Used Up.
As time went on, and year after year was added to his age, Little Abe
began to show, by unmistakable signs, that he was becoming an old man;
and although his lively temperament enabled him to hold up against his
infirmities for some time, the day came when he confessed he was an old
man and stricken in years; he began to speak of himself as being "used
up," "worn aat," "done for," and the like. All the marks were upon
him; his hair was snowy white, his face was furrowed with age, his
sight was dim, his step was slow and feeble, his voice tremulous, and
the signs were plainly seen that the Little Bishop was drawing near the
end of his journey.
One day he was unexpectedly called to go into his master's office, and
immediately he made his way there, when something like the following
dialogue took place. "Well, Abe," his master began, "I am sorry to
observe that you are getting so infirm that you cannot do a day's work
now. I have seen this for some time, yet did not want to turn you
away, but now I am sorry to say you will have to leave the mill, and I
must put another man in your place."
This coming so suddenly from the master was enough to stagger a
stronger man than Abe, and certainly he felt a little troubled at what
he had heard, but he could put his trust in God.
"I'm vary sorry to laave, maaster, but I knaw I am gettin' owd and used
up."
"And what will you do for a livelihood, Abe? I'm afraid you would not
be likely to get employment anywhere else at your age, what will you
do?"
"Well, I don't knaw what I mun do, but I'm sure my Father will niver
see me want; 'I have been young and now am old, yet have I never seen
the righteous forsaken or his seed begging bread.'" This beautiful
triumph of simple faith in God was soon followed by its reward; his
master had carried the test far enough, he saw once more his old
servant was a man of God, his face broke out into a smile which showed
he had only been playing with Abe: "We have arranged to give you a
weekly allowance sufficient to keep you and your wife as long as you
live."
"Praise th' Lord!" exclaimed Abe, "I knew my Father would not see me
want." So from that time our old friend received his weekly allowance,
and was kept from want. The Lord takes care of His own children that
trust in Him, and He often does so through the agency of some other
individual, yet whomsoever he be, he shall have his reward. "Whosoever
shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water
only in the name of a disciple, verily I say unto you, he shall in no
wise lose his reward" (Matt. x. 42).
OUT OF HARNESS.
When our old friend became so infirm as to be unable to work for his
daily bread, we may naturally conclude that his labours as a local
preacher also necessarily terminated. It was a great trouble to him to
have to put off the harness; he struggled against it as long as he
could, until indeed it was no longer safe for him to go to his beloved
work; so he was compelled to stay at home, but never man left a calling
with greater regret than he did this, for he loved it with all his
heart.
Nor was he alone in his regrets. Many shared in them when it was known
up and down that Little Abe was "out of harness," and would come no
more. Some friends sitting together in one of the country places of
the Circuit were talking about the preachers they had heard in that
place, some of them in heaven, and some remaining till God should call
them home; reference was made to Abe Lockwood, or as he was often
called in the latter days of his life, "Old Abe!" "Ah, there's dear
'Old Abe!' he'll never come again." A fine little fellow that sat
listening to the conversation rose to his feet, with his eyes full of
tears, and exclaimed, "Why won't they let him come? If he only came
and stood in the pulpit for us to see him, it would do." Old Abe was a
great favourite with children, and he was always fond of them;
sometimes old age turns folks sour, crabby, and snarlish with children,
but age only mellowed him, and made him more loving and loved.
"WHERE'S 'T YOUNG PRAACHER?"
An amusing incident came under my notice during the time I was minister
at Wellhouse in the Huddersfield Circuit. I was in the front garden
one windy morning, attending to a few plants, and endeavouring to
protect them against the gusty wind, when I thought I heard someone
calling my name, but on looking up and seeing no one I resumed my task.
In a moment or two I heard someone say, "Bless th' Lord! I've managed
it at last, hurrah!" and on looking up, I saw Little Abe struggling
along the steep pathway in a field just in front of my house, his head
bare, his hat in his hand, his white locks tossed in wild confusion by
the gale, yet holding on by their roots, refusing to part from their
place of nativity.
"Well, I declare, here's Little Abe tipping about in the wind like a
shuttlecock." Out I ran, and getting hold of his arm towed him into
dock.
"Whatever has brought you here in such a gale of wind, Abe?"
"Hurrah! I'st see him naa," was his only response.
"See who?"
"Why, th' young praacher to be sure; ha'nt ye gotten a young praacher
in your haase? I've come to see him." So laughing heartily at Abe's
way of installing new members into the ministry, I opened the door and
pushed him into the house. My wife was as much astonished at his
arrival as I was, yet very glad to see him, especially when he inquired
"Where's t' young praacher? Let's see him. Come, hold him up; there,
naa, put him on my lap and let me have a bit of talk to him." And down
he sat, and the "young praacher," at that time having advanced to the
age of eight or ten weeks, was placed in the old man's lap, where he
lay complacently winking his eye at Abe while he told him how he had
left home after breakfast and walked over the hills about five miles in
a storm of wind on purpose to make the acquaintance of this "young
praacher" whose name was already on the Circuit plan. And there he
stayed for the day, talking, singing, and communing with his young
friend till evening, when we sent him home by the train.
Well, the time came when dear old Abe visited his friends nor stood in
the familiar pulpits any more; then everyone, young and old, felt they
had sustained a loss. Yet this is the natural course of things all the
world over; the scenes of life are continually changing, so are the
most familiar and most beloved faces in those scenes; they come, and
come, and come again, until we unconsciously acquire the habit of
expecting them, but when at length they do not reappear as formerly, we
realize an unexpected loss.
How many grand and familiar faces have disappeared from our pulpits and
sanctuaries since we first began to remember things! In running the
mind's eye back into byegone years, what a number we can call into
recollection who are gone, never to return; while the truth is forced
upon us, we are daily hurrying after them, and ere long some others
will miss our faces from among the familiar scenes, and let us hope,
will regret our absence.