Abe a New Character in the Village.
"Hast ta yeard th' news?" said one neighbour to another, on the morning
following the happy event narrated in the preceding chapter.
"What news dost ta mean?"
"Aye well, thaa has'n't yeard what happened last noight; doan't look so
scared, mon; th' mill worn't burnt daan; nor th' river droid up; nor
Amebury (Almondbury) common transported; but some'at stranger nor that."
"Why, whatever dost ta mean?"
"I mean that Abe Lockwood's been and gotton converted last noight, and
he's up and off to his wark this morning, shaating and singing like a
madman."
"Abe Lockwood converted!" replied the other in astonishment, and
pausing between each word, as if to realize his own sayings.
"Nay,--I'll niver believe that."
"It's as true as thaa and me is here; his father telled me he wor aat
hoalf at noight on Amebury common, crying and praying by a big tree
roit, and he gat converted there all alone; and when he came into th'
haase, his face was shining like th' moonloight."
Here was news for the people of Berry Brow, and how it flew from mouth
to mouth, and from house to house, till, before many hours, almost
every person in the village knew of the wonderful change which had come
over Abe. Some doubted the report,--"It canna be soa," said one;
another "would sooiner think of ony one than him; he's making game
on't, I'll lay onything." Others thought, "If he's turned religious,
it's no matter; he'll be as wild as iver by th' week-end." It was out
of all character for Abe Lockwood to be anything else than he had been,
a rollicksome, laughing, drinking, ungodly young man.
How often people talk in this way, when they hear of some giving their
hearts to God; "They won't stand long; give them a month, and it will
be all over," and such like injudicious things are said even by some
who ought to have more discretion. People talk without thinking, or
make such statements to cover their own shortcomings and faults. Why
shall they not stand? are they in the keeping of a feeble or fickle
Saviour? isn't His grace as strong as sin? is not Jesus always mightier
than the devil? and have not millions of the greatest sinners who have
found the Lord, stood firm against the snares of the world, and all the
devices of the wicked one? "He won't stand," is an old lie, which
every young believer must set at defiance. "Stand fast, therefore, in
the liberty wherewith Christ hath made us free, and be not entangled
again with the yoke of bondage."
"Weant I stand," said Abe, "then I'll fall, but it shall be at the feet
of Jesus." Ah, that is the best way to stand; fall at the feet of
Jesus. It may seem a paradox in terms, but it is not in truth; it is
on the Apostolic principle, "When I'm weak, then am I strong." So poor
Abe laid himself down in order that he might not fall, and this is a
plan which others might try in times of spiritual peril, and so escape
the danger of backsliding.
Among others who canvassed the subject of his conversion were his old
companions. One had gone out from among them that they were sorry to
lose; he was such a merry fellow; his face was always sunny; his
comical sayings had filled the public-house with roars of laughter many
a time; he could sing a song better than any of them, and he was always
ready; he was open-handed with his money whenever he had any; and
indeed, he possessed most of the qualities which make a man a favourite
among boon companions. His going out left a blank which was more felt
than seen; a vacant seat in a public-house is soon filled; so if Abe
was not there to occupy his own place someone else was; but no matter
who of his old associates were present, everyone felt Abe was absent,
and couldn't help showing it in some way.
They had all observed that he had not been exactly himself lately; "a
little down in the mouth," and very quiet at times; but never divining
the reason, they had put it down to the wrong cause, or thought very
little about it; and then Abe had so often roused himself out of these
moods of mental abstraction by taking "another glass," and having
another song, that he had kept his companions completely ignorant of
the work which was going on in his mind. So now it burst upon them
like a gun-shot; they were amazed; but the devil seldom deserts his
victims at a time like that; it would not be safe, he might lose some
more of them; he comes to their help and counsels them as to their
conduct. "Well," says one of them as they gathered in their usual
place of resort one night, "I s'pose Abe Lockwood will be gone to
prayer-meeting to sing Psalms with the old women," at which the whole
company burst into a loud laugh at Abe's expense, and yet it cost him
nothing, which was more than any of them could say of the drink they
consumed that night.
Abe Lockwood had left them,--he was a changed man; he had been
converted on Amebury common; he had turned off into an entirely
different course from theirs; he was a better man than any of them:
many such thoughts as these would obtrude themselves on the minds of
his former friends, and linger there in spite of all their efforts to
keep clear of them.
