"I preached as never sure to preach again,
And as a dying man to dying men."
--_Richard Baxter._
There was a stranger in the pulpit the next Sunday morning; one whose
countenance, though youthful, by its intellectuality, its earnest
thoughtfulness, and a nameless something that told of communion with God
and a strong sense of the solemn responsibility of thus standing as an
ambassador for Christ to expound his word and will to sinful, dying men,
gave promise of a discourse that should send empty away no attentive
hearer hungering and thirsting for the bread and the water of life.
Nor was the promise unfulfilled. Taking as his text the Master's own
words, "They hated me without a cause," he dwelt first upon the utter
helplessness, hopelessness and wretchedness of that estate of sin and
misery into which all mankind were plunged by Adam's fall; then upon
God's offered mercy through a Redeemer, even his only begotten and
well-beloved Son; upon the wondrous love of Christ "in offering himself
a sacrifice to satisfy divine justice and reconcile us to God," as shown
first in what he resigned--the joy and bliss of heaven, "the glory
which he had with the Father before the world was"--secondly in his
birth and life on earth, of which he gave a rapid but vivid sketch from
the manger to the cross--showing the meekness, patience, gentleness,
benevolence, self-denial, humility and resignation of Jesus--how true,
guileless, innocent, loving and compassionate he was; describing the
miracles he wrought--every one an act of kindness to some poor sufferer
from bereavement, accident, disease, or Satan's power; then the closing
scenes of that wondrous life--the agony in the garden, the cruel mockery
of a trial, the scourging, the crucifixion, the expiring agonies upon
the cross.
He paused; the audience almost held their breath for the next words, the
silent tears were stealing down many a cheek.
Leaning over the pulpit with outstretched hand, with features working
with emotion, "I have set before you," he said in tones thrilling with
pathos, "this Jesus in his life and in his death. He lived not for
himself, but for you; he died not for his own sins, but for yours and
mine: he offers you this salvation as a free gift purchased with his own
blood. Yea, risen again, and ever at the right hand of God, he maketh
intercession for you. If you hate him, is it not without a cause?"
The preacher had wholly forgotten himself in his subject; nor did self
intrude into the prayer that followed the sermon. Truly he seemed to
stand in the immediate presence of Him who died on Calvary and rose
again, as he poured out his confessions of sins, his gratitude for
redeeming love, his earnest petitions for perishing souls, blindly,
wickedly hating without a cause this matchless, this loving,
compassionate Saviour. And for Christ's own people, that their faith
might be strengthened, their love increased, that they might be very
zealous for the Master, abounding in gifts and prayers and labors for
the upbuilding of his cause and kingdom.
"The very man we should have here, if he can be induced to come," Mr.
Dinsmore said in a quiet aside to his daughter as the congregation began
to disperse, going out silently or conversing in subdued tones; for the
earnest, solemn discourse had made a deep impression.
"Yes, papa. Oh, I should rejoice to hear such preaching every Sabbath!"
was Elsie's answer.
"And I," Mr. Embury said, overhearing her remark. "But Mr. Keith gave us
expressly to understand that he did not come as a candidate; he is here
for his health or recreation, being worn out with study and pastoral
work, as I understand."
"Keith?" exclaimed Mr. Dinsmore. "I thought there was something
familiar in his face. Elsie, I think he must belong to our Keiths."
"We must find out, papa," she said. "Oh, I shall be glad if he does!"
"Shall I bring him up and introduce him?" Mr. Embury asked. "Ah, here he
is!" as, turning about, he perceived the young minister close at hand.
"Dinsmore! Travilla! those are family names with us!" the latter said,
with an earnest, interested look from one to the other as the
introductions were made.
"As Keith is with us," Mr. Dinsmore answered, grasping his hand. "I
opine that I am speaking to a grandson of my cousin Marcia Keith and her
husband, Stuart Keith, of Pleasant Plains, Indiana?"
"Yes, sir; I am the son of Cyril, their second son, and bear the same
name. And you, sir, are the Cousin Horace of whom I have so often heard
my grandmother and Aunt Mildred speak?"
"The same."
"And Mrs. Travilla is Cousin Elsie?" turning to her with a look of great
interest and pleasure mingled with admiration; but which quickly changed
to one of intense, sorrowful sympathy as he noticed her widow's weeds.
He had often heard of the strong attachment between herself and
husband, and this was the first intimation he had had of her
bereavement.
She read his look and gave him her hand silently, her heart too full for
speech.
"You will go home with us, of course," said Mr. Dinsmore, after
introducing his wife and the other ladies of the family.
"And stay as long as you possibly can," added Elsie, finding her voice.
"Papa and I shall have a great many questions to ask about our cousins."
"I shall be most happy to accept your kind invitation, if Mr. Embury
will excuse me from a prior engagement to dine and lodge with him,"
replied Mr. Keith, turning with a smile to the proprietor of Magnolia
Hall, who was still standing near in a waiting attitude.
"I am loath to do so," he said, pleasantly, "but relatives have the
first claim. I will waive mine for the present, in your favor, Mrs.
Travilla, if you will indemnify me by permission to call frequently at
Viamede while Mr. Keith stays; and afterward, if you don't find me a
bore. I might as well make large demands while I am about it."
"Being in a gracious mood, I grant them, large as they are," she
responded, in the same playful tone that he had used. "Come whenever it
suits your convenience and pleasure, Mr. February."
"Viamede!" said Mr. Keith, meditatively, as they drove homeward. "I
remember hearing Aunt Mildred talk of a visit she paid there many years
ago, when she was quite a young girl, and you, Cousin Elsie, were a mere
baby."
"Yes," said old Mr. Dinsmore. "It was I who brought her. Horace was away
in Europe at the time, and the death of Cameron, Elsie's guardian, made
it necessary for me to come on and attend to matters. Mildred was
visiting us at Roselands that winter, and I was very glad to secure her
as travelling companion. Do you remember anything about it, Elsie?"
"Not very much, grandpa," she said: "a little of Cousin Mildred's
kindness and affection; something of the pain of parting from my dear
home and the old servants. But I have a very vivid recollection of a
visit paid to Pleasant Plains with papa," and she turned to him with a
deeply affectionate look, "shortly before his marriage. I then saw Aunt
Marcia, as both she and papa bade me call her, and Cousin Mildred and
all the others, not forgetting Uncle Stewart. We had a delightful visit,
had we not, papa?"
"Yes, I remember we enjoyed it greatly."
"I was just then very happy in the prospect of a new mamma," Elsie went
on, with a smiling glance at her loved stepmother, "and papa was so very
good as to allow me to tell of my happiness to the cousins. Your father
was quite a tall lad at that time, Cousin Cyril, and very kind to his
little cousin, who considered him a very fine young gentleman."
"He is an elderly man now," remarked his son. "You have seen Aunt
Mildred and some others of the family since then?"
"Yes, several times; she and a good many of the others were with us at
different times during the Centennial. But why did you not let us know
of your coming, Cousin Cyril? why not come directly to us?"
"It was a sudden move on my part," he said, "and indeed I was not aware
that I was coming into the neighborhood of Viamede, or that you were
there. But I am delighted that it is so--that I have the opportunity to
become acquainted with you and to see the place, which Aunt Mildred
described as a paradise upon earth."
"We think it almost that, but you shall judge for yourself," she said,
with a pleased smile.
"Beautiful! enchanting! the half had not been told me!" he exclaimed in
delight, as, a few moments later, he stood upon the veranda gazing out
over the emerald velvet of the lawn, bespangled with its many hued and
lovely flowers, and dotted here and there with giant oaks, graceful
magnolias, and clusters of orange trees laden with their delicate,
sweet-scented blossoms and golden fruit, to the lakelet whose waters
glittered in the sunlight, and the fields, the groves and hills beyond.
"Ah, if earthly scenes are so lovely, what must heaven be!" he added,
turning to Elsie a face full of joyful anticipation.
"Yes," she responded in low, moved tones, "how great is their
blessedness who walk the streets of the Celestial City! How their eyes
must feast upon its beauties! And yet--ah, methinks it must be long ere
they can see them, for gazing upon the lovely face of Him whose blood
has purchased their right to enter there."
