"Butterfly Preachers."
Abe had no sympathy with men who allowed themselves to be called
preachers, and yet could treat with indifference the work which was
allotted to them on the Circuit plan; men who seldom made their minds
up to go to their work, until they saw what kind of weather it was
likely to be; men who didn't like going out in the rain for fear of
getting damp, nor in the wind because it exhausted them, nor in the sun
because it broiled them, nor in the dark for fear they might miss their
way. He called them "Butterfly preachers," and often declared he would
be ashamed to be counted among them.
Yet he did not lay all the blame of their conduct upon the shoulders of
these men, because he thought the people helped in some measure to put
"butterfly notions" into their minds. If a good man came to his
appointment through the rain and wind, and got somewhat badly used by
the weather, someone was almost sure to say something to frighten and
dishearten him from ever doing so again. "Oh dear, have you come in
all this rain? Well, I hardly thought you would be here; nobody could
blame you for staying at home on such a day; you are very wet, you'll
be sure to take cold and be laid up," and Abe used to say that kind of
talk was enough to give a chill to any man, and tempt him to stay at
home next time for fear it might rain.
It did not make any difference to him, however; he went in all
weathers, rain or sunshine, winter and summer. There is a little ditty
he used to sing--
"Come rain or come blow,
A Methodist preacher, I must go."
One Sunday morning he was planned to preach at Shepley, and it was
pouring down rain. He, however, set off under his umbrella; but long
before he reached his destination he was drenched to the skin. Prior
to going into the chapel he called at the house where he was going to
dine that day; the good woman was grieved to see him in such a
condition. "Dear me," said she, "you are almost drowned; come in, take
your wet clothes off, and go to bed." "Nay, nay," replied Abe, "yo'
mun't tak' me for a butterfly preacher; I'm noan going to bed i'
dayloight, I'm baan to praach." And turning to her husband, who was a
big man, he said, "Thaa mun lend me some o' thy claathes." The
proposal to adorn himself in his host's clothes seemed so ridiculous,
considering that Abe was a little man, that both husband and wife
laughed right out. "Aye," said the man, "thou would look a queer
butterfly going into th' pulpit in my wings." But Abe wasn't to be put
off: "Come," said he, "thaa mun foind me some o' thy claathes." They
found him a spare suit, and in a few minutes he came downstairs fully
attired, and presenting such a figure that the man and his wife were
almost ill with laughing at him. It signified nothing to Abe who
laughed or who didn't; off he went to chapel. He was a few minutes
late, and most of the congregation were in their places. He was
therefore very eager to get to the pulpit; but in going across the
chapel for this purpose, one of his borrowed shoes slipped off, which
brought him to a sudden standstill, and caused special attention to be
drawn to his singular outfit; and the moment the people comprehended
the state of things, it was impossible to suppress a laugh in old or
young; and yet while they laughed at his odd figure, their hearts
warmed towards him as they thought of his zeal in coming so far, on
such a day, to preach to them.
That morning Abe had a good time in the pulpit. He was very lively,
and knocked about a good deal; but it was noticed that he had
frequently to be looking down on the pulpit floor, and shuffling about
with his feet. It afterwards came out, that, in his excited moments,
he had dropped his shoes off, and in getting them on again, had mixed
them, and put his feet into the wrong receptacles. This occasioned him
a considerable amount of inconvenience, which ultimately exhausted his
patience. He kicked the shoes aside, and said, "I have been trying all
th' mornin' to stand in another man's shoes, and I canna' manage it;
I'm in borrowed claathes, too, but, thank God, my sermon is my own."
This little diversion set him off in another direction, and he turned
the incident to such good and practical account, showing that Jesus
once stood in our place and bore our stripes, that many have long
remembered that service with very great pleasure.
TOILING ON.
On one occasion, when going to a distant appointment, his zeal was put
to the test in such a degree that surely he would have been excusable
if he had turned back and gone home again. Abe had a dread of
disappointing a congregation. He used to say, "If I slip them once,
two to one they'll pay me back; noa, I mun goa."
He had to set out one Sunday morning in a pelting rain for a walk of
about six miles. It had been raining more or less for several days;
the roads were in a sad condition for a "travelling praacher," as he
often styled himself. The streams by the roadside were swollen over,
and pouring their abundance out on the highroad, until it was very
little better than a bog. Under these circumstances the wet soon found
its way through Abe's boots and clothes. "Ne'er moind," he said to
himself, "I'll find some dry claathes when I get there." So on he went
over the rough bleak hill that wouldn't afford shelter for a rabbit,
much less for a man, down the steep slope, through the running gutters
of water. "Aye dear," said he, "I'm weshing my feet withaat taking my
booits off." At the bottom of the hill, known as Stone's Wood Bottom,
he was brought to a standstill. Along this bottom runs the river which
takes the course of the valley through Berry Brow, before named; it was
here spanned by a good strong bridge, having a wall on either side.
The water in the river had risen so high with the rainfall, that it ran
right over the bridge at both ends, and threatened to carry it away;
all the low ground about the bridge was under water to some depth, and
hereby Abe was brought to a halt. His only way was over that bridge,
and now that was not available. "Well," thought he, "I'm done this
time; haa can I get over?" Further up and down the river was swollen,
over its boundaries, and was out into the fields, while at the bridge
it rushed along like a torrent. "Naa, Lord," Abe began, "Thaa knows
where I'm plann'd to-day, and Thaa knows this is my only rooad to th'
place; that's Thy watter, and I'm Thy sarvant; I mun be over somehaa;
tak' care o' my body while I try." And into the water he plunged, and
made straight for the bridge. On reaching this he tucked his umbrella
under one arm, and climbed up on the wall of the bridge, and scrambled
across on his hands and knees, while the torrent rushed along
underneath at a horse-pace. Had he fallen into the water he would
probably have been found drowned on one of the banks down the river,
but it was not permitted. "Bless the Lord," he exclaimed, when he was
safe on the other side, "I'm over! Ah! but I'll do better nor that
when I come to pass the swellings o' Jordan! Hallelujah! I'll go over
Jordan withaat wetting a threead on me!"
So thou wilt, Abe. Jordan's waves could not harm a brave, God-fearing,
and God-honouring man like thee; they know a true-born saint by the
tramp of his foot in the darkest night of death, and on his approach,
they fall back into line like Royal Guards when the king goes past.
"Though waves and storms go o'er my head,
Though strength, and health, and friends be gone;
Though joys be withered all and dead,
Though every comfort be withdrawn;
On this my steadfast soul relies,
Father, Thy mercy never dies."