"The Liberal Deviseth Liberal Things."
Little Abe was endowed with a generous heart, but with very limited
means. He could generally say as the Apostles did to the lame man,
"Silver and gold have I none, but such as I have give I thee;" yet he
often devised means whereby he could enjoy the luxury of giving to
others. His own children, and even those of the village, knew they
could get a penny from Abe if he had one in his pocket, although it
might be the last he had in the world, and many a time he might be seen
surrounded by a swarm of children in the street, all begging sweets or
some other little trifle of him; and you want no better proof of a
man's habitual kindness than to see him often beleaguered by little
children: they only beg where they get something.
If any poor neighbour was in want, and Abe had any means of assisting
him, he would not wait to be asked. Many a time he has gone home to
Sally and told her of some poor creatures who had no bread in the
house, and then he would wind up his tale of sorrow with, "Naa, lass,
we'll be loike to tak' 'em a loaf," whereupon the good woman would go
to the cupboard and take out a big family loaf, and hand it to him, and
he would hurry away to gladden the hearts of the hungry children.
People do not need to be rich to exhibit the spirit of true generosity,
because it is not so much in the amount given, as in the spirit in
which it is done, and the sacrifice involved in the act. It is a truly
noble thing for a wealthy man to bestow of his abundance on the needy
around him, and he who does so is sure to gain a place in the
affections of the people. Everyone admires a liberal man; indeed, it
is questionable whether admiration for this quality may not sometimes
blind us to other things in the same persons which are actual faults,
and hence a man may be intemperate or profane or worldly, and people
say, "Well, but he is such a generous fellow," and that is taken as
mitigation of his faults: thus he is allowed to indulge in many wrongs,
because he has one excellency in his character. Men are not often
impartial judges; their minds are warped by unduly regarding one virtue
more than another, and consequently their verdict on character is not
always reliable. Give a benevolent man his full meed of honour, but
let not his liberal gifts become the purchase price at which he may
obtain indulgence for other sins, or he makes morality only a mockery.
Generosity is an essential mark of the Christian character, and should
display itself in every follower of our Lord. This is the spirit which
prompted the poor of the Lord's flock to share their scanty means among
their poorer brethren, and therefore, though Abe Lockwood was never in
his life worth many shillings at one time, he was one among a multitude
of humble and generous spirits moving in the lower walks of life, who
often enjoy the pleasure of relieving the wants of sufferers around
them.
"A GOOD NAME IS BETTER THAN GREAT RICHES."
Among the people in his own locality no one stood in better repute than
Little Abe. If any sick person wanted spiritual direction or comfort
they would send for Little Abe. He was quite at home in the sick-room;
the sight of his bright genial face would be sure to cheer the
sufferer: and then he knew so well how to lead the penitent sinner to
the Saviour, that the gloom of many a bedside has been dispelled by his
humble ministrations in this way.
He loved this work, and gave a great amount of his spare time in
visiting the sick. He was ready to go anywhere, any time, night or
day, that he might help to sustain the soul in the last trial of faith;
and many an hour has he sat by the bedside of some dying neighbour,
talking, singing, praying, and trying to cheer him through the valley
of death.
The little Bishop was general religious factotum in his own village,
and especially among those who were in any way connected with Salem
Chapel. In baptisms and burials he was held by many in as high repute
as the regular ministers. Often it happened that he was fetched by
some troubled parent to baptize a dying child, and he would perform the
rite with as great satisfaction to the friends, in his blue smock and
clogs, as he could have done had he worn the white neckcloth, and
passed through ordination honours.
"WILT TA KNUG?" (KNEEL).
A man came one evening to Abe's house, knocked at the door, then opened
it a little way, thrust in his face and said, "Is Abe in?" It was a
most unusual thing to see that man there, for he was a wicked, drunken
character, a trouble to the neighbourhood where he lived, and often a
terror to his poor wife and children. Many a time Abe had tried to
induce him to go to the Lord's house and begin to lead a new life; but
sin had such a hold upon him that he only made light of everything
good, and, in his ignorance and hardihood, professed to disbelieve in
God and His Word.
"Is Abe in?" asked the face at the door.
"Yes, I'm here," replied the little man in question, looking up from
his Bible, and peering over the lamp on the table to see who the
speaker was, "Come in, mon; open th' door and come in."
And in a little further came the face and head, followed by a pair of
broad shoulders and a huge body, whereupon Abe saw who they belonged
to, and rising from his seat he noticed that the great hard face was
clouded and softened with sorrow. Ah, it is a hard heart that does not
melt sometimes.
"What's ta want?" asked Abe, in a kind tone.
"Arr bit bairn 's badly," replied the big man, "and th' missus wants
the' to come and sprinkle it."
"Th' missus want me does she,--and what does thaa want?" said Abe,
looking meaningly at him. "Does thaa want me to come?"
"Ay," responded the man, looking rather humble, and feeling that Abe
had obtained his first victory by that confession.
"Well, I'll goa wi' the'," and, putting on his hat, they went out
together, and betook themselves to the dwelling of the visitor.
Arriving there Abe beheld a painful yet by no means uncommon picture.
A room miserably furnished, and not the ghost of comfort anywhere;
several little ragged children stood grouped together, and in the midst
of them was the saddest figure of all--"the missus," the wife, the
mother, in tears, and on her lap, wrapped in an old faded shawl, was a
dying infant. The woman tried to smile amid her tears as Abe came in,
just the shadow of a smile, and then her poor face settled again to
that look of anguish it had before, as if all her meagre joy were
slowly dying with that little creature that lay feebly gasping on her
lap. It was so like a woman to remember amid her grief, to give a sign
of welcome to her visitor.