"Even so," he said. "Oh, for one glimpse of His face! Dear cousin," and
he took her hand in his, "let the thought of the 'exceeding and eternal
weight of glory' your loved one is now enjoying, and which you will one
day share with him, comfort you in your loneliness and sorrow."
"It does, it does!" she said tremulously, "that and the sweet sense of
His abiding love, and presence who can never die and never change. I am
far from unhappy, Cousin Cyril. I have found truth in those beautiful
words,
'Then sorrow touched by Thee, grows bright
With more than rapture's ray,
As darkness shows us worlds of light
We never saw by day.'"
They had been comparatively alone for the moment, no one near enough to
overhear the low-toned talk between them.
The young minister was greatly pleased with Viamede--the more so the
more he saw of it--and with his new-found relatives, the more and better
he became acquainted with them; while they found him all his earnest,
scriptural preaching had led them to expect.
His religion was not a mask, or a garment to be worn only in the pulpit
or on the Sabbath, but permeated his whole life and conversation; as was
the case with most if not all of those with whom he now sojourned; and
like them, he was a happy Christian; content with the allotments of
God's providence, walking joyously in the light of his countenance,
making it the one purpose and effort of his life to live to God's glory
and bring others to share in the blessed service.
He was strongly urged to spend the Winter at Viamede as his cousin's
guest, and preacher to the two churches.
He took a day or two to consider the matter, then, to the great
satisfaction of all concerned, consented to remain, thanking his cousins
warmly for their kindness in giving him so sweet a home; for they made
him feel that he was entirely one of themselves, always welcome in their
midst, yet at perfect liberty to withdraw into the seclusion of his own
apartments whenever duty or inclination called him to do so.
The well-stocked library supplied him with all needed books, there were
servants to wait upon him, horses at his disposal, in short, nothing
wanting for purposes of work or of recreation. Again and again he said
to himself, or in his letters to those in the home he had left, that
"the lines had fallen to him in pleasant places."
In the meantime Elsie found the truth as expounded by him from Sabbath
to Sabbath, and in the week-day evening service and the family worship,
most comforting and sustaining; while his intelligent, agreeable
conversation and cheerful companionship were most enjoyable at other
times.
"Cousin Cyril" soon became a great favorite with those who claimed the
right to call him so, and very much liked and looked up to by Isadore,
Molly, and the rest to whom he was simply Mr. Keith.
In common with all others who knew them, he admired his young cousins,
Elsie and Violet, extremely, and found their society delightful.
Molly's sad affliction called forth, from the first, his deepest
commiseration; her brave endurance of it, her uniform cheerfulness under
it, his strong admiration and respect.
Yet he presently discovered that Isadore Conly had stronger attractions
for him than any other woman he had ever met. It was not her beauty
alone, her refinement, her many accomplishments, but principally her
noble qualities of mind and heart, gradually opening themselves to his
view as day after day they met in the unrestrained familiar intercourse
of the home circle, or walked or rode out together, sometimes in the
company of others, sometimes alone.
Mr. Embury made good use of the permission Mrs. Travilla had granted
him, and occasionally forestalling Cyril's attentions, led the latter to
look upon him as a rival.
Molly watched it all, and though now one and now the other devoted an
hour to her, sitting by her side in the house doing his best to
entertain her with conversation, or pushing her wheeled chair about the
walks in the beautiful grounds, or taking her out for a drive, thought
both were in pursuit of Isa.
It was their pleasure to wait upon Isa, Elsie and Vi, while pity and
benevolence alone led them to bestow some time and effort upon
herself--a poor cripple whom no one could really enjoy taking about.
She had but a modest opinion of her own attractions, and would have
been surprised to learn how greatly she was really admired by both
gentlemen, for her good sense, her talent, energy and perseverance
in her chosen line of work, and her constant cheerfulness; how
brilliant and entertaining they often found her talk, pronouncing
it "bright, sparkling, witty;" how attractive her intellectual
countenance, and her bright, dark, expressive eyes.