"Oh, pa! we've got some wood and some candles!"
"But where did you get them? Are you sure they were not left here by
mistake?"
"Oh, no, pa!" interrupted Hatty, "they were not left by mistake. A
man knocked at the door with his whip, and when I opened it, he asked
if you lived here. I told him you did. Then he said, 'Here are some
candles and a load of wood for him.'"
"I asked him if you sent them, and he said, 'I rather guess your pa
don't know any thing about it.'"
"Who did send them, then?" said I.
"'Oh,' said he, 'I musn't tell, but you may say to your father that
they are a present.'"
But to what instrumentality they were indebted for the relief was a
mystery. And what particularly interested Deacon P. was, the character
of the anonymous presents; that the very things so much needed, and no
others, should be sent, and he was sure he had mentioned his want of
them to no human ear.
He questioned the children anew. They described the man who knocked
at the door, the horse and truck he drove. A new thought struck him.
"Why," said he, "that team belongs to my old enemy, Graff. Can it be
possible he is the donor? If so, surely the finger of God has touched
his heart." Deacon P. was, however, so convinced that he was their
benefactor, that he resolved on an immediate call on that gentleman.
But who was Mr. Graff?
Some years before, the sacredness of the Sabbath was openly violated
by a brisk trade in fish. The hundreds of boatmen, sailors, and their
friends, engaged in this desecration, were so potent in influence, that
nobody thought of risking interference. Deacon P., though a man of
peace, was also a man of moral courage. He determined to put a stop to
the iniquity. His friends warned him that his life would be endangered;
but, at first alone, and afterward with a brother deacon, he would take
a walk along the wharves of a Sunday morning to ascertain who broke the
laws by traffic on that day. Men swore at him like fiends, fired his
dwelling at several different times, and at last "bound themselves with
an oath" to kill him. Yet they feared his presence, and at his approach
stores would be deserted of customers, and closed with great celerity.
This species of Sabbath-breaking was at length broken up, after various
hairbreadth escapes on the part of Deacon P. and his compatriot, the
authorities being shamed into action by their fearless zeal.
The brutal drunkenness of the sailors, and the degradation and
suffering of their families, with which Deacon P. was in this
enterprise brought into contact, opened his eyes to the evils of the
liquor traffic; and turning over his Sabbath reform to the legal
authorities, he became known as a temperance advocate. This also
brought him enemies, sometimes changing even friends into foes.
Distiller Graff was among the latter, from a warm friend becoming
bitterly alienated. In vain did the grieved deacon strive to conciliate
by explanation and personal kindness. Even the trifling civility of a
bow was rudely unnoticed by Mr. Graff.
Deacon P. entered the distillery of his old friend. For the first time
for years its proprietor looked up with a nod and smile of recognition.
It was evident something unusual had softened his heart.
"I have called," said the deacon, "to ask if you can tell me who sent
some wood and candles to my house to-day?"
"Yes, sir, I sent them."
"You are very kind; but pray tell me how you came to do so?"
"But first, let me inquire if you really needed them?"
"Oh, I can not express to you how much!"
"Well, then, I suppose I must explain," said Mr. Graff. "It's all very
singular, and sometimes seems very foolish. This morning, about ten
o'clock, as I was busy at my work, suddenly a voice seemed to say to
me, 'Send some wood to Deacon P., he is in want!' I was astonished.
I could not believe you needed it. And I could not send it to you of
all others. I tried to banish the thought, and went to work again more
earnestly. But the voice—it seemed within me—said again, with painful
distinctness, 'Send some wood to Deacon P., he is in want!' I scouted
the idea as weak and silly; a mere phantasy of the brain; but it was of
no use; I had to succumb. The more I ridiculed and fought it, the more
vivid and irresistible was the impression, until, to purchase peace,
and in some awe, I confess, I bade John load his team with wood and
leave it at your door.
"For a moment I was at rest; but only for a moment. The imperative
whisper came, 'Send some candles!' Said I to myself, this is too
absurd; I will not gratify this whim; but again I was so beset with
the mandate, and so distressed and baffled in repelling it, that, as
a cheap way to get out of torment, I handed John a package of candles
also.
"This matter has been in my mind ever since. Sometimes I have thought
it almost a freak of insanity, and then again, such was the strange
character of the impression, so unexpected, so solemn and powerful, and
such the singular peace following compliance with its dictates, that I
almost believe it to be supernatural."
"It is, indeed, the doings of Him who is wonderful in working," replied
Deacon P. "It was about ten o'clock, I well remember, that I plead
with God for the very articles you sent me, in an agony of wrestling
I never knew before. It was then too that my soul was filled with the
conviction that my prayer was heard and relief would come."
Since hearing a venerated relative relate this incident in his own
life, we have often wondered how the skeptic can dispose of such
occurrences. While it would be presumption for the believer to expect
to live by prayer alone, to be fed without his own cooperation, as was
Elijah, yet are there not events happening all along the history of
the church, in the experiences of individual members, to be accounted
for only on the ground of a special Providence, regardful of the
emergencies of the believing, suffering people of God? Surely, "light
is sown for the righteous," and to them,—
"The deepest dark reveals the starriest hope."
"A SOFT ANSWER."
IT was in the town of —, Connecticut, in which I began my
never-to-be-forgotten labors, distributing religious reading, and
urging the messages of salvation on all I met, as I visited from house
to house.
"If you wish to see the most discouraging features of your mission at
the outset, visit the Northeast District," a clergyman had said to
me; "every thing that is bad you will find there. I hope it will not
discourage you."
"I had made out, by the aid of Christian friends, a moral and religious
chart of the place, by sketching on paper the streets and roads,
with the names of the families living on them, together with such
information about the spiritual condition of the inhabitants as I
needed to guide conversation."
Among the residents was a Mr. D., who was represented to be a bold,
swearing man, high-tempered, and abusive to those of evangelical faith.
He had once belonged to a Christian church, but getting into difficulty
with some of the members, he became imbittered, and ceased to attend
the meetings, even on the Sabbath. Ere long he took to drinking,
became profane, would work at his trade on the Lord's day, himself and
his numerous household becoming openly hostile to the interests of
religion, and advocates of the doctrine of Universalism.
Such was the account of him as given me by his grieved pastor, and
others of his former friends, who had long since given up all hope of
his restoration.
Mr. D. I found at his blacksmith's shop, a brawny, dark-browed man. He
was blowing at the bellows. Approaching him with my basket on my arm, I
said,—
"I have called, sir, with some choice books and tracts; would you like
one?"
The old man turned upon me in a tempest of passion.
"What did you bring your miserable fire-and-brimstone trash here for?"
pouring forth a torrent of coarse and insulting appellatives.
Waiting till the ebullition subsided, I gently said,—for a rising pity
overpowered all natural resentments,—
"I ask your pardon, sir; I did not design to intrude on you, but
knowing that the works I have are the productions of some of the best
minds, and that they are intended to benefit those who read them, I
ventured to offer them to you."
[Illustration: A SOFT ANSWER. Frontier.]