A Retrospect.
I am sitting in my library. The fire burns cheerily in the grate. A
dear voice is singing sweetly by my side. For baby is restless
to-night and Jennie has brought him down to rock him to sleep here
and keep me company.
The years pass in review before me. Thank God for the dear wife who
three years ago persuaded me that I was a Christian more than a
Congregationalist. The years have not been unfruitful. The work has
been, oh! so little, and the harvest so great!
I believe the whole church is satisfied with the result of our
peculiar method of candidating. I am sure there is no one who would
willingly exchange Mr. Mapleson for Mr. Uncannon. There have been
rumors once or twice that there was danger Maurice Mapleson would
leave. He has twice had invitations to preach in city churches whose
pulpits were vacant. But he has declined. "I hope," he says, "to
live and die here. It is as God wills. But I have no ambition for a
larger field of usefulness. It is all I can do to cultivate this
field."
My prophesy has proved true respecting Mr. Work. He has broken down,
given up preaching, nominally because of a throat trouble; really, I
believe, because of spirit trouble, and has opened a young ladies'
school in one of the suburbs of the city. Mr. Uncannon has left
North Bizzy after a year's pastorate, for one of the great cities of
the West, where he is about equally famous for his fast horses, his
good cigars, and his extraordinary pulpit pyrotechnics.
Maurice Mapleson's experiment has proved a complete success. Our
church at last is out of its financial difficulties. We held our
annual meeting last week. And here is the financial exhibit as it
appeared in the treasurer's report:
Cr.
Monthly Subscriptions
$1,675.00
Sunday Collections
395.85
Ladies' Entertainments (a special fair having been organized by
Miss Moore to secure the interest money.)
251.06
$2,321.91
2,276.90
Balance in Treasury
$45.01
Dr.
Minister's Salary
$1,500.00
Organist, (the office was discontinued, congregational singing
established, and Deacon Goodsole's eldest daughter voluntered to play.)
Nothing
Church Repairs-Sundries
55.50
Interest on Mortgage
315.00
Sexton (Salary reduced by himself as a contribution to the support
of the church.)
175.00
Fire, lights and incidentals
231.40
$2,276.90
The church has never before had a balance in its treasury, and it
was bewildered with astonishment at the result. The money was really
due to Maurice, who was to pay, the reader will recollect, the
incidental expenses out of the monthly subscriptions and take the
remainder as his salary. But Maurice positively refused to take it.
He, however, has long wanted the old pulpit cut down and a low
platform substituted. The money was voted for that purpose, and the
alterations are now going on.
Though the pews are free, the pew system is not wholly abandoned.
Each attendant selects a seat for himself or a pew for his family.
This is regarded his as much as if he paid pew rent for it. But
instead of a fixed rent he pays what he will. No one has paid less
than the old rates and some have nearly doubled them. But the
improvement in finances is not the only nor even the best result of
Maurice Mapleson's experiment. The congregation has increased quite
as much as the income. Not less than a score of families are regular
attendants on our church who never went to church before. With one
or two exceptions every pew is taken. We are beginning to talk
quietly about an enlargement.
I think this change had something to do with the revival last
Spring. Maurice thinks so at all events. And any attempt to go back
to the old system would meet with as much opposition from Deacon
Goodsole as from Jim Wheaton. The only member of the congregation
who regrets the change is Mrs. Potiphar. She turns up her nose
--metaphorically I mean--the natural nose is turned up all the time at
that revival. "It did not reach any of our set," she says. "Why,
bless you, I don't believe it added fifty dollars to the church
income."
One would think to hear her talk that Mrs. Potiphar supported the
church. If she does, her right hand does not know what her left hand
is doing.
The immediate precursor of that revival was the prayer-meeting which
Mr. Gear attended, and in which he asked the prayers of the church.
When in June he stood up before the congregation to profess his
faith in Christ as a Savior from sin, and in the Holy Spirit as a
Divine Comforter in trial and in sorrow, he did not stand alone.
Twenty-eight stood with him. Among them were nine of the boys from
our Mill village Bible-class. Of that brightest of Sabbath days I
cannot trust myself to speak. The tears come to my eyes, and my hand
trembles as I write. I must pass on to other thoughts.
I have already explained how the Bible-class gathered to itself a
second class of which Mrs. Gear took charge. Both classes have grown
steadily, and latterly, rapidly, and are now beyond all that the
most sanguine of us ever anticipated. There is a flourishing
Sabbath-school at the Mill village. Mr. Gear superintends it. Nearly
half of my old scholars are teachers now. But others have come to
take their places. My own class is larger than ever. Once a month
Mr. Mapleson preaches in the school-house, and in the summer his
congregation overflows upon the green sward without. Once or twice
he has been forced into the grove adjoining. It is evident that the
old school-house will not serve us much longer. Mr. Gear is already
revolving plans for the erection of a chapel. It seems to me rather
chimerical. No! On second thoughts nothing seems to me chimerical
any more. And as Mr. Gear and Miss Moore are both engaged in this
enterprize, I am confident it will succeed.
There is not in our church a more active, earnest, devoted Christian
worker than Mr. Gear. He is one of the board of trustees, and about
the only man on it who is not afraid of Jim Wheaton. He rarely
misses a prayer-meeting, and though he does not speak very often he
never speaks unless he has something to say. And that is more than
can be said of some of those who "occupy the time" in our
prayer-meetings. I understand that Mr. Hardcap was not altogether
satisfied with Mr. Gear's "evidences" when he appeared before the
session. But if daily life affords the true "evidences" of Christian
character, there are very few of us that might not be glad to
exchange with Mr. Gear. I doubt whether Dr. Argure would think he
was sound in the faith. And if the "faith" is synonymous with the
Westminster Assembly's Confession of it, I do not believe he is.
Deacon Goodsole has confidentially hinted to me his fear that Mr.
Gear has some doubts concerning the doctrine of election; and that
he is not quite clear even on the doctrine of eternal punishment. It
is not impossible. But I do not believe there is a member of our
church whose faith in a present, prayer-hearing God is stronger. His
first step toward securing a chapel for the Sabbath-school has been
taken already. It was a meeting of the Sabbath-school teachers at
his own house to pray for a chapel. And he builds on that
prayer-meeting a strong assurance that he will get it. I do not
think he is quite sound in the catechism. I wish I were as sound in
the faith.
I have often wished to know how he solved his old doubts. If I could
find his specific for skepticism, I thought to myself, it would be
of inestimable value to others. So with some hesitation, lest I
should awaken the old unbelief, I asked him the question the other
day.
"How did you finally settle your old difficulties concerning
Christian truth?" said I.
"I never have," said he quietly. "They disappeared of themselves, as
the snow disappears from Snow-cap when May comes."
The fire burns low upon the hearth. The risen moon casts her soft
light through the Eastern window and bathes the room with her
radiance. The mountains, mist clad, stand as shadows of their daily
self, more beautiful in their repose than in the full glory of the
busy day. The baby sleeps quietly, nestled close to his mother's
breast, too big I tell her for her arms; but she protests I'm wrong.
And still I sit, silent, and the past defiles before me.
At length Jennie breaks the silence. "What are you pondering so
deeply, John?"
"I was thinking, Jennie, how much I owe the little woman who
persuaded me to this dear home, who convinced me that I was, or at
least ought to be, a Christian more than a Congregationalist, and
who taught me that I could work for Christ without infringing on my
daily duties, and so brought to me all the flood tide of happiness
that makes my life one long song of joy."
THE END.