"Aye, my lass, I'm real sorry for the'; thaa has a mother's heart, I
see, and thaa'd loike to keep thee bairn, I knaw thaa wad; but thaa mun
remember God has first claim on 't, and if He wants it, thaa'll be
loike to let Him ha' it. He can tak' better care on 't nor thaa can;
bless it, it'll sooin be better off nor ony on us--don't fret, my
lass--th' Lord comfort the'." And so in this way Little Abe went on
talking, softening, comforting, and strengthening the bitter heart of
that poor woman; at length he said, "Thaa wants me to baptize th'
little un, I reckon."
"If yo' pleeas," she replied. "Jack," added she turning to her
husband, who stood all the time with his back to the table, trying hard
to keep his eyes dry and swallow down a lump that was continually
rising into his throat, "get a basin o' watter, my lad." It was said
so sadly and yet so kindly, that if Jack had had to go through fire to
fetch that basin of water he would have got it. In a minute or two he
came with the basin in his big broad hand and stood close up to his
wife's side, looking down on his dying child.
"This is a religious service," said Abe, "and I want yo' to understand
that." He had his doubts about the man, notwithstanding his evident
effort to control his emotions; he knew the man's sinful character,
knew his hostility to everything religious, and now that he had him to
something like an advantage, he wanted to make the most of it. "I'm
baan to baptize that bairn in God's name, and we mun kneel daan and
pray for it;" and then looking at the father he said, "Wilt ta knug"
(kneel) "daan with us?"
The man made no answer, but still kept by his wife's side, looking down
on the infant.
"Wilt ta knug with us, Jack?" he repeated; "it's thy bairn, and it'll
sooin be gone." Still there came no reply; a conflict was going on in
the breast of that strong man, the wicked man of the world was
contending against the father.
"If thaa will n't knug beside the' wife and bairns, I'll go haam
agean," said Abe.
The man was conquered; the devil was strong in him, but the father was
stronger. He could not bear the thought of paying a slight to his
dying child. "I'll knug," said he, and that instant he full on his
knees. Abe baptized the child, and then all of them knelt together,
while he poured out his soul in earnest supplication to God for the
child and the family; but especially for the father who was now, almost
for the first time in his life, found humbly kneeling at the throne of
grace. It would have been very gratifying if we could say that this
was the turning-point in that man's life; but here our knowledge of the
case ends. It is, however, not too much to hope that the memory of
that sad night, coupled with the loss of the little child, would have a
good influence on the subsequent life of the man, and perhaps be the
means, under God, of leading him to seek that grace which alone could
afford him hope of meeting his child again in the kingdom of glory.
Whether this was so or not, the incident shows the high esteem in which
Little Abe was held by the people among whom he lived. We see that he
gained a decided advantage over the hardened sinner when he constrained
him to kneel before the Lord; and it also shows that when scoffers and
so-called unbelievers are brought into the shadows of death, their
unbelief forsakes them, and like devils, "they believe and tremble."
It was no uncommon thing for Abe to be called out of the mill to
conduct the burial service at Salem, in place of the minister, who
perhaps had never been informed of the funeral, or even of the death.
No matter, poor man, he has sadly lowered himself in the opinion of the
family and friends by not being present. He might have known he would
be wanted, and at what time of the day, and in what place, and it is
very unkind of him not to be there. Where is he? Poor innocent, he is
tramping off to a distant country appointment in simple ignorance of
the misdemeanour of which he is guilty. A minister ought to know
everything--know who is well and who is not; ministers are different
from all other people, and more is expected from them. If, for
instance, any one is ill, the doctor must be sent for; but the minister
is expected to come without being requested. It is his duty to attend
to the sick of his flock. It is no matter whether he knows of the
illness or not, he ought to know of it; a pretty shepherd he must be
not to know if any of his sheep are ill; he should make inquiries for
himself among the people. Are any persons dead here, or any sick? any
to be prayed for? or are there any disaffected parties waiting to be
coaxed into a good humour? any croakers in want of a good subject to
vent their bile upon? or anything at all in the general ministerial way
that wants doing? A man could easily find out what is going on, and
what is going off, with a little ingenuity and perseverance; and it
would save all the trouble and expense of a post card to the minister
asking him to call. Let us hope, therefore, that in future there will
be no misunderstanding upon these important matters, because every
place in the land is not favoured with such an able, willing, and
acceptable substitute as the people of Berry Brow had in Little Abe.
Reference has already been made to the esteem with which he was
regarded by his fellow-work-people. As years went on this regard was,
if possible, intensified, and it was beautiful to see how the younger
men in the mill would strive to lighten his work, and make his duties
as easy for him as possible. Nor was this kindly feeling confined to
the mill operatives; his masters, gentlemen of high position in the
locality, held him in great esteem, for they knew him to be a honest,
upright man, and a faithful servant. He had, in his latter days, many
liberties and favours which could not be permitted to their employes
generally; often one or another of his masters would come into the
mill, and have a few minutes' conversation with him about his work as a
preacher, and his religious zeal, enlivened by his irrepressible
humour, almost invariably sent the master away with his face covered
with smiles, and his good opinion of the Little Bishop confirmed.