that story," Esther went on. "The man made a
great deal more fuss about the soldiers having his church service than
was at all necessary. That wasn't a thing to die for."
"By his lights, and his love for the sacred vessels, it was. You must
take his point of view; and then you will find him, as I do, very
noble."
"But it is very difficult to take other people's point of view, Mr.
Murray, especially when it is unreasonable."
"Who shall judge?" said Mr. Murray smiling.
"You mean, _I_ might be the one who was unreasonable."
"Anybody might, occasionally. And it is of the very essence of charity,
Miss Flora, to take other people's point of view. Only so can you
possibly come to a right estimate of their action."
"I don't like that story much, Ditto! I mean, not so much. I wish you
would read another," said Maggie.
"I will read you another," said Meredith; "and it shall be very
different.
"'The story that I am now about to tell you is such a one as certainly
nobody expects to hear from me; it is namely, the story of a
night-watchman. But there is no sort of reason why you should laugh at
this word, for indeed the story is a pretty one; and I wish all the
night-watchmen in city and country would take after this man and do as
he did; that is, provided they could do it from the bottom of their
hearts. A poor cottager in one of our country villages, some years ago,
out of curiosity, came to one of our mission festivals. There to his
astonishment he heard that the Lord Jesus will have all men to be saved,
that are in the whole earth, even the poor heathen; and that accordingly
He has commanded His servants, the Christians, to cast the net of the
gospel into the sea of the heathen world. He heard how the heathen are
to be saved, because Jesus died for all men; how they can nevertheless
no otherwise be saved than through faith in Him; because there is
salvation for sinners in no other but only in the name of Him who was
crucified for sinners and is risen again. Meanwhile however, by means of
this mission festival the dear man himself is taken in the net of the
gospel; for he sees that he also is a sinner, and therefore for him also
there is no salvation except in Him who forgives sins, because He has
made reconciliation for sinners with God. And now, finding himself
salvation in Christ, this experience of his convinces him that nobody
but Jesus can really help the poor heathen. But then since Jesus can
come to the poor heathen in no way but by his Word and sacrament, and
his Word and sacrament the heathen have not, it becomes very clear to
his mind that the Word and sacrament must be carried to them. This,
moreover, can be done only by messengers to the heathen, who must be
sent to them, because they have not got wings to fly thither. Then he
begins to ponder the question, how he can do something to help. So he
buys himself a mission-box, that he may always be putting something in
there when he has anything to spare. As nevertheless what goes in is
only the mites of poverty, it looks to him a great deal too little. He
makes the resolve now that every quarter of a year he will go round the
village with his box to collect for the mission. But this is a resolve
he cannot perform; for inasmuch as the mission is not known to the
people of his village, he reflects that where there is no heart for the
mission, naturally there are no gifts for it. And there he was quite
right, and did a wise thing to let his collecting project alone. So
about that he gives in, and quietly hangs up his mission box in his
room, on a nail opposite the door, so that every one who comes into the
room can see it. And people do observe it, and many a one asks what sort
of a thing that can be? He makes answer, it is for this purpose: that
whatever goes into it will be applied to the converting of the heathen.
And so in this way some few mites do actually get in; which, however, at
the end of each year bring but a small sum. Now as this sum is still far
too small to content him, he turns simply to the dear Lord Jesus, and
says to Him--"Dear Lord, as for going to the heathen myself, that I
cannot do: I am too old, and I have not learned enough. But because Thou
hast done so much for me and in me, I would like greatly to do something
for Thee, and truly a little more than I have done hitherto. So give me
Thy Holy Spirit, that I may know how to manage it; for without Him man's
knowledge is nought." Following upon such a prayer then, the Lord
appointed him to be nightwatcher. For without his having in the least
anticipated such a thing, the village community invited him to undertake
the service of the night-watch in the village. He made answer, he must
take the matter into consideration before God and with his wife. The
latter was not at first disposed to be pleased that he should wake while
others slept; and his own flesh also takes to it not kindly, to have to
wander about in the village in snow and rain, when it is cold and when
it is stormy, while everybody else is lying upon his ear. But his former
prayer recurs to him, the Lord is certainly now giving him something to
do; and so he says to the Lord Jesus--"My dear Saviour, if Thou canst
use me in this way, keeping watch in the village with Thy holy angels,
who are about us at all times, then give me strength and joy to do it!"
And as the Lord grants him both, the thing is settled, and in the name
of Jesus he accepts the office of night-watch. The custom in that place
makes it a rule, that on New Year's night the night-watch should sing
under people's windows a couple of pretty Christian verses, as it were a
New Year's greeting; to one this verse, to the next the other verse, and
so round at all the houses. New Year's day then, or the day after, he
may go round again visiting house by house, and wish happy New Year; and
the people give him according to their means and according to their
inclination a gift, smaller or larger, and these gifts belong to his
service earnings; it is no begging either, for the stipulation is made
at the time he is put in office. With true gladness of heart now in the
New Year's night he sings under all the windows in the village; and as
he does this, he seems to himself just the same as a priest of God; his
office seems to him a right holy one. And particularly where he knows
that a sick person is lying in a house he sings the loveliest verses of
faith and comfort, so that tears run down over his own cheeks in the
doing of it. That night is verily a night of triumph in his work; and he
begins to bear a cordial love to his calling, as one the Lord has given
him and has sanctified. To go round on New Year's day, however, and wish
the people joy, that is what he cannot make up his mind to; it is a
festival and a holiday; it belongs to the Lord; and it must be spent in
the church and with the Bible. But the next day he has time, and then he
will go; and then his mission-box occurs to him, which is still hanging
there on its nail. Now he knows what he is to do. He takes the box in
his hand and goes the rounds, house after house, and gives his good
wishes. Everywhere the people receive his hearty congratulations kindly,
and every one puts his hand in his pocket with alacrity to fetch out a
little present for him; the faithful man has indeed done his work so
honestly, and but just now has sung for them so heartily and such
beautiful verses! But he holds forth his box to his benefactors, and
begs them to put whatever they design for him in there, for what they
give is to go to the conversion of the heathen. So upon that one asks
him a question, and another asks him a question, and he has opportunity
to open his mouth with gladness and testify of the misery of the poor
heathen, and of the sacred duty of helping them, that so they may be
converted. And God gives His blessing both to deeds and word; and now
the man finds himself able to send in not a little, but a good deal, for
the conversion of the heathen, who lie so heavily on his heart.
"'Do you ask where this happened and who did it? It happened in our
country, and six nightwatchers have done it. Who are they? Go along and
ask the Lord in the last day; He has got all their names written down. I
shall not tell them to you, for I will not rob them of their blessing.
It might happen, however, that one or the other of them may read these
lines. If that be the case, then I say to him, "Keep still and do not
betray thyself, that thou lose not thy humility."'"