Some time elapsed before any of these old associates were brought into
immediate contact with Abe; whether they purposely kept out of his way,
or he out of theirs, is not easy to say; perhaps both would be correct.
He no doubt felt safest and happiest away from his old companions and
everything which reminded him of them; they, too, had a misgiving that
whenever they did meet Abe, he would say something that might make them
uncomfortable; for they knew he would not beat about the bush, he would
tell them his mind about their ways: so on the whole it was best to
keep out of his way as long as they could.
Meanwhile, Abe was gathering strength day by day, for he was living in
the constant spirit of prayer, which is the way to be strong. Night
after night, a lone man might be seen kneeling at the root of a great
tree on Almondbury common, pouring out his soul in prayer to God, until
that spot became to the new convert the very gate of heaven; and for
long years after, when Abe was established in the faith, he still
frequently found his way there to pray; during the whole of his
subsequent life, he never passed that spot without turning aside to
hear what the Lord would say to him. Many of the most delightful times
he ever had were experienced at the foot of that tree; and a visit
there, where he breathed the native air of his spiritual life,
invariably brought the glow of religious health to his soul.
As weeks and months went by, the people of Berry Brow became used to
the fact of Abe Lockwood's conversion, and it ceased to excite any
particular remark, except such as might pass between neighbours on
seeing him go by.
"Aye, mun, what a change is in yon lad," one would say.
"You are roight naa," would be the response.
"He wor as big a rake as ony i' th' parish a few months sin'; I'd never
ha' thowt o' Abe Lockwood turning religious."
"No, nor me noather, but we niver know what 'll come to us."
"No,--gooid-noight."
One day Abe and a former companion of his met full in front; there was
no sliding away on either side,--they must speak. Both of them
experienced a slight nervousness at first, but Abe plucked up courage
and came boldly on.
"Naa, lad, haa art ta?"
"Oh, why, middling like, haa's yersen?"
"Aye, mun," said Abe, "it gets better and better, religion is th' best
thing i' th' world; it's made me th' happiest chap i' Berry Braa."
"Why, thaa looks merry," said his companion.
"I is merry, and only wish thaa wor like me," and then Abe went on in
his own simple, earnest, and homely manner to preach Jesus to his
friend; and before they parted, the man had proof enough that Abe had
found a better way of living than his former one.
Many a time, as weeks and months rolled by, he was thrown for a short
time into company with one or another of his old yoke-fellows in sin;
and often did they endeavour to lead him back again into the ways and
haunts he had forsaken; but no, no, he was not to be moved out of the
new path which he had taken for time and for eternity.
Abe was a very plain-spoken man, and sometimes used phrases which were
anything but refined, but this was compensated for by their good sense.
Sometimes, when Satan was tempting him to give up his religion, and
return again into the ways of sin, he would exclaim, "What! give up my
blessed religion and return to thy swill-tub agean; I should be a great
fooil to do that,--does th' want to mak' me like an owd saa (sow),
that's been weshed, and then runs back into t' muck agean; nay, thaa's
rolled me i' sin lang enough; I'm thankful to be aat o' thy mud-hoil,
and by the help of God, thaa'll get me there no maar." Then perhaps,
when in conversation with some unconverted neighbour on the
all-absorbing theme of religion, he would break out, "Aye, mun, yoa
doan't know haa grand it feels being weshed, weshed i' th' blood of th'
Lamb. I wor that mucky, all th' waiter i' Holmfirth dam couldn't mak'
me daacent, but a drop of His blood did it in a moment. Glory to God!"
Ah! the precious blood of Jesus can make the foulest clean; no matter
how long or how deep sin has reigned in his heart, Jesus is able to
remove it entirely, and bring in His grace and peace. He is a
wonderful Physician, there is none like Him; He has never been baffled
yet, though for nearly two thousand years He has been called to
exercise His power on the outcasts and incurables of our race. He
knows the disease with which every poor sinner is afflicted, and He
also understands the cure; sinners who have long been given up by
themselves, and others as well--poor, abandoned things, who have been
kicked out of all orderly society, and left to rot in the moral filth
of the streets, or die in the sewers of iniquity, have been found by
Him, lifted out of the mire, washed in the streams of His grace,
clothed in His righteousness, and made fit to sit among princes.
"Jesus, Thy blood and righteousness
My beauty are, my glorious dress;
'Midst flaming worlds, in these arrayed,
With joy shall I lift up my head."