A SOLEMN HOUR COMPLETELY SPOILED.
The Scripture Club of Valley Rest, on the fourth day of its assembling,
found itself a fixed and famous institution. Some of the members had at
first regretted that no one of the smaller rooms in the church edifice
was unoccupied at the hour of session; but this regret was soon
abandoned, for the reason that neither the pastors study nor the regular
Bible class-room, had either been available at the noon-day hour, would
have been large enough to accommodate the class and its visitors. The
main audience-room was the only one which was adequate to the
requirements of the class. When the benediction was pronounced after the
morning sermon, a large portion of the congregation remained, and,
instead of chatting leisurely with the occupants of neighboring pews
and preventing the exit of unsociable people, they hurried to the seats
nearest the corner occupied by the class. Even then, those who came last
were occasionally compelled to exclaim "Louder!" for the attendants of
the Second Church did not compose the entire body of hearers. Members of
the five other churches in the town, though loath to depart from their
denominational associations and pride so far as to worship elsewhere,
were not only without scruples against listening to an informal body
like the Scripture Club, but hurried from their own places of worship to
the Second Church, and some of them were suspected even of staying away
from their own services in order to reach the Scripture Club in time to
secure good seats.
The effect of all this upon the Club was stimulating in high degree. Its
first effect was to decrease whatever tendency to personality existed;
whatever might be the week-day opinions of the members about each
other, on Sunday every one tacitly agreed to the application of the
Satanic rule that religion is religion, and business is business. Some
special effort was necessary to bring Squire Woodhouse to forget, for an
hour in the week, his burned barn and the action of President Lottson's
insurance company; but finally the Squire's pride closed his lips upon
this tender subject. Members, who before had possessed no religious
ideas excepting those they had adopted at second-hand, now began to
think for themselves, and being men of natural wits well sharpened by
business experience, they speedily developed theories of their own, and
strengthened their own pet positions. The few religious books of
reference in the village library--many of them having once been gladly
given to the library by the very men who now sought them--were in demand
at early morn and dewy eve, pastors' libraries were ransacked, and some
members even consulted booksellers, and purchased works bearing upon
their own special lines of thought and belief. Respect for the ideas of
others did not necessarily imply assent, so discussion was frequent and
animated. Champions of the faith--as delivered unto themselves--were
numerous, and assailants of the truth as held by the orthodox were in
sufficient numbers to keep their antagonists from lapsing into a
condition of mere assertion. And over and around everything, like a
glorious halo, was the assurance, always prominent, that free speech
would not only be welcomed, but that the lack of it, from any motive of
fear or conservatism, would greatly be regretted by every member.
The discussion of the first beatitude consumed the time of four entire
sessions, and during all these days it was in vain that Mr. Hopper
carried the review containing the paper on "The True Location of the
Holy Sepulchre." When, on the fifth day, Deacon Bates asked whether any
other members had anything to say on the subject under consideration,
Captain Maile made answer:
"Call it a drawn fight, and give it up at that; if any man here _had_
been whipped, he wouldn't know it."
"Oh, come, come!" said Squire Woodhouse, "I'll join issue with you on
that. _I_ want to know what 'poor in spirit' means, and have a share in
the kingdom of heaven----"
"But you don't want to know where or what the kingdom is," interrupted
Mr. Jodderel.
"Yes, I do; but I want first to know what poor in spirit means. I feel
pretty sure about it now, but----"
"That's it, exactly," said Captain Maile. "But--but you don't want to be
anything that interferes with business. Give us something easier, Mr.
Leader."
There were some indignant whispers of dissent, but none of them were
audible enough to attract the attention of the class, and Deacon Bates
read the next verse.
"Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted," read Deacon
Bates. "Brother Prymm, will you open the discussion of this beatitude?"
"There is none other more precious to the earthly nature," said Mr.
Prymm, "and yet the passage proves the comprehensiveness peculiar to
inspired words. Sin and perplexity are the lot of all mortals, and they
bring trouble with them; but the single sorrow which raises man up to
God, and brings God down to man, is mourning. It may be done from sinful
causes--upon earth--but whatever the cause, the act itself shows us how
near God is to us, and what are his sentiments usward. He knows from the
greatness and purity of his own nature how intense this sentiment may
be, and his sympathy shows itself so tenderly in no other way as by this
promise, that he will come to his children and comfort them when they
are in sorrow. What an evidence of the need of a God does this promise
afford! Where else can we turn for true comfort when in trouble?
Earthly friends lack that knowledge of us from which alone true sympathy
can come; the pleasure of the flesh can give us nothing better than
temporary forgetfulness; but the divine sympathy is perfect in its
knowledge, timely and appropriate in its expression, and incalculable in
its force and endurance."
"I am glad to offer my weak testimony in support of the remarks of
Brother Prymm," said Builder Stott, who came next in the order of
rotation. "I have had my sad experiences in this world,--all of you have
had yours, I suppose,--but it seems to me that mine have been peculiar.
I've trusted men and been swindled by them. I've been abused for things
that I never thought of doing. I've lost dear ones that left places that
have never been filled and never can be, and I have found no one whose
words could be more than a mockery--one that wasn't intended, of course,
but that hurt just as badly as if it had. It has been only when on my
knees, or praying silently as I walked the street, that I found a
sympathizing friend. There can be no doubt in _me_ about what that
passage means--I know all about it by blessed experience."
"So do I," said Mr. Buffle. "I've been what men call fortunate in this
world's affairs, but if any one here thinks that money can buy exemption
from misery, I want to tell him that he's greatly mistaken. I lost a
child two or three years ago--some of you remember her; I'd have changed
places with the cheapest workman in my shipyard--yes, the most miserable
beggar in the street--if by doing so I could have brought her back
again. But money couldn't do it, and, as our friend Stott has just
remarked, the best of earthly friends couldn't take the sting away. I
can't say that God's comfort came just when I most wanted it, but God is
good and wise; he sent it when he thought best, and it was full of
blessing when it came. It doesn't heal wounds to be comforted by
Heaven--the wounds remain as tender as ever; but the pain and the
feeling of hopelessness depart, and a man is made to feel like the
wounded soldier, or the wrecked, starved sailor when help comes--he
_knows_ he has a friend to lean upon."
Mr. Buffle felt for his handkerchief and applied it to his eyes; an
operation which, in spite of his great-heartedness, he seldom had
occasion to perform in public: meanwhile Broker Whilcher said:
"I don't agree with every one here, as most of you know; but the
beautiful promise which forms the subject of our lesson to-day has been
fulfilled to me. I can't explain how, but I profess to be too much of a
man to deny what I learn by experience, even when I can't ascertain who
my teacher is. My own great ups and downs of life have been principally
social, and, as has been remarked by others, they are the hardest of any
to bear. And somehow--I wish I _could_ learn how--I have been helped,
soothed, sustained, whenever I could abandon myself to the influence of
whatever higher power it is that looks to the hearts of men and sees
that they are not entirely crushed."
"The older a man grows in years and experience," said Judge Cottaway,
without his official cough, "the greater his experience of sorrow. The
exercise of wisdom may prevent some troubles that carelessness and
ignorance may induce, but even then there is more of misery in life than
any human influences can avert. I believe, after much deliberation upon
the evidence adduced from the affairs of men, that the Comforter is also
the one who afflicts in many cases; but so certain am I of his wisdom
and goodness that I would never avert his chastening hand. The cry of
Christ in the garden, 'O, my Father, if it be possible, let this cup
pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou wilt,' should be
the sentiment of every one that is in affliction. That more bitter cry
that was sounded from the Cross may also be, without sin, re-echoed by
the human soul in trouble; but every one learns, by blessed experience,
that the soul is never forsaken, and that our sorrows are known to
Heaven better than they are to ourselves."
Mr. Jodderel sat next, and Squire Woodhouse whispered to his nearest
neighbor:
"Too bad; he'll bring in the kingdom of heaven and pit it against the
Ring." But to the astonishment of every one, Mr. Jodderel said only:
"No one knows more of this blessed Comforter than I. My childish days
were heavily clouded; I was abused in youth; I am misunderstood now; I
have lost dear ones; a long procession has preceded me to the grave,
each member of it leaving my heart more lonely than before, and the time
has come when I am too old to search for new friends and dear ones. But
upon my knees, or as I commune with him upon my bed in the night season,
or when I read his precious promises given by word of mouth or through
his holy prophets, I find consolation and hope and cheer, and forget
that I am a lonely old man in an unsympathetic world."
"Captain Maile?" said Leader Bates, and the ex-warrior responded:
"Everything I have heard this morning agrees with my own experience, and
no matter what doubters may say and hypocrites may help them to make
people believe, I can never forget the special blessings I have received
in affliction, and when I have least expected them."
