Our Temperance Prayer-Meeting.
IT is late in the fall. The summer birds have fled southward. The
summer residents have fled to their city homes. The mountains have
blossomed out in all the brilliance of their autumnal colors; but
the transitory glory has gone and they are brown and bare. One
little flurry of snow has given us warning of what is coming. The
furnace has been put in order; the double windows have been put on;
a storm-house has enclosed our porch; a great pile of wood lies up
against the stable, giving my boy promise of plenty of exercise
during the long winter. And still the summer lingers in these bright
and glorious autumnal days. And of them the carpenters and the
painters are making much in their work on the new library-hall.
Do not let the reader deceive himself by erecting in his imagination
an edifice of brick or stone, with all the magnificent architectural
display which belongs to the modern style of American cosmopolitan
architecture. Library-hall is a plain wooden building, one story
high, and containing but three rooms. It is to cost us just $1,000,
when it is finished. Let me record here how it came to be begun.
Temperance is not one of the virtues for which Wheathedge is, or
ought to be, famous. I know not where you will find cooler springs
of more delicious water, than gush from its mountain sides. I know
not where you will find grapes for home wine-that modern recipe for
drunkenness-more abundant or more admirably adapted to the vintner's
purpose. But the springs have few customers, and one man easily
makes all the domestic wine which the inhabitants of Wheathedge
consume. But at the landing there are at least four grog-shops which
give every indication of doing a thriving business, beside Poole's,
half-way to the Mill village; to say nothing of the bar the busiest
room by all odds, at Guzzem's hotel, busiest, alas! on the Sabbath
day.
Maurice Mapleson is not one who considers that his parish and his
congregation are coterminus. "I like the Established Church for one
thing," he says. "The parish is geographical, not ecclesiastical.
All within its bounds are under the parson's care. In our system the
minister is only responsible for his own congregation. It is like
caring for the wounded who are brought into hospital, and leaving
those that are on the field of battle uncared for."
A little incident occurring soon after he came, first opened
Maurice's eyes, I think, to the need of temperance reform in the
community.
He had occasion, one evening after prayer-meeting, to visit a sick
child of his Sabbath-school. The family were poor and his road led
him down near the brickyard toward "Limerick," as this settlement of
huts-half house, half pig-stye-is derisively called. The night was
dark, and returning, abstracted in thought, he almost fell over what
he first took to be a log lying in the street. It was a man, who, on
a cursory examination, proved to be suffering under no less a
disorder than that of hopeless intoxication. It was a dangerous bed.
Maurice made one or two unsuccessful attempts to arouse the fellow,
but in vain. Retracing his steps a few rods to the nearest hut, he
summoned assistance, and with the aid of Pat sober, got Pat drunk
upon his feet. But he was quite too drunk to help himself, and too
large and heavy to be left to the sole charge of Pat sober, who
happened to recognize a friend, whose home he said was a quarter of
a mile down the valley. Maurice, who had preached a few Sundays ago
on the parable of the Good Samaritan, could not bring himself to
imitate the example of the Priest and Levite; so steadying the tipsy
pedestrian on one side, while sober Pat sustained him on the other,
they half led, half dragged the still unconscious sleeper to a
little round hut, which he called home. The wife was sitting up for
her husband and received both him and his custodians with
objurgations loud on the first, and thanks equally loud addressed to
the others. No sooner was the stupid husband safely deposited on the
bed than, begging them to wait a moment, she went to the cupboard
and taking down a big, black bottle, half filled a cracked tea-cup
with whiskey, which she offered to Maurice as an expression of her
gratitude. "I do not know," said Maurice to me, as he told me the
story, "that she will ever forgive me for declining, though I
couched my declension as courteously as possible."
Coming home and pondering this incident, he made up his mind that
something must be done for the temperance cause in Wheathedge; and
further pondering led him to the conclusion that he must begin at
the church.
So one evening last week he came round to talk with me about it.
"The first thing," said he to me, "is to arouse the Church. I
believe in preaching the gospel of temperance to the Jews first, and
afterwards to the Gentiles. I will begin in the Synagogue.
