There was in Chellaston a very small and poor congregation of the sect
called Adventists. The sect was founded by one Miller, a native of New
York State, a great preacher and godly man, who, from study of prophecy,
became convinced that the Second Coming of the Lord would take place in
the year 1843. He obtained a large following; and when the time passed
and his expectation was not fulfilled, this body, instead of melting
away, became gradually greater, and developed into a numerous and rather
influential sect. In the year of Miller's prediction, 1843, there had
been among his followers great excitement, awe and expectation; and the
set time passed, and the prediction had no apparent fulfilment, but lay
to every one's sight, like a feeble writing upon the sands of fantasy,
soon effaced by the ever flowing tide of natural law and orderly
progression. Now, that this was the case and that yet this body of
believers did not diminish but increased, did not become demoralised but
grew in moral strength, did not lose faith but continued to cherish a
more ardent hope and daily expectation of the Divine appearing, is no
doubt due to the working of some law which we do not understand, and
which it would therefore be unscientific to pronounce upon.
The congregation of Adventists in Chellaston, however, was not
noticeable for size or influence. Some in the neighbourhood did not even
know that this congregation existed, until it put forth its hand and
took to itself the old preacher who was called Lazarus Cameron. They
understood his language as others did not; they believed that he had
come with a message for them; they often led him into their
meeting-place and into their houses; and he, perhaps merely falling into
the mechanical habit of going where he had been led, appeared in his own
fashion to consort with them.
There, was something weird about the old preacher, although he was
healthy, vigorous, and kindly, clean-looking in body and soul; but the
aspect of any one is in the eye of the beholder. This man, whose mind
was blank except upon one theme, whose senses seemed lost except at rare
times, when awakened perhaps by an effort of his will, or perhaps by an
unbidden wave of psychical sympathy with some one to whom he was drawn
by unseen union, awoke a certain feeling of sensational interest in most
people when they approached him. The public were in the main divided
into two classes in their estimate of him--those who felt the force of
his religion, and argued therefrom that his opinions were to be
respected; and those who believed that his mind was insane, and argued
therefrom that his religion was either a fancy or a farce. At first
there was a great deal of talk about whether he should be put in a
madhouse or not; some called Harkness a philanthropist, and others
called him a meddling fellow. Soon, very soon, there was less talk:
that which is everybody's business is nobody's business. Harkness
continued to befriend him in the matter of food and lodging; the old man
grew to be at home in the Harmon house and its neglected surroundings.
When the will to do so seized him, he went into the village and lifted
up his voice, and preached the exactions of the love of the Son of God,
proclaiming that He would come again, and that quickly.
The winter days had grown very long; the sun had passed the vernal
equinox, and yet it looked upon unbroken snowfields. Then, about the
middle of April, the snow passed quickly away in blazing sunshine, in a
thousand rivulets, in a flooded river. The roads were heavy with mud,
but the earth was left green, the bud of spring having been nurtured
beneath the kindly shelter of the snow.