Squire Woodhouse sat next to Captain Maile, and joined in the general
acknowledgment by saying:
"You all know me, my friends; you know I've often had a pretty hard row
to hoe, for often it's been in a shape that hoeing couldn't help. But
when the worst has come, and I couldn't do anything but stand still and
endure it; when I couldn't shake it off, or forget it, or improve it
any way, there came in just when I couldn't expect it, or see how it
could happen even with God managing it; when every one I leaned on
failed me, and I had to shut myself up in my own miserable heart--then
there came a visitor that made himself at home, helped me, changed me,
made a new man of me, and showed me that the worst chance of man is the
best one for God--blessings on his holy name forever."
Then Dr. Fahrenglotz said:
"For myself, I have no family ties. I never knew my parents, for they
entered into the unknowable while I was yet a babe; I have had neither
brother nor sister, but I have had friends, and they have passed away,
leaving my heart as empty as if it had never contained any other
denizen. I have felt the last pulsation of the heart-dealings of many of
you, and have watched you afterward with a solicitude which it might
have seemed officious for me to have expressed. And to myself and to
others I have known true, mysterious comfort to come, I know not from
where; the great outer, the intangible envelope of the human heart, is
hidden from my sight and thought; but from it I know there comes a
subtle mystery whose influence transcends that of mortals, and which
influence is tender, soothing, and lasting--an influence which I cannot
characterize more aptly than to say that it must come from some one or
some principle of nature akin to that of Him whom most religious bodies
denominate The Great Physician."
"Excuse me, gentlemen," said young Mr. Banty, who had come in late, and
had, sorely against his will, been compelled to occupy a seat among
those whom he called "the Saints;" "Excuse me; I didn't come in to say
anything to-day, but, things going as they are, I can't be quiet. I went
abroad a year ago; most of you know why. There was a lady in the
question. She died; I suppose it was best for her, for I didn't, in the
slightest degree, begin to be fit for her, but her death didn't hurt me
any the less. I haven't, since then, been as good a man as I should have
been. I don't mind saying that the ways in which I've tried to forget my
trouble haven't been such as have done me any good. But as everybody
else has opened his heart to-day, I wouldn't be a bit of a man if I kept
mine shut. I want to say that when I have a quiet hour, and get to
thinking about that girl, there's something happens that I don't
understand, but I'm very thankful for. I got to be a great deal less
despairing, though, at the same time, I think a great deal more tenderly
about _her_. I lose my ugliness at losing her; I see how much better it
was for _her_; I see how things had better go as they should than as _I_
want them, and I come out of that time less willing to go on a spree,
less anxious to see the boys, and more anxious to go on thinking than to
do anything else."
The order of rotation demanded that the next speaker should be Mr.
Alleman, and that gentleman remarked:
"I am heartily glad to see that there is one ground upon which all of us
can meet. Those of you who know me know what frequent occasion I have
had to learn all that you have learned of the unspeakable power of a
comforting God. I have instinctively passed the greater portion of my
life in my affections, for I know of no other sentiment which is so
all-comprehensive; and through these I have found daily new causes for
mourning. We are informed by Jesus that the greatest of all commandments
is that enjoining love toward God, and that the second is like unto it,
'Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.' To try to fulfill this
command is to have constant incentives to mournfulness. Every day I have
them, from some cause heretofore unexpected, and the causes involve so
many other people in troubles, which might be avoided, and for which I
can blame only myself, that but for the presence of the Comforter I
would be driven to despair or madness. What a tremendous responsibility
rests upon us, my friends, in this our greatest relation to humanity,
and how impossible it would be to endure it unless aided by a power
greater than our own. I cannot, by any words, express my satisfaction at
hearing so many men, and, in other religious matters, men of such
differing views, testify to the unfailing promptness of the Great
Sympathizer. And I should be glad to hear a wider expression of
experiences, and assure myself that, in troubles outside the range
purely personal, my fellow-beings enjoy the comfort that I do. I am
confident that the recital of such experiences would strengthen every
one for greater works of humanity and love."
There was a dead silence for several minutes, and the leader finally
relieved the uncomfortable sensation of the members by asking:
"Has any one any other remarks to offer?"
No one responded.
"The next lesson, which we will hardly have time to begin to-day, will
be upon the third beatitude," said Deacon Bates. "The class may consider
itself dismissed, I suppose."
"Now, _wasn't_ that just like Alleman?" asked Squire Woodhouse of
Captain Maile. "We were having the most heavenly time I ever did know
inside of a church, and he utterly ruined it."
"The rest of you didn't act a bit as if you'd ruined yourselves, did
you?" asked the Captain, in reply.
"Why, how?" asked the Squire.
"Eyes have they, but they see not," answered the Captain, starting
abruptly for his carriage.