Afterwards I will go to the streets, and lanes, and highways."
"You will meet with some opposition," said I. "A temperance meeting
in the church has never been heard of in Wheathedge. You will be
departing from the landmarks."
"Do you think so?" said Maurice.
"I am sure of it," said I.
"Very good," said he, "if I meet with opposition it will prove I am
right. It will prove that the Church needs stirring up on the
subject. If I am not opposed I shall be inclined to give up the
plan. However I will not wait for opportunity. I will challenge it."
The next Sunday he gave notice that that evening there would be a
Temperance prayer and conference meeting in the church, in lieu of
preaching.
"The town," said he, "is cursed with intemperance. There is one
miscellaneous dry-goods and grocery store, one drug store, one mill,
about half a bookstore, and an ice-cream saloon; and within a radius
of half a mile of this church there are ten grog-shops and two
distilleries, quite too large a proportion even for those who
believe, as I do not, in moderate drinking. I have no remedy to
propose. I have no temperance address to deliver. What I do propose
is that we gather to-night and make it the subject of earnest prayer
to God, and of serious conference among ourselves, that we may know
what our duty is in the case, and knowing, may do it bravely and
well."
As we came out of church the proposed Temperance prayer-meeting was
the theme of general discussion.
Mr. Guzzem was sorry to see that this church was threatened with an
irruption of fanaticism. He thought the minister had better stick to
his business and leave side-issues alone.
Mr. Wheaton thought the true remedy for intemperance was the
cultivation of the grape, and the manufacture of modern wines. He
did not believe in meetings.
Mr. Hardcap was as much a foe to intemperance as any one; but he
thought the true remedy for intemperance was the preaching of the
Gospel. Paul was the model for preachers, and Paul knew nothing but
Jesus Christ and Him crucified. Deacon Goodsole inquired who that
man was that preached before Felix of righteousness, temperance, and
judgment to come. But Mr. Hardcap apparently did not hear the
question, at least he did not answer it.
Elder Law thought it might be very well, but that the minister ought
not to change the service of the Sabbath without consulting the
Session. It was a dangerous precedent.
Deacon Goodsole thought it a move in the right direction, and vowed
he would give the afternoon to drumming up recruits. Miss Moore said
she would go with him.
Mr. Gear, who has not been inside a prayer-meeting since he has been
at Wheathedge, declared when I told him of the meeting, that it was
the first sensible thing he had ever known the church to do; and if
they were really going to work in that fashion he would like to be
counted in. And sure enough he was at the prayer-meeting in the
evening, to the great surprise of everybody, and to the
consternation of Mr. Hardcap, who found in the fact that an infidel
came to the meeting, a confirmation of his opinion that it was a
desecration of the Sabbath and the sanctuary.
Mrs. Laynes, whose eldest boy jumped off the dock last Spring in a
fit of delirium tremens, came to Maurice with tears in her eyes to
thank him for holding a temperance meeting. "I can't do anything but
pray," she said; "but oh, Pastor, that I can and will do."
The meeting was certainly a remarkable success, there was just
opposition enough to make it so. Those that were determined it
should succeed were there ready to speak, to sing, to pray. Those
that did not believe in it were there to see it fail. Those that
were indifferent were there, curious to see whether it would succeed
or fail, and what it would be like. And Deacon Goodsole and Miss
Moore were there with their recruits, a curious and motley addition
to the congregation. The church was full. Every ear was attention;
every heart aroused. And when finally good old Father Hyatt, with
his thin white hair and tremulous voice, and eyes suffused with
tears, told in tones of unaffected pathos, the sad story of Charl.
Pie's death, I do not believe that even Jim Wheaton's eyes were dry.
At all events I noticed that when, at the close of the meeting,
Maurice put the question whether a second meeting should be held the
following month, Jim Wheaton was among those who voted in the
affirmative. There were no dissentients.
When I came home from this meeting, I put on paper as well as I
could Father Hyatt's pathetic story. It is as follows: